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Chapter Text

Chapter 1: Lord Apparent

Harry James Potter was not having a good time! The Twelve-year-old, fresh from his second year at a magical boarding school, had been expecting to be picked up from the train station by his aunt Petunia and uncle Vernon (to then be carted off to another summer of servitude). Instead, the boy found that his relatives couldn’t even be bothered to do that.

“Are you lost, lad?”

Harry spun around, nearly stumbling over his luggage trunk, to be met by a kind looking man with a face that spoke of a life well lived without seeming old. “No, sir. I guess I am supposed to be finding my own way home.”

“Ah.” The man nodded. “you’ll be needing the knight bus then.” To Harry’s shock, the man pulled out a wand and stuck it straight in the air (almost like hailing a cab). To the boys further shock, it seemed to have worked as a violently purple bus zoomed into existence with a loud bang and a flash of light.

“The cost is eleven sickles, here ya are lad.”

“Thank you, Mr.-“

“Nott, Victor Nott. And you are welcome…” Mr. Nott leaned in very close “Lord apparent Potter.” Then as he pulled away, the man said, “be sure to ask for a sticking charm.”

Harry wasn’t sure what Lord apparent meant but he was grateful, so he nodded politely and boarded the bus. “Number 4 Privet Drive, Surrey” Harry said to the conductor as he handed over the sickles. “Could I also trouble you for a sticking charm?”

“o’ course kid.” The conductor replied with a flourish of his wand.

Harry was immediately grateful for the charm as the bus gave off another flash bang and hurled itself down the streets of muggle London. Harry wanted to ask about muggle detection, his own experiences with Ron and the Weasley’s flying car at the beginning of the year still fresh in his mind, but the rebelling of the boys stomach would not allow for speech of any kind. Thirty minutes, and several stops later, Harry was unstuck from his seat and informed that he had arrived at his stop.

“Thanks.” Harry mumbled as he dazedly stepped off the bus, bent at the waist and vomited in his aunt’s garden. When Harry finally got his bearings and spared a piteous thought for the verbal and physical lashing, he would get for being sick on the Dursley’s lawn, his jaw dropped at the sight before him. The quaint house, in which Harry had spent eleven years of his life in, was empty. Gone from the driveway was his aunt and uncle’s shiny Ford Mondeo, and standing proudly was the estate agent sign declaring ‘SOLD’. Harry had always known that his relatives did not like him, rationally the boy knew…that did not seem to matter to his feelings, however. Even if he had been regaled to a life of servitude and solitude, Petunia and Vernon had at least kept Harry sheltered and alive and Harry had mistaken those actions as some sort of care. Now though, the proof was staring him in the face…’it was obligation, not care. Something must have shifted, and they no longer thought the obligation was worth their time.’ Harry’s thoughts began to spiral, and his breathing became ragged. Just as the pre-teen was losing himself to panic, a very ornery horned eagle swooped at Harry’s head and barely missed with its sharp talons. On the second pass, the owl dropped a thick envelope that could have only come from the wizarding world. The envelope was sealed with wax and bore a crest that Harry did not recognize. At a loss for anything else to do, Harry opened the letter.

‘Lord apparent Potter,

As of 3pm, this afternoon of June 3^rd , 1993 you are herby on notice that all Potter assets have been frozen. If you do not present yourself to Gringotts bank within 48 hours, we will begin notice of death procedures and if a qualified heir to the House of Potter is not found in the prescribed calendar year, then all Potter assets will be seized by the bank. If you are not in fact dead, do ask for Bladespring upon arrival. If you are dead, you need not show face.

May your gold be plentiful and your enemies minimal,

Bladespring

Snr accounts manager

Warrior of the rebellion

Gringotts Bank’

Harry read and re-read the letter twice, his forgotten panic over the Dursleys abandonment, replaced by panic over his potential loss of the only connection left to his parents. Quickly digging around in his trunk, Harry finds the last galleon to his name and then thuds the trunk shut. Harry searches the street for passersby and when all is clear, he emulates the motion he saw used by Mr. Nott at the train station.

“Back for another trip already lad?” the conductor of the knight bus smiled playfully.

“Could I get a lift to the Leaky Cauldron?” Harry asks, barely contained panic lacing his voice. The boy hands over his last Galleon with shaky hands. “As fast as Possible, please.”

The conductor looks between Harry and the Galleon for a moment and then nods slowly. “Suppose you’ll be needin anoth’r stickin charm then?” the man asks.

Harry nods in the affirmative as he takes a seat. With the charm in place the bus lets out, what Harry assumes is its signature, crack of light and near sonic boom and speeds off. Knowing what to expect this time, Harry is prepared and feels well enough to ask his questions from the first ride. “How is it possible that this obviously magical bus avoids muggle detection?”

“Easy!” The conductor snorts in derision. “Muggles don’t pay no attention, do they.”

Harry keeps his opinion on ‘muggle observation skills’ to himself but the boy cant help but remember the snarl on Professor Snape’s face as the man lamented the issue of Ron and Harry having been seen in a flying car by “no less than Eight Muggles”.

“How does the Bus avoid crashes?” Harry askes.

“Proximity avoidant wards I imagine.” The conductor replies. “I don’ have much in the ways of warding but these wards were made by me family.”

“How are wards cast?” Harry asks, having heard the term but unfamiliar with the magic.

“Runes o’course.” Replies the man “it’s an elective offered at Hogwarts. Not practical in immediate use but dead useful if ya got time to prepare.”

Suddenly the bus comes to an abrupt stop with another flash and a bang and Harry is unstuck from the seat. As the boy goes to grab his trunk, the conductor stops him “would ya like a shrinking charm?”

“That would be great.” Harry, enthuses.

 With his trunk shrunk, and in his pocket, it takes Harry no time at all to make his way through the dingy pub and to the back courtyard where he is then able to make his way into the magical, Diagon Alley. As it has been in every visit since his eleventh birthday, Harry finds the Ambiance perfect and relaxing. Not forgetting why he is here in the first place, Harry Potter makes his way briskly down the Alley and up the stairs of the imposing marble structure of Gringotts Bank. The lobby of the bank is empty in a way Harry hasn’t seen before, likely due to the fact that so many families are likely to be occupied by their reunions with children they have not seen since at least Christmas but possibly since September. Shaking off the melancholic abandonment by his relatives, Harry forges on to the first open teller.

“Name and Business?” the goblin behind the counter asks, not looking up from his work.

“Harry Potter, here to see Bladespring.” Harry replies succinctly.

The goblin barks something in a language Harry is unsure actually qualifies as a language, and a second goblin appears.

“Take Lord apparent Potter to senior account manager Bladespring.” The teller says in English.

The second goblin only nods and begins walking away, Harry follows mutely. As the duo make their way down a well decorated corridor lined with tapestries depicting bloody battles and mounted weapons glittering in the sunlight, Harry is drawn back to the titles signed at the bottom of his letter. ‘Snr accounts Manager, Warrior of the rebellion’ Harry thinks to himself ‘Goblins are not just bankers…they are warriors and fighters as well…they have their own culture…why does Binns only teach us about the wars?’ Harry’s musings are cut short when his escort stops at a set of heavy deep red wood double doors. The escort knocks in a way that looks, to Harry, more like punching but the outcome is the same either way.

“Enter!” a gruff, muffled, voice echoes from within.

“Account manager Bladespring, lord apparent Potter is here to see you.” The escort goblin says.

“Is he?” Bladespring asks with a hint of humor. “Send him in then Runner.” The escort then gestures for Harry to enter and then bows respectfully before leaving, shutting the door after him.

“Lord apparent Potter?” Bladespring asks, eyes assessing and looking as if left wanting.

“My name is Harry Potter, yes.” Harry replies, unsure of the title.

Bladespring mutters something under his breath and then gestures to a seat opposite him at a beautiful orange wood desk.

“Before we begin, I am going to need proof of identification. It would not due for me to be giving out sensitive client information to the wrong person.”

“Of course.” Harry nods readily. “What sort of identification do I need.”

The account manager eyes Harry once again, appraisingly, before handing over a parchment and a black feather quill.

“I need you to write your name” The goblin continues just as Harry is to ask about ink. “Blood will be drawn by the quill to use as ink. It is standard bank procedure.”

Harry nods dumbly and writes out ‘Harry James Potter’ in his typical blocky letters, having not yet adapted to writing with quills. A full body shiver runs down Harry’s spine as the blood disappears into the paper.

“Do you have negative reactions to blood quills, Lord apparent Potter?”

“No.” Harry says flatly, I have bad experiences with ink that is absorbed by parchment.”

“I assure you that no harm will befall you within these walls. My family has served yours since before the banks existence and I will continue to do the same.”

“How could your famil-“ Harry is cut off as new ink begins forming on the parchment that had his name just moments before. Within minutes, the parchment was filled with names and dates written in either green or gold.

“The names Written in green are those that have died and the gold names are those that are still alive.” Bladespring says.

Harry finds that no less than four golden names are among his own…and isn’t that a sock

“My name isn’t my name?” Harry asks.

“Your name is your name Lord apparent Potter. The name you have gone by is a nomer.”

“What is a nomer?” Harry asks blankly.

“It is a shortened name that children use prior to being presented to society…it is seen as improper for non-familial relations to call you by your nomer after your presentation to society…it is wixen tradition and your parents did not have the time or resources to let people know about your true name.”

“Right.” Harry nods in understanding, beginning to actually examine the names attached to his own. “Wait! I’m related to headmaster Dumbledore?”

“What?” Bladespring growls, snatching the parchment away.

Harry isn’t sure why that is such a startling revelation and he’s doubly unsure who Gellert is but Harrys knows what he saw.

“It appears that secrets abound in the House of Evens as well as House Potter. You have my assurances that this will remain with me as all other Potter secrets have.”

“Uh, thanks Bladespring…but why is Dumbledore being related to me a secret and what does it have to do with my mothers family?” Harry asks.

“Given that I served both of your parents prior and during Albus Dumbledore’s overstayed tenure as proxy of house Potter, and his relationship to lady Potter was never mentioned, I can only conclude that either Lady Potter did not know of her relation or took that secret to her grave,”

“I don’t understand what you’re talking about Bladespring.” Harry states flatly.

The goblin hands back the parchment and says, “It is not Albus Dumbledore’s relation to you that I am referring to, it is the partner listed next to him…though both do have their own assorted problems.”

Harry takes back the Parchment and his eyes immediately find the bright pink line connecting the headmaster to a golden name scrawled in elegant calligraphy. ‘Gellert Grindelwald’. Horrifying details immediately thud into place.

“Lord Grindelwald?” Harry asks, frightened of the answer. “The dark lord who terrorized Europe during muggle World War II? He had a child with the man that is credited for his defeat? And that child had a child and that child had my mother and my aunt Petunia? Headmaster Dumbledore had a child with the Dark lord Grindelwald and now they are my great-great-grandparents?”

“That is what your blood says, yes”. Bladespring replied factually.

“That poses to many questions at the moment…what about this name…Neville Longbottom? I’ve been sharing a dorm with him for two years now and he hasn’t mentioned us having a connection at all.”

“I can not speak for Lord Presumptive Longbottom’s actions, but I can confirm that the two of you are indeed related…on your grandmothers side.” Bladespring taps a sharp claw on a name scrawled in green, Euphima Potter nee Longbottom.’ Lady Euphima was born as the youngest of three to parents, lord Yewin and lady Fiona Longbottom nee Prewett. Lady Euphima had two brothers, Harfang and Algernon. Harfang married Lady Agusta Longbottom nee Crouch, and they had a son, Frank. Frank Longbottom and your father, James, were cousins but grew up as close as brothers. Lord presumptive Neville Longbottom is your second cousin.”

“Why hasn’t he said anything?” Harry asked desperately.

“I do not know, Lord-“

“Please stop calling me lord apparent Potter. It is a mouthful, and I don’t even know what the title means.” Harry interrupted. “You can call me Harry or, if you insist of formality then, you can call me Mr. Potter.”

“I will make a note of that, Mr. Potter” Bladespring affirms.

“What about these other two names?” Harry points to the last two golden names, Lord apparent Solis Black and Heir Ladislaus Prince, in a family tree made of nearly all green. “More cousins that I don’t know about?” the boy laments miserably.

“No, Mr. Potter.” The goblin says shortly. “Those names branch off separately from each of your parents…those are your siblings…”

“Excuse me? What? But this says that the kids were born in September of 1976…my parents would have been teenagers…they would have still been in school. Surely, I could not have secret siblings and nobody knows…especially not the headmaster.”

