Chapter Text
The Mage – Book 2: First Year at a Magical School
Ten years later
Black Castle
July 26th 1991
Ten years after the events of Godric’s Hollow, much had changed in the wizarding world—and for our young sorcerer.
Harry had grown up surrounded by a close and loving family. Whether it was the Blacks, the Weasleys, the Malfoys, or the Longbottoms, he had forged strong bonds. Even with the more distant branch—the Crouch family—Barty Crouch had proven to be a sort of uncle (though officially a distant second cousin), an amusing, slightly mad one at that.
And, of course, there was his fiancée, Fleur Delacour. They corresponded weekly by owl, with visits every month, whether at Black Manor or her home. Over time, Harry had come to know and appreciate the woman who would one day be his wife.
She had a fiery temper, a true force of nature who wouldn’t stand for any nonsense. Any threat was swiftly reduced to ashes. But she was also great fun, with a sharp sense of humour. Unfortunately, she had to keep that side of herself hidden at Beauxbatons—her Veela heritage was too strong, and the boys there were constantly drooling over her, forcing her to project an icy persona.
But the biggest change in Harry—and the one that mattered most to him—was magic.
Harry was utterly obsessed with magic.
The moment he learned to read, he threw himself headlong into magical books. Sirius, unable to resist spoiling his godson, bought him every book he desired. A habit encouraged—even championed—by Arcturus, who saw in Harry the future of the Black family.
Even Amelia (who had married Sirius in 1983) encouraged the boy, while her niece Susan was less enthused, being more interested in dolls.
Why such enthusiasm? A simple reason: Magic came naturally to him.
Harry could make books and toys levitate, replicate biscuits by the hundred, and even fly without a broom. His magical prowess defied logic. The adults soon found themselves facing an unprecedented dilemma: What could they possibly teach him about magic?
Harry wielded magic as an artist wields a brush, and his spells were like masterpieces.
Books? They lasted mere hours—Harry absorbed them at a prodigious rate. A five-hundred-page tome? No problem; he’d devour it in an hour.
And Sirius had no qualms about purchasing books of an increasingly esoteric nature. Some teetered on the edge of what was forbidden in Britain—some were outright illegal worldwide. But the Blacks had no shortage of wealth or influence and could acquire whatever they pleased.
Necromancy, Mind Arts, mastery of the Dark Arts? Child’s play.
At first, Sirius had been apprehensive, refusing to give Harry access to books on dark magic. Harry’s response?
“Magic is like a knife—you can use it to cut a steak, a rope, or a throat. It’s a tool, and only its user determines whether it’s good or evil. The concept of morality is human; magic exists beyond it, pure and without preconception.”
At seven years old, the boy delivered this statement to his family. The next day, Arcturus handed him his first book on dark magic. Harry demonstrated an extraordinary aptitude, yet never used it for malicious purposes. Even Mad-Eye Moody questioned him about its various applications and seemed satisfied with the answers—though no one, not even Arcturus or Sirius, ever knew what they discussed.
By the age of nine, they could find no more books to satiate his hunger for knowledge. Then Remus had an idea.
The werewolf had moved into Black Manor, his room next to Moody’s—who claimed he was keeping an eye on him in case he “changed skins.” Remus suggested they look to the Muggle world for answers.
Arcturus scoffed at first—what could Muggles possibly know about magic? He was forced to swallow his words when Remus presented him with a book he’d bought in a game shop.
Titled Unearthed Arcana by Gary Gygax, published in 1985, it contained a wealth of spells that astonished the wizards—even more so when they realised the spells were described with precision yet required no incantations or wands.
They attempted some of the spells but failed. However, when they showed the book to Harry, they were hardly surprised to see him successfully conjure a rolling sphere of fire—quickly extinguished by Kreacher.
A new world of possibilities had opened up for Harry. He wasted no time exploring specialist shops, accompanied by his godfather, his grandfather, and the other adults.
