Reading Time: 95 Minutes

Title: Stone of Theia
Author: MykkiTno
Fandom: Harry Potter
Genre: Drama, Family, Mystery, Pre-Relationship, Time Travel
Relationship(s): Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy, Severus Snape/Sirius Black
Content Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Hate Crimes, Hate Speech, Incest, Major Character Death, Slavery, Torture, Violence-Graphic, Violence-Against Children/Child Abuse. Depression, Death/Murder, Discussion of genocide/terrorism, Potion control, Mind control, Bigotry, Homophobia, Sexism
Author Note: Warnings explained. re: Major Character Death – as it pertains to time travel, and references to canon deaths for those that remember the alternate timeline, plus a few extras in new Timelines. re: Incest – discussion with Pureblood families – Draco/Harry could be considered 2nd cousins.
Alpha: Hourstillnoon. Shout out for Alphaing the story for me, and stopping me from spiralling, in addition to my co-workers (Vi and Sav) for letting me ramble. This probably wouldn’t be the story it is without your help and patience.
Word Count: 139864
Summary: After the war, haunted by Grimmauld and suffering from dreams and visions, Harry finds himself in an otherwise empty room, except for a rune-covered table and a crystal ball. Not understanding the significance, he grabs the ball intending to throw it.

The next thing he knows, he’s holding an amulet, there’s a ring on his finger, and he can hear Sirius pounding on the wall. Offered a chance to change things, he knows nothing will be the same again.
Artist: Coco
Artist Appreciation: I want to thank my artist again for the beautful work they did. It’s humbling to see how the story I crafted can be visualized by others

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CHAPTER TEN

August 24, 1995 – Rome

Harry swallowed, looking up at the tall, imposing doors that stood another half of Hagrid tall, wondering not for the first time what he’d gotten himself into, time travelling and changing events he knew to be true.

Technically, he knew that had been advice during the usage of a time turner, but even still, he couldn’t help but question if he was still doing the right thing.

“You need to place your hand on the door, Your Grace.”

Startled, Harry flushed and glanced at Ragnok to his left, the surprise addition to his travel plans this morning. Well, Ragnok and a whole contingency of warriors he hadn’t expected, though the explanation had made sense.

The house had been closed for a long time. There was no telling what had happened inside, considering it had been forced to sleep with Medea and not placed in stasis like normal.

The Villa was intimidating in a way Grimmauld had never been. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected when the Villa had been discussed at the bank, and neither had Ragnok, considering it had been Harry who had to ask about it, which had apparently produced the deed and coordinates.

But what stood before him wasn’t what he expected, it had a set of double doors that stood at least four and a half metres made of a solid dark wood he didn’t recognize, it looked black, but somehow Harry knew it wasn’t but wasn’t sure if actually wanted to know what colour it was.

Sirius slung an arm over his shoulders and squeezed him in a half hug, “you ready?”

“No, but I won’t get answers without going in.” Harry admitted with a resigned sigh, “and we have guests coming once Ragnok is done being our escort.”

“I think you mean you have guests,” Sirius replied with a grin and nodded to the door, “after you, Your Grace.”

Heaving a sigh, Harry set his hand on the door, mouth growing dry as he felt Medea swell inside him, merging with the wards of the Villa.

The information that filled his mind made him swallow hard, and he hid the trembling in his hands as the door swung open, feeling like the little boy who sometimes felt like they were still trapped in a cupboard under the stairs.

Taking a deep breath, he eased from under Sirius’s arm and stepped inside, boots echoing off the vaulted ceiling as the rest followed him.

The first room they entered was bare. Though the sun wasn’t high enough overhead to cast any light directly into the opening, directing over the fountain, there was enough to highlight the room. The fountain began with a surge of magic that seemed almost gleeful in its happiness as it bubbled in a cascading waterfall, reflected in the mosaic tiling. The black and white tiles, detailed and pristine, circled the cistern in the center, which showed the solar system as it slowly rotated, using the fountain as its orbit.

It was strangely beautiful and relaxing, and he couldn’t help but think about the point of the room when a near-silent crack filled it. A very confused but emotional house elf appeared before him wearing an ancient toga-style uniform with the emblem of the house stitched onto the shoulder.

“Master?”

Harry swallowed, glancing at his godfather, who shrugged back helplessly, obviously at a loss. Not sure what else to do, Harry knelt in front of the creature, ignoring the inhales behind him, who had been wiping its eyes as if trying to remove sleep and the tears that wouldn’t stop coming. “My name is Harry, and I claimed the Mávros title. Who are you?”

“I be Pixie, my lord, head elf of Mávros House.” The elf offered a curtsy, “I is sorry for lack of greeting, but this elf is the only one here and does not know where the rest are.”

Harry closed his eyes, trying to hide his horror at the realization that the house had gone to sleep with an elf inside it. “I….” Harry trailed off, not sure what to say.

Pixie wiped her eyes and cleared her throat, “It is alright, Master. Medea is sharing what she can, though the connection is weak. Meandros and I slept for a long time.”

Closing his eyes at the house’s name, Harry inhaled steadily. The name shouldn’t have surprised him, yet it did. The symbolism and meaning behind the name ‘Unity’ could be almost ironic, considering he was aware of the family’s history. Nodding helplessly and offering his hands, Harry whispered. “Maybe if we establish a connection that will help with Medea and the house in which you’re bound?”

The elf brightened, “Master still wants me?”

“Of course, you are an elf of Mávros. It wasn’t you who had done wrong, and you shouldn’t have suffered the consequences you have for their shortsightedness.” Harry replied instantly, squeezing Pixie’s fingers gently when she slipped them into his, “I, Hadrian Cadmus James Brenin, Comte of Mávros, accept you as my elf.”

The snap as the connection solidified was audible, as the elf glowed brightly for a long moment, and when the light dimmed, she was dressed in a more modern pinafore with the Mávros emblem stitched onto the apron of her dress.

The confusion there faded after a few more minutes as she swallowed repeatedly, eyes widening in horror, “You be Regent! You should not kneel for me, Master Harry!”

Harry winced as the room erupted in noise. The contingency of warriors dropped to their knees, and his grip tightened when Pixie tried to let go. Ragnok uttered a sharp command behind him, which stilled the movement of everyone in the room, allowing Harry to focus on the elf again. “Pixie, please, for now, that is a secret of House Mávros; only a select few know the truth.”

“I is not giving masters secrets away.” Pixie whispered, scandalized at the comment, “Pixie, be good elf-“

“Pixie, please- just-just listen,” Harry interrupted what he knew would be a long, drawn-out scene of reassurance and roundabout arguments and sighed heavily, “I know we don’t know each other, but please believe me when I say I would never assume you’d tell my secrets, I understand the magic of an elf wouldn’t allow that.”

“Oh…” Pixie stared at him with wide eyes, but Harry wasn’t done.

“But just because I know that doesn’t mean I know everything. I might be Regent with many other titles, but I wasn’t raised as a wizard and only learnt of this world when I turned eleven. Being fifteen now means I have four years of a lacklustre British education that is not what it once was.”

The big gold eyes glowed briefly before she nodded decisively, “Pixie understand, and Pixie helps Master when he needs information he does not have.”

“I have one other elf in my care. Would you like to meet them?” Harry asked carefully, gauging the elf’s reaction to his offer.

Pixie hesitated before whispering slightly, “Is any being Mávros elf?”

Frowning, Harry nodded slowly, trying to understand why she didn’t know of the time travel. “he was the head elf in England, but due to circumstances outside his control, not only was he the only one left, he was magically corrupted, though he had healing. He presents a front to people who are unknown to Mávros.” He didn’t want to say ‘enemy’ outright; the knowledge that the word had weight was almost a heavier burden than the repercussions the word would cause. “Did you want to meet him?”

Wide, curious eyes regarded him silently as Pixie nodded.

Taking a deep breath, he sent out a pulse of magic and realized he could feel Kreacher, who was slowly starting to panic and called. “Kreacher.”

The old house elf appeared with a silent crack and burst into tears, echoed a moment later by Pixie, who threw herself at the elf, the two of them tumbling to the floor heedless of the audience.

Harry blinked tears away as he watched the reunion, Medea offering the information before he even asked, “he’s your brother.”

Pixie rose to her feet, clutching at Kreacher, hastily wiping her tears, “Pixie is sorry for the display, Master Harry.”

“No, never be sorry for that,” Harry whispered, eyes glistening, the loss of this reunion in that alternate future stirring a burning sensation of rage.

Kreacher cleared his throat, clenching his sister’s hand, “Kreacher is sorry for not telling-“

“Not your fault.” Harry interrupted firmly and explained to Kreacher, “The magic that protected you prevented the secret from being shared. You hold no blame.” Clearing his throat, Harry resolved to find a way to punish the one responsible for the travesty and shoved the hatred at Casimir deep inside. Later, he resolved to have a long talk with Medea because something like this could never happen again. Ever.

“You two take the day. I know the Malfoys are bringing two elves; I’m sure they won’t mind helping out for a day or two.”

Pixie shook her head, “Pixie must stay. She appreciates the reunion offer, but Meandros House holds secrets only known to Head Elf, Master Harry.”

“Are you sure?” He had to ask, hating that he felt he was interrupting something important they needed, considering the two elves already looked remarkably different.

Pixie glanced at her brother, a soft, poignant expression crossing her features, which turned to emphatic understanding as Kreacher nodded. “We are sure, Master Harry.”

Looking between the two elves, Harry finally nodded and rose to his feet, hesitating before offering his hand, “Let’s have a tour then.”

The Villa was gorgeous – still intimidating but beautiful and peaceful. It felt like an improvement to how Hogwarts felt, which had been a strange thought. For the first time since he’d learnt of the magical world, something other than the school felt like home or what could lead to being a home. His sense of worth or lack of proper understanding of what that meant, finally having a baseline to gauge what should be normal.

Thankfully, due to magic, the Villa had been given a modern edge. However, in keeping with the traditions of the past, thankfully, the contemporary edge included indoor plumbing, separate from what they had done. Each of the fifteen bedrooms had its private bathroom, which Harry was infinitely grateful for, as he was unsure how he would feel about sharing a bathroom with the guests expected to arrive shortly. Every time he thought of Draco recently, he got squirmy on the inside, his face feeling hot, and Sirius took to laughing at him silently, his eyes dancing with amusement.

There were three libraries, one for guests, one for family, and one for the head of the family, and it caused a slight pang of mourning that Hermione would have been in raptures viewing the rooms. Some “books” had been written on papyrus, confirming the idea and acknowledging that the Black family was ancient.

Glancing at his watch, Harry left the study, unable to concentrate, and moved to the gardens, the expansive grounds mind-boggling, considering it held three gardens, herb, kitchen and floral, a whole orchard, stables (thankful empty though that had been the fault of Casmier and a gambling debt) a small ‘pond’ that rivalled the Black Lake, two greenhouses one that housed the dangerous plants, and the other for potions work, both of which had been placed in stasis when the house slept.

The grounds hummed with magic, alive and joyful, ancient and proud. The contrast between Grimmauld and even Hogwarts was eye-opening, though heartbreaking, because this was what magic should feel like, not the dark that had permeated the very air of Grimmauld or even the tired sluggishness that seeped from the pores of the school.

Sitting on a surprisingly comfortable stone bench next to the flower garden, the sound of a water fountain tinkling in the background, Harry relaxed for the first time in what felt like forever.

Taking in the two-story Villa sprawled out in an L-shape, Harry watched a flock of butterflies land on the flowers and breathed.

There was so much to do, but he took a moment to relax, knowing that as soon as Draco and Narcissa arrived, it would be a go-go-go momentum, something he wasn’t sure he was looking forward to. Looking at the Villa, he saw the top of the observatory, the rounded dome surrounded by pale tan terracotta tiles. He knew directly below was the ritual room, which, in hindsight, made sense given what Medea was and the modern Black tradition of naming children after the constellations, something he suspected was a remnant of Medea whispering in her sleep.

It was interesting to determine where everything was visually without using the wards. Pixie’s tour had been thorough and intimate, her knowledge overflowing with an understanding that Harry suspected was Medea’s hand, as Pixie had described the motif walls. Explaining that the only portraits were in the lord’s office or the gallery. Something Harry hadn’t known of but was thankful for was the lack of portraits, no longer having to deal with portraits spying on his every move. Though there was some bitter resentment that the place where Casmier should have rested was conspicuously empty, it made him wonder if that had been part of Medea’s punishment, something she still hadn’t shared.

Feeling a flex in the wards, Harry drew in a nervous breath and pushed to his feet, knowing his guests had arrived via the portkey from Ragnok.

Kreacher appeared beside him, rubbing self-consciously at his new uniform, avoiding Harry’s eyes as he scuffed the toe of his booted foot against the bench, “Master Harry’s guest arrives. Kreacher is here to escort you.”

“Afraid I’ll get lost?” Harry asked dryly, only to pause as the expected snarky comeback didn’t leave the elf’s mouth. “Kreacher?”

The ancient elf drew in a deep, rattling breath, “Kreacher wants to thank Master Harry for giving his sister back. He had forgotten how much he missed her and had started to think that sometimes she might have been more illusion designed to torture than actual memory.”

“I’m sorry, Kreacher.” Harry offered sympathetically, knowing how much damage the horcrux had done to the elf.

“It’s not Master Harry’s fault.” Kreacher said firmly, “Kreacher just wants him to know how happy Kreacher is.”

“Then I’m glad I could do this for you.” Harry said simply, suspecting the elf would become uncomfortable if he said anything else, and nodded to the Villa, “Were the Malfoys left in the reception hall?”

“Pixie is with them; they both looked shocked and enthralled, looking around.” Kreacher admitted, then flapped his ears as if to dispel the negative thoughts, “If Master Harry knows the way, Kreacher is going to show the two elves that came with Malfoys around, but we be needing more elves, Master Harry.”

Running a hand down his face, Harry sighed, looking around the grounds again, “Yeah, I know.” Smoothing his robes, he looked at Kreacher, “I- do you know if I can trust Dobby? I know originally, he was a Malfoy elf; Draco ordered to protect me, and suspects Dobby snuck a bond on me…”

Kreacher looked at him, expressionless, before it twisted in disgust, “Master Draco, speak true. Dobby snuck bond, but he’s been heavily influenced by the old man. If Dobby goes to healing conclave, it will take time, but it possible to heal him.”

“And Winky? Crouch’s elf?” Harry asked.

“Winky is a proper elf. What happened to her was unfair and wrong. It’s a basic betrayal of the gift of magic.” Kreacher said evenly, though his eyes grew flinty.