“I cannot attest to who knows what.” Bladespring says hesitantly.

“You know something.” Harry hedges.

 “I have guesses.” The goblin corrects.

“What are they.” Harry insists. “I promise not to hold it over your head if you’re wrong, but any information is better than the thoughts spiraling inside my head.”

“I have served as a Potter confidant for the past three Potter lords, my family has always been more than account managers to the House of Potter. Your grandfather spent many hours dissecting your fathers time at school. For the first three years at Hogwarts, your father only pursued your mother romantically. From Lord Fleamont’s musings I gather that in their fourth year, your mother began dating someone else. Your father did the same, respecting your mother’s clear refusal. In the spring of their fifth year, something seemed to shock the Hogwarts social life, and many couples did not see it through.”

“Do you know who my parents were dating?” Harry asked, looking significantly at the parchment.

“I do not, but given your siblings are listed as heirs to their Houses, I can infer.”

“Who are they?” Harry asked.

“Gringotts has strict rules against sharing personal client information, Mr. Potter, I am sorry.”

Harry deflates. “That’s okay. I understand. I wouldn’t want just anyone to be able to get their hands on my information either.” The boy looked up suddenly. “Do you think they are at Hogwarts? Do you think they know about me?”

“If they are at school with you, they are not using their real names. Names like these would inherently draw attention from pure-bloods and doubly so given their lord and heir status’.” Bladespring then traces the faded black line connecting Solis’s name to James Potter and Harry notices that his eldest brothers connection is visibly different from every other connection on the tree.

“Bladespring. Why is the line between Solis and our dad faded?” Harry asks worriedly.

“It means that Lord apparent Black has not been formally recognized as a full son of house Potter.”

“My dad didn’t want Solis?” Harry’s heart breaks just a bit for his brother.

“Either that, or your father died before he could claim his son.” Bladespring nods.

“Solis was born in 1976…is it possible that his partner did not tell my dad?”

“That is more than likely what happened…I can not imagine any scenario where Lord James Potter turns away a child of his, especially after his fathers death a year after this child was born.”

“What about Ladislaus? He isn’t a Potter at all, but his line is fully connected to my mum.”

“That means that lord Prince has acknowledged your brother as his heir.”

“So, that means Ladislaus is living with his father?” Harry asks, jealousy taking over just a bit.

The goblin snorts humorously. “Not necessarily, this is treading back into information I am not at liberty to discuss, However, I assure you that a dedicated person could find what they are looking for with a search of public records.”

“That’s brilliant!” Harry says Happily. “I suppose now is as good a time as any to talk about what brought me to the bank in the first place. What do you need from me in order to unfreeze the Potter account? I’d rather my things not get taken and end up broke.”

Bladespring laughs heartily. “The process is quite simple Mr. Potter.” The goblin pulls out a green velvet box and hands it to Harry. “Typically this would have been done on your eleventh birthday, but I have been unable to reach you until this summer.”

You’ve been sending me letters?” Harry asks. “I’ve never gotten a single letter from Gringotts.”

“We can have that rectified before you leave today then as well. All I need from you to unfreeze the Potter estate is to put that ring on.”

Harry takes the gold ring out of the box and inspects the green fire etched into the metal. When the boy places the ring on his right middle finger it immediately resizes to fit snugly.

“Congratulations Lord Harrison James-Antioch Peverell. May your vaults be filled by the gold of your enemies.”

“Yes, maybe that is another thing we should address.” Harry says, settling back into the comfortable chair. “What is with that name? Surely that (Harry gestures to the absurd name and title listed at the top of his family tree) is not actually my name”

“Not all of it, no” Bladespring says. “Most of it is titles and whatnot. Your actual name is just Harrison James-Antioch Peverell.”

“Okay, that is slightly better, but what about the rest of it? What dose it mean for me?”

“The rest of it is titles all Potters have held before you with the exception of two. Your full name and title are:

Harrison James-Antioch Peverell

Lord Presumptive of the Ancient and Noble House of Potter

Lord Conqueror of the Ancient and Noble House of Gaunt

Lord Magicum of the Hallowed House of Peverell

Secret Keeper of the Peverell Legacy

“That makes me sound like a pretentious ass.” Harry says flatly. “I can appreciate that my family is old and powerful, but it cannot possibly be this extreme.

“Not to worry, Mr. Potter. I have taken the liberty of compiling two of the most pertinent family tomes for you to better understand your newfound position. I have also compiled the results of all yearly estate audits for the past decade. I would also suggest looking into your proxy’s Wizengamot actions as it always behooves us to know what has been done in our own name.”

“Great, uh. Thanks Bladespring.” Harry nod. “I don’t suppose you also have a way for me to carry this all around, do you?”

The goblin smiles toothily and pulls out a deep green leather satchel. “It is enchanted, of course, bottomless on the inside and near weightless. It is also impervious to most forms of damage and larceny.”

“Thank you Bladespring, again.”

“Do reach out if you find yourself in need of anything, Lord Potter.”

Remembering the farewell address in his letter and the greeting after he claimed his Potter ring, Harry nodded in respect and said, “May your axe glisten in the blood of your enemies.”

It must have been the right thing to say because Harry heard a soft “It does.” As he made his way out of the office.

Chapter Text

On his way out of the bank, Harry stopped at a teller to get some gold from his vault only to find that his key no longer worked. “What do you mean my key is invalid?”

The goblin stared at the boy for a moment before rolling his eyes. “Your ring, Lord Potter. Your ring now acts as your key. It will also work as a payment method at stores themselves, simply ask any clerk for a receipt and stamp the face of the ring on said receipt. A copy will be sent to the bank, and the funds will be dispersed.”

Harry nodded in understanding. It made sense that wizards would have alternative ways of spending their money. Harry could hardly see a man like Lucius Malfoy making daily trips to his vault for gold. “Right. Of course. Thank you.” Harry mumbled as he scurried out of the doors.

As he stepped outside, Harry was surprised to find that the sun was just now setting, casting a hue of gold over the alley. Harry was further surprised to find that the clock at the corner only read 7pm. Twelve-year-old Harry could scarcely believe that only twelve hours had passed since the end of his second year and only three hours had passed since his discovery of Dursley’s abandonment. With tired legs and a heavy heart, Harry made his way to the leaky cauldron. The trek to the pub was slow moving, Harry becoming entranced by the different magical offerings he had never really had a chance to investigate during other visits to the Alley. ‘a whole summer of magic,” Harry thought in wonder. When the boy finally made his way to the pub, he found it full of witches and wizards engaged in varying conversations. Ducking his head, to avoid being mobbed, Harry makes his way across the sticky floors and through the crowd of drinking patrons. “What are the prices of your rooms?” Harry asks the barkeep, a woman with curly brown hair and icy blue eyes.

“20 Galleons a night, or 130 a week. for long term stays you can also get 3 meals a day for an extra 5 galleons a day.” The woman rattles off the numbers all the while managing two other customers and never spilling a crumb of food or drink.

Being exceptionally skilled at maths, Harry does the quick mental addition and nods to himself.

“Could I get a room for 6 weeks. With meals included?” the barkeep gives Harry a curious onceover, studying his muggle clothes he had changed into on the train. “I’ll also need a receipt for payment.” Harry adds, subtly placing his hand with the lordship ring on the counter.

The barkeep finally nods and hands over a sheaf of parchment with a list of charges that concur with Harry’s own math. The total came out to 990 Galleons. The boy knows that he can afford it, despite not having looked at his audit yet, due to the sheer number of Galleons that had been in his vault at the start of the year. Knowing he can afford it does not ease the knot in his stomach at the idea of spending nearly 5,000 pounds but Harry also knows that this is his only option at the moment…he has nowhere else to go. With a small sigh, Harry stamps his ring on the parchment and watches in fascination as a gold shield appears on the parchment. In the center of the shield is a black leathery looking horse with wings. The horse is in the center of a solid green circle. Inscribed on the flank of the horse, not dissimilar to a tattoo, is a golden triangle surrounding a golden circle bisected by a golden line. At the bottom of the shield is a scrawl of Latin, Honor in Igne Servatus.

“Is it also possible” Harry began. “To have a spot of dinner brought up to my room?”

The barkeep took back the parchment and nodded shortly, while retrieving a rusty brown key. “Room 9. The third floor at the end of the hall. What will you be having for food?”

“Whatever you recommend, Ma’am.” Harry replied quickly. “Thank you.”

Harry made his way further down the bar, to the stairs that led to the upper floors, ignoring the other patrons. Outside his designated room Harry opened the door to find, not a simple room as he had expected but, a unit that resembled more of an apartment than a room found at an inn. The door opened into a sitting room that would not look out of place in an old Victorian style home, if the home had remained untouched by time. There was a small fireplace with deep red armchairs scattered in front of it. From the door he had just entered, Harry could see a small kitchenet with a gas burner and an icebox. across the fireplace stood two doors. One of the doors, Harry found, leads to a Spartan bathroom with a single sink, a toilet, and a standing shower. The other door led to an equally spartan bedroom with only a dresser, a bed, and large windows looking over the alley below. Overall, this place was already proving to be better than anything the Dursley’s would have come up with. Despite his conflicting emotions regarding his relatives abandonment of him, Harry was looking forward to an entire summer in the magical world. As the boy put his bag on his new bed and pulled out his shrunken trunk, there was a knock at the door.

Taking the bowl of delicious smelling stew and a butterbeer, Harry turned back to the woman. “Could I trouble you for a resizing charm?” eyeing the boy and the shrunken trunk on his couch, the witch nodded silently and flicked her dark wood wand. The woman appeared to be readying to ask her own questions, presumably about Harrys age, but the boy quickly handed over a fistful of coin. Instead of speaking, the woman nodded stiffly and walked out of the room.

An hour later, with his food eaten, dishes taken, evening ablutions taken care of, and a sigh of relief, Harry Potter was done for the day. The boy crawled into his massive bed and immediately fell asleep.

The next morning, the mid-morning sun was already blazing brightly when Harry was woken by a frantic tapping. Peaking a single eye, Harry was startled fully awake by the sight of his own snowy white owl pecking angrily at his bedroom window. In a flurry of rushed movement, causing the boy to tumble to the floor, Harry threw open the glass.

“Hedwig! I am so sorry girl. I completely forgot about you. You would not believe the day I had, after getting off the train. You’re so smart to have found me here.” Harry rambled, his hands ruffling the owls feathers gently.

Hedwig glanced around the room, assessing, and gave a hoot when her beady eyes landed on the empty wire cage sitting on the dresser.

“No, girl. Not this summer.” Harry hissed vehemently. “We won’t ever be caged again if I can help it.”

The owl gave a hoot of approval while following Harry from the bedroom and to the kitchen, where Harry prepared a bowl of water and set out a clump of owl treats. With his companion taken care of for the moment, Harry went about his own morning ablutions. As the twelve-year-old emerged from the bathroom, dressed in oversized trousers held tightly by a too large belt and a t-shirt that hung from the boy like a child playing dress-up in his parents clothes, there was a knock at the door. Harry opened it to find an elderly man with kind honey-brown eyes, thin whisps of grey hair, and a toothy yellow smile that had gaps between the teeth. The man nodded mutely and handed over a tray laden with a full English fry up that Harry was sure would have made his cousin salivate. Harry politely took the tray with a quiet “Thank you, sir.”

“The name’s Tom, Lord Potter. Would you prefer something different?” The man asked genuinely, not a hint of derision or anger to his voice.

“No. No” Harry began. “I wouldn’t want to put you out. This is perfect.” And it really was. Having intimate experience with starvation, Harry had desensitized to food rather quickly and learned to accept whatever food was offered.

“All the same, if you leave a preference with anyone at the bar, we can accommodate.”

“Thank you, Tom.” Harry smiled.

“What brings you to stay at the leaky this summer, Lord Potter?”

“How do you know about my title?” Harry asked, avoiding the man’s question.

“Your house coat of arms.” At Harry’s dumbstruck look, Tom pulled out the receipt Harry had stamped yesterday. “The Potter coat of arms is as distinguishable as any other ancient and noble house, what is less recognizable is the slight differences in a stamp of an heir to that of a lord.”

“So not everyone would immediately recognize that I’ve taken my family lordship then?” Harry asked hesitantly, placing the tray of food on the table in front of the couch. When Harry turned back to face Tom, the old man had a curious look on his face, and he seemed to examine Harry.

“I doubt anyone would notice, actually.” Tom states hesitantly. “Even the families themselves seem to be oblivious to the small deviations.