After all, they were curious—how were wizards portrayed in the Muggle world? Arcturus couldn’t contain his laughter when he discovered that the archetypal wizard was a spitting image of Dumbledore, complete with flamboyant robes and a long white beard.
Thus, Harry acquired numerous books based on the Dungeons & Dragons universe, along with others of a similar nature. And they gave him ideas—so many ideas. He wanted to try telep…
“Can you hear me, Harry?”
Harry snapped out of his thoughts at the sound of his name. He looked up, his gaze slightly unfocused. Once again, he had drifted off, lost in memories of the past few years.
“Sorry, Uncle Barty, I was miles away.”
“I could tell,” Barty replied with a broad grin. “I was saying that, to celebrate our final lesson, you’re going to remind me of the composition of the Wizengamot and its importance in the wizarding world.”
The young boy rolled his eyes before standing up, accompanied by the amused chuckles of his friends.
Every week since the age of seven, he had attended lessons given by the adults in the family. He wasn’t alone, of course; the other children who were not yet at Hogwarts had to take part as well. Thus, Draco, Neville, Ronald, Ginny, and Susan had all become accustomed to lessons on politics, history, family heritage, and magic.
They had even been joined by others, including Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott, Millicent Bulstrode, Pansy Parkinson, and Zacharias Smith. Harry had been told that the goal was to foster connections between the children, as they were all heirs to important Houses (except Ginny) with seats on the Wizengamot.
As for their tutors, the roster often rotated between Arcturus Black, Narcissa Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy, and Barty Crouch. Sirius outright refused to teach, insisting he preferred to remain the fun and affectionate godfather, while Amelia simply didn’t have the time due to her role as Head of Magical Law Enforcement.
Harry positioned himself in front of his friends, while Barty took his seat. With a wave of his hand, he conjured floating names in the air, glowing in lines of blue light.
“The Wizengamot is an institution of the highest importance,” he began. “It serves as both the supreme court of law and the legislative body that drafts and enacts laws governing the British Ministry of Magic. Its rulings are final, and no institution, except the International Confederation of Wizards, holds higher authority. For instance, it has the power to remove the Minister for Magic at any time or grant full executive authority to the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot.”
The other children watched him with admiration, unable to hide their amazement at his effortless use of magic. Meanwhile, Barty nodded approvingly at the explanation.
“Its composition is even more fascinating,” Harry continued, conjuring a pie chart divided into four sections. “There are four ways to obtain a seat on the Wizengamot, and they can be combined. The first is by inheritance; these are the Hereditary Seats, belonging to the Great Houses. There are currently fifty-eight such seats, with twelve currently dormant due to a lack of an active heir. According to records, the Wizengamot originally had seventy seats, but some families were completely wiped out, leaving no heirs, and their seats vanished.”
He glanced at the chart before smiling.
“Contrary to popular belief, these seats are not fixed. Their number can increase when a family is elevated to the status of a Great House. This selection is made by the enchantment that governs the Wizengamot, which instantly identifies eligible families across the United Kingdom and Ireland.”
“And do you know the criteria?” Barty asked, intrigued.
He had never taught anything about this enchantment and hadn’t even been aware of its existence. Harry met his gaze and nodded.
“Of course. To be eligible, a wizard or witch must be of the third generation, with at least one Muggle-born grandparent, and must not already be the heir to a Great House. So, if a third child from a Great House were to marry a Muggle-born, their grandchild could establish a new Great House. Many of today’s pure-blood Houses were established centuries ago in this manner. The last House recorded through this process was the House of Prince, with its first lord, Gaspard Prince, born in 1812.”
“I never knew that,” Draco murmured, frowning. “Father never mentioned it...”
“My grandmother told me about it once,” Neville said proudly. “She said the Longbottoms became a Great House in 1674.”
“Continue with the Wizengamot,” Barty prompted, looking thoughtful.
Something told him that Harry had got this information from one of the many books he had read, having practically emptied the Black family library. Some of those books were ancient, and there was bound to be a copy of the original Wizengamot charter among them.