“Okay, we’ll start with Winky. I’m not up to dealing with Dobby yet.” Harry said, “Should-”

“I’ll be sending Pixie, Master Harry.” Kreacher drawled, his tone evident that he thought Harry a fool and an idiot for suggesting or even thinking he might go searching for a wayward elf. When Harry said nothing, Kreacher eyed him suspiciously before popping away, and Harry waited for an additional minute before smiling as he turned and headed to meet the Malfoys, wondering again, not for the first time, what was up with his life, because he wasn’t sure if it could get any stranger.

***

Having grown up in splendour and the ultimate power of being a Malfoy and the son of a Black, Draco could admit to feeling intimidated in a way he didn’t think he had before.

The simplicity of the reception room was a stark contrast to what the Malfoy family had tried to replicate with the grand foyer. Where that room had paintings and priceless objects on display, in addition to expensive furniture and carpets, this room was bare, except for the busts in each corner of the room, plus the larger one under the living wall of greenery and flowers in full bloom and the bubbling fountain in the middle of the open ceiling room.

It was relaxing in a way Malfoy Manor could never be, each room of the manor designed to showcase their wealth and power, just by being one of the Sacred 28, which in the end had meant nothing when his father had forced him to bow to a horror.

The arrival of a house elf was silent – one second, they were alone; the next, a house elf in a toga with the Mávros emblem stitched onto the arm stood before them, regarding them with a mixture of apprehension and excitement. However, her training seemed more extensive than any elf Draco had met, as she just waited for acknowledgment and then stood there silently, watching both of them look around.

His mother finally dragged her eyes from the fountain and smiled at the house-elf, “Is your master available?”

“He is on his way.” The elf replied softly, the accent reflecting the passage of time, but the proper way she spoke held Draco’s attention. “I am Pixie, head elf of Mávros. Kreacher is showing your two elves around, and after the tour, tea will be served in the gardens unless the mistress would prefer to refresh.”

Narcissa shook her head, “We would enjoy a tour; refreshments can wait until after tea. I am Narcissa,” she waved a hand towards Draco, “my son, Draco. He’ll be going to school with Hadrian.”

Pixie nodded, “Master Harry will be here momentarily. While we wait, would you like an explanation for this room?”

Nodding in fascination, Narcisa eagerly followed the elf towards the fountain, and as interested as he was, he was nervous about seeing Harry again. There was all their history at school, the end of the original story, the time travel, and the letter writing, filled with innuendos and flirting. It hadn’t helped that he couldn’t respond to Harry’s last letter. It had been filled with enough heartbreak to cause tears, and the knowledge that it wasn’t the first time someone had interfered in a relationship within Hogwarts meant they had learnt not to let something start before they resorted to such betrayal.

“This is a bust of Helios, Medea’s grandfather. The bust across from him is Oceanus, and his wife Idyia is beside him, and Medea is opposite him.”

“Who’s under the greenery?” Narcissa asked curiously, moving to stand in front of the bust, which was part of what had caught Draco’s attention, and he turned to hear the answer.

“Um…. that’s Thanatos, mistress.” Pixie swallowed and glanced around nervously, toeing the tiling uncomfortably, “The greenery represents Yggdrasil, and the children Medea had,” the elf paused, “the tree is blooming for the first time in forever. It is the second time the tree bloomed in Pixie’s life.”

“Warwick…” Draco whispered, jerking as his mother turned to look at him.

“Pardon?”

Swallowing, Draco looked at the bust again, “Harry, he’s the Duke of Warwick…”

“and Master of Death.” Narcissa breathed, eyes fluttering shut, only to open them seconds later. “Who arranged the room? Is it the magic of Medea? Or magic herself?”

The elf glanced between the two of them, looking more and more nervous, “Pixie doesn’t understand. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, Pixie, they just figured out what I feared would happen,” Harry answered, coming into the room and glaring at Sirius following at his heels.

Sirius held up his hands, “I thought it was poetic. Even if anyone with half a brain made the connection, they wouldn’t think, ‘Hey, he’s the regent too.”

“So not the point, Sirius,” Harry replied tiredly, showing this was already an argument the two had. “I think I’d rather they know about the regency before the possibility of reincarnation.”

There was a beat of silence before Narcissa spoke, “Reincarnation is a standard belief of wizarding society, Your Grace, though I doubt any would believe in reincarnation stretching back that far.”

Harry raised a single eyebrow, “Considering Warwick goes back to Ramses the Second, I’d believe that, but you both know what I did in the future. It was an easy connection to make with the title. Currently, though, I’m taking care not to let the claim of the Warwick title appear in the papers yet.”

“The immortal king.” Narcissa breathed, “Really?”

Harry inclined his head. “We can discuss it later, Lady Malfoy.”

“Narcissa, please, Your Grace.” She curtsied perfectly, bowing her head, and flushed when Harry held out a hand, urging her to stand.

“It’s Hadrian, Narcissa, at least amongst family, please,” Harry said, offering a small smile and kissing the back of her hand. “Welcome to the heart of Medea. The house’s name is Meandros,” he shrugged somewhat, “which means unity and infinity.”

Narcissa’s eyebrows flew up in surprise. “So Grimmauld?”

“Is not the heart, no. Meandros is much older,” he waved a hand, “Pixie can give you a full history lesson later, but let’s say, without being vulgar, that the inbred nature of purebloods in Britain is not a new standard.” He shuddered and shook his head, “Grimmauld, though, is the fourth home. The secondary home was unfortunately lost years before she was created, and I don’t think anyone knew her name, or it’s been forgotten in the family annals. Grimmuald’s name was Revna; she was the great-great-granddaughter of Boudica with all of her knowledge. They married Bedreive’s grandson and had five children, starting the official line in England.” Harry replied, squeezing Narcissa’s hands before letting go, “Welcome into my home, know safety and care under my roof.”

It was a curious ending, but Draco didn’t have time to dissect the meaning before green eyes met his “Your Grace.”

The arrogant lift of Harry’s eyebrow made Draco’s lips twitch as he fought a smile, which turned into a full-out grin when Harry folded his arms, “Draco.”

“Proper formalities are a must, Your Grace.” Draco replied serenely, adopting a bored expression, “One must take care of first impressions.”

“So, flirting via letter is to be ignored or taken with a grain of salt?” Harry countered, mischief burning in his eyes as Narcissa gasped softly, making Draco blush furiously at being called out.

Biting his lip, Draco shrugged elegantly, “I wouldn’t want you to believe there was no truth to my words, Your Grace.”

“Then call me Harry or Hadrian, Draco.” Harry said, holding out his hand, “We have a chance to correct the wrongs that have been done to us in the past, and I would prefer no misunderstandings happen in the future.”

Draco didn’t even think, accepting the hand, and felt Harry’s magic slide over his body, making him shiver under his clothing, the sudden warning from his mother of the Veela inheritance loud in his ears.

***

“Unable to sleep either?”

Harry’s voice sounded behind Draco, who turned his head and watched the other teen, still dressed as he’d been at dinner, slowly descend the path, proving he hadn’t attempted to go to bed.

“No,” Draco replied turned back to stare at the pond, shifting over as Harry gestured to the spot beside him, “it’s-“ he shook his head and sighed, “I was so tired when I laid down, I could have sworn I’d go right to sleep, but the scent of everything is so foreign to England that it just brought to home that everything is different.”

Harry hummed in agreement as he sat beside Draco on the ground under the large tree with multi-coloured leaves, which clumped together so each branch section differed. It tickled something in Draco’s mind, but he couldn’t focus on what it could be with everything else churning in his head.

“Are you worried about tomorrow?” Harry asked gently, picking up a rock and smoothing the dirt from the edges.

Draco shrugged, “Not really; in our original fourth year, Mother looked into having me transferred. Lucius obviously stopped that, but I know about the testing phase, and it’ll be interesting to see how the education, which includes two extra years we have, meets up with what the ISM provides.”

Harry nodded, wondering, “Do you regret leaving your friends?”

Draco leaned back against the tree and closed his eyes, thinking of the question, unsure if he knew the answer. “I regret not being able to warn them, but we had no means to communicate during the summer that weren’t being watched.” He opened his eyes, gazing over the dark water, which reflected the moon. “I’ll miss them; Pansy, Theo, Vincent, and Gregory have been my friends for as long as I can remember, but it’s safer if they’re not involved in our plans.”

“What they don’t know, they can’t betray?” Harry asked with an understanding, which caused tears to burn Draco’s eyes even as he nodded.

Harry sighed, running a hand through his rapidly lengthening hair that now brushed the top of his shoulders, “I told the twins that if they still had plans to quit Hogwarts, to apply to the ISM, but they’re the only ones.”

“They won’t betray you?” Draco asked cautiously.

Harry shook his head and asked without rancour, “Because they’re Weasley’s?

Draco shrugged, “No offence is meant, of course, but the question does bear asking.”

“No, I know that.” Harry sighed, “The last time I spoke with them, they were waiting on word from their Great Aunt, Muriel Prewett, before deciding to remove themselves from the Weasley line.”

Draco’s eyes shot open, unaware he’d closed them, “Pardon me?”

Grimacing, Harry glanced his way, “They’re the rightful Heirs to the Prewett lordship, a fact that was hidden from them.”

Horrified at the implications of that, Draco could only stare at Harry, “Who would do that?”

Harry shrugged, “it was already an emotional moment, so I didn’t ask, and they didn’t offer. I know that Lady Prewett isn’t aware either because, according to the twins, Muriel should have had custody of them the entire time as the oldest living Prewett.”

Draco could only shake his head, “What about Granger and Weasley? How have they taken the summer events?”

Snorting, Harry tossed the rock aside, “Horribly, but it’s- gratifying, isn’t the right word, but it’s close enough to see their true colours show. I never realized how much they manipulated me or how often I bowed down to their expectations.”

“I’m sorry you’re dealing with it for a second time,” Draco offered sympathetically.

“I’d rather know.” Harry said softly and admitted, “It’s painful to look back and see how fake everything was, but I can think of several instances where something would happen, and it was often implied my feelings didn’t matter.”

“What do you think they’ll do?” Draco asked.

Helplessly, Harry shrugged, “I honestly don’t know. Spying on their meetings, I realized that what I experienced in our original fifth year was something they already knew would happen. Still, because I tossed out the information about the ISM in front of the Wizengamot, I know Hermione’s on the warpath about her lack of educational opportunities.” He grinned suddenly, “it probably didn’t help that Grimmauld left practically nothing to read for them either, I think there were a few etiquette books, Wizarding customs, and children’s stories readable in the library.”

Laughing, Draco tipped his head back, inhaled the scent of the tree again, and looked at the moon.

“It’s Silvanus Donum.”

Startled, Draco looked at Harry, “What?”

Harry pointed up, “The tree? Medea heard you ruminating on the tree. It’s Silvanus Donum, also known as the Arbour Multa or the Tree of Plenty.”

Draco drew a sharp breath, jerking his head up to stare into the twisting branches, “There are only three known trees like this in the world.”

“Eh, technically, there are five, but the one at Hogwarts has been forgotten too.” Harry replied, reaching up to touch a branch as it dipped towards his head, caressing the top of it, “It was actually our family who gifted a seed to Sulis to use in her offerings when she petitioned magic to create Hogwarts. In response, magic forced the tree into full bloom, which helped feed the refugees that lived there during the rebellion after Avalon fell.”

“How do you know that?” Draco demanded, then waved a hand to stop the response, “No, I can understand Medea sharing the information that it was gifted as an offering, but how- Hogwarts’s name is Sulis? What?”

Harry’s smile turned into a smirk, and he lifted an eyebrow. “She was a Celtic Sun Goddess of Healing and Prophecy. She foresaw the destruction and fallout of Avalon, so in the months leading up to it, she removed her faithful from what became known as Bath and left for Scotland in the place where Hogwarts now sits.”

“But-but-but that means Hogwarts is older than we think!” Draco protested.

“About four hundred years, give or take.” Harry replied, amusement dancing in his eyes, “One of the children who was there as a refugee grew up under the mentorship of an older boy, though they became great friends. When they both obtained their individual masteries, they applied to teach at the school. It was much later – about a hundred years later that Rowena and Helga joined them, and the ‘official’ history of Hogwarts was created, blessed and approved by Sulis as she didn’t want the scrutiny or questions that would arise if the truth became known.”

Draco shut his mouth, shaking his head, before repeating, “How do you know that?”

“If you’re curious, Salazar was the younger,” Harry full-on grinned at the dumb-founded expression on Draco’s face. “you’re not going to accuse me of lying or making shit up?”

Draco growled and tackled the teen, knocking him to his back and pinning him to the ground, echoing the gasp Harry let out when they stilled, green eyes staring up at him in shock.

“I wasn’t imagining,” Harry muttered more to himself, but Draco heard him anyway and asked.

“Imagining what?”

“I felt your magic when we shook hands early. I’ve- it wasn’t until near the end of the war that I thought I used to feel it, but then it…” Harry whispered, licking his lips, “In the sixth year, I couldn’t anymore. It didn’t hurt, but it was like a void. I felt empty and couldn’t explain why. Afterwards, everyone just told me it was grief over losing everyone, and I had to give it time.”

Draco closed his eyes but didn’t move off of him. “Did you do research into Veela like I suggested?”

“Grimmauld didn’t have much,” Harry admitted, eyes roving over Draco’s face. He could see the darkening cheeks to show Harry was blushing, “a few of them I set aside knowing I wouldn’t get accurate information from them, one book on genealogy, and another on biology, which felt weirdly invasive, and probably told me more about you then I think either of us might be comfortable with at this stage of our friendship.”

Draco could feel a blush at that part of the sentence, and he swallowed, “Did any of them talk about Veela mates?”

Harry nodded, then shook his head, “It was mentioned, but didn’t explain what it meant.”

“Um, so Veela fall under the creature category, as I’m sure you’re aware.” Draco said leadingly, waiting for Harry to nod, who did, eyes locked onto his, “Besides all of the biological differences, one of the perks, as it were, is our ability to be highly compatible with another witch or wizard if we don’t find anyone within the community. If the connection is nurtured, it can grow into an intimate relationship, often ending in marriage and children, hence the name Veela mates.”

“So, it’s preordained?” Harry asked slowly.

“No,” Draco admitted, unsure if he liked the direction the question was leading. Still, he knew he had to answer honestly, “preordained implied something like soulmates, which, while it sounds romantic, feels too much like manipulation and coercion for me to be comfortable with. With the mate’s thing, the two compatibles both have to want it and then it takes work and dedication to make it work.”

Harry’s eyebrow wrinkled, but he didn’t indicate he wanted Draco to move, “and we’re compatible?”

Draco nodded.

