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Chapter Text

Back in Dudley’s spare bedroom with his relatives pretending he didn’t exist, Harry would have thought it was all a dream if he didn’t have a large trunk in the corner of the room and an owl asleep in the cage on top of it. The letters in the egg cartons and the chimney weren’t that strange. In fact, they were quite in line with the freakish unexplained occurrences that had been happening around him his entire life. (Well, unexplained until a few days ago.) But the giant man with the pink umbrella claiming to have known his parents? The letter that said there was a place that actually wanted him there, filled with people looking forward to meeting him? The magical world, full of magical people and magic? It had all seemed too good to be true, but here he was with a train ticket in one hand and a magic wand in the other. 

He’d read all his books. He’d never been able to be too good of a student, but they didn’t even feel like textbooks. It was like he’d fallen into a fantasy story; these were wizard books. They weren’t about maths or grammar, they were about making potions and making things fly! He wanted to learn everything he could. 

It wasn’t all good news, though. He was excited, but his excitement was overshadowed by how terrified he was. There was just so much. He’d gotten every textbook on his list, but wished he could go back to the bookstore and see if they had a magic dictionary or something. The books kept using words he’d never heard before, and he felt like he was missing a lot of important information. Like, the Auror who convinced the Wizengamot to negotiate instead of fighting to resolve the most recent Goblin Rebellion was a Hufflepuff. What did any of that even mean? He’d read the book cover to cover and none of his questions were answered: What is an Auror? What is a Wizengamot? What the heck is a Hufflepuff?

He was overwhelmed and intimidated and scared of the magic world. He didn’t know what anything was or how anything worked or what he was supposed to do. And what happened if he got it wrong? Would they send him back to the Dursley’s? Would they take it back, take his magic wand away and tell him he wasn’t allowed to be a wizard anymore? He didn’t think he could bear having all of this shown to him and then taken away again.  

He had to find someone he could ask for help. The problem was, he had no idea where to start. Hagrid had been very nice, but not very good at explaining things. He meant well, but referenced so many magic things that Harry ended up more confused after his explanation than he was before. 

Harry thought back to his trip to Diagon Alley. He remembered the blond boy he met in the robe shop. He’d been so confident. He knew exactly what he was doing, where he was going, and what Hogwarts would be like for him. Harry was so jealous of Draco Malfoy. 

He frowned to himself. Why did that name stick out to him? Why was it important? The boy had certainly said it like it was, but Harry was confident he hadn’t heard it before that day. If it was a big deal, it was only in the magic world. Hagrid hadn’t mentioned it, had he? No, he mostly talked about Headmaster Dumbledore and Voldemort, though he was really uncomfortable saying Voldemort’s name. Another reason he wasn’t the best person to ask about the magic world, if he couldn’t even explain why Harry himself was famous without getting scared. He wouldn’t say it, but he couldn’t write it down, either. 

Harry’s head shot up, though he wasn’t staring at anything in particular. No, he hadn’t heard that name before. He’d seen it written down. In his vault in the wizard bank, Gringotts. There had been a big pile of gold, silver, and bronze coins. They’d all been heaped on the floor in the center of the vault, though that struck Harry as terribly inefficient. No shelves or boxes, no organization system, no way to keep track of how much of what there was. The goblin who took him down to the vault didn’t even ask him how much he was withdrawing. But on the wall to the left of the pile, there’d been a giant family tree. He’d been so excited to look for his name on it, then the minute he stepped toward it the whole thing moved so his name was at the center and everyone was organized by how they were related to him. They were color-coded, too, with a little key in the corner like on a map. It was sad to see how many names were red (“deceased,” a nice way of saying “dead”). Most of them were, actually. A few were green (“incarcerated,” he knew what that meant. Uncle Vernon told him it was the future for freaks like him). But some of them had been plain black like his, mostly at the very edges far away from him. The closest normal name to his, the closest person not dead or in jail or not magic (his mum’s side), was named Malfoy! Were he and the blond boy related?

The first name attached was weird but pretty. It was like the guy from the story in the book of Greek myths the librarian had given him. Narcissa, a flower name like his mum’s. His closest magic relative was Narcissa Malfoy. 

What if he asked Narcissa Malfoy for help? An adult would probably be more able to help him than a child his age. The boy had known a lot and been confident, and if she was his mum, then she was probably the one who’d taught him. Maybe she wouldn’t mind teaching Harry, too. 

Well, it couldn’t hurt to ask, could it? He could write her a letter! He had an owl now and everything, he could send it to her. He could ask her if she would please tell him about magic so he wouldn’t get kicked out of the magic world. He really didn’t want to mess this up, but it wasn’t his fault he didn’t know anything. She would understand, right? They were probably family-ish. 

Yeah, that sounded like a good idea. He would write a letter asking for help from Narcissa Malfoy. 

II<>II<>II

It took him all night, but he was proud of his letter. He didn’t have any envelopes and his handwriting with a quill wasn’t very great yet, but it was definitely readable. He folded it up and handed it to Hedwig. 

“Here you go, girl. Can you take this to Narcissa Malfoy? Do you know how to find her? I don’t know where she lives.”

The owl gave him a very judgmental look. He took that as a yes, handing her the parchment to hold in her beak and thanking her as she flew out the window. Then he climbed into bed, yawning. He rolled over, turning his back to the window letting in the first traces of light from the sunrise. One of the perks of his relatives pretending he didn’t exist: he wouldn’t have Aunt Petunia banging on his door in an hour or two ordering him to wake up and make the family breakfast. No one would stop him from sleeping in. 

Chapter Text

Narcissa Malfoy was having a lovely morning. Her husband was meeting with a small group of political allies over brunch to discuss proposed legislation and had left early to ensure he would have time to run an errand or two before he was expected. Her son was young enough to still be excited by the prospect of school and had likely spent the entire night reading his textbooks or practicing basic charms with his new wand, so he was still asleep and would be for several more hours. That left her to take her breakfast alone in one of her favorite gardens, enjoying tea and a selection of sweet pastries surrounded by her prized white roses, undisturbed. 

Well, she should have been undisturbed. Narcissa was too well-rehearsed in the art of maintaining a proper regal bearing to let her annoyance appear on her face, even alone, but she was definitely annoyed when an owl she’d never seen before dropped a letter in the empty space where another place setting would go before perching on the edge of her table. 

Dreadful etiquette, really. It was a Sunday. There was no reason she should be receiving any sort of professional correspondence over the weekend. Friends and family were welcome to write on the weekends, of course, but were exceedingly unlikely to send a letter this early out of courtesy. One’s morning hours were practically sacred. They were a time for preparing oneself for the day physically, emotionally, and magically, and as such, should never be interrupted. For someone to commit both of those faux pas at once, sending business correspondence both on the weekend and in the early morning hours, was unforgivable unless in the most dire of emergencies, but the owl was far too relaxed for the letter to have been sent with any sense of urgency. It was preening its feathers and ignoring her entirely. 

She knew it had to be professional correspondence, and not even from someone she had a preexisting professional relationship with, at that, because she didn’t recognize the owl. All of the owls of her friends, family, and frequent business partners were known to her, as her personal owl and the family owls were known to them. None of her peers would have purchased a snowy owl, anyway. They were far too noticeable. There was a difference between your owl being noticed because it was yours and your owl being noticed because it was impossible to miss. The first was powerful. The second was gauche. 

Regardless, she set down her teacup and reached for the letter. If it were something unsavory it would never have made it past the wards, so it was unlikely to hurt if she indulged her curiosity. She hesitated when she noticed that there was no seal to indicate House of origin—no envelope at all, actually, it was a miracle it had made it to her unscathed, since she didn’t detect any trace of a preservation charm—but unfolded it. 

Narcissa was promptly glad that she had set down her drink. Had she not, she was likely to have dropped it when she read the first line. 