“The second way is to be a senior official in the Ministry of Magic. There are twelve such positions: six department heads, one seat for the representative of the Department of Mysteries, one for the President of the Wizarding Examinations Authority, one for the Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic, another for the Minister for Magic, a seat for the Head of the Auror Office, and lastly, one for the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. Even though the latter is an elected role, it is still considered a Ministry position since it comes with a salary.”
“So Professor Dumbledore gets paid? He must be rolling in it with all his jobs!” exclaimed Ronald with a wide grin.
The redhead had changed quite a bit, thanks to the Black family fortune. Dressed in tailor-made clothing, his striking green eyes contrasted sharply with his fiery hair. A highly intelligent boy, he had at first displayed a certain laziness before being taken in hand by Arcturus. The latter had realised that young Ronald simply felt useless, having so many brothers that he thought his parents barely noticed him.
The Black family patriarch had not hesitated to advise Arthur and Molly, urging them not to compare their children to one another lest they create patterns of behaviour like Ronald’s. They had agreed, not having realised their mistake, and soon enough, Ronald began to display his talents as a strategist with remarkable intelligence.
He also developed a certain appreciation for wealth, no doubt a result of having grown up in luxury, as he had only been a toddler when the Weasleys were supported financially by the Black family.
“He is,” Barty confirmed. “In fact, he’s currently the highest-paid wizard in the world.”
And it was true. Albus Dumbledore had a combined income that would make anyone envious. For the sake of transparency, the salaries of all Ministry of Magic employees, Hogwarts staff, and workers in other magical institutions were public knowledge. Many professions also had a standard monthly wage, determined by the demands of the role.
For instance, the conductor of the Knight Bus earned 150 Galleons per month, compared to 160 Galleons for a shop assistant. Other professions, such as journalism, paid 200 Galleons (not including bonuses for successful reporters), while a dragon keeper could earn up to 250 Galleons.
Albus Dumbledore held four positions in addition to being considered a retired professor.
As such, he received 200 Galleons as a professor’s pension (which could only be claimed after 40 years in the profession, as stipulated in the Hogwarts charter, where an active professor earned 320 Galleons). He also earned 550 Galleons as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and 640 Galleons as Headmaster of Hogwarts.
Finally, he received 960 Galleons as Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, plus 500 Galleons as the Ministry of Magic’s Representative to the same Confederation.
All in all, Albus Dumbledore earned a monthly salary of 2,850 Galleons, amounting to 34,200 Galleons annually. Given that he had held these positions for several decades, it was safe to say he had amassed over a million Galleons—enough to buy half the shops in Diagon Alley, if not all the ones in other wizarding districts as well.
“The third way is to be nominated as an influential figure. There are ten such appointed seats, granted by the Minister for Magic. Among those nominated are Hector Dagworth-Granger, founder of the Guild of Extraordinary Potioneers, and Perceval Rackharrow, a renowned Healer. But the most famous include Bathilda Bagshot, author of A History of Magic, Griselda Marchbanks, who has been an authority in magical education for over a century, and Filius Flitwick, a two-time world duelling champion.”
Harry sighed as he finished speaking. He had been forced to memorise the names of all Magenmagot members, along with their seats and roles.
“To better prepare you for your future,” Arcturus Black would constantly tell him, and it irked him slightly.
No matter how much he knew, he wasn’t particularly fond of politics. He had other interests, like advancing magic and creating new spells and enchantments.
“Finally, holders of an Order of Merlin, regardless of rank, receive a lifetime seat. Unlike the other seats, theirs are temporary and tied to their lifespan. There is no inheritance, which means the total number of seats in the Magenmagot is ever-changing. Fortunately, to avoid an excessive increase in numbers, Orders of Merlin are only granted with the approval of both the Magenmagot and the Ministry of Magic. The only exception is the International Confederation of Wizards, which can award the Order of Merlin without such approval, though this is extremely rare.”
“You’re not naming any names?” Pansy asked, furrowing her brows.
The young girl kept sneaking glances at Draco, something the boy was doing his utmost to ignore. She had a crush on him, dreaming of marriage. He, on the other hand, did not.