“Really?” Harry asks, fascinated. “How do you know about it and the houses themselves don’t?”

“I was once a member of high society, Lord Potter. I was disowned for a difference in opinion to my family’s.”

“Oh.” Harry says ashamed. “I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

“It is no matter. It’s been quite some time since and given I am the last blood of my old name, I feel justified in my old opinions.” Tom put the receipt away and nodded. “Make sure to leave a preference of food with the bar at some point, Lord Potter. While my accommodations appear less than ideal, I do take pride in offering exceptional service…and discretion.”

Harry would have had to be brain dead to not catch the implication at the end. He won’t say I’m here. He wont tell people what he knows. Harry isn’t fully sure why he does not want people to know about his newly acquired status, but he appreciates the gesture Tom is offering. “Thank you, Tom.”

The barkeep leaves, the door closing behind him with a click.

Harry takes a seat on the couch and begins eating his breakfast.

By the time his food was gone, afternoon sunlight filled the room from a dazzling glass domed ceiling Harry had not noticed the previous night. Harry has also had plenty of time to ponder Tom’s words and finds himself unloading the contents of his magically enhanced bag. Replacing the breakfast dishes on the coffee table is now two heavy-looking tomes with what Harry now recognizes as, the Potter coat of arms etched into the worn leather covers. Also on the table is a third tome, albeit not as thick though still etched with the Potter crest. Decision made, Harry flips open one of the heavier tomes. Harry finds a title and dedication page.

‘The Rise and Fall of House Peverell: A Tale of Three Kings.’

‘I, Ignotus Peverell, dedicate this Grimoire to all Potter lords to come after me and to my heir, Hardwin Potter.’

Harry traces the calligraphic writing of an ancestor unknown to him. The boy cannot help but feel a sense of foreboding, but Harry is unsure if it is rational or his own poor outlook on life that instigates the feeling. Forging forward anyway, Harry flips the pages and reads. The next page is titled ‘Potter Family Charter’ and the coat of arms is embellished next to it.

Potter Family Charter

The Potter family is one of honor, love, legacy, and secrets. It is the nature of our secrets that clause one of this charter is a failsafe. By blood and by magic I will not allow this family to be conquered or taken. Should my blood no longer run in the House of Potter, the magic shall be set free to that which it came to me and my own.

As the first born of this name, Hardwin Magnus Potter shall hold the mantle of the Potter magic until such a time that his heir is born. It is advised that future lords of house Potter take heed that names matter and should reflect our desires and hopes for our heirs.

            In the spirit of naming rights, it behooves future lords to use our true name sparingly. Use of the Potter name and the mixture of my blood with Magnus has manifested both of our magic differently in all six of our children…reintegration of the Peverell name to the Potters will have un-known and untold consequences.

            Secrets! Upon my death, my son Hardwin will become the first lord Potter and bear the secrets of House Peverell. The secrets of the Peverell legacy will then henceforth become the responsibility of all future lords of this house. Preparation of heirs to properly shoulder these secrets must also be paramount.

            Honor in Igne Servatus. Honor preserved in fire. A Potter’s word is their honor, and it is forged in the fire of our soul. To LIE is to discredit our honor.

Harry is captivated! That does not even begin to express his true feelings, but it will Have to do. It took him all day, only breaking for food and the bathroom but the boy finished the grimoire with a frenzy he had not experienced since discovering the Vampire Chronicles by Anne Rice. The Potter Grimoire, or Peverell Grimoire, as Harry had discovered, read like a history textbook of sorts. The tome was just so full of gore and intrigue that Harry could not put it down. Ignotus Peverell detailed how the family came to power at the fall of the dark ages, when settlements became more popular and word of the Peverell magic began to spread. Ignotus talked about a world where wix and non-wix lived together, magical creatures roamed freely, and magic use was not seen as inherently malevolent or evil. The Peverell family, according to Ignotus, became revered due to their natural affinity for magic of the soul. Of course, it was widely known that all magical people had affinities (later called family magic), but none were as all-encompassing as the Peverell’s. A blood born Peverell, with access to their families magic could bring a person back from the brink of death. Similarly, they could also sever ones soul completely from their body, leaving nothing but a corpse in their wake. With their power, Harry was sure that Peverell’s had to have some drawback, something that left them weak or vulnerable. Ignotus proved Harry wrong. Of course, the Peverell’s were not divine and could die just as any human, but it could only be by natural causes or curses not impacting the soul. Peverell children lived extraordinarily long lives, even among wix, combined with their magical proclivity for life and death this made the family the first royals. Just as the family was settling (Three sons born and a kingdom at peace) the king dies suddenly and suspiciously yet no one knows how or why. The mystery does not last long. Immediately following his fathers death, eighteen-year-old Antioch Peverell assumes the throne and begins boasting about his creation of a wand…a wand so powerful that, in conjunction with a soul-severing spell (Avada Kedavra), it can even best a Peverell’s immunity to premature death. Antioch goes on to reign for ten more years, expanding the Peverell empire and doing away with anyone who tries to stop him. Then, in the dead of night after a grueling diplomatic mission, Antioch is asleep when his throat is slit, and the wand is stollen…lost to the Peverell family.

Harry thinks it ironic that his mum and dad seem to have named him after the creator of the killing curse, and even more ironic that he should survive it when his parents did not. How is it that my dad didn’t survive and I did…surely Voldemort didn’t have the wand… Harrys thoughts were quickly scrawled onto a bit of parchment for later research, and he continued. Ignotus wrote about his eldest brothers funeral, the Peverell burial rites and his second brother’s, Cadmus, ascension to the throne. Cadmus was twenty-eight-years old and married to a beautiful woman named Jessamine. Together the couple restored the Peverell kingdom to peace and focused on their familial aspirations…aspirations that would not see fulfilled until thirty-eight years later. At sixty-three years old, Cadmus Peverell lost his wife to childbirth and, despite having a healthy baby girl named Otxoa, his own sanity was lost as well. Grief stricken, Cadmus regaled his daughter’s care to the work of servants while he became obsessed with his family’s magic. Cadmus sought to not just recall a soul on the brink of death but to recall a soul that has already moved on. In fifteen-years of experiments, Cadmus creates things of truly horrible origins (Fiendfyre, Infiri, Horcruxes, and Dementors) each new creation is met with increasing pleads, by his advisors and daughter alike, to stop. In an effort to explain his grief, Cadmus creates a spell of nearly divine torcher (Crucio) and upon its regular use his advisors stop their pleading and his daughter cuts ties to the Peverell family in a very public self-disownment. It takes Cadmus another five years, but he has done it! A stone of resurrection that, upon three turns in the palm of hand, can recall a chosen soul from the land of eternal rest.

Harry has to pause reading the excerpt about Cadmus and his grief. Harry himself had a similar reaction to Quirrell/Voldemort offering to bring back his parents if he had handed over the Philosopher’s stone back in first year. It had been hard for Harry to refuse the offer, but he had done it.

Upon the third turn in Cadmus’s hand, his wife was returned. The reunion was not as sweet as Cadmus had hoped, however. Rather than his wife rejoicing, Jessamine was heartbroken to have been pulled away from her eternal rest and doubly so to see what her husband had become in her absence. Lost to his grief once more, Cadmus let the soul return to the afterlife and destroyed the vessels (Horcruxes) tethering himself to life. Cadmus sent the stone to his estranged daughter (who had long ago married a nice fellow by the name of William Slytherin) and then threw himself upon his own sword.

By the end of Cadmus’s tale, Harry had tear streaks down his cheeks and was unsure if he could handle a similarly tragic tale of Ignotus. His trepidation did not stop him, However, with bated breath Harry continued.

I was eighty-one when Cadmus killed himself, I was sixty-years old when he began his maddening obsession with our family’s soul magic but most importantly, I was twenty-two when Antioch was murdered. When my eldest brother was killed, I began distancing myself from the Peverell name. When I saw Cadmus’s inevitable demise, I severed connection altogether. I did not magically disown myself as my niece had, but I did fashion myself a new name, I created a cloak of impenetrable invisibility and if that were to fail, I also had a spell of compulsion (Imperio) That would force the victim to look away or forget…

This gives Harry pause and perspective. Not only was his cloak his fathers, but it seems to be an ancient artifact of his family’s…Just how many Potters had this cloak before him? All of them, it seemed, if Harry was inferring Ignotus’ words correctly.

By the time Cadmus died, I had been living as Linfred of Stinchcombe for quite a few decades. Despite the kingdoms fervor to find ‘the lost third brother’ none would be successful. I did return, quietly of course, to my family’s seat of power. I performed my brother’s funeral rites in the solitude of night, and I claimed the Peverell magic as magic as my witness. I had Peverell keep emptied and placed into a ‘Potter’ vault at the newly established bank of Gringotts. I retrieved secrecy vows from, and instructed, the Peverell guard (goblins dedicated to our family for a hundred years at this point) to disperse and seek employment elsewhere. When the Peverell family affairs were settled, I returned home to my husband, Magnus, and our children, Hardwin, Edwina, Violet, Isola, Ralston, and Lycris. Magnus has secrets of his own and I respect his as he respects mine. When it came time for us to have children, I fashioned us a potion of immense creativity. Magnus carried and bore all six of our children despite his biological make-up that should have made such an endeavor impossible. After our own successful attempts, Magnus and I began offering the potion to others in their own same-sex relationships. Through observation and personal experience, we were able to reliably annotate and publish our findings on inheritance magic.

The next couple of pages explain magical theory that goes beyond Harry’s understanding, but he does make a note to find any books he can about the topic. The next entry of note is near the early 10^th century.

As any good head of house would, I have kept tabs on my niece’s family. Despite her self-disownment, I can not seem to shake a sense of duty toward her or her children. I have recently gotten word that my dear niece’s grandson, Salazar, is seeking out a place for himself and his comrades to build a safe haven for wix children. It does my old heart good to see that despite growing tensions with non-wix, there are still some wix who are not immediately charging into war. With decades of decay it will need work, but I have sent word via the Potter account manager to anonymously donate Peverell keep to their cause. With any hope, my great-nephew and his friends will find their endeavors successful. With hard work, dedication, ambition, and wit, they will build something that outlives them.

Harry is almost disappointed when he finds only one more entry after that.

‘My death is near, Hardwin is as ready as he can be, and Magnus and Edwina are preparing to do the same. (Hardwin is my magical heir and Edwina is his). Once again, Magnus and I have discovered a magical feat (it is bound to happen when one of us is a born necromancer and the other a druid, but it still astounds me the things we’ve done in our life together. This will be our last piece of magic. Together, with our last breaths, Magnus and I will lock away our individual secrets withing the souls of our heirs, using our family titles as anchors. The Peverell name, and subsequent magic, will die with me but the legacy and secrets will be held by the Potter lords for generations to come. Go well my children.

“Merlin!” Harry exclaims. Outside, the sun has long since set and his owl now seems to want out for a nightly hunt. Harry grunts and stretches as he stands but does as the owl bids him. As Hedwig swoops away, Harry leaves the window cracked while he himself prepares for bed.

Thirty minutes later the boy is fast asleep in his bed, dreams of family and legacy a prominent theme.

Chapter Text

Harry is woken quite early, feeling rested albeit a bit overwhelmed by the information slamming back into focus from the Potter grimoire. The boy is startled, fully awake, by the sight of the imposingly large owl that had delivered the first note from Bladespring only a day before. Harry retrieves the thick envelope from the owl’s talons, careful not to scratch himself. relieved of its burden, the eagle owl does not spare a second glance before swooping out of the open window. As expected, the envelope is sealed with the same wax seal that Harry now assumes to be the crest of Gringotts. Enclosed is a short message.

‘Lord Potter,

I believe it is prudent for the two of us to meet, at your earliest convenience. Please bring along your audit folder as well as any queries I am sure you have acquired.

May others cross you at their own peril,

Bladespring

Snr accounts manager

Warrior of the rebellion

Gringotts Bank’

Harry quickly flips off his blankets and makes a rush for getting ready. Having plenty of experience in getting ready quickly, due to his demanding relatives, Harry is out of the room and down the stairs of the pub in under fifteen minutes. Over his shoulder is the enchanted bag with the Potter audit and parchments of questions from reading Ignotus’ grimoire. After opening the wall into Diagon Alley, Harry cannot help but spare a moment to take in the magical atmosphere. The alley is sparce with people, the shops only just now opening. The early morning sunlight seems to set the display windows ablaze, refracting a kaleidoscope of iridescent color. Even the marble of Gringotts shines just a tad bit brighter. As he makes his way down the street, at a more sedate pace, Harry becomes entranced by this new and exciting view. At the doors of the bank, the boy spares a second’s glance behind him before making his way inside. Due to the early morning, the lobby is as equally void of people as the alley had been and Harry has no trouble finding an open teller. In quick succession, Harry finds himself led back to Bladespring’s office and seated in front of his account manager.