Dear Mrs. Malfoy,

My name is Harry Potter. We haven’t met, but I got to see my Gringotts vault for the first time yesterday and it had a really cool family tree that said you’re my closest living magic relative who isn’t in jail. I didn’t understand a lot of it because there were a lot of lines and some of them wrapped around each other weirdly or crossed, but I think you’re some kind of cousin? I’m not really sure. 

You’re probably my closest living not-jailed magic relative, anyway. My Aunt and Uncle are my mum’s sister and her husband but they don’t have magic they’re muggles so they can’t really help me here. I was wondering if you would mind telling me a bit about magic the wizard world? I didn’t even know magic existed until Hagrid, the hogwarts “keeper of keys” told me on my eleventh birthday and I’m worried that when I get to hogwarts I’ll be really far behind my classmates. Also, can you maybe explain to me how to get to hogwarts? Hagrid gave me a train ticket but I’ve been to King’s Cross before and I’ve never seen a “Platform 9 ¾ “ anywhere and I feel like I’m probably not supposed to ask a normal muggle station employee about magic stuff. 

If you don’t want to help me that’s fine and I’m sorry for taking up your time but I would really appreciate it if you did. I hope my owl can find you. Her name is Hedwig . Hagrid gave her to me as a birthday present but didn’t explain how magic mail works. 

Sincerely, 

Harry Potter

Well, then. 

She would charitably forgive the social blunder, since he apologized and very politely asked her for her assistance. And she would write back immediately, answering his questions and then some. It was practically her duty, seeing as he was technically correct; she was related to him, and if his current guardians hadn’t seen fit to educate him about the Wizarding World or his place in it, then they had no right to object to her taking over the responsibility on their behalf. 

Someone had to save the poor boy from himself, after all. Imagine all the catastrophes that would occur if no one did. Everyone knew, or, thought they knew, apparently, that the Boy Who Lived was being raised happily and safely in a life of luxury. If they mistook his ignorance for disregard for their culture, or worse, contempt ? Why, he would alienate three-quarters of his most valuable potential allies before he’d completed his first year at Hogwarts! And that would be a tragedy. So much wasted potential. 

“I’ll have a response for you ready in a moment, “ she told the patiently waiting owl. “In the meantime, the dish on the porch has water and a few treats. Thank you.”

The owl hooted in acknowledgment and flew toward the porch. It appeared quite well behaved, so she wouldn’t hold its unfortunate coloration against it. Or against her newly acknowledged cousin, since it had been gifted to him by the groundskeeper. Not the best person to be accepting a gift from, of course, but he would learn that in due time. 

Narcissa snapped her fingers and asked the promptly appearing house elf to clear her table and fetch her some parchment and a quill. She wondered if a formal seal would intimidate him. His Hogwarts letter would have had one, but this was a social correspondence from one family member to another. Best to keep it simple, ease him into his new role slowly. Her personal seal would suffice.

Chapter Text

Harry wasn’t sure what time it was when Hedwig swooped through his window, distracting him from his reread of his new Potions textbook. His daily meal had already been placed outside his door when he awoke, so that had to have been at least midmorning. Unfortunately, his window didn’t face the right direction for him to see where the light it let in was coming from, so all he knew beyond that was that it wasn’t yet approaching sundown. 

Hedwig landed in front of him, sticking out a leg for him to retrieve the package tied there. He wondered if it would be okay for him to keep the ribbon used. It was probably more convenient for Hedwig to tie letters to her leg instead of having her hold them in her mouth. He wished he’d known that before, but it probably wouldn’t have done him much good. After all, it’s not like Aunt Petunia frequently bought him ribbons. Or yarn, or twine, or socks, or anything not necessary for human survival. 

He pulled off the letter tucked under the package’s bindings. The envelope was very fancy. His name wasn’t on it, so maybe magic owls could understand what people were saying! That was pretty cool. It was shut like his Hogwarts letter had been, with a fancy blob of wax sealing it, but this one was white with yellow streaked through like the marble countertops in the bathroom guests used. It was pressed with a flower stamp instead of a big letter H. He paused, then sniffed it. It wasn’t just flower-shaped, it was flower-scented, too! He recognized it: Narcissus jonquilla , or jonquil. He’d heard them talked about enough times to memorize the proper Latin as well as the common name. They were the crowning glory of the Dursleys’ front garden, Aunt Petunia’s pride and joy. (Not that she’d had any involvement in their growth. Gardening was too dirty for her.) He almost didn’t want to break it open, it was so nice, but he did. Inside the envelope was a letter written in beautiful cursive handwriting, so pretty Aunt Petunia and her snobby friends would be jealous. 

Dear Mr. Potter,

I am so delighted to hear from you! My only regret is that it took us so long to come into contact; family is very important to me, and we are indeed family. Distantly, but family nonetheless. I am sorry the family tree you came across was not in very good condition. I would be more than happy to clarify our relationship for you. To start with, I must mention that, while I am now a Malfoy, my maiden name (or surname prior to my marriage) is Black. Your paternal grandfather Fleamont Potter’s brother Charlus married Dorea Black. Dorea’s brother Pollux had a son Cygnus, who is my father. We both share Charlus Black as a Great-Uncle, which means you were correct: we are “some kind of cousin.” To be more precise, we are third cousins, and though that means we share very little blood, we are definitely family. (And the Black family’s greatest rule has always been family first. Though neither of us bears the name, it is still a rule we shall cherish, no?) As such, please feel free to address me familiarly as Narcissa. 

Additionally, my cousin Sirius is your godfather. He was your father’s best friend during school and saw your grandparents as a second family. He is currently incarcerated (as you likely read on your family tree), but I would be happy as his cousin and yours to fulfill any of his legal or familial duties to you in the meantime. 

The next part of your letter concerned me, though I assure you it is through no fault of your own. Those of us in the Wizarding World who have cause to care about your whereabouts were assured that you were being raised safely and your education was being seen to. It saddens me greatly to hear that this is not the case. I have attached a book to this letter. It is an excellent primer to the Wizarding World as a whole, typically used by private tutors as a guide when planning their curricula. As such, it goes into little detail but brushes over a lot of important concepts. If there is anything you would like to read about further, do not hesitate to ask. I have a great many books on a great many subjects, and my family’s library is also yours. 

I would like to extend an invitation to you. Regardless of your response to this invitation, please do not hesitate to reach out about any other issues. There are no strings attached to this offer and I do not wish to pressure you, but I wish to invite you to spend the last month before your schooling begins here with my family at our Manor. I have a son who is starting Hogwarts as well, and I think it would do you good to know at least one of your classmates before you board the train. I can also arrange for you to meet many of your other soon-to-be peers, as I am friends with many of their parents. Additionally, books are no substitute for actual experience. If you came to stay with us, I could explain Wizarding culture to you in much more depth, including practical examples. A month in a Wizarding home, including trips to multiple Wizarding locations beyond Diagon Alley, could teach you more about life as a wizard than years of study, even with the most informative books. 

If I may speak bluntly with you, my dear cousin, it is a travesty that you were not told of your heritage. The Wizarding World is your birthright, and I am heartbroken to hear that it was withheld from you. I would be honored if you would let me help give as much of it back to you as possible. 

But I do not wish to pressure you. I understand that it is difficult to leave one’s home for the first time. If you would rather spend your last few weeks at home with your Aunt and Uncle before starting school, I will not be offended. Perhaps we can arrange something over the holidays, or next summer, instead. Please do not hesitate to reach out if there is anything I can do for you. 

Thank you for your letter, and, on behalf of the Wizarding World, welcome home. 

Family First,

Cousin Narcissa

P.S.—  

Good call on not asking a Muggle train station employee. They would not be able to help you. The barrier between platforms Nine and Ten is enchanted—simply walk straight through it to reach platform 9 ¾. And magical mail is simple. Magical owls are very clever—tell them the name of the intended recipient, and your owl will be able to find them anywhere in the world, as long as they do not have owl-repelling wards in place.   