“How compatible?” Harry whispered, voice wavering slightly.

“Extremely.” Draco admitted, “You stopped feeling me in the sixth year because of the mark.”

“But you could still feel me.”

It wasn’t really a question, but Draco nodded, “As soon as you were brought across the boundary by the snatchers, I knew you were there. I knew I couldn’t help you, so lying about your identity was the only thing I could do in an attempt to keep you safe.” Draco’s eyes fluttered shut, feeling Harry’s finger ghost along his cheek, “it’s also why I didn’t try fighting back to get my wand. I already felt like I betrayed some intricate part of myself. Letting myself be marked was an unforeseen consequence because I didn’t know it would prevent me from bonding with you.”

“Bond?” Harry questioned.

“If we had been allowed, our compatibility would have grown and developed into a bond.” Draco turned his head, chasing the fingers that continued ghosting along his cheek, “I don’t know what else that entails because I haven’t had time to research it beyond a fantastical sense of romance. Though I know we could have children together.”

Harry swallowed hard, eyes wide, “Children?”

Draco frowned and pulled back a little, “I thought you said you read- “

“I did.” Harry squeaked, turning bright red even in the moonlight, “but then it started explaining in detail the differences about male Veela, and I might have freaked out a little bit.”

Draco shifted to the side and froze when Harry grabbed his side to prevent him from moving and licked his lips, asking hesitantly, “Freaked you out how?”

Harry’s hand tightened reflexively, eyes darting away, breaking contact, “Do I have to answer that?”

“No…” it was drawn out, and Draco hid his amusement as Harry huffed in annoyance. “But I would prefer knowing if it’s a good thing or this isn’t going to work.”

The body under him stiffened briefly before a heavy sigh left Harry, and he deflated in defeat, “It was a good thing.”

Draco gently slid his hand up to caress Harry’s face, turning his head until Harry’s green eyes met his again. A slow, hesitant, genuine smile crossed his face. “Really?”

“Yes.” Harry said simply and shrugged helplessly, “I hate being cliche and all, but dying and experiencing time travel puts things into perspective, Draco.”

Alarmed, Draco froze, “Dying?”

“Yes, in the forest,” Harry said. “I thought-didn’t you know that?”

Draco drew in a breath and opened his mouth, shaking his head, but Harry calmly slipped a hand over it.

“We can talk about it in depth later, but I promise the circumstances around that event won’t come to pass this time.” Harry offered, then frowned, “We’re gonna have to go back to the villa now.”

“Why?” Draco asked in confusion, making Harry snort and push him up.

“Because Sirius just stepped outside and is counting to twenty,” Harry explained, sitting up as Draco did, frowning.

“I can’t hear him.”

“Trust me, I can.” Harry said dryly, rising to his feet, “he’s being a bloody troll. I got a half-hour lecture about the age of consent in the wizarding world before he allowed me to invite you, even though I own the bloody Villa.”

“My mother gave me one as well.” Draco admitted, then added, pink painting his cheeks, “She also mentioned it wouldn’t do for the Regent to be caught in an embarrassing and compromising situation, even if it could be explained away.” He frowned as he looked at Harry, who rose to his feet and offered his hand. “It still doesn’t explain how you know he’s outside.”

In answer, Harry allowed the scales to erupt on his face, flicking a forked tongue out, and then grinned, face turning back to normal, as Draco’s face planted on the ground, completely missing his hand.

“Sweet bloody Merlin, Potter!” Draco yelled, rolling to his back, “I don’t know whether to hit you or kiss you, that-that… you’re an Animagus?”

Harry grinned and offered his hand again, “Draco, I am Pendragon. That’s not just a title. It’s the spiritual manifestation for the Regency.”

Draco accepted the hand and allowed Harry to pull him up, and huffed when he did it effortlessly, “I’m going to make a list of questions you’ll be answering.”

“Of course you will.” Harry agreed, laughing, stepping into his personal space, “and I’ll answer what I can when that time comes, but I believe you suggested something else first.”

Frowning, Draco looked down at Harry, who was chewing his lip, “I did?”

Nodding slowly, Harry raised a hand, brushing his hair from his eyes, “Yeah, and I’d prefer not being hit….”

Draco’s eyes widened, breath hitching, “Are you-”

A pair of cool lips pressed against his, and his eyes fluttered shut as magic rose between them, enveloping them in a cocoon of warmth. He leaned down, returning the pressure, as he reached out instinctively, answering the surge of magic that wrapped around the two of them and felt Harry shiver before gasping, his eyes flying open, panting slightly, touching his lips, “I-I can’t say a kiss has ever felt like that….”

“I would have to agree.” Draco swallowed hard, eyes roving over Harry’s face, “Do you regret it?”

Shaking his head, Harry swallowed, “I want to do it again, but Sirius is now walking towards us.”

“Of course he is.” Draco sighed, resigned at having their evening cut short, or well, midnight rendezvous interrupted and felt himself flush at the thought and shook his head, squeezing Harry’s hand. “I don’t regret it.”

A shy, pleased smile appeared on Harry’s face, and he squeezed back before tugging him forward and pressing another quick kiss to his lips before leading him down the path toward the Villa.

They walked silently for a few minutes before Draco glanced at him, “You never did say how you knew all that about Hogwarts…”

Harry flashed a grin before smoothing his expression into a blank mask. “I didn’t?”

Bumping their shoulders, Draco lifted an eyebrow, “You know very well you didn’t.”

Suddenly, Harry grinned. “I wanted to keep it to myself and draw it out, but fine.” Slowing to a stop, Sirius’s shadow just ahead them on the path, “You remember second year?”

Draco stared at him blank-faced, “Do I remember you sneaking into the Slytherin common room and questioning me as Greg?”

“Oh.” Harry flushed, “You knew?”

Draco sniffed, not dignifying that with an answer and waved his hand.

“Well, you started the rumour I was the Heir?” Harry shot back.

“I did, didn’t I?” Draco grinned like a Cheshire Cat and wondered briefly if Harry knew they were real and not what was represented in the awful Muggle story before focusing on Harry, who was glowering at him, the expression reminiscent of their earlier years. “Do I need to apologize?”

A flash of surprise lit the green eyes before he deflated and shook his head, “No, you were right.”

“Right about what?” Draco asked, then froze, eyes widening once again, “Wait! You are the Heir?”

Harry bit his lip and nodded, “Yeah, um, so my mother descended from Cadmus Peverell and Opel Slytherin on the paternal side. Their oldest son inherited the family magics that went dormant until my mother was born. Though she couldn’t hold the legacy, she carried it and passed it on to me.” Harry shrugged, “there’s a bit more to it than that, like how it’s linked to the Regency. It’s just….” He trailed off and shook his head, running a hand through his hair, “I don’t know the full story, and the family grimoire isn’t the most informative.”

Draco had a hundred questions but swallowed them back at the hesitant expression on Harry’s face and focused on the last part of the explanation, “Is there anyone whom you can contact for verification?”

“My maternal grandmother.” Came the whispered response, “I just don’t know if I’m ready to hear the answer or reasons why.”

Unsure of how to address that, Draco reached out and caressed Harry’s cheek before squeezing his hand and starting to walk again, meeting Sirius at the start of the gardens, Narcissa stepping into the light from the wrap-around veranda. “We didn’t do anything but talk.” Draco promised, swallowing as Sirius folded his arms, “and kissed once.”

“Oh, I know.” Sirius agreed, amusement layering his tone, “but you both need to be careful. You almost completed the bond.”

“We did?” Draco asked, dumbfounded, “But we-we only kissed.”

“Doesn’t matter. We felt it from here.” Sirius said, shrugging, “Cissy and I aren’t sure if a bond would be enough to activate the Avalon Protocols, so you both need to be aware as you explore your compatibility.”

“Oh.”

“What does that mean?” Harry glanced at Draco, who knew his face was slack with shock.

“Um, if we bond, it could mean magic sees us as married, even without a formal ceremony,” Draco explained, expression conflicted. “I-” he swallowed, “if we want to prevent that, I don’t know if we can live together.”

Harry glared, scales erupting over his skin, as he tightened his hold and pulled Draco close, the house rumbling in response, echoing his growl: “You aren’t leaving.”

“Blessed Ciere’s.” Sirius ran a hand down his face, “You would have to be a bloody dragon. Possessive little fucks. Draco doesn’t have to leave, Harry. You just need to be aware of the possibility.”

Expression, a cross between embarrassed and contrite, appeared on Harry’s face, scales disappearing, and he ducked his head, “Sorry.”

“I know, pup.” Sirius agreed with a sigh, “We’ll have to see if Ragnok has a copy of the charter or the equivalent, cause I’m honestly not sure what to call it.”

“Magia est promissio.” Harry whispered and flushed, muttering, “That’s still really weird.”

“What is?” Draco asked cautiously when Sirius seemed too stunned to respond.

“Um, getting information dumped into my head.” Harry offered, tightening his hold and eyeing Sirius suspiciously as his godfather shifted.

“I’m not gonna touch him.” Sirius said exasperation, filling his tone, and then sighed, “Just- go to bed. Separately. I promise Draco will be here in the morning.”

Draco nodded, pulling Harry, who was still watching Sirius and led him into the Villa. Stopping at Harry’s door, he offered a smile, pressing a kiss against Harry’s cheek, mindful of his mother, who was waiting at the end of the hall. “Don’t borrow trouble and try to get some sleep. We have a rough three days ahead of us.”

Harry heaved a sigh, shoulders relaxing, “Yeah, alright. I just need you to be here. I’m not sure if I can manage without you in the morning. Pendragon is intense.”

“Ah-uh….” Draco drawled, “Hate to break it to you, Harry, but you’ve always been intense; you don’t need a dragon to show me that.”

At the pleased little smile on Harry’s face, Draco eyes him suspiciously, “What?”

“I think that’s the first time you’ve called me Harry.”

Huffing a laugh, Draco rolled his eyes, “Good night, Harry.”

“Good night, Draco,” Harry whispered and stretched up to brush a quick kiss across his lips before slipping into his suite of rooms, leaving Draco standing there, touching his lips that still tingled from the contact. He sighed in resignation as his mother approached him and led him away, though he couldn’t help but cast a longing look back at the door, wondering if Harry had the same thought he had. He hadn’t wanted the night to end at all.

***

CHAPTER ELEVEN

August 27, 1995

ISM – Rome

Harry leaned over the large table, scanning the test scores from the three brutal days of testing, blinking a little in surprise at the results.

The International School of Magic went all out during acceptance testing, showcasing what they would have achieved in their home country, and it was somewhat startling to see NEWT scores instead of owls. The results caused his heart to skip a beat, followed by Draco’s soft gasp as he got to the same page Harry was on.

DADA – O

Transfiguration – O

Herbology – EE

Care of Magical Creatures – EE

Charms – O

Potions – O

Divination – EE

Astronomy – O

Harry felt like he’d cheated at both divination and astronomy, but there had been no way to block the flow of knowledge from Medea during the tests, as both subjects were such intricate parts of her being.

Everything else, he felt, had been his knowledge, even if that included the additional two years of school he had.

Glancing at Draco, he scanned the blonde’s face and saw the pleased little smile, “How’d you do?”

Silver eyes met him, and he shrugged, handing over his list and holding his hand for an even exchange.

Resigned to the teasing, Harry handed it over, unsurprised that they had the same number of NEWTs.

DADA – EE

Transfiguration – O

Herbology – O

Care of Magical Creatures – EE

Charms – O

Potions – O

Ancient Rune – EE

Astronomy – O

“An O in potions, who would have thought?” Draco said voice filled with warmth instead of a flat tone, handing the sheet back, pulling the other papers closer as if trying to decipher what was written.

“I’ll have you know I worked very hard on that, O.” Harry defended himself, grinning a little, knowing Draco remembered his success in the sixth year. However, he probably wasn’t aware of the reason for that success and made a mental note to confess to using Severus Snape’s old potion book. If he didn’t, it would be his luck; the man would let something slip to Draco later to create havoc.

Turning his attention back to the stack of papers, he copied Draco, a frown appearing as he unsuccessfully attempted to comprehend what was there.

Finally giving up as a bad job, Harry straightened and looked at the Headmaster of the school, Adrian Parks. An American who held two masteries set by the ICW, one in development cores and the other in education. He also held Muggle equivalents in childhood development, with a PhD focusing on English, Latin, and history. He was the sort of man who inspired people, his calm and caring demeanour drawing people in, with none of the artifices that Dumbledore displayed.

Adrian offered a grin, another thing Dumbledore wouldn’t have done, and leaned forward, picking up his coffee, “Here at the ISM, we’re held to a higher standard because of the ICW presence and oversight. We also needed to move from the accepted model that governs individual states and countries to make for a more well-rounded education.” Taking a sip of his coffee, Adrain set it down, spreading the papers, “For example, as you can see from the comparison, we don’t offer a DADA class.”

“We noticed.” Draco replied flatly, “I don’t understand the subject titles listed.”

Harry glanced at the comparison sheet again, his brow furrowing as he read over the sheet.

Defence:

Physical – levels 1, 2, 3

Mental – level 1,2,3

Magical – level 1,2,3

Job opportunities: war mage, battle master, hit wizard.

Education Recommendations: battle magics, elemental weapons, physical duelling, magical duelling, and theoretical espionage.

Blinking, Harry reread it and blinked in sudden realization, looking at the Headmaster before looking at Draco, who was glaring furiously at his paper.

Calmly reaching out, Harry set a hand on his arm and nudged it back, placing his paper in front of Draco, skimming Draco’s results.

Defence:

Physical – level 1

Mental – level 1,2,3

Magical – level 1,2

Job opportunities: war mage, protectorate officer.

Required for advancement: physical fitness level 2,3

Education Recommendations: battle magics, physical duelling, magical duelling, and theoretical espionage.

“I think —um, please just let me explain what I think. If I’m wrong, the Headmaster can correct me,” Harry asked softly, meeting silver eyes that shone with confusion, though Draco nodded. “So, DADA is a vast subject that Hogwarts tries to compact as much as possible into each year while telling themselves they’re preparing us for the real world, but we both know that doesn’t work, right?” Harry questioned, trying to hide around the time travel by indirectly prodding Draco. By the look the teen offered him, Harry knew he succeeded and flashed a soft smile, “so here they’ve broken it downgraded off what each student is good at. Unfortunately for you, and I’m going with a gut feeling that you and most purebloods will fail or at the very least obtain a minimum in physical when it comes to Defence because you aren’t trained to be physically reactive.”