Harry rolled his eyes before nodding.
"Filius Flitwick for his outstanding career, but also Albus Dumbledore for his victory over Grindelwald."
"And you!" Blaise cried out with a wink.
Harry smiled but shivered slightly. He liked Blaise, truly, but he didn’t trust him—or rather, he didn’t trust his mother. She was infamous for her "widowhoods," her husbands dropping like flies, each leaving her their entire fortune. And Blaise seemed keen to follow in her footsteps, to the point that he had set his sights on Harry. Suffice it to say, Fleur and Blaise should never be left alone in a room together; she’d tear him apart.
"Yes, I hold an Order of Merlin, First Class. Thank you ever so much for your comment," he said sarcastically.
Blaise merely gave him a mysterious smile, which made Harry shiver once more. He would do everything in his power to avoid being in the same House as him at Hogwarts.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the other children giggling, well accustomed to Blaise’s antics.
"Thank you, Harry," Barty said with a smile as he stood. "I won’t ask for an explanation on the factions, since we covered them in detail yesterday. Now, can you name the three wizards with the most seats?"
The boy shot his uncle a glare, but Barty merely smiled back. He was doing this on purpose…
"Alastor Moody is in third place with three seats, Arcturus Black in second with four, and finally, Sirius Black dominates the Wizengamot with seven seats."
"Harry…" Barty raised an eyebrow.
Harry’s shoulders slumped.
"Oh, fine. Sirius holds seven seats by proxy, as I’m not yet of age to sit on the Wizengamot. I am the true holder of those seven seats."
"Perfect!"
Barty clapped his hands, looking pleased. Meanwhile, the other children stared, wide-eyed, not having known this. They were aware Harry had seats, but not that he had quite so many.
Harry smirked and flicked his fingers.
Barty didn’t understand why the children erupted into laughter, but when he turned to Harry, he saw the boy’s wicked grin. Harry gave a deep bow before waving his hand again, summoning a mirror before the adult.
Barty groaned at the sight. His hair was now bright pink, tied into pigtails, his beard fluorescent green, and his face adorned with garish clown makeup. He could not wait for them to leave for Hogwarts…
As if some higher power had heard him, Kreattur appeared with a loud pop.
"Oh, great owls have come, yes, with letters, young master… Letters from Hogwarts, for everyone… except poor little Miss Weasley, no, no, nothing for her, oh, what a tragedy, what an injustice! Perhaps Hogwarts has forgotten her? Or maybe…" Kreattur clicked his tongue, eyes glinting mischievously. "…Maybe Hogwarts knows things we do not, oh yes, very mysterious, very suspicious…"
Ginny shot him a murderous look, while Kreattur merely smirked at her. The old elf knew full well she wouldn’t be starting at Hogwarts until next year, and he took great pleasure in teasing her.
He had noticed the young Weasley girl was utterly infatuated with Harry Potter, despite already knowing him. And he did not like it, even if she was a descendant of Cedrella Black. After all, Harry was engaged to Fleur Delacour, and the elf was rather fond of the quarter-Veela.
"Do you know what this means?" Sirius announced as he strolled into the room.
The children exchanged glances, grins spreading across their faces.
"We’re going to Hogwarts?" Millicent asked softly.
Her voice contrasted sharply with her appearance, which was far from delicate. She was kind and possessed impressive physical strength. Unfortunately, she had inherited her parents’ lack of beauty, to the point where some wondered if she had hag blood.
"Yes, but more importantly, it means we’re all going to Diagon Alley tomorrow!" Sirius declared, throwing his arms wide.
Small fireworks exploded around the Marauder as the children cheered. Well, all except Harry, who shot a look at his godfather.
He was far from impressed, especially after Sirius had made it clear they’d all be going together. Harry could handle crowds just fine, but he had no love for shopping—especially not in such a large group.
He sighed internally, already dreading the hours it would take. He cursed the owls under his breath.
Bloody pigeons, couldn’t they have delivered the letters tomorrow when everyone was home?