It was a good thing no one was around to see his face, because his grin certainly would have gotten him in trouble. She was his family! Not only that, she sounded happy about it! It was hard to tell through writing, of course, but her “we are third cousins, we are definitely family” didn’t remind him at all of the way Aunt Petunia corrected strangers that he wasn’t Dudley’s little brother, he was “just his cousin.” She even told him he could call her by her name! He paused at the line about the book, frowning slightly. Surely that couldn’t be what was in this package? it was the right size and shape, but it practically weighed nothing. 

He set the letter aside for the moment and undid the ribbon wrapped around the package. As the paper fell open, he dropped the book on his bed in surprise. The second the ribbon came undone, the book had become as heavy as he would have expected a book its size to be. He stared at it for a moment, then couldn’t contain another wide grin. Magic was so cool.  

The book was very thick, very heavy, and very, very old. It wasn’t dusty at all, but that wasn’t a surprise; his cousin— he had a cousin who actually liked him so far —didn’t seem like the kind of person to abide a speck of dust. But the spine and cover were worn slightly, discolored spots in the pattern of fingerprints like a statue that was tarnished everywhere except for the clean spot where tourists liked to touch it. Hundreds of people before him had opened this same book, read it cover to cover, learned Literature For Lordlings: Everything An Heir Must Know Before Attending School . A bit of a mouthful, for a book title. It didn’t even have a convenient abbreviation. But his cousin (!!!) recommended it, so he would read it diligently. 

He opened the book and started reading. 

Then he closed the book, got up, and retrieved a roll of parchment and his writing supplies. He would need to take notes and write down a lot of questions. 

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Somewhere between the origins of the Sacred Twenty-Eight and the passing of the Statute of Secrecy, he noticed hours had passed. He must have been very invested in his reading and note-taking, to not notice the sounds of the Dursleys going to bed. That meant he had gotten the letter hours ago, and he still hadn’t responded! Was that rude? He didn’t actually know enough about post etiquette to be sure. He’d read the Table of Contents of the book Cousin Narcissa sent him, and he guessed that sort of thing would be in the chapter Contemporary Rules of Social Engagement subchapter Correspondence , which was really close to the end, so it would be a while before he learned it. Hopefully, if it was rude, she would forgive him. Either way, it would probably be polite to respond quickly. 

He flexed his hand a couple of times, stretching his fingers and rotating his wrist. He’d been writing notes for hours, so it was starting to get sore. On the bright side, his handwriting with a quill was getting much better! It was very awkward and clumsy at first, and he would be very embarrassed to send Cousin Narcissa a letter covered in smudges and inkblots because he couldn’t write any neater. He looked at his notes again, then looked around for a different inkpot. The set of inks he’d bought had several different colors and varieties in it. He’d been taking his notes with color-changing ink because he thought it was pretty, and no one would see his notes but him, anyway, but Cousin Narcissa’s letter had been so fancy. Even though she’d told him he could be more casual with her because they were family, her idea of “casual” was definitely different from his. 

He glanced at the envelope her letter had been in and snorted slightly. He would never have called that shiny wax seal that smelled like flowers “casual.” So it would probably be best to write his letter in something more professional. All of Uncle Vernon’s pens for work were black or dark blue, so they were probably Normal professional colors. He just had to get the fancy stopper out without spilling the bottle. Easier said than done, as the very colorful streaks marking the exact path his fingers took when he wiped them on his shirt could attest. 

Chapter Text

Narcissa did not stay up waiting on a response to her letter. She was not a fifth year waiting on a letter from her first suitor; she was above such nonsense. That did not stop her from being pleased to awake to the news that another letter had arrived for her during the night. She took it before breakfast; her correspondence was her own business. If it became necessary to inform her husband, she would do so, but she did not want him to react rashly. She had always been the more level-headed of the two. She was the cleverest of her sisters without a doubt, potentially the best Black child of her generation. She thought still being alive let her rank about Cousin Regulus, but as she did not know what he did to earn his downfall, she could not judge whether it was appropriately worth the cost or not. 

She opened the letter in her study and read through it carefully. The boy could benefit from lessons in appropriate subtlety. The amount of information he let slip between the lines was staggering. If her Draco was still making some of those mistakes, she would not deem him ready to go off to Hogwarts. 

Dear Cousin Narcissa,

I’m so excited to know we’re cousins! It’s nice to know I have family. Well,  family that actually will talk to me and answer questions. My Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon, and other cousin Dudley don’t like me very much. They don’t like magic, either. That’s why they didn’t tell me about magic. Probably why they never let me ask any questions about anything, either. Your book is awesome though! Thank you so much for sending it to me. I have a lot of questions. I’m not used to being able to ask them. I haven’t finished it yet. I just started the section on the Statute of Secrecy when I realized I forgot to write you back. I am very sorry if that was rude. I don’t know letter manners yet. The book doesn’t have them until the end and I didn’t want to skip ahead because a lot of the stuff in the book wouldn’t make sense if I hadn’t read the chapter before it.  

I would really like to come visit you! If you’re sure I wouldn’t be a bother. I don’t want to get in your way. I promise I would try not to! I don’t take up very much space and I cook and clean and garden to earn my keep at the Dursley’s so I could do that at your house too if you want! I would be happy to help so I can learn more about magic. The problem is, I don’t think my Aunt and Uncle would let me go. They love anything that gets me out of the house, but they really, really hate magic, so I think driving me to a Wizard’s house would not happen. They would probably be really mad if I asked. Is there a magic way I could come over without them knowing? 

Thank you again for the book. I’m taking a lot of notes and writing down a lot of questions so I can understand everything as well as possible. I’ve found the answers for some of them further along in the book, but some of them I think I’ll have to ask in person in case the answers have even more words I don’t know. I’ll ask them all if I do get to visit! If not, I guess I’ll write a lot of letters. If you don’t mind answering them. You’ve already done so much for me so please don’t worry about writing back if you’re busy. 

Thank you again for answering me and for letting me be family.

Harry Potter

Narcissa neatly refolded the letter. Well, then. She would have to have that conversation with Lucius, after all. He might not be happy to have the boy who vanquished his Lord residing under his roof, but his Lord was never her Lord, and it was far more likely that Lily Evans had been the one to do the vanquishing, anyway. She blamed Dumbledore for all of that ‘boy hero’ nonsense, and while she was conscious enough of her own bias to recognize that she would pin nearly anything on Dumbledore if given the means to fabricate enough evidence to make it convincing, she did not believe this was one of those times. 

His first letter had indicated that not all was as expected in the young boy’s life. The entire Wizarding World knew that after the events of that fateful Halloween, Harry Potter had been hidden for his protection. It had been the right decision to make. Dozens of Death Eaters were still at large and would have loved to take a piece out of the boy who’d survived when their master had not. When the world had called for more information, wanting to know that their darling savior was safe, Dumbledore himself had spoken out. He’d explained that the by was well cared for with guardians who could keep him safe. Obviously this had not been the case. He mentioned that his guardians did not like magic. That was enough to make any self-respecting wizard wary of letting them near a magical child. 

Magic was not a thing magical beings could simply like or dislike. It would be like deciding whether or not you liked your bones, or your blood. Magic did not exist around them or within them. They did not inhale it. It did not move through their veins. Magical people were magic, top to bottom, inside and out. To not like magic is to not like the magical world, not like any magical beings, not like an entire culture and society and every living and nonliving thing within it. 

To tell a magical child you did not like magic was to tell that child you did not like the mere concept of him, that you were repulsed by his very existence. That was not the kind of thing Narcissa could forgive. That was not the kind of thing any parent, magical or not, should be able to forgive. But then somehow, it still got worse. There had been many things in his first letter that were cause for concern, but they could not begin to compare to the wasp nest that this second letter had kicked.