Harry drew in a deep breath, letting it out slowly when Adrian kept silent, and he knew he was correct, “I grew up in the Muggle world, where they are a very physically motivated group. They run, sprint, and jog for fun; they have different martial arts to protect themselves – it’s just all around different. They have hundreds of sports, where we have Quidditch, which could be considered physical, yet it’s nothing like football, basketball, or cricket.”

Draco frowned furiously but didn’t say anything, only nodding.

Harry opened his mouth to say more, but the Headmaster interceded, “Hadrian is right, Draco. None of this reflects you as a person. It’s just not something you’ve been taught.”

Snorting bitterly, Draco ran a hand down his face, “I know that. I’m not mad at either of you. It’s just another negative realization in the post about Lucious’s ineptitude and how he failed as a wizard and a father.”

Adrian regarded him thoughtfully for a few minutes before nodding, “Very well, let’s move on. Based on the recommendations from the individual testers, you both have several strengths that could take you far if directed in the right direction. Given the list of job opportunities, is there anything that appeals to you so we can focus on creating the best repertoire of knowledge?”

“Do we need to focus on one specific topic?” Harry asked, glancing at the rest of his report, feeling overwhelmed by the listing of job opportunities that conflicted with his other duties.

“No, not at all.” Adrian assured as he took another sip of coffee, “That’s what this meeting is for, even though it’s normally held with the class coordinator.”

Feeling a nudge from Draco, he glanced over and saw the same pensive look on his face and sighed roughly, “Mr. Parks, I think I’m going to have to let you in on a secret that is going to have a direct impact on the direction I take my education.”

The Headmaster frowned, “In what way?”

“Draco and I- we both require a bit of secrecy considering the nature of that information and while it feels wrong to request a vow, I can’t risk the information getting out until I disclose it myself. The repercussion will be quite difficult to discern.”

Adrian Parks regarded him for a long, silent moment before a flash of amusement flickered across his face, and he shook his head, “I think I know the secret, Your Grace, and I’ve already been required to take a vow until you choose to reveal it.”

Harry felt Draco tense and frowned at the Headmaster, “How could you possibly-”

A knock at the door echoed around the room, interrupting Harry, and the Headmaster bowed his head in defeat. “I know Ragnok mentioned an influx of students applying to the ISM. Did he happen to mention names?”

Shaking his head, Harry took Draco’s hand, feeling a surge of protectiveness, and fought the reaction to growl, “he did not. Breaking client confidentiality is not something I would ever request.”

Adrian smiled, “I wouldn’t assume to think otherwise, Your Grace, but just-” He made a waiting motion and rose to his feet, heading for the door.

Opening it with a flourish, he bowed the people on the other side into the room, and Harry felt his jaw drop open as first Neville edged into the room, followed by Luna, Pansy Parkison, Blaise Zabini, Susan Bones, Hannah Abbot, Daphne Greengrass and a younger girl he assumed was Daphne’s sister, Astoria. “They all insisted they be present for this meeting to help you plan, but I dismissed them, not wholly believing in Ms. Lovegood’s abilities, to my shame and my wife’s amusement.”

Exchanging a confused look with Draco, Harry rose to his feet, “I’m afraid I still don’t understand.”

Luna stepped forward, dragging a hesitant and frankly uncomfortable-looking Neville with her. The six others followed without hesitation, offering a bow or curtsy. Luna offered a brilliant smile, none of the spaciness one often associated with her reflected in her tone or on her face when she spoke, “we’ve all felt the calling, and knew you would need help, so may I introduce you to the first of your knights for your table, Your Grace?”

“Introductions aren’t necessary,” Dumbfounded, Harry swallowed, slowly sitting back down, “I just- the protocols aren’t engaged; they can’t be; Ragnok would have told me.”

“It’s tied to the Stone, the same way Croaker knew; the knights with the right beliefs, training, and morals are instinctively summoned through the Stone.” She gestured to the others, “They might have older family members that still technically hold their seats, but you need people your age to start the inner ring.”

“You didn’t say blood?” Harry said tonelessly, unable to help but see that they were all purebloods standing before him.

Luna waved him off. “Blood means nothing in the end. We have what you need. Each of us offers different perspectives and counsel, Harry.”

Closing his eyes, Harry ran a hand through his hair, feeling like Pendragon was being suspiciously unhelpful even though he knew it didn’t work that way. Then, he wondered if the silence was because neither he nor Arthur had encountered a situation like this and heaved a sigh, “Fine, who are the others? Cause last I understood, there should be twelve of you, and I’m counting six of you, as I assume Astoria is only here because Daphne is, and it makes no sense to break up siblings.”

Luna glanced at the table. “May I?”

Harry nodded, unsurprised, when the Headmaster conjured enough chairs for all of them and settled back in his seat, completely undeterred that the meeting had been hijacked.

The former Ravenclaw settled into her chair and regarded Harry with clear eyes, “For all that I said, blood doesn’t matter in the end; by tradition and lineage, the first twelve do descend from purebloods, hence why only six of us, seven if you include me, could leave Hogwarts. Five of the others would cause too much suspicion, and three of those five would never be allowed to leave.”

The sentence felt like a riddle and a test, and Harry sighed, hating those almost as much as prophecy. Looking at those gathered and what he knew of the families involved, he thought over Luna’s sentence, “Nott, Crabbe and Goyle, right?”

A beaming smile was his answer, and he turned his attention inward to figure out the other two and froze as the answer hit him. “The twins, but they only count as one?”

Dipping her head, she lifted a shoulder in a delicate shrug, “Correct, though having said that, I’m unsure who the last two are.”

“I do.” Harry admitted, “But they’re not available as of yet.” He glanced at Draco, who was staring resolutely at the table, face expressionless, and nudged his leg with his own, hidden by the table.

Draco’s eyes flicked to his, weak, sad smile crossing his face, which twisted something unpleasant in Harry’s stomach.

“You alright?”

Shrugging, Draco pulled the papers closer, “I’ll be fine, I guess I just didn’t expect this today.”

Snorting in amusement, Harry shook his head, “Neither did I.”

When the fleeting smile fell, Harry leaned forward, lowering his voice and wordlessly casting a silencing charm, “You know you’re not part of the knights because if we continue this relationship, you’d be my consort, right?”

Draco’s eyes snapped to his, wide with shock, and a strangled squeak erupted from his mouth, “Wait! What?”

Suddenly unsure, Harry hesitantly nodded, “Well, yeah, unless- I realize it’s a lot. I can’t say I’d wish it on anyone-”

A warm pair of lips met his, cutting off the words, his eyes only fluttering open when Draco drew back, eyes shining, dimming the fear, “I can’t say it’s not terrifying, but I’m not giving up before we’ve started.”

“I still should have mentioned it. We touched on it the other night, but I don’t think we considered what it would mean in the future.” Harry offered sympathetically.

Draco raised an eyebrow, “I think we both had other things on our minds, Harry.”

Blushing, Harry swallowed, dismissing the silencing spell before Draco could embarrass him further, and addressed the former Hogwarts students, “Alright, so what do you suggest for classes?”

What felt like hours later, Harry looked at the schedule they’d composed of necessary classes, followed by wanted classes, and then continuing learning opportunities. The nice thing about the ISM was that most of the subjects were self-directed in their fifth year, which they were all taking. Yes, they had assignments and lectures, but they could work through the course material at their own pace, learning as quickly or slowly as they wanted, as long as they completed the assignments by year’s end. However, if you finished that module, you continued to the next level, which allowed students to test NEWTS outside the regular curriculum. It was a fascinating system that put England to shame. However, it was nice being able to say he was done with that; by their standards and rules, all of the students here had taken their NEWTS and could be considered by their education system to be done with school and on their way to earning masteries in their field of choice.

Tracing the edge of the paper, he looked around at the others, “Are we going to have at least one other person in our classes? None of us are taking singular classes alone, are we?”

“We already considered that, yes. There will always be someone with you, and then we tried to pair up everyone else, so no one is alone.” Susan paused and looked up, “Though I do have a question, if I am?”

Harry nodded for her to continue.

“How-” she flushed and bit her lip, “I don’t mean to sound rude, but how can the twins join your table?”

“Yes, that!” Pansy agreed, blushing at her outburst, “I didn’t want to be the one to ask.” She shook her head, face red, “The Weasleys are blood traitors as judged by magic.”

Surprised, Harry glanced around the table, seeing various looks of agreement and sighed, “I have no idea how you figured it was the Weasley twins.”

“They’re magical twins, Harry.” Draco explained patiently, “It’s the only way both could serve and count as one seat.”

“Oh.” Harry blinked at the bit of knowledge and then shook his head to clear it as memories of the twins played through his mind. “They’re the Prewett Lords and intend to renounce the Weasley name.” He paused and glanced at Susan, who was staring at him. “So, you might want to work into your plans how to incorporate them into a rotation with the others. I expect them by Yule, if not before.”

Susan frowned but nodded, making a note. Hannah leaned forward beside her, “May I ask why your friends, Granger and the other Weasley, aren’t with you?”

“They’re not my friends.” Harry snapped and took a breath as Draco pressed their legs together, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap.” He took a deep breath and let it slowly, “They’ve never been my friends, though they made me believe they were.”

“Their magical compulsions and loyalty charms helped them keep up the façade.” Draco grunted dryly when Harry glared at him, “It’s true.”

Sighing, Harry flicked his fingers summoning the biscuit plate and snagged one, glancing at the clock, “We should probably give the Head Master his office back, he was good enough to let us use it for the afternoon, but he probably has more things to do than cater to our need for secrecy.”

“Maybe we could ask for our own room?” Pansy asked hesitantly, surprise flashing across her face when Harry agreed. Pansy’s face was a picture of comical disbelief, “You-you’re just going to trust us?”

“I have no reason not to,” Harry said carefully, “we both know the repercussions if you betray Avalon. Magic won’t be forgiving a second time for any of us.”

Pansy matched frowns with Susan and Hannah while Luna got a faraway look in her eyes, expression saddening, “Oh, yes, I see. That can’t happen again.”

Harry frowned, tilting his head, “Luna, what is it….” He trailed off, unsure how to finish the question and whether he wanted the answer.

Yet, Luna seemed to be a law unto herself. She met his eyes; her expression was calm and compassionate. “It’ll be alright; second chances are worth everything.”

Understanding that riddle at least, Harry closed his eyes and nodded, opening them as he cleared his throat, “Pendragon won’t allow it to pass the same again, and if that fails, you have permission to hit me over the head to prevent me from repeating the past.”

“Very well,” Luna agreed to the continued confusion of everyone else.

Pansy frowned, glancing between them as if searching for something and seemingly finding it as she nodded.

Harry glanced at the clock on the wall. “Would you like to come back to the Villa for supper? We don’t necessarily have to plan or anything. Could we just get to know each other and work to put our years at Hogwarts behind us?”

Pansy’s eyes were lit with excitement but dimmed suddenly. “I wish we could, but my mother expects Blaise and me for dinner. Maybe we can meet up in the next couple of days?”

Harry nodded thoughtfully, “I have a magisterial summons to the senate for the next two days, but I’ll be free the day after.” He glanced at Draco, “Draco will be free, though, and it might be good to meet up.”

He looked at Susan and Hannah, who both shook their heads in unison. “Auntie is waiting for us at the hotel, but Hannah and I are moving into the dorm tomorrow before she leaves to reassume her duties in England.”

Daphne arranged the books they’d used for reference, “Astoria and I have the same arrangement with our parents, though our mother will be popping over regularly to visit. She’s looking forward to it, as she constantly complains that Hogwarts doesn’t allow enough family visits.”

“Which is against the charter.” Harry muttered under his breath and then shook his head as nine sets of eyes focused on him, “Later, I already have plans to use it.”

He focused on Neville and Luna, “What about you two?”

“Oh, we’re free. Lady Longbottom has already returned to England, and Neville and I are in the dorms here.”

Harry frowned, “It might be crass to ask, but is staying in the dorms expensive? Because I don’t mind hosting everyone.”

Luna shook her head in disagreement, “It’s not safe to host us all yet, though your offer is appreciated.”

Skeptically, Harry regarded Luna, who blinked guileless blue eyes back at him. “We’ll come to dinner, though; it’ll be nice to formally meet Mr. Black, though Padfoot was fun.”

Harry opened his mouth to question that, then shook his head, not wanting the answer. “Alright, let’s find the Headmaster and submit our requests and class selections. I have an early day tomorrow.”

***

After dinner, Harry led Neville outside, leaving Sirius to his fate, having made the mistake of engaging Luna in conversations. Narcissa absconded with her son, having been invited by Pansy and her mother to a soirée.

Halfway through the gardens, Harry wondered if the walk had been a good idea because Neville went from awkward to rapturous over the flora in the gardens. At that point, Neville stopped to look directly at Harry, a shrewd, almost calculating expression on his face. “Luna said you time-travelled.”

Harry stumbled, flailing a little as he fought to catch his balance, and his gut twisted with fear. “I sincerely hope she hasn’t told everyone that.”

Neville shook his head, “No, not that I know of. It’s just me.”

“What else did she say?” Harry asked, not answering the question.

Neville snorted a laugh, “What doesn’t she say, Harry? Half of what she utters is the complete truth, while the other half is something only, she can see.”

“Nev….” Harry prodded.

The former Gryffindor turned wide blue eyes at him, “She said you started to call me that by the end of the fifth year but that you’d forget and say it earlier.”

“Luna’s always been special.” Harry defended himself and flushed when Neville raised a disbelieving eyebrow.

“Harry, I’ve known and watched you for four years. I’ve never seen you interact with Luna before today, yet you treated her word as truth. Not many do that at the first meeting.”

“Well fuck.” Harry said, then laughed at himself, tugging Neville towards the tree next to the lake, “Are you going to ask me about that alternative future?”

Shaking his head, Neville glanced around the garden. “No, Luna shared the highlights, and it sounds horrifying,” he paused and looked at Harry. “Though if you need to talk about it, I’ll always listen.”

“I know.” Harry whispered, slowing to a stop, and turned to face his friend in the setting sun, “You’re a better friend than I think I deserve, Neville. I wish I had made more effort getting to know you before this.”

Shrugging uncomfortably, Neville scuffed the ground with his foot, “Ron and Hermione would always distract you. I could have done more for you last year. I knew you hadn’t put your name in the goblet.”

Mourning missed opportunities, Harry gestured to keep walking, keeping an eye on where he was going, and Neville, whose head had started to swivel again, said, “I’m going to have to come back and see these during the day. You have a lot of plants and flowers considered extinct….” He trailed off and slowed to a stop, jerking his head towards Harry, who smiled and offered.

“There are five in the world, though the last one is dormant currently.”