“Good morning, lord Potter. I hope you find yourself plentiful in riches today.”

“I certainly hope so as well.” Harry smiles nervously. “Although, you did request I bring the audit statement with me, so I am unsure if that is actually the case.”

“Have you had the chance to review your audit yet, Lord Potter?” Bladespring asks.

“That was on my list for today, actually. I spent the day yesterday reading through the grimoire.”

“Fantastic!” The goblin barks. “Which one?”

“Which one?” Harry asks.

“Both tomes given to you yesterday are Potter Grimoires. One of them is the first ever Potter Grimoire and the other is the most recent edition.”

“It will have been the first one then.” Harry says. “Written by Linfred.”

Bladespring smiles knowingly and decides to put the boy at ease. “Have you made it all the way through the tome?”

Instantly, Harry is drawn back to his ancestors words after the death of Cadmus. ‘I retrieved secrecy vows from, and instructed, the Peverell guard (goblins dedicated to our family for a hundred years at this point) to disperse and seek employment elsewhere.’ Harry understands Bladespring’s meaning. “Your family served mine…before Gringotts even existed.”

“We did.” The goblin nods. “Your secrets are held by in my families soul just as they are in yours. Ignotus was quite cleaver in the vows extracted from my kin.”

“Are there any other goblins that know?” Harry asks.

“In your language, it would roughly translate to, my son or my heir…he is the only other goblin that is privy to the Potter secrets.”

“Alright.” Harry nods. “Since I planned to go through this today anyway. I suppose we can get started, yes?”

“There are other things I wish to cover first. If you do not mind, Lord Potter.”

“Sure.” Harry agrees. Placing the folder of Potter finances on the table.

“In addition to covering your audit, I also wanted you to know that I have already taken care of your mail issue.” Bladespring said evenly. “I also took it upon myself, due to your status among wixen, to set up another mail ward.”

“What? Why would you do that?” Harry Blanches.

“As I stated, Lord Potter. Because of your status. You are not only lord of house Potter. You are also lord conqueror Gaunt and Lord Magicum Peverell. most importantly, However, you are also revered as the only survivor of the killing curse and the defeater of the previous lord Gaunt. You are bound to get hounded by missives and not all will be friendly in nature. I have taken it upon myself to set up a new ward that will filter your mail to an undisclosed location where a full staff is tasked with sorting and then sending your mail to you. Your mail will be sent through this, from now on.” Bladespring places an ornately decorated red-wood box on the desk and slides it across to Harry. On the lid is the Potter crest. “The same will happen in reverse if you prefer to send mail through the box.” Bladespring adds. “The box will grow warm to the touch and glow a faint gold in relation to the importance of the mail inside.”

“This is genius.” Harry exclaims. “Thank you, Bladespring.”

“Your safety is as important to me as your business is.” The goblin replies simply. “Beyond mail and finances, I also took the liberty of petitioning the wizarding government for your families voting records for the past decade.”

“Wait.” Harry says, sitting forward. “I know the wizarding world’s government works almost the same as feudal Britain did, but how could my family have a voting record for the past decade when I only just learned about my titles?”

“As I mentioned the last time we spoke, your voting power has been held in proxy. Your proxy has been utilizing the Potter seat since your parents went into hiding.” Bladespring explained.

“Right, right. And you said my families proxy is headmaster Dumbledore, right?”

“Yes.”

“What kinds of power does a proxy have over a family?” Harry asks.

“A proxy is also referred to as a legal lord. They manage any legal proceedings in the absent of the family lord. Things like voting power, court proceedings, marriage contracts, and heir protection should the lord and consort be incapable of doing so themselves.” Bladespring kept his voice factual and to the point, but the goblin could also tell that every word he spoke was enraging to the young lord in front of him.

“Headmaster Dumbledore has known this entire time? Does he know about the Peverell stuff? Why hasn’t he said anything to me? I already know he’s the one who put me with the Dursley’s, but does he know what they have done to me?”

“Lord Potter, I know you are feeling distressed, but I would ask you to calm down before you burn a hole in my desk.”

Harry looks down ay his hands and finds that the desk beneath his hands is indeed smoking. “Whoa! Sorry about that Bladespring. I don’t really know how that happened.”

“It is your Potter family magic, reacting to a potential threat to your family’s honor.” Bladespring says, whipping his clawed hand through the air, repairing the damage done to the desk.

“Honor in Igne Servatus.” Harry says quietly.

“Honor preserved in fire.” Bladespring agrees.

“Will that happen anytime someone questions me?” Harry asks, remembering the malicious behavior of the school after everyone thought he was responsible for unleashing Slytherin’s monster.

“The Potter family magic does not like its honor being called into question. You have likely always felt the need to defend yourself against slight. Having claimed your lordship, you will feel this even more strongly. In cases where your family honor has been directly challenged, your magic may even demand retribution.”

“Like, in a duel?” Harry asks, panic rising again. “I’m going to be forced to duel people whenever they call me a liar?”

“Not necessarily, Lord Potter. Retribution does not always mean a duel must take place.” Bladespring’s beady black eyes seem to assess Harry. “You seem quite insightful. I am sure you are more than capable of finding ways to avoid an altercation if you choose to.”

Memories flash in Harry’s mind. Memories of calming Dudley’s temper before the larger boy could properly pummel him. Memories of Harry narrowly avoid having an object thrown by his aunt Petunia. In each situation, Harry had managed to avoid physical conflict by using nothing but his own words. Taking Bladespring’s compliment for what it is, Harry nods at the goblin in ascent. “Was there anything else you would like to cover, before diving into the audit?”

“Not at the moment.” The goblin says, flipping over the cover of the thick folder filled to the max with Potter financial documents.

“How familiar are you with banking practices?” Bladespring inquires.

“I have overheard a lot of banking terms from my uncle Vernon, but I don’t know a lot. I’m really good with maths though.” Harry replies, a blush of shame crawling up is neck.

“Not to worry, Lord Potter. Most children do not actually start their financial education until the age of eleven anyway. It is even more rare for a child of your age to have to worry about managing an entire family estate.”

Nodding appreciatively, Harry squares his shoulders and prepares to learn as much as he can.

“This first page her.” Bladespring begins. “Is the Potter estate summary. Your yearly expenditures, income, property, as well as any patents.”

“Patents are the things that my family has created, right?”

“Yes. Patents are filed with the Ministry of Magic’s Department of international cooperation office of licensure.” The goblin says helpfully. “Duplicates are also held by the Ministry archives, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement’s office of family records, and another copy is typically held by the family’s Gringotts account manager.”

“Right then.” Harry nods, looking over the summary page. Harry is startled when he notices the summary of expenditures. “Why in merlin’s name is my family paying out nearly 22,000 Galleons every year?”

“I assure you that a more thorough breakdown will be found as we continue, Lord Potter.” Bladespring explains. “While I disagree with how your finances have been handled up to this point, I am relieved to tell you that you are still net positive every year…even with your proxy’s misuse of funds.”

Indeed, scanning further down, Harry found that the Potter family was generating just over 36,000 Galleons per year, putting the family at a net positive of almost 15,000 Galleons. “What do you mean, ‘my proxy’s misuse of funds?’ The headmaster hasn’t been stealing my money, has he?”

“By legal definition? No, the Headmaster has not stolen any of your money.” Bladespring’s reply makes Harry narrow his eyes in assessment. “Will that also be explained in the contents of the audit?”

Bladespring only nods curtly but Harry takes the goblin at his word and continues on to the property held in the Potter name. “Woah!” Harry’s eyes nearly fall out of his head at the number listed at the top of the property list. “Ten properties totaling well over 700,000 Galleons?”

“Yes, Lord Potter. Of course, eight of those properties are rented out between Diagon and Knockturn Alley and one was rendered inhabitable by the destruction wrought by the events of October 31^st, 1981.” Bladespring explains, words stilted by the end.

“Do you know which property is the one that is destroyed?” Harry asks pitifully.

“Given that I can not recall the location, I would say it is Potter cottage.” Bladespring answers.

“What do you mean, you don’t know where Potter Cottage is?”

“It is a well-known fact that your parents utilized the Fidelius Charm to hide their location.” Bladespring replies, not comprehending how the boy could not possibly know this information.

“What is the Fidilus Charm?” Harry asks.

“Fid-el-ius, Lord Potter.” Bladespring pronounces more slowly. “It is the name given to the complex ritual created by Ignotus.” The goblin continues. “It works by locking away a secret into the soul of someone, known as a secret keeper, and cannot be told unless completely willingly.”

“Sort of like how lords and heirs of house Potter are secret keepers of the Peverell legacy?” Harry clarifies.

“Exactly.” The goblin agrees.

“If that’s the case, though, why didn’t one of my parents become the secret keeper?”

“It is because of the wording used to hide you and your family.” Bladespring explains. “While within the wards of your home, you and your parents were rendered forgotten by anyone not privy to the secret.”

“Does that mean that no one remembers the Peverell’s?” Harry asks, his curiosity and intrigue peaked.

“The Peverell family was to intrenched in society for its entire existence to have been wiped from every memory.” Bladespring shakes his head. “Instead, Ignotus carefully selected key elements of the family’s history to lock away.” The goblin taps his claws slowly on the surface of his desk. “The Peverell’s family magic, their mastery of life and death, their royalty status, was all locked away. The world was left with only the knowledge of names and a vague legacy of power.” Bladespring removes a small book from his desk and hands it to Harry.

“The Tales of Beetle the Bard?” Harry asks skeptically.

“It is a children’s book, many wixen raised children will have heard of these stories at some point” Bladespring flips through the pages until coming across one titled “The Tale of the Three Brothers’

Harry scans the text of the story and frowns deeply. “This is what the world has left of my family?” Harry cannot fathom how it is possible that the story of his ancestors has become so changed from the truth. “How often has the truth of history been changed?”

“Often enough that it would do you well to not take anything at face value, lest it has been proven.” Bladespring advises.

Harry doesn’t think that will be much of a problem for him. Afterall, he spent eleven years thinking his parents had died in a drunken car crash only to find out later that they had actually died as war heroes. Sure he may not have been applying himself to his fullest potential at school, in an effort to keep his best friend content, but Harry was also of the opinion that his life’s situation has irreparably changed, and he must do the same. With a set jaw and a sense of purpose filling the boy from his toes to the tips of his hair, Harry says, “Are we ready to move on to the audit then?”

“As you wish, Lord Potter.” Bladespring nods.

Chapter Text

While going through the financial records, Harry is immensely grateful to have Bladespring in his presence. While The goblin’s affinity for numbers is helpful, though unneeded at present, It is the account managers easy tone and calm demeanor that Harry is most grateful for. The boy is certain that if he had been left to read the financial documents on his own, he would spontaneously combust in rage. Wixen have plenty of opinions about Goblins, and other creatures as well, but no one could disparage their thoroughness in keeping accounts well documented. True to the goblin’s word. The audit covered all Potter expenditures, withdrawals, stipends, donations…everything from October 1^st, 1981, to September 1^st, 1992. The story that the financial documents told was not one Harry was finding enjoyable. Immediately following the death of Lily and James Potter, a guardianship stipend of 100 Galleons per month was made payable to one APWBD. The stipend has remained a reoccurring expense sense its establishment, never mind the fact that Harry hadn’t even known who the headmaster was until just before getting to school.

What made Harry even angrier was the fact that, according to Bladespring, on that very same day Albus Dumbledore had used his position as the Potter family proxy to assign himself as Harry’s magical guardian.

It was only a month later, in December, when funds were made payable to one, Lord Fenwick for ‘services rendered.’  Harry wasn’t exactly sure what services this mysterious lord could have possibly rendered but Bladespring certainly had a guess.

“The wixen government operates on a fiscal calendar, Lord Potter.” Bladespring explained.

“Yea, The muggle one too.” Harry nods.

“For the British magical government, the new year begins on October 1^st. at this time, houses pay their dues to ensure their voting power for the next year, as well as announcing new vassalage. All-in-all, the October session is all about the finances.”

“That makes perfect sense.” Harry nods in understanding.

“The November session is typically ceremonial. It is to give houses the opportunity to realign their political leaning/faction and announce new party leaders.”

“Okay. That also makes sense.” Harry nods again.