Their attitudes toward magic alone were enough to make the Dursleys unsatisfactory caregivers, but Harry’s tone toward her was painting a picture she did not like. He was far too apologetic, and kept giving her a polite out from anything she hd offered previously. He was so excited to have family, to the point that “some kind of cousin,” in his own words, was more promising than the actual first cousin he lived with. And the way he offered to serve them. They had house elves for a reason. They would not require a child to cook for them or clean their home, much less tend their expansive gardens, especially not to “earn his keep.” He was a child. Children have no need to earn anything, especially not the bare minimum that was being offered. All she had promised him was a roof over his head and the lessons he should have been having for half a decade. There was no reason why he should have felt the need to earn what was owed to him. She could confidently say that Harry was not loved in his home as every child had the right to be, and she would not stand for it. So not only were the Dursleys an intolerable choice of guardian for a magical child, they were an intolerable choice for any child. 

That settled that, then. If the Dursleys “loved anything that got Harry out of the house” then they had no right to object to her taking custody of him for the rest of the summer, or for any other time. And if they did object, then she would simply overrule them. She was a very powerful witch. The transportation situation was not an issue, either. She was certain his muggles were not connected to the Floo network, but Harry was old enough to side-along apparate. 

Narcissa mentally added several tasks to her to-do list. She would write Harry back, informing him that she would be there to pick him up the following evening. That would give him plenty of time to pack his school supplies and say goodbye to his relatives, or not say goodbye to his relatives, to his preference. She would have the elves prepare the guest suites so that when Harry arrived, he could have his pick. They all had all of the amenities he would require, of course, but he might prefer different proximities to herself and Draco or a different color palette, and it wouldn’t hurt to indulge him. Then she would schedule a meeting with her lawyer. Muggleborns were given preference over their muggle parents in deciding where they resided because muggles had very little say in what happened in the magical world or to its constituents. The same would likely hold true here: if Harry wanted to come with her, his relatives had no power to stop him because muggles’ opinions were not legally binding. However, it couldn’t hurt to be prepared just in case. 

First, though, she would go to breakfast. Her husband was home that morning and would be meeting her in the informal dining room shortly, so they would have a lovely morning meal and a very productive chat. 

Chapter Text

Harry was officially scared out of his mind, while also more excited than he’d ever been in his life. It was a very confusing combination. 

He was pacing back and forth in his room, between his bed and the trunk neatly packed with all of his school supplies and everything else he’d thought there was any chance he could miss (not much). He couldn’t decide what to do about the Dursleys, and he was rapidly running out of time. The letter he’d received from Narcissa earlier that day was open on his bed, crumpled at the edges because of the number of times he’d picked it up to reread. 

Dear Harry, 

I would like to start by saying that you may always ask me any question you have and I will do my best to answer. I can’t promise that I will always know the answer, and there are some topics I would prefer not to speak about, but I will never be upset with you for asking. A thirst for knowledge is a valuable trait that will serve you well. 

Secondly, you never have to ‘earn your keep,’ as you said. I do not know what your Aunt and Uncle have told you, but it is incorrect. As family, my home is open to you, and as a child who will be under my protection, it is my responsibility to see to it that all of your needs are met. You will not have to cook or clean or garden and it is distressing that you feel the need to offer. I do not blame you for this—make no mistake, I am upset on your behalf, not at you—but it is unacceptable that you expect to have to work to earn the basic necessities that all children should receive from adults and all family should expect from each other. 

For example: in my home, I only cook when I want to. Sometimes I feel nostalgic and want to prepare a dish I remember baking with my mother and sisters as a child, so I do. However, I do not need to prepare my own meals. My son Draco is responsible for keeping his own room tidy and ensuring that all of his belongings are in his space. If he takes a book from the library to his room, he is expected to return it to its proper location. My husband enjoys walking through the garden and ensuring all plants are healthy and meet his standards. You will be expected to live by these same standards: do not make messes deliberately or through negligence, and know that while you are welcome to cook or garden as you like, you are under no obligation. 

All routine work like you referenced doing in your Aunt and Uncle’s home is done here by house elves. House elves are magical creatures that exist in a mutually beneficial relationship with Wizarding families. We form a bond with them, providing them with a safe, comfortable residence and our protection from those who would seek to harm them, and our magic sustains them. In return, they function as a sort of magical housekeeper and home chef. You will not need to lift a finger. In fact, if you offered to clean our house in return for your stay, our elves would be most upset. They would take it as an indicator that you do not think they are doing their jobs well enough. 

So please know that when you visit our home, your only responsibility will be to learn and prepare yourself for the Wizarding world. All of your needs will be met, and all of the mundane tasks that ensure a smoothly running household will be completed. You need worry yourself with none of them. 

Your Aunt and Uncle, as Muggles, have no legal say in where you go or what you do in the Wizarding world. Therefore, you do not need their permission to visit. I have a magical means of transportation that will bring you safely along with me. It is known as Apparition: a way to disappear from one location and reappear at another. I will warn you it is not the most comfortable; however, it is quick and quite simple. I will arrive at your home this evening at sundown to collect you. If your guardians’ disapproval extends far enough to not permit you to meet me at the edge of their property, do not fear. I can enter the house directly and politely and by force if necessary. I will locate you when I arrive and react accordingly. 

If it would ease your mind, I can convince your relatives that your school year has already started. Believing they know where you are might be less distressing than discovering your disappearance. I promise they will have no memory of my intervention. As they are your relatives, I will leave this decision up to you. Just let me know what you would prefer when I arrive. 

I will see you at sundown. I look forward to your questions and to getting to know you over your stay. 

Family First, 

Cousin Narcissa

The letter had thrown him off, badly. No one had ever spoken to him like that before. Like they were mad for him, on his behalf, not at him. And at the Dursleys! That was a new one, for sure! It had also driven a point home to him: she wasn’t kidding about seeing him as family. Real family, like Dudley was to Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon. Real enough that he wouldn’t have to work for the things family got for free, like food. He wasn’t sure how to handle it. He was feeling so many things at once, it was overwhelming. 

He was scared. He was about to go with a stranger to a world he’d never seen before, and he would be expected to adapt to it and become a part of it. There was so much to learn, so many new things to try, and limitless possibilities, all about to be placed within his reach. 

He was excited. He was about to go with a stranger to a world he’d never seen before, and he would be expected to adapt to it and become a part of it. There was so much to learn, so many new things to try, and limitless possibilities, all about to be placed within his reach. 

Anyone was better than the Dursleys, but what would the Malfoys be like? He remembered Draco, but what if Draco didn’t remember him? What if he did? Had Harry made a good impression? Draco was confident, so sure of himself and his right to exist in the world in a way Harry had never been. Would Draco help him get there too, or would Harry frustrate him? What if Draco didn’t like him? Would Narcissa send him back? 

And what about Narcissa? She was excited to be his family over letters but he said a lot in letters. He didn’t talk as much in real life. His relatives never liked it when he talked unless they asked him a question, so when he was old enough to go to school and be surrounded by not-Dursley people, it was easier to not break the habit. His teachers appreciated it. They called him “polite” in his school reports. He wanted to be polite for Narcissa, especially since she was being so nice, inviting him for the rest of the summer, but she’d also said asking questions was good. Would it be polite to be quiet, or would it be polite to talk? He wasn’t sure what to do and it was making him nervous. The closer and closer to her arrival it got, the more fidgety he became. 

And her arrival. That same day, at sundown. The weatherman on the radio that morning had talked about the summer winding down, how the days were starting to get shorter again, predicting sundown to be shortly after seven, and she seemed the type to be punctual. She would be there soon. A real, actual magical person at his house. That hadn’t gone too well last time. Narcissa was a lot politer than Hagrid. She seemed like the kind of person who knew all the correct ways to act in someone else’s home, who wouldn’t make mistakes with niceties or table manners like Aunt Petunia’s friends sometimes did so she could laugh at them or complain about them later. Maybe that would help. Narcissa wouldn’t break down the door or give Dudley a tail. He wasn’t to that chapter of the book yet, but he didn’t think partial transfiguration of your host’s kid was very good etiquette. 