“Where-Hogwarts…” Neville breathed, “The tree in the courtyard?” He started walking, eyes darting over the tree in wonder, “I’ve always wanted to see one, but Gran doesn’t like travelling anymore, not since Grandpa passed away.” He stopped in front of the tree, hand hesitating as it trembled before touching the trunk, “How did your family acquire one?”

“Um, well, Medea was gifted the seeds after arriving here in Rome, one gift in exchange for another,” Harry replied awkwardly, unsure how Neville would take that information. “She then gifted the four seeds that sprang from this one.”

Neville froze, turning slowly to stare at Harry, “Pardon me?”

Harry frowned, unsure what was wrong. “I —do you need me to repeat that?”

“No.” Neville said, running a hand through his hair, “I need to know how old this tree is because what you’re suggesting seems impossible, Harry.”

Frown intensifying, Harry stared at his friend, “You seem very accepting and familiar with my family matriarch, Neville.”

Neville flashed, “Oh, um, after Luna contacted me, I read through our family grimoire. My ancestor was great friends with Bedivere and shared much of his family history, including Medea.” He shrugged helplessly, “It seemed somewhat fantastical, but you can’t lie in the Grimoire. It’s spelled to compel the truth magically. It’s to keep us honest. So, I have a vague idea of what her age could be, but I’d like to hear it from you. Please.”

Harry looked out over the lake, feeling Medea swell inside him, and bowed his head. “Over 3000 years old, she passed away around 300 AD, give or take a few years.” He nodded to the tree. “The tree was planted approximately 400 BC; the one at Hogwarts was almost 1000 years later, in ritual.”

Neville just stared at him, slack-jawed, slowly sinking to sit on the ground, “Harry, do you know how unbelievably amazing that is. That you have that sort of knowledge and history at your fingertips is….” He trailed off, shaking his head, “I’m almost envious. The family magics the Longbottoms have is so small in comparison. It boggles the mind how old the Black family truly is. Though it explains how they’re still the oldest family name in England, the annals admit that even if they never confirmed the length.”

“Do you want to be a part of it?” Harry asked the question, turning Neville white.

“What?” He squeaked in disbelief.

“Well, your great-grandmother was Black, so it would be easy to welcome you into the family,” Harry explained, unsure how he felt about the idea, as he couldn’t be sure if it would let Neville access memories of that other future.

“And I thought I couldn’t be shocked after seeing you kiss Draco Malfoy.” Neville muttered, rising to his feet, “I respect you a great deal, and I’m proud to call you friend and my future king, but no. Thank you sincerely for the offer, but I do not want to be in the direct line of sight of your family magics. The risk of knowing is too great, and I don’t want to. What I’ve heard was enough to provide nightmares for days.”

“Fair enough,” Harry agreed, hiding the relief he felt at Neville’s rejection, and bit his lip before blurting, “Would it be rude of me to point out that you’ve changed since the end of the fourth year?”

Harry winced when Neville looked at him, raising an eyebrow, “Kind of yeah, but I get what you’re saying.” He shrugged, dusting himself off, “I claimed the lordship, and so did Susan, Luna and Blaise.” He paused, “that might be why I don’t want Medea’s eye on me. The thought of it makes me uncomfortable, which I now believe is a legacy of the Longbottom family. It would feel too much like absorption into a larger line, leaving us no autonomy.”

“I took no offence at the rejection, Neville. The offer, while rushed, was meant sincerely with no expectation from me to either accept or deny.” Harry reassured him, “I think it’s better this way. I need a friend more than I need a blood brother.”

“Well, technically, I was supposed to be your god-brother.” Neville said, and then stopped at the look on his face, “You-you didn’t know that, did you?”

Harry swallowed and shook his head. “No, what do you mean?”

“My mom was supposed to be your godmother, but with the war and the release of the prophecy, my parents went into hiding at the same time yours did, so the ritual was postponed.” Neville explained slowly and then added helplessly, “It was in the Grimoire.”

Harry sighed and admitted, “I can’t access the Potter ones yet, so I don’t know what’s written in them, and Gringotts is still in the process of unlocking my parents will.”

“Dumbledore?” Neville asked with a scowl.

“We believe so, but we don’t have proof. It was locked with Dverger magic, and they’ve since passed.” Harry said and then looked towards the Villa. “It looks like Draco and Narcissa are back. Want to head back for some tea before you and Luna leave?”

“I could do with a cuppa. The mind shocks have left me thirsty.” Neville muttered, already walking towards the path, pausing to look at Harry, who caught up to him, “I am serious about the brother thing. It might not be blood or magic, but I think chosen is almost better. It means we have a choice, and not one imposed upon us,” his expression turned sly, “kind of like what you have started with Malfoy.”

Harry blushed and laughed a little, “You have to admit, Draco and I have always been drawn to each other. We often let inbuilt prejudice guide our reactions, normally for the worst.”

“I believe that, though admittedly, since we’ve interacted, it’s easy to see he’s changed, probably more than I have. Was he affected by the time travel?”

“All direct Black members still within the family were, so me, Sirius, Narcissa, Draco and….” He trailed off and winced, suddenly remembering what Bellatrix had done to Neville’s parents, and swallowed hard. “We don’t have confirmation about her, but according to Sirius and Cissy, the woman we know of wasn’t always that way, and I’ve confirmed that in so far as much as I can with Medea and Walburga’s portrait at Grimmauld, they just can’t tell me why or how.”

The angry and hurt expression turned to a grudging understanding, “It could be a blood oath, in which the wizen can only tell the family patriarch. In your case, it could have even been tied up in the family magics, so the only way it can be told is to whoever holds Medea.”

“I honestly don’t know if I’m ready to hear it.” Harry admitted, “I have a hard time wrapping my head around what I know and the stories the two have shared of their childhood.”

Neville frowned, “In what way?”

Hesitating, Harry glanced at the path, “If this makes you uncomfortable, we don’t have to discuss her. I won’t be offended, Neville. She did great harm to your family.”

“I got the notification of the wergild you paid my family, so as far as I’m concerned, while there is lingering bitterness behind her actions, I won’t prevent you from talking about this. You need an outsider’s perspective because everyone else is too close to the problem.”

Harry frowned but nodded at Neville’s words, “Alright, if you-”

“If I need to, I’ll tell you to stop talking about it. I promise.” Neville said seriously.

“I’m not going to get into a lot of it. We don’t have time today, but- and don’t repeat this to anyone, I think Bellatrix may have had the gift of prophecy, but something happened, and it was locked away.” Harry said slowly, “I can’t explain it. Medea can’t help, which probably means there is a blood oath, magical vow, or both, but they both have memories that line up when Bellatrix was sixteen or seventeen, and she started to change. It was slow and gradual, corresponding with Walburga, Sirius’s mothers, descending into what was believed to be the Black Madness.”

Neville opened his mouth, then closed it, expression contemplative, before slowly shaking his head, “I genuinely have nothing, though I am curious. You said it was believed to be the Black Madness? Wasn’t that an actual thing?”

“No, that was a consequence of locking Medea away.” Harry responded bitterly, “A Muggle-born woman convinced an ancestor that the only way she’d marry him was if he got rid of his heathen and foreign entity.”

“I- well shit, that’s deep as fuck.” Neville exclaimed, “Do you know who the Muggle-born was?”

“I’m researching it,” Harry said, then started walking, effectively ending the conversation. He couldn’t risk anyone else finding out he was looking into Mariam Sadler, just in case she still had living descendants, because, by magical law, he had the right to demand retribution for her betrayal against magic, even if she was no longer alive – the age of Medea ensured that.

***

August 30th, 1995

Having been a teacher and member of the faculty for almost forty years, Minerva McGonagall had been at Hogwarts during the reign of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. She’d lost and buried cherished students but never once had questioned the validity of the education within Britain. A private mentorship had acquired her mastery, so she’d never once investigated the qualifications necessary for admittance at the ISM.

Something she was starting to wonder if she should have, considering never in all that time had she had any international transfers, as she sat at her desk.

It had started with Slytherin students, something that could be excused. It was explained away as parents not wanting to draw the eye and attention of, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, all from traditionally neutral families. That it had started with Zabini hadn’t been a cause of concern; she knew he had international ties to Rome already through his grandfather, but when Parkinson and Greengrass requested file transfers, Minerva had noticed.

When Susan Bones and Hannah Abbot’s requests came through, that notice went to a mildly concerned. What were they seeing that she wasn’t seeing? It hadn’t helped that Susan’s Aunt Amelia, head of the DMLE, could explain that she was being transferred to avoid becoming a target. When Draco Malfoy, Neville Longbottom, and Luna Lovegood had landed on her desk, Minerva had sat back in her chair, contemplating what to do. Albus wouldn’t care. At least not about those students, but this one, though…

Sighing, Minerva ran a hand down her face and warily picked up her teacup, glancing at the official transfer notice for one Harry Potter to the ISM before picking up the letter that arrived with it.

“Dear Headmistress,

While it may not come as a shock, I can no longer tolerate the people of Great Britain, nor do I trust any of them with my life or the small family I have formed.

I can’t say I trust you either. Over the years, you’ve given me cause to wonder where your loyalties truly lie – with your students, whom you’ve pledged to teach and protect, or with Albus Dumbledore, a great manipulator and charlatan.

You may be offended by my words and accusations, but I speak the truth, so I will let you decide how you feel after I provide the evidence.

Let’s start small, shall we?

I found out recently that you were there when Albus Dumbledore left me on the doorstep of my relatives’ home in November of ‘81. Yes, while it is true that you protested, it could at best be considered a token protest, as you did nothing when he left me on the doorstep, nor did you object to his actions when informing my mother’s sister of her death via a letter. I’m not sure if it’s more embarrassing or crass and vulgar that witches and wizards living in a society stuck in the Victorian era leave news like that via a letter.

I’ve also learnt that during my first year, I was purposefully misled and steered in a direction planned by others. You knew I grew up in a Muggle household, and while you may not have known how I would grow up, is it not the duty of the Headmistress to introduce a Muggle-born child to wizarding society? Instead, I had Hagrid sent to escort me, and while he is my friend, there honestly couldn’t have been a worse escort. He could do no legal magic; his education wasn’t complete, and he had a somewhat justified excuse for his prejudice and dislike of Slytherin House, but his bias skewed the representation and explanation of the house, which were completely unfair. ‘There’s not a single witch or wizard who went bad who wasn’t in Slytherin…’ Due to that conversation and his mentioning of Tom Riddle being from that house, I refused Slytherin. I was terrified of what everyone would believe of the Boy-Who-Lived being sorted into the house that produced the wizard who murdered his parents.

Additionally, towards the end of the first year, I mentioned that someone was after the philosopher’s stone. I was incorrect in naming a suspect, but I was proven right. You still blew me off and threatened me with detention.

In my second year, I was viewed with suspicion because I was a Parselmouth, a highly respected gift outside England. If explained and taught with proper resources, I would have been able to tell everyone that I couldn’t have been guilty of attacking other students. A simple test performed at Gringotts would have revealed that not only was I a parseltongue, but I also possessed parselmagic, something impossible to maintain if the practitioner used Dark Magic, as defined by the ICW, and not whatever backwards, bigoted rendition offered to the masses in England.

You could have stepped in the fourth year and informed me of the right to make a vow to prove I hadn’t put my name in the Goblet, but once again, you deferred to outside judgment and condemned me with the rest of the sheep.

This list of your personal failures to protect me, a student under your protection as Headmistress, but also as one of your lions as Head of Gryffindor, is horrid to remember, but it isn’t the worst thing about it. Did you know I’ve never been to see my parents’ graves? In the four years I’ve been a student at Hogwarts, I’ve never been taught the traditions and significance of Samhain. Instead, I’ve been forced to participate in a feast to celebrate a Muggle tradition and the night my parents were murdered. Yet when I try to point this fact out, I’m called ungrateful or a spoilsport.

I’ve sadly become used to it. If I hadn’t been glorified and lauded in the press for doing something that would have been impossible at fifteen months old, I’d been vilified with no proof and condemned as a liar because no one wanted to stand behind me, probably in case they get hit in the crossfire.

I’m done playing games with my life and sanity. I’ve read the papers very carefully during the summer, and I’m horrified by what the Ministry intends to do; it’s like they’re paving the way and rolling out the red carpet to give society over to a maniac. I just can’t decide who the maniac is in this situation, Dumbledore or Riddle. I also have no faith that I won’t be targeted. The occupants living in my prison for the summer aren’t as smart as they think.

Although it hasn’t officially been announced in British News, I have formally claimed my seat in Rome, so if you haven’t, you’ll shortly receive the official notification of my intention to transfer to the ISM.

The only reason I’m telling you this is that, based on all my research, you never joined the Order of Phoenix either time, leaving me to wonder if, however much you wish you didn’t, you see the same issues I do.

Food for thought: of the original members of the Order of Phoenix, nine are still alive. Nine of twenty-three. Of Tom Riddle’s original inner circle, there were twenty-four members; three are dead, and half a dozen reside in Azkaban; the rest walked free. Why is that? Is it because, as Dumbledore says, everyone deserves a second chance, or is it for a darker reason?

It makes me question the First War. Did you know that during the wars with Grindelwald and Riddle, over fifty-two pureblood families from across Europe went extinct, or left families with only a daughter to continue the line? However, admittedly, few had contracts in place to carry their names on. The horrifying aspect of that number is the number of people it represents. Fifty-two families, including grandparents, parents, and kids, totalling seven hundred and forty-six people.

It’s also interesting that one of the most prolific Pureblood family ironically carry a magical tag indicating they are judged blood traitors, which makes it impossible for any other family to want to marry into it unless they’re willing to be disowned for the betrayal and shame of their actions. Given what I know of what they plan, it would mean the extinction of my magical line, something I’m not prepared or willing to do, having felt the touch and comfort of Mávros’s embrace.

I refuse to risk any vows you might be under, so I won’t ask you to keep this letter secret. I hope you find it in your heart to side with the little boy who had such high hopes when he joined your society.

Thank you for the education you have provided. I wish you all the best.

Comte Mávros,

Hadrian Brenin

Formerly Harry Potter.

PS: I apologize, but please note that while you may share parts of the letter, you cannot mention my name or speak it aloud. This is to protect me a little longer from Dumbledore’s manipulations.

I refuse to be a pawn anymore. Change is coming; in the end, we’ll see who’s standing.

Harry.

Setting the letter down, Minerva wiped her eyes, guilt and shame lying like an unrelenting weight on her shoulders.

She was so lost in thought that she jumped when a perfunctory knock on the door swung open, revealing Albus, who had a frantic edge about him.

The man stomped into the room and demanded, “Do you still have contact with McGregor?”