“The December session is the first of the new fiscal year, for new legislation and for the turning of the political machine that is the British Ministry of Magic.”

Having heard his uncle’s many complaints about government issues, Harry could see where Bladespring was going. “You think the headmaster was buying votes for a piece of legislation?”

“December 2^nd, 1981 happens to be three days prior to the vote for the restriction of family magics bill. The Bill failed, but Albus Dumbledore was a very staunch advocate for it.” Bladespring shrugs.

“Why would the headmaster want to restrict family magic? surely he has his own that he would still like to use.” Harry asks, befuddled.

“I cannot say for certain.” Bladespring replies, but you fill find a ‘yay’ vote next to the bill within the copy of Potter voting records I gave you earlier.

Harry quickly opens the folder stamped with the ministry seal and finds not only a ‘yay’ vote next to the title, but a copy of the bill is also inside.

“I took the liberty of also requesting copies of each legislation, in the case you wished to have access to it.” Bladespring says.

“Thank you.” Harry replies, turning his attention back to the audit forms. Over the course of the next eight years, the monthly stipend remains a steady presence and scattered periodically throughout are more and more funds made payable to various lords…all for the purpose of ‘Services Rendered’ Harry is enraged at the headmaster's audacity and quickly annotates each name on his own list of questions to be researched. Harry’s only calming factor is that at least it is not as bad as it could have been. Of course, Harry also thinks that the reason the finances are not worse is due to Bladespring, but the boy keeps that opinion to himself while simultaneously sending silent thank yous to the account manager. There is, however, one more shock in store. Listed on October 1^st, 1990. The Potter Wizengamot dues are automatically taken out but on that same day, an additional 10,000 Galleons are made payable to the Ministry of Magic for ‘Weasley Vassalage’

“What is this?” Harry asks, indicating the charge to his account.

“That is the Potter payment of the Weasley family dues to the Wizengamot in exchange for vassalage and voting rights of house Weasley.” Bladespring says, matter-of-factly.

“Yes, I read that Bladespring.” Harry replies dispassionately. “Beyond voting rights, what is a Vassalage? Is it defined the same way muggles did when serfdom still existed? Is the Weasley family indentured to me?”

Bladespring retrieves a single bit of parchment from his desk but does not immediately hand it over. “Vassalage in the Wizarding world operates as a formal, magically-binding, arraignment between two houses. The terms of vassalage are governed by an iron-clad contract. In the case of house Weasley’s vassalage to your own house, the contract states that House Potter will assume the financial responsibilities of House Weasley, in exchange for voting rights, support, and asylum as needed.” Bladespring seems to be reading all of this from the document itself even though his deep black eyes never leave Harry’s.

“Is it permanent?” Harry asks, swallowing the hurt bubbling in his chest. ‘How many of the Weasley’s knew about this? Did Ron Know? How much of my friendship is real? Was any of it real, or just some sort of obligation?’ Harry is yanked away from his spiraling thoughts by Bladespring’s deep voice.

“No, the Potter family reserves the right to end the Vassalage at any point for any reason.”
“What about the Weasley’s?” Harry asks. “Do they have an out if they want it?”

“The Weasley family may also terminate the vassalage at any point with the stipulation that they pay restitution to the Potter family in the amount of gold equal to that which has been spent in their name.” Bladespring states.

“So, no then.” Harry says flatly. “My vaults have already covered three years of Wizengamot dues for the Weasley’s and there is no way they could afford to pay me 30,000 Galleons.”

“The amount is actually, significantly higher than that, lord Potter.” Bladespring says, Hating the way that Harry’s face scrunches in confusion.

“What do you mean, the amount is higher?” the boy asks. Later, Harry will almost wish he had not asked.

“The contract states that the Potter family will assume the financial responsibilities of House Weasley.” Bladespring re-iterates. “Since October 1^st, 1990 your family has contributed to the funding of Wizengamot dues, the education, living expenses, and most recently, the travel of house Weasley in the amount of…” Bladespring pulls out another parchment and after a quick scan, looks back at Harry. “…37,142 Galleons, 15 sickles, and 17 knuts.”

Harry nearly fell out of his chair at the amount of gold. In his head, the boy quickly tried to equate that the Pounds Sterling. “Nearly £185,000?”

“That is quite impressive maths skills, Lord Potter. Yes, the Weasley family has spent £184,971 and 72p.”

“Numbers just sort of come naturally to me.” Harry replies offhandedly, still gob smacked by his friend’s family.

“I Think, Lord Potter. We may break here for some food and tea. Then we can get into your questions.”

“Sure,  Bladespring. Meet back here in an hour?” Harry asks.

“I will be here when you return.” The goblin nods. “Until then.”

“May our continued business bring us both profit.” Harry bids farewell as he makes his way out of the office, his bag left in the chair he just vacated.

Chapter Text

Chapter 5: Conversation and Contemplation

The afternoon summer sun was shining bright upon the magical alley, yet Harry didn’t seem to notice. Too lost in his thoughts, Harry paid no attention to where his feet were taking him.

“Watch where you’re going.” The voice was hesitant, as if having been equally distracted prior to colliding with Harry.

“Sorry.” Harry said, looking up to meet a set of cool blue eyes, slightly covered by an out-of-place lock of long chocolate hair with a slight curl to it. “Nott, right?”

The blue-eyed boy closed the book in his hands with a soft snap and swiftly sweeps a hand through his hair effectively removing the impairment to his sight. with his hair out of the way, Harry notices that the other boy is really quite handsome. skin is paler than Harry's, but it does not make the boy look sick like Malfoy.  “It is no bother, Potter. My uncle is constantly telling me not to walk around while reading.” Nott says, leaving Harry hoping that he has not been caught staring.

“Oh, Victor, right?” Harry elucidates when Nott looks at him with a raised eyebrow. “I met someone at the train station who helped me out. he said his name was Victor Nott and he was looking for his nephew and daughter.”

Nott nods slowly. “He mentioned having bumped into a classmate…you…intrigued him.”

Harry scratches the back of his neck, and a faint blush stains his cheeks.

Nott’s eyes seem to scan Harry from head to toe, not quite checking him out but more assessing. “You are certainly odd, lord apparent Potter.”

Harry almost immediately stands straighter, his head held proud. “Lord presumptive, actually”

Nott’s eyes go wide, barely noticeable but then the blue-eyed boy bows simply. “My apologies, Lord Potter.”

In this moment, Harry realizes that this is the longest non-confrontational interaction he has had with a Slytherin student, and he is not uncomfortable with the realization. “I apologize as well, heir Nott.”

The other, taller, boy tilts his head curiously. “What could you possibly need my forgiveness for?”

Harry looks about the alley in trepidation and then leans in, conspiratorially. “I have only just recently become aware of my status in life. I hope that I haven’t committed too many social blunders in my ignorance.”

Once again, Theodore’s eyes widen in momentary shock and then a soft chuckle rumbles out of him. “You have.” He states simply. “…But you are still the boy who lived and lord of one of the most notoriously grey families in Britain… besides, you probably have another year before society will care too much about your social graces.”

“That is actually, really good to know.” Harry smiles ruefully. “I will be doing my best to get caught up in the meantime, but having a bit more leeway is definitely a grace I did not expect to have…given my track record.”

“The world is much larger than the school, Potter.” Nott says simply. “Some information will undoubtedly be relayed to parents, but you will find the world at large has not taken as keen an interest in you as they are sure to do when you are older.”

“More information that is sure to be important.” Harry says, eyes narrowing. “Is it true that Slytherin students rarely do things for free?”

Nott chuckles again and Harry hopes the other is not laughing at him. “How would you know anything about how Slytherins operate? You are as far from a snake as one could get.”

It is Harry’s turn to laugh, and it comes out in a way he hasn’t heard himself laugh in years. “I know a certain hat that would disagree with that assessment.” Harry’s voice is full of humor, and he relishes knowing something about himself that no one else does. It is refreshing that, in a world where everyone acts as if they have some claim to him through their perceived knowledge of him, the wizarding world doesn’t really know Harry Potter at all.

“You cannot possibly be trying to convince me that you were almost sorted into Slytherin house.” Nott’s voice is full of disbelief, yet his voice remains level. Harry appreciates that the other boy seems as opposed to publicity as he himself is.

“It has been my experience that everyone seems so blinded by their perception of me, they fail to see who I am.” The words are so insightful and self-reflective that they even give Harry himself pause. After quick evaluation though, he cannot find fault in anything he said. The Dursleys had always held the belief that he was a burden and a freak. His relatives, Petunia in particular, had seen Harry as an extension of his mother and treated him accordingly. The wizarding world’s view of Harry, while a juxtaposition to the Dursleys, was no less extreme. It seems as if everyone was so keen to see Harry’s parents within the boy that no one really saw Harry as an individual.

“Yes.” Nott says slowly, blue-eyes finding striking-green and breaking Harry from his own thoughts. “I can see that.” The Slytherin boy regards Harry as if seeing him for the first time. “Are you busy at the moment? Would you perhaps, like to take a walk with me?”

Harry’s eyes momentarily find the street clock and notes that he still has forty-five minutes until he is due back to Bladespring’s office. “I have to be back to my account manager at the top of the hour but I’m game for a bit of a wonder if you are.”

“Oh?” Nott says curiously as he begins to lead the way down Diagon Alley. “Is the house of Potter finding itself in financial trouble?”

“More like under financial siege.” as soon as the words leave his mouth, Harry’s head snaps over to the other boy, who has adopted his own look of shock. “Could you…forget I said that?”

“I know you probably won’t know this, but I am not exactly a popular student. I don’t have anyone to tell.” Nott’s tone is still unwaveringly calm.

“Still. I would prefer to get the situation under control before information is found out.”

“Surely the Potter account manager would never let that happen.” Nott replies.

“No.” Harry chuckles. “He most definitely would not. That does not change the fact that it will get out eventually. I have enough sense to know that the figures involved are to high profile for something like this to remain quite forever.”

“Stop talking, Potter.” Nott hisses softly.

“What?” Harry balks, hackles raised by the sudden shift in Nott’s demeanor.

“I am the heir to my own house." Nott says in explanation. “I have been well trained in political maneuvering and subtlety. I am also what some refer to as a bookworm…if you wish to keep your affairs quite then you cannot say things like that,”

“Are you having me about? or did you actually manage to infer who I am talking about?” Harry asks seriously.

“Your magical guardian and your best friend.” Nott’s words strike the heart of all of Harry’s current swirling self-doubt.

“H-h-how?” Harry manages to spit out the single word, teeth clenched and jaw tight with anxiety.

Nott stops his trek and guides Harry to a secluded bench, between two shops, where both boys take a seat. “He has not outwardly admitted to his position, but the clues have been there for all to see since Halloween 1981. In conjunction with the re-alignment of your house, the announcement of vassalage, and your admittedly stupid admission of ‘financial siege’  the picture is quite clear.”

“I only understand the part about my own statement.” Harry admits softly, feeling quite inadequate. “What do you mean ‘re-alignment of my house’? how do you know about the vassalage?”

Nott’s face is scrunched in confusion and dawning horror. “Merlin!” The boy gasps. “He hasn’t taught you anything…is he even TRYING to educate you to take your place as the true lord of your house?”

Harry snorts derisively. “Given that everything I have learned, has come form my account manager and a first edition of my family grimoire, I would say no…my…guardian is not interested at all in educating me to take my lordship.”

“Okay…” Nott nods slowly. “While that poses its own problems, I suppose I can let you in on what I know.” Nott takes a deep breath as if steadying himself and then speaks. “Do you know about the administrational tasks that take place during the fall wizengamot sessions?”

Harry nods slowly. “Learned about that earlier today, actually.”

“That’s good. It is a bit abnormal for a goblin to have any interest in our government but still a benefit in your situation. Re-alignment, in this context, refers to the process of declaring political affiliation.”

“Right.” Harry says. “That takes place during the November session, right? But isn’t that just ceremonial fluff?”

“Typically, yes. the November session rarely sees a house change political associations…the 1982 session however…” Nott’s voice trails off apprehensively.

“What happened in 1982?” Harry asks.

“In the November session of 1982, The Potter proxy renounced the grey political faction and aligned house Potter with the light faction.”

“Nott, why do you sound like someone was killed?” Harry is at a loss for why Nott is so unsteady in the topic. “Sure, a change in house allegiance is rare but, it cannot be as serious as you make it sound.”

“Your right.” Nott acquiesces. “It is rare but normally of no note…that is not the case for house Potter though.”

“Of course it’s not.” Harry snorts. “Nothing is never understated in my family. Why is this such a big deal though?”