The problem was, Harry wasn’t sure if he should tell the Dursleys Narcissa was coming or not. They’d been ignoring him for days, pretending they didn’t see him when he walked into rooms, but they wouldn’t ignore him just walking out the front door with his trunk. At least, he didn’t think so. If he didn’t tell them, they would be furious. They didn’t appreciate surprises, and Aunt Petunia always said surprise guests were rude. But if he did tell them, they would be mad at him before she’d even gotten there, and since he wasn’t sure how long she would be, he didn’t want to risk spending too much time with angry Dursleys. And what if they ran? They’d spent ages running from the letters before Hagrid found them. Would Narcissa be willing to spend that long chasing after them? 

What if he didn’t tell them? They wouldn’t have a chance to run, and they would open the door and see a witch on their doorstep. Would they shut it immediately? He was a little bit uncomfortable with Narcissa’s implied threat that she could break in. She probably could. Magic would be helpful with that sort of thing. But if she was going to make the Dursleys think he was already at school, she would have to use magic on them, too. Did that count as an attack? He wasn’t sure he wanted to go to her house if it meant making her attack his relatives. They weren’t very pleasant people, but that didn’t seem like a very good start to any of this. Would it hurt? He didn’t like them, but he didn’t want to hurt anyone. And would they see her coming? What would they do about it if they did? Would Aunt Petunia scream? Would she go for her frying pan? Would Uncle Vernon yell? Had he gotten another gun, since Hagrid bent his first one? 

Harry shivered and continued pacing, tugging at his hair in frustration. It seemed like every move he could make was the wrong one. He wasn’t even looking for a solution that would be good, he was just trying to find which one would be the least bad. Maybe he could write Narcissa back? Convince her not to come at all? Maybe the school had a holiday break, and he could see her then. She could pick him up at the train station, bypass the Dursleys entirely. 

The clock on the wall in the foyer chimed. Harry froze as he counted the soft sounds. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven . He scarcely dared breathe— there . A knock on the door. It was too late.

Chapter Text

When Petunia Dursley heard the knock on the door that evening, she was annoyed. It was hardly an appropriate hour for guests, especially uninvited ones. She’d completed the washing up from dinner already, so whoever it was had better not be expecting refreshments. If she spent too much time with her hands in soapy water, they would wrinkle, and then where would she be? 

When Petunia Dursley opened the door that evening, she was no longer annoyed. She was terrified. 

The woman at the door seemed normal enough, at the surface. She had that unflappable, never-told-no “old money” kind of aura to her. Impeccable posture, chin proudly in the air. Hair neat and smooth, makeup perfect. Ankle length dress, modest and old-fashioned enough to be noticeable, but stylishly so. Classy and obviously high quality fabric. The embroidery was real, not a printed design. Hands clasped in front of her, shoulders back, and the kind of look on her face that said she was exactly where she meant to be. It made Petunia want to check her calendar, because obviously she had forgotten a very important appointment this evening, and apologize for not having tea and fresh biscuits ready on time. 

It also made Petunia want to slam the door shut and hide under her bed, age be damned. She knew a witch when she saw one. They all had that horrid presence, like her awful sister and that awful neighbor boy. There was something clearly not right about them, and it made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up and sent a shiver down her spine. She had never been a religious girl, for any religion, really, but she almost wished she was: if she crossed herself, or said a prayer, or did something, would it make that unsettling itch of wrongness go away? 

Petunia did not hide under her bed, but she did not invite the woman in, either. She subtly slid the foot closest to the door behind it so that it could open no further. The woman would not be able to squeeze past her, not that she would make too effective a barrier against someone with magic. Summoning every ounce of courage she had, she met the woman’s eyes. Polite, but not welcoming. She could do this. Not dismissive enough to be called a bad host, but enough to make it clear that she did not wish to be a host. If the woman wanted something, she would have to ask for it directly. She would have to be the rude one.

“Good evening?”

“Good evening. You are Petunia Dursley?”

“I am, and you are?”

“My name is Narcissa Malfoy. I seek my young cousin, Harry Potter.”

This was about the boy, of course this was about the boy, again. She should never have let him into her home. She should have burned the letter and dropped him somewhere several cities away, a fire station or a hospital or the like. Made him someone else’s problem.

“I’m sorry, have we met?”

“We have not.”

“I wasn’t aware he had family.”

“I’m from his paternal side.” 

“You don’t look much like a Potter.”

“That would be because I’m originally a Black. May I come in?”

Petunia could hardly breathe. She’d heard that name before. She was no perfect Lily , but she’d always been quite bright and had a strong memory. Good for remembering lists and making connections. She’d heard that name for years, every Christmas and every summer holiday, as Lily complained about Potter and Black and whatever mischief they’d done now. Potter and Black , partners in crime, each just as bad as the other, of course she’d recognized the name when she saw it in the Headmaster’s letter. He’d tried to scare her into keeping the boy, and it had worked, hadn’t it, including a list of all the nasty people who’d come after her all because of her horrible sister. Sirius Black had killed the Potters. Was this some sister of his, come to finish the job?  

Mrs. Malfoy raised an eyebrow. She’d been frozen in thought for far too long. Drat. There was no getting around it, was there? She hardly wanted to have this kind of discussion out on the porch. She swore she could already see Mrs. Next-Door’s curtains twitching, that nosy woman. 

“I suppose you may.” 

She hesitated, then stepped back from the door. Oh, she despised that boy. She’d sworn she would never let another one of those freaks over her doorstep, and here she was. But she hardly had a choice. She didn’t exactly want to go the same way as her sister. What good was being “brave,” “fighting for the light,” and all the other drivel in that letter? Meaningless platitudes. She’d rather welcome the crazy with a smile and be alive to complain about it later than try to keep this woman out and catch the consequences. 

She led her guest into the sitting room. She took the sofa for herself, gesturing toward one of the armchairs as she sat. She did not offer the woman tea, and the woman didn’t request it. 

“If the boy has family, why are you just coming for him now?”

II<>II<>II

Narcissa had to say, she was far from impressed. She likely would have been, if not for Harry’s involvement. The house appeared neat from the outside. It was no manor, of course, but Narcissa did not judge others for how much money they had, she judged them for what they did with it. She noted the size of the house, yes, but she also noticed the recently trimmed lawn and the perfectly weeded garden. It was impressive, considering there were no elves to maintain it, and she appreciated the selection of flowers on display. 

Petunia Dursley obviously didn’t want her there, and hadn’t been warned that she would be arriving, but she recovered well. She was not outright rude, while still conveying her dissatisfaction with the kind of society-speak subtext Narcissa had been raised in. She was not a welcoming hostess but had never crossed the line into disrespect. Considering her obvious terror, she was doing quite well for herself, and honestly, she was hiding the terror well, too. 

Her home and her performance when it was intruded upon would have gained her Narcissa’s respect if not for Harry. She knew from his letters that Harry was the one who maintained that beautiful garden. Harry was the one who tended to the perfect Narcissus blooms, and Harry was the one keeping the property neat. And Petunia’s fear was not the kind she reveled in. It was not because of Narcissa specifically. Narcissa received fear for the same reasons she received respect: she was a Pureblood of a Noble and Most Ancient House, married into a Noble house. She was a revered hostess and gifted socialite. Her husband was a favored servant of the Dark Lord, but those “in the know” were aware that, of the two of them, she was by far the superior duellist and a talented Charms Mistress and her potions weren’t half bad, to boot. The Muggle woman did not fear her for any of those reasons. No, she wasn’t afraid of Narcissa, she was afraid of magic . She was terrified of it, and she despised it. And, for someone attempting to raise a magical child, that was simply unacceptable. 

She followed Petunia into the sitting room—dustless, photo frames aligned perfectly, each depicting her, her husband, and their son in various configurations, no trace of her nephew—and took a seat in the indicated armchair. She did not speak. It was the duty of the hostess to indicate which path the conversation would take, how many niceties before they got down to business, and she would not be rude enough to speak first, even if Petunia tried to make her. She was patient. 