Confused and slightly offended by the demand, Minerva slid the papers on her desk into a neat pile and rested her hands on top. “Not since he joined the International Procurator’s office last year, why?”

Ignoring the question, Albus paced before her desk, “Can you contact him? I need information before the next Wizengamot session.”

“Albus, that’s not until the end of September,” Minerva said flatly.

“That doesn’t matter. I need as much information on this new player as possible. They’re an unknown, and I need to know their politics and affiliation to counter any influence they might carry being a foreigner.”

Sighing, Minerva closed her eyes, “A little more sense, Albus, and less riddles. What are you talking about?”

Thoroughly agitated, he slapped the international newspaper on her desk. The headline caused a sinking pit of recognition to settle in her stomach.

“ANCIENT TITLE CLAIMS MAGISTERIAL SEAT, COMTE MÁVROS RECOGNIZED BY BOTH SENATE AND, REGARDLESS OF HIS AGE, IS THE NEW VOICE IN THE ICW.”

“It was a shock to this reporter as they sat in the antechamber of the Senate, patiently waiting to find out why they’d been in a closed session for two days.

Turns out that with the will to pursue news as a career, I’ve stumbled across the most extraordinary story ever.

You see, the Senate has been in a kind of stasis for over 400 years, yet they’ve managed to continue the job of running the country. Even if there has been no real progress, they’ve done enough to keep us from being absorbed or made into a client state for a large country – though I think we can all admit that has been the ICW influence for which we are grateful as a nation.

But let’s start this tale where it ended, which was in 1560. Like the House of Lords in England, our Senate was run by inherited seats. We kept it simpler, though, having only 21 ruling families, all from previously owned regions within Italy. However, to our shock, in 1560, one of the seats went blank, indicating that the lord of that time had passed away. Though the seat remained, no claimant arrived, thus indicating that no viable heir was present or ready until three days ago.

Now, let’s go back to the beginning: the reason for the excitement surrounding the claim to the seat that has sat dormant for centuries.

Please remember, dear reader, that none of this is exaggeration or supplication; this is the absolute, unvarnished truth.

Our tale starts in 539 BC, twenty years after the change from monarchy to Senate, when a foreign monarch appeared, pleading for political asylum.

The upheaval at the time was such that the Senate took the risk of granting the application, and we reaped the benefits of that for the next five hundred or so years, with the same claimant sitting in their seats before passing it on to their children, who enjoyed the same benefits for the next six hundred years.

Now, that may sound strange and almost unbelievable to our readers, but rest assured, witches and wizards of the time lived vastly different lives and interacted with magic on a level we can only imagine. They didn’t have rules for magic; they made the rules. They stretched the limits of what was possible, created the spells we use every day, and made significant contributions to the advancement of our society. One way they achieved this was by living unimaginably long lives, giving the illusion of immortality, considering that two thousand years ago, the average age of a wizard was approximately eight hundred years.

However, the subject of this article lived for over a thousand years and had nine living children, thirty-nine grandchildren, and ten great-grandchildren, with two great-great-grandchildren on the way at the time of her passing. Although the exact location of her burial has been kept within the family.

It’ll be fascinating to see what the new Comte of Mávros does. He claimed his seat here in Rome and plans to attend the next Wizengamot meeting on September 22nd to claim his seat there. This is probably the best thing that has happened in the last century. His age and merger with the family magics of an ancient, deity-like entity, such as Medea Mávros—a demi-god in her own right, given who her parents and grandparents were, promise much change. I, for one, look forward to it….”

Minerva lowered the paper, eyeing Albus, who was still pacing and muttering under his breath, unaware she was watching and no longer reading.

It was fascinating to watch him, her eyes finally open to what she’d been willfully blind to see, and it was self-evident that he was agitated and almost enraged by this news.

It was evident that Albus viewed the new player as a political rival, having dismissed the claims of family magic. Not understanding the impact, it can have on an individual having no access to any himself.

Shaking her head at irrelevant details, Minerva watched Albus out of the corner of her eye, keeping her face directed to the page, as she thought through the personal letter she’d received and the article.

It was disheartening listening to Albus mutter to himself, his rage against an unknown almost matching what she’d overheard him saying about Harry and his lack of cooperation over the summer.

That they were the same person, she kept to herself, directing her attention to Dumbledore when he stopped pulling a pocket watch from one of the hundreds of pockets in his robes and frowned at the time, “We have a staff meeting, Minerva.”

“Very well, I’ll be right along; I need to make a few last-minute alterations to a few class schedules.”

Dumbledore frowned, stowing the watch and starting towards the door, pausing at the exit, “Is there an issue?”

“Not in the least.” Minerva said, pushing her chair back and rising to her feet, “Just a couple of transfer students requesting school records.”

“Ah….” Albus nodded, not questioning more details and already dismissing the information, “Well, I’ll meet you in the staff room; please try and get in touch with McGregor. See what he knows.”

Nodding, Minerva waved her wand, summoning the needed files, and waited for the door to shut behind Albus as they settled on her desk.

Then, with a heavy heart but clear conscience, she lifted Harry’s letter, skimming the lines again, and briefly closed her eyes. It was harsh, but in the black-and-white lines on the page, there was an undeniable truth that she had failed. Euphemia Potter must be rolling over in her grave, not to mention what Lily thought of her inaction; the shame of it caused a tear to slide silently down her cheek.

Vowing to do better for her best friend and her favourite student, she silently set the paper aflame and dropped it on the floor, vanishing the ash as she tapped the folder labelled ‘Harry Potter’ and sent it on its way.

***

CHAPTER TWELVE

She hid a certain amount of vicious glee behind a mask as Minerva strolled into the staff room, finding Albus Dumbledore waiting impatiently to start the meeting. Setting the files in her arms down, she sent the stack of papers that floated behind her to the table off to the side and took her seat.

“I apologize for the wait. I had a few last-minute adjustments to make.”

Dumbledore’s lips compressed into a thin line, but he nodded, “Very well, our new DADA professor will be arriving on the first, and I would like everyone available to welcome her.”

Minerva frowned, thinking of her busy schedule, “when is she supposed to arrive?”

Albus shrugged as he poured a cup of tea, “I’m unsure, but that won’t matter. The children don’t arrive until nightfall.”

Minerva shook her head when Pomona Sprout and Poppy opened their mouths to interject, “You know how busy we all are on the first, Albus. You can’t expect us to wait around doing nothing until she arrives. Send a Patronus when the wards alert you to her arrival, and we can gather then.”

“I was hoping you could show her around, Minerva,” Albus replied seriously.

“Absolutely not. You already know my thoughts on allowing the Ministry to pull the mockery. The course is, at best, a joke and, at worst, horrifying. We’re in the midst of a second war starting, and you think reading will teach our students anything?”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine, Minerva. They’re bright students; practical exposure taught in a safe and stress-free environment is what the students need.” The gentleness with which Albus spoke infuriated Minerva, and she could feel her teeth grinding together.

“Albus, the book she has assigned is under investigation by the ICW, and Slinkhard is facing two lawsuits for copyright violations, misappropriation and misrepresentation of a master’s work.”

“Investigation doesn’t mean banned, Minerva.” The reply was careless and dismissive.

“Maybe we can attempt to rerun a duelling club?” Filius asked hesitantly, eyeing Minerva, “The students will need to practice for OWLS and NEWTS.”

“Let’s not plan any extracurricular activities. We don’t know what Daloris will want to do.” The response was chiding and chilling. It shouldn’t have been surprising, but the denial to make plans to help the students was.

Yet, sitting there, Minerva felt like she was staring at a stranger. At one time, she might have brushed off the concern as a matter of age, but today, she could see it for what it was. Apathy. Albus didn’t care. Not about the school, the students, or even the staff. Instead, he was concerned with what was going on outside the walls, and she knew whatever he was planning wasn’t good.

“Minerva mentioned the wards,” Poppy said, tapping her fingers on the top of the table, “given the state of the wizarding world, I’m wondering if that’s something the heads and I could be tied into.”

“Why on earth-“ Albus began, shaking his head, “Nothing will happen at the school. It’s practically the safest place in Great Britain.”

“Hmmm… I don’t know, could it be the matter of the Chamber being opened two years ago?” Poppy snapped, “If we’d been tied into the wards, one of us might have seen what was affecting the students sooner.”

“Or worse, killed you,” Albus muttered, then froze at the realization that he hadn’t meant to say that, washing over his face.

“Kill you?” Minerva repeated flatly, “A beast we couldn’t hear, but Mr. Potter reportedly could, petrified with a look…” She trailed off, horror crossing over her, and she slapped the table, unaware she’d risen to her feet, “Are you telling me Mr. Potter fought a basilisk? Is that what the beast was?”

“Now, Minerva-“ Albus started but jerked back when the school rumbled in response to Minerva’s rage, her aura arcing around her.

“No, for Merlin’s sake, you will give me a straight answer,” Minerva snapped, magic washing over her skin, “how was it woken, why was it woken, and is it still in the school? Is it safe here?”

“A student had an old object of Voldemort’s, and he forced them to open it and let loose the basilisk.” It said a lot that none of the teachers flinched at the name, though by the wrinkle on Albus’s brow, he didn’t know what to think of that.

Minerva glared at him, suddenly hating the placid tone in which he spoke to them as if they were the children they taught, “and the safety of this school?”

“The school is perfectly safe; Mr. Potter killed the basilisk and rescued the student.” That assurance did nothing either, and Minerva drew in a deep breath, eyeing Albus suspiciously.

“And the student possessed for over half a year? Were they taken to St. Mungo’s for evaluation?”

“Ms. We-the student was given a clean bill of health,” Albus said, trying to hide his wince at the slip, avoiding her eyes.

Glaring at the Headmaster, Minerva stabbed the table, “You will be adding the Heads of House and Poppy to the wards, Albus, or so help me. My temper tantrum will make a first-year look like an amateur.”

“It takes time, preparations, Minerva. We just don’t have that before school starts…” Albus trailed off as Filius cleared his throat.

“You have one week, Albus.” The charms teacher rose to his feet, “If, after that week, I have the right, according to the treaty of 1782, to call in the Dverger for a thorough inspection of my workplace if I feel and have sufficient proof and evidence of dark magic.”

“There’s no evidence of that.” Albus protested hurriedly. “A basilisk is a restricted creature but not inherently evil.”

“I’m not talking about the basilisk, dead or alive. I’m talking about the object that possessed a student. Only a few artifacts would have that ability; all are dark magic. The destruction of said objects was a duty the Dverger had undertaken upon request by Lady Magic.” Filius said, steel entering his voice and straightening his spine.

Albus seemed to deflate, his eyes flashing with anger, though his response was at odds with his expression, which was tired and defeated. “The artifact was destroyed, so there is no need to worry.”

“Prove it.” Filius snapped and leaned forward, “You are already working under a deadline for my new contract. Why not kill two birds with one stone?”

“New contract?” Minerva said in confusion.

Filius frowned as he glanced at her, “Yes, didn’t Albus tell you?”

“Tell me what?” Minerva asked, glaring at the Headmaster.

“As of August 25th, all members and employees of the Dverger nation had to renew their oaths, nullifying outside contracts. Albus has until the fifteenth to procure and produce a new one under the guidelines established by our government.”

“I’m in the process of creating one, Filius.” Albus said calmly, “But as for the wards, I will need more than a week. In the meantime, we have patrol schedules shared amongst the professors and Prefects. I’m sure that will cover the entirety of the school.”

“What about the restructuring of the point distribution I asked about?” Poloma asked, changing the subject and handing out a neatly conjured parchment, “We can’t keep putting this off because it’s become obvious that the point system is a mess.”

Albus went to open his mouth, but Poloma spoke over him, “I took a consensus amongst the students across all houses and what I noticed was depending on the student and the person catching said student, the punishment ranged from ten points being deducted, to a list of 50 points and detention for a first infraction.” She shook her head, “and I’ve never been more disappointed in the teachers then I have before, because it appears that the teachers are the ones most likely to remove large number of points and order detentions then it is a prefect of an opposing house.”

Minerva looked over the paper, overwhelmed by what she saw, and had to close her eyes. What Poloma was too kind to say was that she was the one who was most likely to take fifty points and threaten detention: “We’ll make it fair.”

Albus huffed, “There is nothing wrong with the point system; it’s been in place for centuries, and no one has complained.”

“Well, before they do, let’s pre-emptively fix it.” Minerva snapped, “Don’t think I don’t see it. You spent years building up this inner house rivalry between Slytherin and Gryffindor, which, to my shame, I allowed. But the only place for that rivalry is on the Quidditch pitch, not the classroom. House afflictions mean nothing once you leave these halls, and at the rate we’re going, I’m surprised none of the students have declared a blood feud, even unwittingly. It ends now,” she summoned the stack of student classes, “and to reflect that, no more segregating of houses in the same class. It’s an even distribution across the board. For example, we’re splitting the years and houses into two groups; half of Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Gryffindor, and Slytherin will share classes. It’ll break up the formed little groups and hopefully introduce and integrate the students into expanding their friend groups.”

“This will make more work for the teachers.” Albus protested, horrified.

“It does not.” Poloma denied, skimming the parchment, a pleased smile crossing her face, “This is brilliant, Minerva. We already have two classes for each grade. This is just a different breakdown and might help fix part of the point system I have issues with.”

“I think so, too.” Minerva agreed, “Will it be a little confusing at first? Probably, but I think the result is what will make the difference. We have these children trapped by the house affiliation where they make no friends outside their house, and it’s time to end that.”

“It’s a wonderful idea; now, if only we could bring back wizarding classes.” Bathsheda Babbling, the Ancient Runes teacher, said, surprising them all. The woman was usually silent in staff meetings, rarely offering an opinion on anything.

“The Board of Governors is not going to do that.” Albus intoned gravely, “They cut the class due to cost constraints.”

“Maybe we should offer informal lessons,” the runes professor said slowly, “I think it is important for Muggle-born children to know our rich and wonderful history.”

“They can look up that information in the library,” Albus said slowly, giving Minerva the sensation he was wading through deep water and trying not to fall.

Suspiciously, she narrowed her eyes, “I agree, Bathsheda, and I’ll help because you’re right. Unless the students know to ask for the information, why would they go looking in the library?”

The professor offered a brilliant smile as Septima and Aurora offered to help. “After dinner, let’s gather for tea in my quarters, and we’ll create a lesson plan,” they said.

Minerva smiled as the three agreed and looked around the table, “Does anyone have any other concerns?”

They glanced as one when Albus huffed dramatically under his breath, lips compressing into a thin line as he rose to his feet and swept from the room, door banging behind him.