“House Potter is one of the founding families of the Wizengamot.”

“I gathered that from the Potter grimoire.” Harry nods.

“The Potter family has been a grey aligned house since the inception of the Wizengamot. Your family had unanimously held the grey party leadership position until 1982.” Nott continues as if deaf to Harry’s interruption. “When the Potter family effectively ‘abandon ship’ so to speak, the grey party closed ranks and cut ties with both sides. The divide between the dark and light factions grew wider. Since then the light faction has attempted, and often succeeded, in trampling any and all freedoms that they deem reprehensible.”

“Oh.” Harry’s voice is soft and contemplating. “So…Dumb- I mean, my guardian. Has essentially been using his proxy status as a means to inflict his own moral judgement on the world at large?” While Harry is unsure what Albus Dumbledore’s moral standards are, he is less than inclined to believe them to be beyond reproach. For Dumbledore to be using Harry’s name to inflict that judgement seems to set off the fiery sensation from earlier, when Harry had discovered Dumbledore’s misuse of Potter gold. The Potter’s honor burned hot and even Theodore could see the green flames now dancing merrily in Harry’s eyes. “I need to know. I need to know what he has done in my name and the damage to be repaired.” Harry’s voice came out raspy but clear as a bell chime in a silent room. It was thick with intent and magic that swirled lazily around Harry’s hand. In a flash of flames, images seemed to dance in the periphery of Harry’s sight. It took a moment to see the images clearly, but they finally arrived as if seared into his consciousness.

“Merlin, that is going to be such a headache in the morning.” Harry bemoans.

“Potter.” Nott says softly. “What in Merlin’s name was that?”

“That was the Potter’s honor.” Harry says, trying his best to fight the knowledge now swimming around unchecked in his brain.

“Was it really?” It is impossible for Harry to miss the awed expression in Nott’s voice, and he lets out a soft chuckle.

“Don’t tell me you know about that too. Maybe you really are a nerd.” Harry’s tone is playful, and Nott seems to know that if his matching smirk is any indication.

“It would be hard not to have at least heard of the Potter’s honor.” Nott replies factually. “The family magic of house Potter is simultaneously well-known and a mystery to all not born of it.”

“Oh? Then what is known?” Harry asks.

“There are sayings for each of the remaining architect families.” Nott replies.

“What is an architect family?” Harry interrupts before Nott can continue.

“The architect families are what remain of the wizard’s counsel, the governing body that pre-dates the Wizengamot. There were only eight families among the elite of the wizard’s counsel and only four of them survived to form the wizengamot.”

“Which families were they?” Harry asks, excited to learn more wizarding history that wixen raised children may take for granted.

“The wizard’s counsel consisted of fifteen families total but eight of them were credited with the outline of how it would operate…the eight architect families were Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, Gryffindor, Slytherin, Longbottom, Bones, Nott, and Potter.”

“And the four that died before the Wizengamot must have been the founders?” Harry infers. “Your family is an architect of modern government?”  

Theodore nods once. “The remaining architects are Bones, Longbottom, Nott, and Potter. My family originates from Scandinavia but was a nomadic tribe until settling here in the early 11th century.”

“That’s so cool. I’ve always wondered what it would be like to travel!” Harry, enthuses. “So, what are the sayings for our families then?”

“Each saying is tied to our family’s magics and the reputation for how we wield that power.” Nott explains, continuing when Harry nods along. “The Bones family is particularly talented with word binding. Similar to how Potter’s find it difficult to lie, it is equally difficult for a Bones to be lied to. Society has coined that as the method of approach to any dealings with house Bones: Never lie to a Bones.”

“That…is a really useful skill to have.” Harry says, admittedly impressed.

“The Longbottom family is well known for their proclivity for nature magics…it has been a long-standing rumor that their line may have druid blood, but the family themselves have been reticent to confirm or deny. The Longbottom’s bear their power with humility though they do also own one of the most prolific farms for all sorts of rare potions ingredients…what most seem to forget, however, is the sheer amounts of magic ebbing and flowing in the world around us…all easily accessible and dangerous should you enrage a Longbottom. That is why the Longbottom saying is: Never underestimate a Longbottom.”

“Merlin…is that why Neville seems to struggle so much with magic?” Harry asks. “Because he is trying to use a wand when he shouldn’t.”

Nott pauses and adopts a curiously furrowed brow. “That is actually extremely possible. If Longbottom is more Intune with his family magic, it could be waring with the forced constraint of a wand.” Nott turns his gaze to Harry and adopts an impressed glint in his eyes. “That was incredibly insightful, Potter. Something any adult in Longbottom’s life should have caught on to.”

“Uh, Thanks, I think.” Harry says, a pleasant flutter rising in his stomach. “W-what about the Notts? What is your family known for?”

“Like I said before, my family was nomadic.” Nott’s voice is monotone, as if reciting a textbook. “We favored sea travel and our magic adapted overtime. Notts have a particular proclivity for water based magic and slight healing as well. Both are particularly helpful when we find ourselves in unsavory situations. We are known for our battle acumen, and many warn to Never cross a Nott.”

“Wow! Each architect family sounds wildly powerful, and here I am with an extreme intolerance for lying and a tendency to feel like I will combust if challenged.” Harry says, self-depreciation heavy in his tone.

“No, Potter.” Nott says simply. “That is not how the Potter magic is classified to the general public.” Nott’s blue eyes become sparkling gems, as if preparing for a mythic story. “The Potter family magic is inherently fire based. It is rumored that the Potter’s are responsible for some of the most incredible feats accomplished with the use of fire. It is rumored that the Potter family is capable of inherent control of Fiendfyre, the most powerful fire magic known to wixen. Your family’s capabilities and control of fire, one of the most notoriously wild magics, are terrifying and the fact that your words are bound by the element is doubly so. The Potter’s honor is not regarded as a weakness. It is because of your family’s magic that the Potter family was trusted to lead the grey faction, uncontested, for all of wixen history prior to 1982. The Potter’s honor has been so thoroughly tested that swearing upon it in open court is tantamount to ingesting a whole bottle of Veritaserum.”

“What is Vair-i-tah-see-rum?” Harry asks, the pronunciation unfamiliar on his lips.

“It is a colorless, odorless, and tasteless truth potion.” Nott says casually. “It only requires three drops to crack even the most well-defended mind and have their secrets laid bare for any listener.” At Harry’s horrified look, Nott continued hurriedly. “Regulation of the potion is strict and brewing the potion use is heavily monitored by the Wizengamot. Unregulated brewing carries a minimum ten years in Azkaban and unregulated use has seen upwards of twenty-five years.”

“Why is the potion so heavily regulated but my family’s magic isn’t?” Harry asks, calmed by the fact that the potion is not readily accessible.

“The Potter’s honor only affects a blood-born Potter.” Nott shrugs. “Besides, no one wants to set a precedent of regulating the use of a family’s magic…that would…not be good.”

“True.” Harry acknowledges.

Nott nods once, slowly and glances to his left. “You should probably start heading back to the bank, Potter. It is never wise to keep a goblin waiting.”

Harry looks over at the clock on the street and sees that it is just ten minutes to one o’clock. With a nod, Harry stands. “Thank you, heir Nott, For the information. Maybe we could talk again sometime?”

Nott’s eyes assess Harry slowly and then the boy nods. “If you write, your owl can find me at Nott tower. It will be interesting, if nothing else, to see you progress in wixen education.”

“Be sure to come up with some way for me to repay you for your insights.” Harry says back. “You really have given me a lot to think about…on top of what is already happening in my life.”

“Farewell for now, lord Potter.” Nott bids.

Harry is to the edge of the hidden alcove when he turns back slightly. “I haven’t had a proper coming-out to society, but you can call me Harrison…if you’d like…I have grown quite fond of it in the time I have learned my true name.”

“My friends call me Theo…you are free to use that name.”

Harry nods happily. “Bye, Theo.”

“Bye, Harrison.”

It is only as Harry makes his way across the lobby of Gringotts that he remembers that Theo never told him what societies saying for the Potter family actually was. ‘Oh well, I can always ask him later.’

Chapter Text

Theodore Asgar Nott is by no means an unintelligent boy. He knows his mother, Selene Cordilia Nott nee Greengrass, died only two months after he was born. Theo also knows that the death of his mother, at the hands of the dark lord himself, is what ultimately drove his father to turn traitor. As any good heirs ought to, Theo also knows his family and the legacy of his house. To Theo, and any other respectable wizarding family, not knowing this information would be tantamount to treachery. Despite his assurances on his own intellect, Theo was struggling in the current moment. He knows that, regardless of his assurances to the contrary, the families ‘in the know’ HAVE taken notice of Potter’s ignorance. ‘How Could we NOT know’ Theo thinks, remembering the gangly mess of limbs, poor etiquette, and complete disregard of wixen traditions observed over the past two years. ‘But how much of that behavior was ignorance rather than blatant distain?’ in his short time with Potter, Theo would be willing to bet that most of Potter’s past actions have been due to ignorance. A slight shiver runs down Theo’s spine despite the breezeless afternoon. During their conversation, Theo had felt the heat radiating from Potter’s body, growing unbearable, as they discussed his magical guardian. Just before the heat could become unsustainable, Potter had the audacity to temporarily combust. As quickly as he lit, Potter was out, and the radiant heat was gone. It had been a startling hour for young Theo, in more ways than one, and now he had to figure out how he wanted to proceed. He had already offered more help, and surprisingly enough Potter had returned the favor, not that Theo actually believed Potter could help him in any way. ‘Still though, it is an unexpected boon to have in one’s back pocket. A favor owed by Britain’s most influential lord could prove useful.’ With a nod to himself, Theo makes his way out of the hidden alcove, plans forming and circulating in his mind…Potter a prominent figure in all of them.

“Theo.” The boy’s uncle greeted with a smile, as soon as Theo walked through the doors of Stormbridge (The Nott ancestral family home).

 “Uncle Victor. Are you headed out?” Theo asked, despite knowing his uncle would never do such a thing in his current state of dress. To the world, the Nott family is just like any other member of high society and, when one lives among the affluent appearances must be kept. Within their home, however, Victor has done his absolute best to ensure that his nephew and daughter feel comfortable within the walls of their home.

“No Theo.” Victor replies, smile still in place. “I felt you come through the wards and wanted to let you know that we will be having guests for dinner tonight. Unfortunately, this occasion demands proper dress.”

“I understand. Thank you, Uncle.” Theo sighs and then looks into the eyes of the taller man. “Is the dinner political or power?”

“We will be entertaining the Malfoy’s tonight.”

“Both then.” Theo nods resolutely.

“Chin up nephew. We shall endure their posturing and if need be.”

“We strike.” Theo finishes the statement.

“Precisely. There is still a couple hours before that time comes, I just did not want you to be caught unaware. Especially given the fallout between yourself and heir Malfoy.”

“Thank you, uncle. I will be ready for dinner when you call. I think I will take a bit of a lie down.”

“Off you go then.”

Theo nods simply as he makes his way up the staircase made of dark wood. As he makes his way up, Theo appreciates the home like he never has before. The boy has spent innumerous hours studying the grimoires of the Nott family and according to them, the entirety of Stormbridge, including the name, is built from the ship that brought the Notts of old to the island they now call home. Theo has surmised that either the ship was extremely large or untold amounts of magic was used because this home was anything but small. Situated about 50 kilometers east of the main Faroe Isle cluster, within the perpetually wet and windy climate of the Norwegian sea, at an altitude of 300 meters is the magically fortified isle of ‘Wile’. The island is only 150 square kilometers, but it still boasts four greenhouses, three stables, and acres of forest. Positioned just off center of the island is the crown of the Nott family. Made from the oak and ash wood that once sailed the high seas, stands the Nott family home ‘Stormbridge’. The home is designed much like a lavish longhouse. Standing at a towering three stories, Stormbridge boasts 6 suites, 3 guest bedrooms, 10 bathrooms, and a three-floor library that begins on the second floor and peaks as a single tower rising from the very center of the  roof. The Nott home also has two ballrooms, a music room, two parlors, a sunroom, and two dining rooms (one for family and one for formal dinners). Theo knows it is in the more formal of the two that the family will be entertaining the Malfoys tonight. Another small sigh escapes Theo’s lips as he makes his way to his own suite on the third floor with the other family rooms. Theo has been well acquainted with the Malfoy family, as all children of dark aligned families are acquainted with each other, since birth. Despite Draco’s opinions on the matter, Theo is not ashamed to admit that he was once very close to the Malfoy heir, though that friendship fell apart quite quickly under the scrutiny of Hogwarts. Being the child of a disgraced death eater did Theo no good within the house of the dark lord’s most devout followers and Theo should have known that while Draco Malfoy’s loyalty was as fiery as Potter’s magic, Draco’s loyalty was not endless. Surprisingly the friendship had, at least, made it to yule before officially dissolving on the train ride back to school. Theo spent the rest of first year alone, observing the happenings of Slytherin house and the school at large. By the end of first year, Theo had accepted his fate as an outcast. That summer had been lonely all the way up to his shopping trip for second year. While roaming aimlessly down the side streets of Diagon Alley Theo had run across two fellow soon-to-be second year Slytherins. A small smile crosses Theo’s face as memories of this past school year flood his thoughts.