“If the boy has family, why are you just coming for him now?”

Family. Not other family. If one did not know already, they would never guess Petunia was a much closer blood relative than Narcissa herself. 

“Believe me, had I been informed of his circumstances, I would have arrived much sooner.”

Offense. Good. Petunia’s shoulders drew slightly back.

“And what circumstances would those be?”

Narcissa gave a pointed look around her surroundings. 

“I mean no offense to you or your charming home, but it’s just not suitable for a boy like Harry. I’m sure you understand.”

Petunia’s eyes narrowed. 

“Let’s pretend for a moment that I don’t.”

If she had been offered tea, this was the moment where Narcissa would take a slow sip, looking dismissively away from her hostess and making her wait for a moment. She would settle the cup back on the saucer and return it to the table, controlling the conversation entirely. Unfortunately, she had not been offered tea, so she settled for raising an eyebrow. 

“Well, of course I would never hold your lack of title against you, but surely you don’t believe you can teach him all that a young heir needs to know.”

Petunia’s mouth twitched, froze, and twitched again, shaping words and discarding them immediately before they could be vocalized. The look in her eyes was shifting. She appeared to be putting together a number of pieces she hadn’t previously, and slowly but surely, her anger was overpowering her fear. 

Narcissa smiled slightly. Actually, tea would be lovely right now, whether it had been offered or not. She snapped her fingers. A house elf appeared to the left of her seat. 

“How can Dobby be helping Mistress Narcissa, ma’am?”

Petunia flinched back, squeezing her eyes shut as if simply not looking at the elf was enough to make it not be standing on her living room carpet. 

“A tea service, please, Dobby.” 

The elf nodded and snapped his own fingers. The low coffee table between the two of them was suddenly covered in delicate china. It was nothing extravagant, of course. It was evening, and they were not close friends or family. They didn’t need anything too enjoyable that might encourage any party in their meeting to linger. However, as near-strangers, it was customary to select something generally nonoffensive to accommodate anyone’s tastes. All of Narcissa’s elves were well trained in which variety of tea service was expected for which occasion, so Dobby had summoned a light herbal tea: caffeine free and not overly sweet or bitter. It was accompanied by a platter of perfectly circular biscuits, a soft vanilla. All of it was neutral, but pleasant. 

Petunia’s face was not neutral or pleasant. It was pinched as if she were sucking on a lemon but refusing to admit to any discomfort.

“If you’re quite finished, heir to what?”

Narcissa drank a sip of her tea.

“Would you care for some tea?”

“Heir to what?”

“Please, I insist.”

Petunia glared, but picked up a teacup. She woodenly lifted it to her face, took a single, very small sip, and placed it back on the table.

“What is the boy the heir of?”

Well, if she wanted to ask, then it would be rather rude of Narcissa not to answer. After all, it was publicly known information, if one was a part of the right public. Why would she withhold it? Especially from one who’d taken such good care of the child. It was important context for the kind of upbringing he was owed.

“Well, there’s the Potter cottage, of course, but as he was an infant and no one stepped forward to claim regency, it hasn’t been repaired since the night the Potters were killed. I believe it stands as a monument of sorts currently. The Ministry put a plaque in front of it. A very performative gesture, especially since it wasn’t accompanied by any attempts to find Harry a suitable replacement home. Though it could be repaired, or demolished and the property liquidated. Whatever Harry wishes as soon as he comes of age, or his regent decides he is old enough to make the decision.”

“He’s had a whole house of his own this entire time?” 

Petunia picked up her teacup again, taking a sip as if it would be able to keep her from saying something she would regret.

“The remnants of one. If he were looking to relocate, I would implore him to select the Potter Manor instead. It’s much larger, and it’s been in the family for centuries. It’s practically a fortress. He would be safe there from anyone who did not wish him well.” 

She very pointedly did not glare at Petunia as she said so.

“I don’t recall where the Potter vacation properties are. Dreadful of me, I know, my mother would be ashamed. But there was definitely one in Italy. A lovely choice, though our shared line, the Blacks, favored Germany and my marital line, the Malfoys, summers in France.” 

She took another sip of her tea, admiring the rigidity with which Petunia held her jaw to keep it from dropping. 

“That does lead to an interesting point, though. The status of Harry’s godfather, my cousin Sirius, is rather tenuous at the moment. We are having difficulties obtaining records of his trial and as such cannot tell whether or not he has lost his ability to own magical land. Due to his incarceration, we can’t just bring him to Gringotts and have him ask for his property deeds, but if he is still legally eligible for part of the family’s inheritance, he currently has the greatest claim to several properties. The primary Black residence cannot pass to one who does not bear the name, and as such is unoccupied at the moment, though the elves keep it ready just in case, but there are no such rules for our London property. If Sirius claimed the London property prior to his incarceration, which I think he might have, as the elf is no longer responding to me, and then his trial deemed him unable to own that land, then. Well, he never did have an heir of his own. That property would likely fall to Harry as well. I do hope he doesn't get overwhelmed by his responsibilities. I would be more than happy to serve as regent and manage them on his behalf until he comes of age.”

Steam was practically coming out of Petunia’s ears. Her face was growing redder and redder. She slowly and firmly set her teacup back on its saucer. A good decision, really. Judging by the indents her fingers were carving into her knees, if she were still holding the delicate porcelain, it would be moments away from shattering. 

“If he has so many houses, why doesn’t he live in one of them? Why is he taking up space under our roof instead of one of his own?”

“Madam, surely you have not forgotten that Harry is a child? At the time of his parents’ passing, he was one. If the Muggles do things differently then I apologize for any offense, but in our world, it is a crime to simply deposit an infant in the entrance hall of a manor and walk away, whether the infant in question owns the manor or not.” 

“The Wizarding government doesn’t have some sort of department for family services? No child welfare agency that could have found someone to raise him?”

“Unfortunately, you are by far his closest living relative. They found you.”
“Where’s our money, then?”

Narcissa paused, then slowly set down her teacup as well.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Where’s our money? Our stipend? Our compensation for taking him in?” Petunia no longer seemed afraid at all. She was gearing up to go on a tirade, shoulders held tightly but hands flying. “We took him in, not that they gave us much of a choice, dumping him on our doorstep like that, but we kept him, didn’t we? We didn’t send him off, though Vernon did try to convince me to. We spent our hard-earned money on him! We put food on his plate and clothes on his back and a roof over his head, drove him to school and the doctor and everywhere else he needed to go. Even took him to get those ugly glasses, and paid for every haircut his mess has ever needed, not that any of it ever made him look halfway decent. If he’s been so rich this whole time, why have we never seen a shred of it? If he has vacation properties, then why was I stuck changing his diapers instead of hiring a blasted nanny and sitting on a beach somewhere?”

Narcissa leaned forward. There was one key mistake Petunia was making, and it was not one Narcissa had found herself guilty of since the moment she was old enough to know better. Anger should be ice, not fire. She would not scream, or rage, or flail her arms like a toddler throwing a tantrum. She would be cool, collected, and ultimately, the winner. 

“I wonder how that balances out. All you’ve spent on him, against all he’s done for you.”

Petunia scoffed.

“All he’s done for us? All he’s done for us? You mean destroying our reputation, bullying our poor son, taking all our money and never showing an ounce of gratitude?” 

“No, Petunia. I meant all his unpaid labor. I meant, I wonder how the cost of raising a child, with a very loose definition of raising, might I add, compares to the cost of a full-time housekeeper, gardener, and live-in chef, twenty-four-seven, three-sixty-five, for, how many years has it been?” 

Petunia was frozen.

“What?”

Chapter Text

“Harry cleans your house, and, looking around me, it seems he does an impeccable job of it. Harry tends to your garden, and it is without a doubt the property’s best external feature. Harry cooks your meals for you, as well, and I think it’s safe to assume that this isn’t a recent development. I think he’s been doing all of your duties as a homemaker for you since he was far too young, if I’m not mistaken. Am I mistaken in any of this, Petunia?”