Instead of feeling guilty, Minerva shrugged, “I guess we’re done. Here’s hoping this year is better than last. If you have expense sheets, leave them with me, and I’ll see you all around over the next couple of days.”

The rest of them agreed, talking amongst themselves as they left the room, leaving Minerva sitting there, lost in thought. She didn’t regret her decision, not in helping the students transfer or changing the class schedules; she just regretted the timing. It was something she should have done years ago because it was evident Albus had no interest in educating the students, and she was starting to wonder if he ever did.

***

September 1st,

A particular combination of wariness and regret filled Hermione as she sank into a seat on the train.

She’d spent over an hour walking up and down half the train, looking for Harry, not entirely sure what she wanted to say, but knowing it was important, before giving up, sliding into a compartment at the midway point, waiting for Ron to find her knowing he’d have no more luck that she had in finding their missing friend. Hermione winced at the thought, the events of the summer coming back to her, and she ran a hand over her face before leaning her head against the window.

Hermione could remember when she’d honestly called Harry, a friend, one of her firsts. Yet, in the aftermath of Sirius Black’s confrontation and proven innocence, she’d lost sight of that. Her parents would be so disappointed in her. She was unhappy and disgusted with herself; the idea that she was intelligent and smart was not as accurate as she thought. She often prided herself on her analytical approach, recognizing that older people possessed valuable knowledge and authority. This made what the Headmaster said make sense; Harry had to learn to want to fight and to sacrifice himself so he could save everyone again. Why hadn’t she questioned that undeniable betrayal?

They were children. They shouldn’t be made into weapons or soldiers of war. It was contrary to the beliefs her parents had instilled in her. She’d known that. Hermione also knew her parents would know something was wrong and question her endlessly, which was why she did not go home at the end of the fourth year.

Sighing sadly, Hermione wiped a tear from her face, feeling like the lost little girl she used to be. When things would happen around her with no explanation and only had her mom for comfort.

There was no comfort to be had now. Her parents couldn’t save her from her hubris. The moniker brightest witch of her age, coming back to bite her in the ass. Trapped in a nightmare of her own doing. Contractually obligated to marry Ron by the time she was twenty-five and set on a path to make her first friend kill himself because she believed the wrong person.

Hermione couldn’t blame anyone but herself, not because she hadn’t verified. She had. But she’d been given enough truths without confirming with independent sources. It was known that while Hogwarts had one of the largest collections of written works, Hermione also learned, through the same research, about the library in Rome. If that wasn’t enough, she could have petitioned for books from the Royal Archivist. She blamed herself because she hadn’t even tried researching ways to save Harry, accepting the Headmaster’s word that Harry had to die.

The door opened suddenly, making Hermione sit up, expecting Ron. She was surprised to see the Head Girl, Annabelle Lancaster, standing there with a perplexed expression. “We need you in the prefect’s compartment.”

Wiping her face, Hermione nodded, gathering her things, “Alright. Is something wrong?”

The sudden flash of -something undefinable- filled Hermione, and for a single second in time, she thought she was losing her prefect’s badge. An honour her parents would have made much of. Hermione just wasn’t sure she deserved it at all.

“I’ve had reports that students are missing. No one can find Draco Malfoy, Pansy Parkinson, or Susan Bones.”

Hermione frowned, quickly following the Head Girl, “They’re all Prefects.”

“I know, but it doesn’t stop with them. Hannah Abbot hasn’t been seen, and I just went the whole train, checking off names on my list, and Blaise Zamboni, the Greengrass sisters, Luna Lovegood, Neville Longbottom, and Harry Potter are also missing.”

Hermione wasn’t surprised by the inclusion of Harry’s name; she’d known he wouldn’t be found, but the other names were odd. “They’re all purebloods.”

“They are.” Came the clipped response, “But just because they’re purebloods doesn’t mean they’re evil.”

Stung Hermione swallowed, “I know that. That’s not what I meant.”

“No, just that five of them are from Slytherin, so it’s obvious they had something to do with it, right?” Annabelle’s tone hadn’t softened, and she stopped to stare directly at Hermione. “You do understand that of the six missing from Slytherin, only one had public ties or parental association with the Dark Lord, right? The rest were neutral during the war, but they helped families being prosecuted where they could.”

Shaking her head, shame swept through Hermione, and she tried to hide her wince when Annabelle continued, “I know you have ambitions to go far in our society, but your hang-ups and focus are going to cause problems once you leave Hogwarts. Some would disagree, but school afflictions mean absolutely nothing outside these walls. I can guarantee you that if you pursue extra education after Hogwarts, the only viable place is at the ISM or ICW; they won’t care what house you were in.”

Nodding shakily, Hermione wet her lips, “I’m sorry.”

Sniffing, Annabelle glared, “It’s not me you should apologize to. It’s everyone else you’ve looked down on, believing your way is the only way.”

“I don’t do that.” Hermione protested, admittedly weakly, but she tried.

“I’ve seen how you treat your friends, and it is that way.” Annabelle replied flatly, “I watched how you treated Harry during the fourth year, trying to convince him to forgive Ron and then making it seem like it was Harry’s fault for not jumping at the chance because of Ron’s jealousy over Harry’s name coming out of the cup. A magical artifact can’t be hoodwinked, and it’s been proven since Harry didn’t enter his name, so who’s in the wrong now?”

Keeping silent, Hermione shifted the bag on her shoulder, and Annabella nodded as if she understood something, “Well, it’s nice to know that Harry sees you and Ron for what they are.”

“We’re his friends,” Hermione protested.

“Who are you trying to convince? Me or you?” Annabella asked, turning to head back down the train, “If you’re such good friends, where is he? I noticed you didn’t offer the information, but you don’t seem overly surprised by his absence….”

Hermione swallowed again, saying, “I don’t know.”

Huffing in a perfect imitation of the transfiguration teacher, Annabella strolled away, leading Hermione, who was feeling even more sorry for herself, to the Prefects’ compartment.

Sitting beside Ron, she looked around at the students gathered and realized she didn’t know any of them; what she knew was rumour and reputation, with a heavy dose of bias thrown in. The thought that her parents would be disappointed in her once again resurfaced. The shame that she was just as guilty as they were for judging someone based on the blood that ran through their bodies would make her grandmother roll over in her grave. Matya Benoit told her the stories of her family’s persecution during WWII.

Dropping her eyes to the floor, Hermione let the meeting wash over her, not really hearing any of it, lost in thought and memories of a simpler time. It made her homesick, and she shifted to hold her bag over her lap, hugging it tight against her chest and trying not to cry.

Hours later, Hermione jerked back to awareness, realizing that they’d been dismissed and that it had been Ron rising from the seat that had caught her attention as he strolled from the compartment, frowning when he looked back and realized she wasn’t following him. “Are you coming?”

Scrambling to follow, Hermione forgot her bag on her lap. The leap from her seat caused the bag to fly, and books and parchment were raining over the compartment’s floor. Tears of embarrassment burned her eyes as no one moved to help, and she scrambled across the floor, trying to shove her stuff back into the bag.

A perfectly tanned hand reached for the book that slid by a polished boot, making Hermione freeze as the Head Girl leaned down and picked up the book she was reaching for.

Flushing red, Hermione held out her hand for the book, silently praying Annabelle didn’t draw attention to it, though her hopes were dashed when surprise flashed across her face. “A Collective of Legends and Tales.”

“May I have my book, please?” Hermione whispered.

Annabelle hummed and flipped open the cover, eyes snapping to face, “Did you know there are only a handful of known copies of this book?”

Jerking her head, Hermione reached out, “Please.”

Annabelle held it out of reach. “Why are you reading our myths and legends?”

Licking her lips, Hermione glanced around the silent compartment, feeling the judgmental eyes of everyone gathered and admitted, “It was the only thing to read at the house I stayed in this summer.”

“A magical home?” Annebelle’s eyes pierced her as she flipped through the book, “You’ve read it all?”

“Yes, to both. Why?” Hermione asked in confusion.

Annabelle ignored the question and glanced at another student before returning to Hermione, “What did you think?”

“About the book?” Hermione asked, perplexed, “It’s fiction. They’re children’s tales, though different than the stories I grew up with.”

A snort of amusement sounded from someone behind her, though Hermione refused to look. Annabelle sniffed, “And that is why there is a divide between purebloods and Muggle-borns, Hermione.”

“I-” Hermione glanced around the compartment, seeing the various expressions of anger and pity, “I don’t understand.”

Annabelle sighed and waved the book, “Would you have willingly picked up this book before this past summer if you’d had other options?”

“They’re children’s stories.” Hermione repeated, starting to get frustrated, “I have more important things to do than waste my time on mythical tales.”

“Those mythical tales are the foundation of our society, started long before England was conceptualized.” Annebelle snapped, “But because you grew up on condensed, embellished or sensationalized versions of our stories. You’ve closed your mind and blindly accepted that we don’t have our own set of traditions and cultural beliefs.”

“Then they should teach it at Hogwarts!” Hermione snapped, feeling trapped and ashamed of herself.

“We’ve tried.” Annabelle said tiredly, handing back the book, “But much like right now, it was met with blatant disbelief that turned to anger, and it became too much to deal with. We got accused of trying to corrupt and steal Muggle-born children from their families, and it almost brought about a second wave of witch trials.”

Hermione accepted the book with a frown, “but it says in Liberation Nobilitatis that it was-“

“That is fiction, written and produced by a squib named James Stuart who was jealous he could see magic but didn’t get the gift,” Annabella interjected, talking over Hermione. “He turned to religion and later wrote a guide, Daemonologie, on how to spot and identify witches. In the end, over twenty-five hundred people, mostly women, died in his quest to rid the world of magic.” Annabelle swallowed and looked Hermione in the eyes, “Guess how many were actually magical?”

Hermione shook her head, stunned at the information. She knew who James Stuart was, but the perspective presented blew her mind: “I have no idea.”

“None,” Ron said from the door, shifting his weight when all the eyes focused on him. “Mom taught us that over four thousand muggles were persecuted and accused of witchcraft, and not one single magical because, thanks to King Arthur’s forethought and Merlin’s assistance, we have pockets of magical communities we can live in safely, which Magic herself protects now, all tied into the power that is Avalon.”

“But that’s not real.” The protest was weak and begging, but Ron only raised a questioning eyebrow back at her.

“Just like it’s fiction that your King James persecuted and then killed innocent men, women and children because he didn’t have the gift?”

Hermione flinched and dropped her gaze, eyes landing on the book held in her lap, “But it said that Arthur betrayed the truth and was punished for his deception. Whatever that means?”

“He did, and he was.” Ron replied simply, “We don’t know how or why; that was hidden by magic to protect his magical line, but our very foundation —the core of our belief and the promise from magic — is that his descendant will claim his crown and rule us in peace as Regent.”

“But-but it’s been hundreds of years! Why hasn’t his descendants come forward already?” Hermione demanded, exasperated.

“The most commonly held belief is a hidden prophecy.” Ron admitted, “and the acceptance that the terms of said prophecy haven’t been met. Only the Head Unspeakable of the Department of Mysteries knows what it says, but they’re magically compelled not to say anything because they’re sworn to Avalon first. The first vanguard protects the leftover Realm of Magic, and the second is the first twelve knights-.”

“Of the round table, yeah.” Hermione interrupted and waved her hand briskly. “Why can’t they just find the person and give him the crown?”

“It’s actually called the triskaidecagon.” Ron said flatly, folding his arms, “But when our history was stolen and sold for entertainment and profit, they changed enough to not get caught breaking the law.”

Hermione glanced around the compartment; the earlier expressions had changed to agreement with Ron’s explanation. Finally looking at Ron, it was like seeing him for the first time and realizing there was more to the boy who’d become her second friend, yet couldn’t help but ask, “You believe all that?”

Ron straightened his back, “Of course, every magical child that grew up in a Wiccan household does.” He thumped his chest, “The promise is felt in our magic, so we know it’s true.”

Hermione dropped her eyes and shook her head, “I don’t feel anything.”

“Because you’re not taught to.” Annabelle said, “We’re taught at a young age to meditate, to feel and trust in the magic that lives in and around us.”

“That doesn’t seem fair.” Hermione protested. “Why teach you but not us?”

“Laws started changing as more and more Muggle-borns assumed positions of power and influence. But the real change happened when an educational decree was passed in the early 80s that teaching Muggle-born our customs and beliefs bordered on isolation and indoctrination. They were causing too much conflict because we were forcing you to change. So, they wiped Wiccan Studies from the curriculum; our celebrations were replaced with Muggle traditions because teaching Wiccan religion was also taboo. It just became too much, but for most of us, Muggle-borns stopped asking. They didn’t care that they were suppressing and destroying the foundation on which they’d been gifted and the culture they’d been invited into. It didn’t conform to their beliefs, so it was automatically wrong.” Annabella spoke in a monotone voice.

Ron cleared his throat, “I’ll give you two reasons why you should believe me, Hermione.”

A shiver of apprehension slid down Hermione’s spine at the seriousness in Ron’s tone and expression, but she nodded anyway.

“If our Regent were to appear tomorrow, I would give up my family name.” Ron stated firmly, conviction and remarkable confidence appearing on his face as the other students nodded in understanding, “and I wouldn’t care who it was, it could be any single person, Draco Malfoy, Professor Snape, hell, it could be Harry, and I would bow. I could have no greater honour than serving my king.”

Hermione’s breath caught at Harry’s name, understanding the significance even if no one else did.

Annabelle regarded Ron for a long moment before nodding, “That’s the wisest and most profound thing I’ve heard you say. There is hope for you yet, Ron Weasley.” She jerked her head towards Hermione, “Maybe you should ask your friend for private lessons; you might actually learn something more important than what you’re getting in regulated lessons.”

“Like what?” Hermione questioned, wincing as the words left her mouth. She flushed when Annabelle lifted her chin.

“Something like honour, truth, and trust, none of which you offered, Harry.”

Hermione couldn’t help but echo Ron’s wince, even as she quickly followed him from the train compartment, tears burning her vision and unable to say anything in their defence because Hermione knew it was true.

***

Draco was aware enough to notice that the lounge wasn’t empty. Sirius, Severus and his mother were sitting at a small table, papers strewn over the top, and the steady scratching of a quill was the only sound in the otherwise silent room.

Dropping his bag on the floor, Draco flopped inelegantly face-first on the couch, ignoring the rest as they followed him into the room.

“Rough day?” Sirius’s voice sounded amused as he folded the paper and tossed it onto the table, the rustling of papers being organized indicating they were packing up.

Draco groaned dramatically, speaking into the pillow, “Hogwarts is bullshit.”