“You will not say anything about this.” Even now the memory of Daphne Greengrass, looking so much unlike the proper heiress she had been raised to be, made Theo snort.

“Who would listen to me, let alone believe me?” Theo had replied, unfazed by the threat of the wand in his face.

“He makes a valid point.” Blaize had chirped quietly, when Daphne still refused to lower the wand.

“So swear you…cousin?” Theo startled in shock. He, of course, knew that heiress Greengrass is his second cousin on his mother’s side but to have the girl herself acknowledge the relation was like a balm to his scars of betrayal.

“So swear I, upon the wrath of Odin.” It was Daphne’s and Blaize’s turn to look utterly gob smacked. It is common knowledge that all wizards swear on something sacred when making a promise and it was well known that the Nott family was keen on swearing to their gods…for Theo to swear on Odin was as close to a magical vow as a Nott could get before magic would recognize it as binding. With his promise , Daphne finally lowered her wand.

“What exactly are the two of you doing together anyway?” Theo asked. “In such a secluded spot, too?”

“I seek many avenues for my future, heir Nott.” Blaize’s voice had seemed aloof in the moment, but Theo could now see the undertones for what would be to come.

“The heir of the subterra seeks a future with the heiress of the grey faction leader of Britain?” Theo could not keep the disbelief out of his voice if he had tried…so he did not.

Disbelief or not, the comment did not faze either of the other children and Theo was becoming increasingly apprehensive to the situation.

“The Greengrass family only holds this position until our leader returns.” Daphne sneered.

Not knowing what he did now, Theo had snorted. “You expect Potter to return?”

“The Potter’s have led our faction since the beginning of time, Theodore. I see no reason that should end with our generation.” Daphne’s face remained passive but looking back now, Theo could hear in her tone just how close she was to flinging a spell at his face and being done with the conversation.

“Has not the Potter family already turned away from the grey faction?” Blaize inquired, his own tone soothing the tension from Daphne.

“The Potter heir was two years old when his family voting changed.” Daphne’s voice is still low but now her tone is more defeated, as if she is struggling against her own thoughts. “Yes, I grant that many outward moves indicate that heir Potter is truly gone from the grey faction.”

“Then what keeps the spirit in you?” Blaize asks an insightful question that Theo latter attributes to his familial connections.

“Observe him.” Daphne replies simply. “Heir Potter is either the most disrespectful cretin to walk the halls of Hogwarts, or he is the most uneducated…perhaps with more eyes I will be able to tell if the boy is well and truly lost.”

Theo immediately sits up in his bed as if a jolt of electricity has set his bones on fire. Daphne needs to know.

Hours later, after many drafts, two letters are written and headed off with one of the many Nott owls. Thirty minutes after that, Theo is positioned to the right of his uncle at a long table. His aunt Meda is to the right of him with his cousin, Nova, next to her. Across from Theo to his uncle’s left, is Lord Malfoy, with his wife, Lady Narcissa, next to him and Draco is next to her. Diner passes in slow motion and polite table talk until it seems lord Malfoy can wait no longer to divulge the information that has been plaguing him since his arrival.

“Have you seen this afternoon’s prophet article?” Lord Malfoy’s tone is casual and collected but Theo can see the hints of worry lines under the man’s eyes.

“I have not had the opportunity.” Theo admires how unflappable his uncle seems in the face of unknown information.

Rather than explaining, lord Malfoy breaks many unspoken rules of politeness by simply plopping his own copy of the article right on the table, within his uncle’s line of sight. Theo cannot see the article in full, but the title is unmistakable.

‘Sirius Black at Large Once Again’

‘I suppose I will be writing another letter tonight’ Theo thinks, unsure if Potter has a subscription to the paper. ‘How has this become my life?’

Chapter Text

By the time Harry finally left the bank, the boy was exhausted beyond belief but resolute. After returning to Bladespring, the goblin had recommended a cursory glance to the voting history of house Potter. In doing so, not even the account manager had been able to stymie the enraged Potter’s honor. In the decade since Voldemort’s fall, the ‘light’ faction of the wizengamot had seen fit to impose incredibly biased laws. Some did fail, of course, but not nearly as many as should have. There were two bills, however, that truly made Harry go spare. The first had been proposed in 1987. The Regulation of Magical Educators (RME). The bill had set forth a clear standard for wixen education, it had set ethical guidelines for professors, the bill also added curriculum for muggle-born/raised students to teach wizarding culture and customs, it had also modernized the muggle studies curriculum and made the class mandatory for all wizard raised children. The proposal had seemed so thorough and sensible, yet the Potter voting records indicated a ‘NAY’ vote, and the record reflected that the bill failed by a single vote. The second proposal was equally infuriating. ‘Elvish Welfare and Protection Act’ (EWPA). The bill had proposed a new department within law enforcement that would be dedicated to investigating families that abused their house elves. The bill had acknowledged clear understanding of how elves needed the bonds with their host families but also underscored the cases of horrific abuse some elves faced day-to-day. Similar to the ‘RME’ this bill had been well thought out and expertly planned. The bill had been proposed in June of 1992 and as such the Potter and Weasley votes were cast as ‘NAY’ this vote had only failed by four votes. The ‘EWPA’ had been the last vote cast by the Potter and Weasley seats but by that point, Harry was lost in his own rage. Before the boy or his goblin could move, words spilled from Harry’s mouth. “For his blatant misuse of my family’s trust, my house is held in proxy no more.” In a flash of scarlet flames, Harry’s will was done. When the flames died, though, Harry turned a fearful look to Bladespring. “What have I done? I just removed the headmaster as my proxy. He is sure to want to know why.”

“Be calm, Lord Potter.” Bladespring’s voice remained calm and steadfast. “This action was done by magic. While he is sure to be made aware, Albus Dumbledore will be unaware that you did the magic yourself.

“How could you know that for certain?” Harry asks. Unprepared for a confrontation of any sort with a wizard as magically and politically powerful as the headmaster.

“Albus Dumbledore is hardly the first foolish wizard to attempt a usurpation of house Potter.” Bladespring replied with a snort of derision. “This action will, however, be recognizable by the long-standing allies of your house.”

“So…” Harry began, breathing now fully back under his control. “I have hindered the headmaster and sent a distress signal to people who can help?”

“Yes. and without knowing fully what you were doing…I must say, you do have some incredible luck, Lord Potter.”

Harry actually snorts. “That is the story of my life, Bladespring. The only thing I do intentionally is survive.”

“That is good to hear, Lord Potter. I would really hate to have to close the Potter account.”

Harry laughed in spite of the goblin’s dark humor. “I wouldn’t be too optimistic if I were you. It seems something new is trying to take me out every school year.”

“Oh?” Bladespring sat forward, claws gripping the desk just a touch too tightly.

“Yeah, I mean there was the whole philosopher’s stone issue in my first year.” Harry confirms. “Had a bit of a run-in with a Cerberus, a patch of devils snare, and a professor being possessed by Voldemort.” Harry adds on as if an afterthought. “Not to mention the cursed broom during my first quidditch match, and the troll on Halloween.”

“That is impressive indeed, Lord Potter. How did you manage to get yourself tangled up in such a mess at just eleven-years-old?”

Harry contemplates the question for many moments and then comes to a terrible realization. “The troll incident happened because the possessed professor let it in, but I got involved because of Ron and Hermione.”

“And they are?”

“Right.” Harry shakes his head as if the action will clear the thoughts spiraling around inside his head. “Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. They wer-are my best friends.”

Bladespring doesn’t say anything but just the mention of the Weasley name is enough to sour the conversation.

“Ron had said something mean to Hermione earlier in the day and she locked herself in a bathroom. When the troll was announced, Ron and I went to get her but ran into the troll. Ron and I knocked it out with its own club and Hermione lied to the professors about how we all ended up in the situation.” Harry tried to rationalize that this situation had been a coincidence, but it was not the only time Ron and Hermione had instigated his involvement in something that should have been handled by the adults.

“What about the rest of it?” Bladespring asked.

“That would be Hermione, actually. We were visiting Hagrid when she found a newspaper from earlier in the year. The one that covered the Gringotts break-in. it was me who identified it as the same vault Hagrid and I had visited during my first trip to Diagon Alley.”

“And curiosity took over from there?” Bladespring asked as if predicting the answer.

“Yeah. I guess so.” Harry agrees.

“What about last year?” Bladespring’s voice is more hesitant now. “What was it trying to ‘take you out.”

“That would be a cursed object holding the shade of a young Voldemort. Through a cursed book he was able to possess Ron’s younger sister, Ginny, and open the chamber of secrets.”

“I recall your great-grandfather, Charles, telling a similar story.” Bladespring sighs deeply. “It happened during Fleamont’s time at Hogwarts.”

“Yes. I had a bit of a run-in with a wily house elf named Dobby.” Harry nods along. “He told me that the chamber had been opened before, about fifty years ago.”

“So, what happened then? How did you manage to solve that mystery?" The goblin asks, not entirely sure he actually wants the answer but equally certain that recounting it might do the boy-lord some good.

Bladespring was right. As Harry recounted the events of his second year, he could feel the metaphorical weight on his shoulders being lifted. These thoughts brought Harry peace as he lay in his bed, fully clothed and deep in the realm of Morpheus. In the morning, However, Harry would find three letters waiting for him on his nightstand, promises of a changed world in every word.

Chapter Text

The sun was shining brightly through the windows of his room, practically blinding him. Harry rubbed the sleep from his eyes  and glanced at the small analog clock on the bedside table. 12:03pm. Harry had slept nearly 16 hours, and he felt fantastic. Despite the newfound knowledge rattling around in his brain, Harry Potter felt more in control of his own life than he had ever felt before. He, of course, still had questions and concerns but those could be answered with a trip down Diagon Alley. With a smile, Harry went about his morning routine and dressed for the day, letters on his nightstand left unnoticed. In the afternoon sun the boy let himself breath in the fresh air, a smile lighting his face. Harry was headed to Flourish’s and Blott’s, the Alley’s most reputable bookshop, but found himself distracted by many of the offerings he had yet to explore properly. Just as Harry was veering off to Quality Quidditch Supplies, the boy found his path blocked by a simple oak door with only a polished silver handle. Curious, Harry twisted the knob and walked through.

“Welcome, child.” A croaky voice echoed in the shops otherwise silence.

“Um. Hello?” Harry says, unsure where the voice came from.

“It has been some time since a youngling such as yourself has had need of my shop.” From the shadows steps a slender woman draped in white silk. Her auburn hair is braided and situated away from her face. The woman’s eyes are milky and unseeing, yet she seems to pinpoint Harry’s exact position.

“I think i’ve gotten the wrong shop actually.” Harry goes for the handle that should be right behind him but finds smooth wall instead.

“You quite clearly need something child, feel free to look around and see what shakes loose from my collection.” The woman smiles beatifically and turns back to where she must have come from.

Without an alternative, Harry begins making his way through the cluttered isles. The objects are old and covered in layers of dust and nothing is labeled, but still Harry forges on. As Harry passes, Objects seem to clank and clatter but nothing seems to truly grab Harry’s attention for more than a few seconds. It’s as if the objects want to be noticed but not by Harry.

“Perhaps what you need is upstairs.” The eerie shopkeeper says, once Harry has made his way through every aisle at least once.

“I haven’t seen any stairs.” Harry replied with squinted eyes and a cocked brow.