Petunia had gone very pale.

“How did you know that?”

“So I am correct?”

“Have you been watching us?”

Her voice was sharp, but trembling slightly.

“So here is how this is going to go. You will not seek compensation for any expenses you may have incurred while raising Harry, and I will not seek any compensation on his behalf for the services he has done for you.”

“I—”

“I am not finished. Neither of us will seek compensation, and Harry will leave with me this evening. Any paperwork regarding Harry that ever requires the signature of a parent or guardian, whether from his school, his bank, his doctor, or any other, you will sign and immediately send to me . I will determine whether parental approval is within his best interests and proceed accordingly. If anyone muggle asks where he is, you will make up an excuse that aligns with whatever you have already told your neighbors about him. If anyone magical asks after him, you will not mention me. You will tell them whatever you think they want to hear, then immediately write to me. From here on out, all responsibility for Harry will be mine. You, as the custodial adult, will simply be a figurehead.”

“You—”

“This will last for as long as it takes for me to get the paperwork in order for all legal, physical, and magical custodies to be transferred to me. Once I have that paperwork, you will see me, my lawyer, and a government official one more time. You will sign, and we shall part as if strangers. In exchange for your cooperation during that period, you will never have to see Harry again. He will never darken your doorstep. He will never even walk down this street. You will never have to worry about putting clothes on his back, food on his plate, and a roof over his head . I will. You will never be sent a single bill. He will never contact you and no one will contact you on his behalf. It will be as if this past decade was just a dream, and you and your family will be free to move on as if it never happened.” 

Petunia tried to cover up her shock by taking another sip of tea. It did not work very well. The fear had returned, worse than it had been before, and her hand was shaking hard enough she almost spilled it. She stared at the teacup held in front of her.

“I’m… not sure I can do that.”

“I’m not sure you have a choice.”

Petunia’s head shot up.

“The letter said we would be in danger if we got rid of him!”

“What letter?”

“The letter left with him. The one from Dumbledore.”

“When did you have contact with Dumbledore?”

“He’s the one who left the boy here!”

Now that was interesting. Actually, it could work in her favor. Dumbledore had no authority to decide who got custody of Harry, as long as she worked quickly. As Headmaster he could act in the best interests of his students, but Harry wasn’t his student yet. He wasn’t officially a Hogwarts student until after his Sorting. She could use that. If he was placed without due process, she could call it a miscarriage of justice. That would do wonders to mitigate the harm that could be done to her reputation if anyone questioned her motives…

“What exactly did the letter say?”

“That the freaks who killed the Potters would come after us too, but something about his magic would protect us. He was safe, so his home was safe, so if we lived with him, we would be, too! So you can’t take him!”

That was the most ridiculous thing Narcissa had heard in a very long time. 

“Dumbledore lied to you.” 

Petunia froze.

“What?”

“May I speak bluntly?”

“As if you haven’t been this entire time.”

She hadn’t been, actually, but if that was what it took to get through to this woman…

“Petunia Dursley, no one in the Wizarding World gives a single shit about you or your family.”

Petunia reared back. 

“How dare you.”

“I am serious. You are a muggle woman living in the muggle world with her muggle husband and child. Why would any of them care about you?”

“My sister—”

“Didn’t talk about you very much.”

Petunia flinched.

“I’m sorry, I know that’s not a very nice thing to hear. I have sisters as well, one of whom I have not spoken to in many years. But Lily Evans did not speak about the muggle world often, or anyone in it. Most muggleborns don’t. Would you? If your whole world changed overnight, if you found out you were special, you were magic, and you left the mundane for a world where unicorns roam the forests and the dishes do themselves, would you really try to drag the mundane along with you? When your roommates talk about their siblings who tame dragons or invent lifechanging potions, would you be eager to tell them about your sister who has never held a wand and never will?”

Petunia was conspicuously silent. Narcissa knew she was twisting the knife a little but found herself unable to feel guilty about it. She wasn’t just telling Petunia about the world that had drawn her sister away from her, she was talking about the world the woman had deliberately kept from her nephew. The world she had kept from him because of her own miserable hatred. If she didn’t feel bad about it, why should Narcissa?

“No, you wouldn't. I know who you are because of Severus Snape.”

Petunia scowled.

“I was in the same year as him in school. He wasn’t as bright as Lily. It took him longer than it should have to realize he should have buried his muggle heritage farther down than he did. So he complained about his dear friend Lily’s awful sister, not frequently, but just enough times that when I learned that Harry lived with his muggle Aunt, I vaguely remembered you.”

They sat in silence for a moment.

“My point is, it’s been a decade and no one has come looking for you. In ten years, no one figured out that Harry had living relatives on his mother’s side. Everyone related to him on his father’s side was hounded by the press for the first few months, interrogated to see which magical family was hiding him, but I honestly don’t think it ever occurred to anyone to check the muggle world, even though everyone knew Lily was muggleborn. No one remembers you exist. No one is coming after you. Even if raising Harry gave you access to magical protection, which it does not, it wouldn’t be necessary.”

Petunia was crumbling now, she could see it.

“Actually, you might be in more danger with him here.”

Her fingers twitched.

“What.”

“Well, no one is coming for you now. But if Harry goes to Hogwarts, which you can’t prevent, by the way, they will come fetch him immediately if he doesn’t step off that train with all the other students, and doesn’t know anything about the Wizarding World, it won’t take a genius to realize he was raised in the muggle world. Why, they wouldn’t even have to do any real investigative work, though I’m sure several eavesdropping journalists would be able to get him to talk about where he’s from where they can hear it. All they would have to do is stand on the platform on the last day of school and wait for you to pick him up. You will lead them straight to your husband and child by trying to bring home a living, breathing protective talisman that never had the power to do what Dumbledore said it would.”

Anger was brewing again, and fear still, but both were on Narcissa’s side now.

“But why would he lie to me about that?”

Narcissa took another sip of tea.

“I haven’t understood a thing that man has done in decades. If you ask me, he’s not quite all there anymore. But if I had to take a guess, I’d say he’s meddling again. He wanted Harry to be raised by you and thought fear was the best way to ensure it.”

“Why would he want Harry raised by us? He must have known we don’t want the boy. He didn’t even give us the opportunity to say no!”

“The Headmaster is a very powerful wizard, but he is a sentimental old fool, with quite a lot of emphasis on the ‘old.’ Maybe he thought a child should stay with their mother’s family?”

Petunia snorted.

“How old-fashioned. His father’s side is infinitely better suited, in this case.”

The trap was sprung. 

“So you agree?”

Petunia looked startled.

“Pardon?”

“So you agree? It is in the best interests of everybody involved for custody of Harry to be handed over to me as soon as possible?”

“I— yes, but—”

“You know it is, Petunia. You’re a clever woman, you want your family to be happy and safe and you know the best way to do that is to let me take Harry. He’ll be happy and safe too, but it won’t be your responsibility.”

“Well—”

“What is it that you want, not for your family, but for yourself?”

“I just want none of this to have ever happened!” Petunia burst out. “I never asked for a magical sister! I never asked for a sister at all! All she ever did was run around showing off, making everyone adore her, and I always got landed with the consequences, and here we are, a decade later, and she got herself blown up by freakish terrorists and I’m the one being punished for it!”

Narcissa let her rant. She did not let any of her anger at hearing Harry referred to as a “consequence” or a “punishment” show. She let Petunia work her anger out then sink back into the couch, clutching her tea like it was the only thing holding her together.

“Is that really what you want?”

“To not have Lily’s consequences?”

“To not have Lily. To live like none of this ever happened.”

Petunia closed her eyes. 

“Oh, I don’t know. But there’s no point thinking like that.”

A pause. Silence for a moment while the two women breathed.

“What if there could be?”

“Pardon?” Petunia said exhaustedly.