There were various groans of agreement, though another snort of amusement that was extremely familiar, enough to make Draco lift his head and glare at Harry, who stood back by the sideboard, looking at him through hooded eyes, shuffling through the letters that had been delivered.

“There is no way you can argue with that statement.”

“Oh, I don’t.” Harry said but offered a grin anyway, “I think it was brilliant that I did better than everyone in all my classes. It was a nice refreshing change.”

Draco spluttered inelegantly, gesturing wildly, “You have a three-thousand-year-old entity in your head; of course, you did brilliantly! You cheated.”

“I did not.” Harry protested with a laugh, “I can promise Medea did nothing to help me; she prefers I learn on my own. Pendragon, on the other hand….” Harry shrugged, “I’m still learning exactly what the merger with him means, and much of what was covered in history was just there.”

Pansy frowned and tilted her head. “What did he say when you accepted him?”

“He would become me, and I would become him.” Harry said, waving a hand, “A vague statement I didn’t and still don’t understand. It’s weird, but I’ve come to accept my life is weird.”

“It’s the collective repository of knowledge that is shared between you, Pendragon, Arthur and the magic of what was Avalon,” Luna said dreamily, making more than one person frown.

Harry deflated a little, “I don’t think I can stop that.”

Sighing, Draco ran a hand down his face, “It’s not exactly your fault, Harry.”

“Maybe not, but it now feels like I did cheat,” Harry muttered with an increased frown as he glanced at the letter before tossing it back in the basket.

“Who’s it from?” Draco demanded, rolling over and sitting up.

The flush that crept up his neck gave him away, and Draco stared at him, expression flat. “You wrote her?”

Harry crossed his arms defensively over his chest. “She needed to know.”

“Who?” This was echoed by four of the five females, Luna having dismissed the conversation to slide behind Astoria and braiding the younger teen’s hair.

“The deputy Headmistress,” Draco informed them, staring at Harry. “You don’t know that you can trust her, Harry.”

The mulish expression that crossed Harry’s face was a punch to the gut, but Draco ignored it, quickly rising to his feet and crossing the room. “What did your letter say?”

“It doesn’t matter, Draco.” Harry said, his shoulders dropping as the self-hug turned comforting instead of defensive, “I had to give her a chance; she was the only one…” He shook his head, his jaw clenching, as Draco gripped his elbow. “I need to know.”

“If you’re trying to talk in code, you might as well speak freely. We already figured you’ve been involved in some sort of time travel,” Susan said in the tense silence that followed.

The statement rippled across the members of the Black family as they all stopped, turning to stare at her in shock.

Pansy laughed brightly, head dropping to Blaise’s shoulder as the rest shared matching grins.

“I thought you were going to hold off on telling them,” Hannah said, amusement dripping from her tone as she dug through her pockets, then handed a gallon to Susan, who pocketed it without guilt.

“I’m tired of them trying not to talk about it. If Draco and Harry’s…. Whatever weird thing they have going on wasn’t a big clue; the fact that neither of them was surprised by Professor Snape sitting in the lounge would be a big indication they’ve all reunited under a common cause; it would be the fact that in some way you’re all Black’s.” Susan explained dryly, arching an eyebrow as Draco’s mouth opened and closed.

Harry frowned, though, and tilted his head in consideration, “Severus is a knight. He was the first to recognize me. Why do you think he’s related?”

Draco frowned as he looked at Susan, who appeared flustered, making Pansy laugh again, and huffed dramatically, tossing the same gallon towards Pansy, who caught it and folded her arms over her chest, “It’s in his magic, but even if it wasn’t, the wards around the villa are so ancient you had to key us individually in. You haven’t mentioned his arrival or indicated you knew he was coming, and you’ve been at school all day, so there’s no way you could have added him. In addition to that, you knew absolutely nothing last year about magical law, vows, or politics before, during or after the Triwizard Tournament. Nor did you have any reason to know who my aunt was. Aunt Amelia might have been the head of the DMLE. Yet, I know she didn’t often appear in the papers, nor did you demand her present, which would have been your right to request an investigation into your name coming out of the cup.” Susan unfolded her arms and started ticking off points in her fingers, “yet you did all of that without releasing the information that you claimed your magical titles at your trials because it would have effectively ended it before it began. You did it to prove a point, and sure, you could say it was on the advice of Medea, an acclaimed and known seer in her time, but you’re too comfortable in your role. You know all our names, and while I know most of us are in the same year, it doesn’t explain how you accept Luna’s pronouncements as truth unless you’ve had experience with them before.”

Draco couldn’t help but look at Harry, who was still frowning, his head jerking back to Hannah when she added thoughtfully, “The paper reported a few days ago that Medea was forced to sleep, yet you’ve given no indication of what you did or how you woke her.” She shrugged apologetically, “I think, and the rest agree, that something woke her, something tragic and horrifying that probably meant the end of her line. Given her age, I think it forced her awake and led you on the path you’re on now.”

Harry sighed and shook his head in defeat, admitting softly, “She didn’t know of the Regency, but you’d be correct about the rest of it.”

The little inhale of shock made Harry’s hand tighten on Draco’s waist, where he’d pulled him closer, “You didn’t expect me to admit it, did you?”

“No,” Susan said. “Would you have willingly said anything yourself?”

Harry shrugged helplessly. “Probably not, but if we’re going to make this work, I need to trust you, and the only way I can do that is by being honest.”

Blaise leaned forward, a look of intense concentration on his face. “How far did you come back?”

“Three years,” Harry admitted, shifting his weight until Draco sighed and pulled him to sit on the couch.

Pansy frowned, “That’s not very far….”

A bitter snort escaped Harry. “It was far enough,” he shrugged, dropping his gaze to Draco’s hand and twining them together, “I came back August 12th, 1998, ironically enough.”

“How-how bad was it?” Susan asked, worry creasing her brow.

“We won.” Harry said with a voice full of emotion, “But not without loss; the Black House was hit the hardest. It was only through fluke and a martyr complex that I was the only one left.”

Pansy’s eyes filled with tears. “Who else?”

“Vincent.” Draco whispered, leaning against Harry, “And I was forced to take the mark in the sixth year.”

A strangled, horrified noise left Pansy’s mouth, “that would have destroyed your-“

Draco nodded, smiling sadly, “My ability to form a bond, I know.” He glanced at his mother, who was looking at him, love and regret reflecting in her eyes, “I couldn’t do anything else. Lucius losing to Harry at the end of our fifth year ensured his punishment was accomplished through me.”

“I lost Sirius then, and that summer, Amelia was killed.” Harry said, voice soft, eyes haunted, “our sixth year….” He shook his head, “It was better and worse than fifth. We didn’t have Umbridge, but news over Riddle’s actions took the front page, Fudge was removed as Minister and Rufus Scrimgeour was put in, Dumbledore died, and then the Ministry fell. I became Enemy Number One, and a Muggle-born registered was created, and in one year, an estimated seven hundred died for the crime of stealing magic.”

“You were the anonymous letter to my Aunt this summer,” Susan whispered into the silence, making them all look at her.

“It wasn’t anonymous. It just wouldn’t allow Amelia to say who’d sent it.” Harry admitted without remorse, “Her death had an untold impact, and I believe severe consequences that made it worse for our side in the days and weeks following her death.”

Susan shook her head. “No, you misunderstand; I wanted to thank you.” A flitting smile graced her face as she glanced at Hannah, “It was your letter that allowed us to transfer because she’d originally refused.”

“Oh.” Harry swallowed, “You’re welcome.”

“So why warn Professor McGonagall?” Hannah asked, “She hasn’t been the most sympathetic towards you?”

Susan elbowed her as Pansy hissed, and Harry laughed, a hint of resignation in it. “It’s fine, you’re not wrong, but she was there in the end when it mattered.” He glanced at Severus, who offered a faint smile and nodded. “Severus was placed as the Headmaster in the original seventh year while I was on the run. Yet to end the war, I needed to get back into the castle, and McGonagall went head-to-head with him to give me time to search for what I needed.”

“What did you need?” Blaise questioned with a frown and shrugged at the judgmental looks he received, “It’s a reasonable question. It stands to reason he needs to return and find it again.”

“The Dverger are undertaking that task for me,” Harry admitted.

“They have three,” Luna said randomly, brow furrowed, as her eyes returned to crystal blue instead of solid white.

“I-“ Draco cut himself off and shook his head, glancing at the clock, disappointed that he still had hours until supper time. “I need tea and a snack.”

Pixie appeared in the room, a large tray hovering beside her. “Masters, be wanting tea? I should have said something sooner. Pixie has been waiting and waiting.”

Draco flushed but moved the stuff off the coffee table, making room for the tray, gratefully, when Pansy moved to sit beside him and serve because he hated doing it.

“Can I ask what it is you’re looking for?” Blaise asked curiously, accepting Pansy’s tea, and then helped himself to a sandwich.

“I…” Harry started, then trailed off, glancing at Severus with a frown, “Did you ever figure it out?”

Severus frowned back and rose to his feet, ignoring the offer of tea but snagging a sandwich, “I have my suspicions, but the thought of it is utterly horrifying.”

“Yeah, that they are.” Harry muttered and sighed, “For now, I’m leaving this in the hands of the Dverger. The less anyone knows, the less risk it becomes public knowledge.”

“Which is completely fair,” Narcissa said graciously, sitting beside Pansy and accepting a cup. “I’m more curious about Minerva’s response. If you’ll forgive my nosiness, The woman who teaches today is not the same formidable woman who taught me years ago, and I’ll admit to some curiosity to see if your letter has sparked a change.”

Hesitating momentarily, Harry wandlessly summoned the letter, staring at it blankly before breaking the seal. Pulling out and unfolding the parchment, Harry read it, then reread it, a slow, if sad, smile crossing his face. He handed it over, and Draco slid into the seat beside his mother to read over her shoulder.

“Harry,

I apologize as both a teacher and your Head of House, as well as the Deputy Headmistress. It is not just you I have wronged, but the students at this school, and I am deeply heartbroken at what my inaction has caused.

I also need to offer them for my friendship with your Grandmother, Euphemia. She was my best friend, and I was godmother to your father upon his birth. Your mother was also my favourite student, even if she favoured charms.

In hindsight, I could have fought to raise you because I was your father’s godmother, making you, my grandson. I should have done more for you and will carry that regret and shame for the rest of my life. Unfortunately, there is no real way to make up for what I assume were deplorable living conditions with the Dursleys. I met your aunt once, and that was enough for me. I have no idea how I allowed Albus to convince me to leave you.

To make up for that, I wish you to know that I understand the significance of your name, Your Grace, and why you haven’t released that knowledge or information to the public because you are right, change is coming, and I look forward to it with glee, and no small bit of smugness.

It was truly a joyous experience watching the students at the welcoming feast realize who wasn’t in the school anymore, followed by the teachers.

The Headmaster and Umbridge both took issue with your disappearance, focusing on that and only that. They called in the DMLE to report you missing, and Albus even attempted to suggest you might have been kidnapped, but Amelia stopped this quickly enough. Said you were an emancipated adult, and there was nothing they could do without proof. Albus waited for them to leave before looking for Severus, only to realize he was missing too.

I’ll admit to some enjoyment while Albus scrambled over the school, trying to figure out what was happening. I honestly don’t know what enraged him more, your transfer or Severus’s resignation. Neither seemed to care that several other students had transferred to the ISM and when they left my office, they muttered that they could put a proposal before the Wizengamot that would force your return.

They seemed to think they could get a measure passed that said if you started at Hogwarts, you must finish there, too. If they had a brain between them, they’d realize, based on the students who have transferred, why the idea is laughable.

It’s enough that I almost wished I dared join the Wizengamot for the session. However, given my lack of effort here at the school, the students must come first, and although it may be small, I have made some token effort in that regard. While it does nothing for past students, I have abolished house segregation. House pride is one thing, but when it’s used to draw lines in the sand with potential friendships and alliances, we have failed to teach our students anything of value.

Starting tomorrow, all class levels will be split in half and joined with classes from all four houses. It will, I hope, force the students to grow, as I know with the way I split the students, some friendships may feel the strain when others can no longer prop them up.

That is my gift to you, Harry. I don’t know what happened or when I became so blind to it, but I did you a severe disservice by allowing Ms. Granger to push her way and dictate your education and learning as if she had the right to do so. She did not, and you proved that.

I received the marks you’d have gotten if you’d taken your NEWTS now, and even your mother would have struggled to achieve what you did as a fifth-year student. That you accomplished it the month after your trial is something to take pride in.

I couldn’t and never have been prouder of a student than I am right now. And if you get a chance, continue to rub English society’s nose in their ignorance; you deserve to feel some vindication, no matter what you told the press. We both know that the vindication won’t be directed to Tom Riddle, not that the other deserves a second of your time.

I look forward to seeing what else you accomplish in the next few years, and I won’t be surprised if you return to us a few masteries richer.

Please keep in touch. I failed once and don’t want to do that again. Not just because of my duty to your family but because you’re you, Harry, and you deserve to have more than one person in your corner. I hope one day to have earned your trust, even if it’s not in a professional sense. I think I would much prefer it to be familial.

Your devoted servant,

Minerva.”

“Wow…” Draco breathed and lifted his eyes to look at Harry, who was toying with the remains of a sandwich. It looked like he hadn’t even pretended to eat and reached out a hand, covering Harry’s. “Hey, I thought-“ Draco frowned and tried again, “isn’t her letter a good thing?”

“I guess.” Harry murmured and shrugged, sighing when Draco took the plate away, “Why couldn’t she have told me about my parents and grandparents before?”

Draco had no answer for him but drew him close without a word, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

“Possibly for the same reasons I didn’t.” Severus voice sounded closer than it had, and Draco turned to gaze at his godfather as the man sat down in front of Harry with a frown on his face and hesitantly licked his lips, “I don’t know for sure, but it’s possible she was conditioned like I was not to acknowledge that past relationship.”

Harry blinked at the potion master as Sirius stood at his side, “I’m inclined to agree with Severus, Harry. As I discussed James, I didn’t have the same constraints as Sev, but I honestly don’t know if I forgot or was forced to forget that Minerva was James’s godmother. I also know I didn’t say much about Lily.”

“It doesn’t seem fair,” Harry whispered sadly.

“It’s not.” Severus agreed, “Lily was the best of all of us, Harry.”

“Yeah, she gave us you.” Sirius said, smiling sadly, “It was the best gift I ever received, being asked to be your godfather.”

A matching look crossed Harry’s face as he glanced between the two men. “Will you tell me about her?”

“Whenever you want, pup.” Sirius whispered, eyes glistening, “Whenever you want.”

***

 

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