The woman does not reply, she simply gestures beyond Harry. When the boy turns, he finds that the layout of the shop has maneuvered many of the shelves out of view to make way for a grand staircase that looks out of place in such a small space. With a sigh, the pre-teen makes his way up. On the second floor Harry finds a room very different than the first. The second floor is not dimly lit nor is it cramped and cluttered. Instead, large windows let in rays of beautiful sunlight that refract off the crystals hanging from the ceiling and illuminate every corner of the vast library. Harry cannot help but appreciate the sheer beauty before him. As he stumbles forward, however, the floor quakes and the shelves rattle. In a flurry of unseen magic from an untold source, books began flying off of their shelves to circle the boy. After a couple circuits the books either fly back to their shelf or lay dormant at Harry’s feet. When each book has had its go, the boy is left with several tomes. At the top of the stack is a faded brown leather book titled Numerology: The Magic of Numbers by: Ominis Gaunt. The next tome is also authored by Mr. Gaunt, but it is titled Symbols of Power and their Meaning. The next two tomes have no title and are bound in faded blue leather. The cover of the books are etched with a truly massive tree. One tree appears to be in fall with faded leaves while the second is etched with a tree covered in snow with no leaves at all…both are written by Magnus Bane. It takes all of Harry’s will power to not immediately crack open the books and devour the words written by yet another ancestor. Instead, Harry forces his attention to the final tome. If Harry were ever to describe a book as beautiful, it would be this one. The tome was bound in a sparkling green material that glittered in the light of the room. Silver fastenings at the spine wrapped around the book, locking it shut was a clasp that looked like a snake made of onyx with pale blue eyes. Through the chains, Harry was able to make out the title My Life and Legacy by Otxoa Slytherin. Harry nearly dropped his load of books. The shopkeeper had seemed certain that Harry needed something and now here he stands with three books written by ancestors he hadn’t known existed only a couple days ago as well as two more books on topics he had expressed vague interest in around the same time.

“Find what you need, lad?”

Harry whipped around, wide green eyes finding white. “I think so. How much for these?”

The woman smiled in a way that made Harry’s teeth hurt to look at and replied. “The things in my shop find there rightful place in due time. If these tomes found you, then they were always meant to do so. There will be no charge for you today.”

Harry narrowed his eyes in consternation. “That is very kind of you to say.” The boy acquiesces. “Even if that is the case though, let me pay you for keeping them safe in order to find me.”

“You are free to leave any tip you desire, of course.” The woman smiles genially.

“A tip is not the same as a price owed.” Harry rebuffs. “I would abhor the thought of insulting you with payment less significant to your service rendered.”

“You are very smart indeed, youngling.” The woman’s smile fades into something sharper. “Tell me. When did you begin to suspect what I am?”

“When you said, ‘There will be no charge for you today’ you put too much emphasis on ‘Today.” Harry replied, eyeing the fey woman warily. “I have only just gotten free of old chains; I will not place myself in new ones.” Harry looks at the books in his hand with longing. “Even if that means I leave the tomes behind.”

The woman laughs merrily, as if this entire situation has been some cosmic joke. “Fret not youngling. You will be leaving with those tomes.” The woman eyes Harry and it is the first time that Harry has the impression he has passed an assessment by another magical being. “If you insist on leaving debt free then I require payment.”

“I know.” Harry replies, secure in that being one thing the muggle stories have right about the fey. “What payment do you require?”

“A secret.” The woman says simply. “I require the single most important secret you hold closest to your heart.”

“If I tell you. We are even?” Harry asks

“So I swear.” The woman agrees.

Harry contemplates this for a moment, searching within himself to find the secret he hasn’t shared with anyone. It is not a long process, but it does have its own pain. “Sometimes I hate my parents. I hate them for martyring themselves and leaving me with nothing but their memory etched into the minds of everyone who has known them.” Harry deflated, shoulders hunched.

“The secret is not complete.” The fey states emotionlessly. “You must state the secret in its entirety for payment to be rendered.”

“I resent the living for making me in my parents image and refusing to see me as an individual.” It is possibly one of the hardest things he has admitted out loud, but the truth is out there now, and Harry feels a pit of shame forming in his stomach.

“Your secret is heavy, but it is accepted, youngling. Our transaction is done.” The fey gestures wildly and the shop slowly fades from view to reveal the hustle and bustle of Diagon Alley, its patrons unaware of what has transpired. Harry takes a moment to gather his thoughts before making his way back to the Leaky Cauldron, newly acquired books held securely in his expanded bag.

Chapter Text

Chapter 9:

Harry wishes he could take a moment to decompress after such an emotionally charged afternoon, but that wish seems impossible. Upon returning to his apartment at the Leaky Cauldron, Harry finds his owl, Hedwig is going positively spare.

“What is it girl?” The boy askes.

In typical owl fashion, Hedwig flies off to the threshold of the bedroom and cocks her head for Harry to follow. Startled and having never seen the owl behave like this, Harry does Hedwig’s bidding. From the frame of the door, the owl perches on the dresser and flicks a lazy talon at the unopened letters. Harry snorts softly. “Important, are they?” The boy asks the owl, a smile crossing his face. Hedwig simply flicks her talon again. Harry nods and crosses the room. Upon inspecting the letters Harry finds them all addressed to ‘Lord Potter’

“How would my allies already know?” Harry asks, not expecting an answer but getting one anyway when he glances up and sees the date on the small calendar next to the clock on the bedside table. ‘July 2^nd, 1993’ 

It does not escape Harry’s notice that yesterday was a Wizengamot session. It also does not escape the boy that yesterday, fueled by enraged magic, he had declared Albus Dumbledore unfit to hold his proxy position over house Potter. In addition to the fact that Bladespring had said his family’s allies would recognize the magic for what it was. Harry had hoped the goblin knew what he was talking about, and it seemed he did for here was the proof. With bated breath, Harry opened the first letter.

‘Lord Potter,

You certainly know how to make an entrance, not too dissimilar to that of your grandfather. It truly was a sight to see your family proxy be ousted in such a way. I hope to meet you soon.

Yours, in faith and service,

Lord Foustus Greengrass

Lord of the Most Ancient and Steadfast House of Greengrass

Head in Absentia of the Grey faction of the Wizengamot’

Harry had heard the name Greengrass before, at Hogwarts. A slim girl with pretty blond hair and detached blue eyes. She was a Slytherin and never really interacted with Harry but anytime the boy noticed her, she seemed to be watching him. Now, he knew why. setting the letter aside to answer all of them at once, Harry opened the next one.

‘Lord Potter,

I must admit myself being surprised to be writing to you in this context, yet I find myself equally intrigued. As lord presumptive of House Longbottom, my grandson wishes me to convey that House Potter is recognized as our friend and our bonds hold true. He also wishes me to extend an invitation to Longbottom farm at your earliest convenience for what he says is “a long overdue conversation and apology.” Please send word to set up such a meeting and I will ensure it is passed along.

Yours in friendship and family,

Lord Nevile Longbottom

Lord of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Longbottom

Heir of the Ancient House of Fortescue

Chairman of the Longbottom Trust

via Dowager Agusta Longbottom nee Crouch

Proxy to the Ancient and Noble House of Longbottom

Daughter of the Ancient and Fierce House of Crouch’

To say Harry was relieved would be an understatement. The thought of Neville having been silent about their connection this entire time had been eating away at him. It was good knowing he now had a chance to get some answers. Placing this letter with the first, Harry opened the next one.

‘Harry,

My family had the misfortune of hosting the Malfoy family for dinner last night. During this event Lord Malfoy made us aware of a piece of news that you may have been previously, detrimentally, unaware of. Mass Murderer Sirius Black has escaped Azkaban Prison with unknown, confirmed, intentions. In light of this news It is in your best interest to be cautious. You are likely safe in the public eyes of Diagon Alley and the Leaky Cauldron, but should you require aid, I am willing to provide it.

Lord Apparent Theodore Asgar Nott

Lord Apparent to the Ancient and Traveled House of Nott’

With all of his letters open and read at least twice each, Harry sat at the living room table to begin his responses. It took nearly the rest of the afternoon and several drafts before the boy had three replies he was willing to send. To Lord Greengrass, Harry had requested a meeting be set any time before Hogwarts was due to begin. To Neville’s Gran, Harry had accepted the invitation to Longbottom Farm. In his signing, Harry also made sure to make the farewells as generic as possible while still recognizing his relationship to the two families. To Theo, Harry had written nearly an entire parchment of questions pertaining to Sirius Black’s escape, the significance to his own life, and whether Theo had ever heard of a child named Solis Black or Ladislaus Prince. Satisfied, Harry sent his replies off with Hedwig as the snowy white owl was leaving for an evening hunt. Not yet ready for bed, Harry picked up the more recent edition of the Potter Grimoire and began reading. Before the boy knew it, he was entranced by the writing and musings of one Charles Potter. Charles wrote about the troubles of getting over his parent’s, Felix and Nathaniel’s, death. Felix thanked fate and magic together that he had his wife, Dorea. Charles wrote often about his relationship with the elegant daughter of house Black and how the two had begun as an arranged marriage but grew to genuine love and respect for one another.

‘I am fortunate that my fathers saw the type of partner I would need to one day take hold of the Potter lordship. It is my hope that the same will be done by the union of my son, Fleamont, to the daughter of house Longbottom. Monty is a good lad and strong in his willpower but unchecked in his temper. Euphemia on the other hand, has taken the mantel as Slytherin’s queen as a fourth year and holds the fort with effortless grace…just as my Dorea had in her time at school. Beyond their sensible union, Lord Cecil Longbottom and I hold the party leadership of the light and grey factions. While that may not always be the case, as the light and dark factions are not as cohesive as the grey faction, prospects look bright. House Potter is already allied with house Black of the dark faction leadership and an alliance with the light party will be the ticket to keeping peace.’

Harry has to stop to ponder Charles’s musing. The logic he proposes is sound and Harry knows the union of house Potter and house Longbottom must have happened, yet peace did not remain. In fact, it was less than a generation later that the magical world saw the rise of Voldemort and an all-out magical civil war. Hoping for answers as to how events could have turned out how they did, Harry continued. On the next page, however, was the last entry from Charles Potter. It was a newspaper clipping and a short entry at the bottom. The headline was “Unity Prevails at the gala of the decade” By Selene Greengrass. Directly under that was a picture of a group of children ranging in age but smiling all the same.

‘Every year wizarding high society begins the social season with the equinox gala. This year was no different though it will certainly be hard to top. Typically, the event is started by a presentation of recognized heirs to the wizarding nobility and then followed by the presentation of eligible bachelors and bachelorettes. This year the equinox ball was hosted by Heir Fleamont Potter and Potter Consort Euphemia Potter nee Longbottom, which makes sense given the family’s connection to three of the heirs presented. Heir Sirius Orion Black of the ancient and torturous house of Black, Heir Francis Casper John Longbottom of the ancient and noble house of Longbottom, and of course house Potter’s own heir apparent was presented as well, Heir apparent Jamison Fleamont Ignotus Potter of the ancient and noble house of Potter. Located in Stinchcomb situated on 13 acres of land is the opulent Potter manor home (affectionately referred to as The Pottery). It boasts massive gardens and many greenhouses that Potters of the past have lamented, where built by the first Potter Lord, Linfred of Stinchcombe. Of course, everyone will remember the Fabled wedding of Lord Charles Potter to Lady Dorea Potter nee Black on these very grounds, and then the subsequent union of their only son and heir to the only daughter of house Longbottom, also on the estate. Anyone in the know will understand that the union of these three houses is of no small matter. The Potter family holds and has held the party leadership of the grey faction since the inception of the wizengamot and has stated through numerous lords that they wish to see a unified government that aims to better the lives of all magical beings. With the Black family having held on to the dark party leadership for nearly a decade and the Longbottom family having held the light faction for nearly the same amount of time, it seems that house Potter has met its lofty goal of a unified government. It also appears, to this writer, that is, that the heirs of the three houses are of similar minds to their respective lords. All three boys could be seen throughout the night cavorting with each other in nothing short of brotherhood. Both Heir Longbottom and heir Black also wore, in addition to their own house insignia, the crest of house Potter etched over their hearts. Meanwhile, heir apparent Potter seemed to be acknowledging all of his roots. Rather than traditional robes, heir apparent Potter wore a fabulous forest green bandhgala (a nod to his great-grandmother’s Indian heritage) adorned with golden olive branches of house Longbottom, stitched into the right cuff while gold stars danced around the left cuff. If one where to pay attention to the details of the sleeves, however, they would notice the gold stitching was not symmetrical. Instead, the patterns depicted the sigils of every Potter connection going back at least three generations. (As we know, the Potter family tree tends to elude all but the lord and heir of the house, so I was only able to confirm three generations via public records.) following the presentation of the heirs, the courting season-‘

That was where the article had been cut out, presumably by lord Charles. Under the clipping was simply. ‘I go to our gods, sure in my family’s prosperity.’