“What if there was a point to thinking like that? What if I could make it like none of this ever happened?”

Petunia just stared at her. Narcissa looked at her sympathetically.

“You’re right. You never asked for any of this. Whether she meant to or not, Lily hurt you. You were jealous, I can tell. And I think you were also lonely and sad, too.”

Petunia scoffed, but there was no energy to it.

“Is therapy part of your deal, too?”

“I’m afraid not. But removing this could be.”

“In case you missed a memo, Lily has already been quite thoroughly removed from my life.”

“Not while her son is in your guest room.”

Petunia cringed. 

“So you’re offering to take him away.”

“I’m offering to take both of them away. Him, and her ghost.”

“...is that possible?”

There was no hope in her voice, nothing wistful or longing. It was the voice of a woman who had given up a long time ago.

“It is.”

“...No, it’s not.”

Narcissa raised an eyebrow. 

“I do have magic, you know.”

“And that magic will let you go back in time and prevent the birth of my sister?”

“No. But it will let me go back in your mind and erase all memories of her.”

Petunia slowly sat back up.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I can erase your memories of Lily. I can do the same to your husband and your son. You will not remember having a sister, you will not remember that she had a son. You will not remember that another little boy ever lived in this home with your family.”

Petunia sat in shock.

“Only if that is what you wish, of course.”

“And the neighbors? They’ll know something is wrong if one day I have a nephew living with me and the next, he’s gone and I’m pretending he was never there to begin with.”

“That’s a slightly trickier bit of magic, but still one I am capable of. I can’t charm them all, but I can place a charm on you. Anyone who tries to speak about either of them to you will find their minds gently redirected, until the day their thoughts can’t travel in that direction at all, whether you are present or not.”

“And it won’t… hurt?”

“Not at all. The charm takes time to work. If I perform it for you this evening, you will go to sleep like normal and by the time you wake up, it will all be over.”

“And tomorrow?”

“You may wake with a feeling like you’ve forgotten something, but it will pass. You’ll check the stove and see you did not leave it on. You’ll check the door and see it was locked. You’ll check your calendar and find you do not have an appointment you are missing. You will brush off the feeling and it will go away.”

“And… and the boy?”

She’d obviously already made up her mind. She just needed to justify it to herself. Narcissa smiled gently.

“Harry will come with me. My husband will be happy to take him under his wing, and my son would love to spend more time with a boy his own age. He will be safe, and he will be happy, and neither of you need trouble yourself with the other ever again.”

“And… my sister?”

“Your sister was gone from the muggle world long before her death. She left it at eleven and you knew, even when she returned for the summer, she didn’t belong there anymore, if she ever did in the first place. You have no friends who remember her, No one will ask after her. Let her fade from the muggle world entirely. The Wizarding World will cherish her memory, and you will not be burdened by it.” 

<>II<>

After that, it didn’t take much convincing. 

They climbed the stairs together, Dobby cleaning up the tea behind them. Petunia clung to the railing, hands trembling slightly.

Narcissa charmed Vernon first, letting Petunia lead her to the bedroom where he was already in bed, watching television. She performed the spell more slowly than necessary, gentling her movements so they flowed together into something that looked almost kind. They left Vernon, still focused on the TV as if nothing had happened. 

With Petunia reassured, she dealt with Dudley next. They walked into his room and his back was to the door. Narcissa cast the charm again, and as they left the room, Dudley was cursing at his video game. His lapse in concentration had caused him to lose a round, but he never even noticed they were there. 

Narcissa performed the final charm right there in the hallway. That way Petunia could go directly to her room and shut the door behind her. She would not see or hear Narcissa removing Harry from the house. She gave the woman a soft smile and a dignified nod goodbye. Petunia nodded back, wiped eyes that she would never admit were moist, and retired to her room for the night. 

If there were any traces of Harry in the house, this was when Narcissa would have ensured that they disappeared also. But he was not included in the family photos on the mantle. His height was not recorded next to Dudley’s on the wall in the mudroom. His school reports were not on the fridge. There was no tangible record of him in the house for Narcissa to erase, and somehow, that made it worse.

Narcissa stood alone in the hallway a moment longer, her face impassive. Memories were such a tricky subject, slippery and fickle. Removing them was even more so. The problem is, there are too many connections in the brain. Too many things tie in to other things. The part of the brain that stores smells is near the part that stores long term memory. That’s why you can walk into a place you’ve never visited before in your life, inhale, and be catapulted into a memory so old you thought you’d forgotten it. The same is true for emotional ties to objects. You can look at a toy you treasured as a baby and not know what it is or where you got it, but be sure that a part of you loves it for reasons you can’t explain. 

Narcissa could remove Lily. She could walk through Petunia’s mind and erase every trace of a girl with red hair and magic in her soul. But she couldn’t remove the loneliness. She couldn’t remove the residue of days spent alone in an empty house, and the abandonment that entails. She couldn’t remove the insecurity, the aftereffects of a childhood spent second best, knowing that you faded into the background whenever someone better than you was near. And worst of all, she couldn’t remove the guilt, not that she was overly tempted to try. She could do something about it, though. She could amplify it.

Petunia was not a very nice woman. She was lonely and bitter and hurt, yes, but that does not change the fact that she hurt people. She hurt a child . She took all of that pain inside of her that she thought she’d buried and took it all out on a little boy who’d done nothing to deserve it. His only sin was the fact that he was born to a woman who had magic at her fingertips and chased it, not caring what she would leave behind. And for that, Petunia would feel the consequences forever. 

Narcissa hadn’t lied. The feeling that she was forgetting something would pass. Soon, no one in the house would have any idea that they’d ever lived any other way. But the rest of the feelings would linger. Dudley would have it easiest. He was cruel, but he was a cruel child. It was his parents’ fault more than it was his. He wasn’t irredeemable yet. Vernon would still be hurt, though. Whatever anger, insecurity, or other it was that caused him to take everything out on a young boy was still there, just without a target, and without whatever reprieve having that target for so long had given him. Any healing he’d done at the expense of Harry was gone and in its place was the feeling that he was a disaster waiting to happen, a reaction building up pressure until one day he would explode. Petunia, though, had it worse than all of them. She would keep her insecurity, her feelings of inferiority, her desperation to feel perfect, look perfect, be perfect, but she wouldn’t have anyone to blame it on. She would look at the aspects of her life that she didn’t like and would have to face the fact that they were hers. Her home, her garden, all of her outward expressions of inner worth issues would crumble without her nephew’s maintenance but she wouldn’t know what caused the difference. She would just know that she’d had it all, then something within her changed and she couldn’t keep it together any longer. 

She would beg when Narcissa reversed the charm for a moment to collect her signature. She would say Narcissa lied when she’d said it wouldn’t hurt, that she’d been misled, that it wasn’t fair . Narcissa would smile and imply it would all go away if she just signed her rights away, and Petunia wouldn’t hesitate. Narcissa would smile again much less reassuringly, repair the memory charm, and leave, and nothing would change.

All three Dursleys would drown in guilt. They would live with the bone-deep ache of having hurt someone they knew deep down had done nothing to deserve it. That guilt would haunt them for the rest of their lives, no matter how much they repented, no matter how many acts of charity they did. It would hang over them like a cloud and they would grow to hate themselves for the suffering they knew they’d caused, even as they drove themselves crazy trying to figure out what it was they had ever done so wrong. 

Narcissa’s memory charm was flawless. That wasn’t the memory spell, though. That was a nifty little charm in a heavily cursed book in the Black family library. That was all Narcissa. 

Narcissa straightened her posture and spread a gentle smile across her face. There was no need to upset Harry with the knowledge of what she had done. He seemed like such a sweet boy, and he was far too young to deal with such things. She’d handled it, and what was done was done. He would be safe now, and that was all that mattered.

She walked slowly across the hall and knocked on the last door. 

“Harry? It’s Cousin Narcissa. I’ve come to take you home.”