Reading Time: 103 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 beautiful work they did. It’s humbling to see how the story I crafted can be visualized by others

---

 

---

---

 

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

September 9th, 1995

Something tingled along his senses, and he knew that if he were in his body, the hairs on the back of his neck would have stood on end. It didn’t happen now, but it drew his attention, and no sooner had his attention been caught than he found himself in the bowels of the Ministry. The eerily familiar corridor was daunting and ominous as torchlight erupted along the age-darkened walls.

It was distressingly similar, yet the perspective was completely different. Instead of slithering on the floor, he floated near the ceiling. Yet he didn’t bounce along like he was being dragged somewhere; he had complete control over this, and it was peculiar how he knew in his sleep that he unconsciously watched the goings-on in the Ministry but never remembered when he was awake.

Suspecting that would be the case even now, he dipped along the corridor, searching the shadows for the snake, unsurprised to find her outside the room that led to the hall of prophecies. He also couldn’t say he was overly shocked to see Arthur Weasley flailing back on his heels as Nagini reared up, sinking her fangs into his thigh. Once, then twice. It was a weird double sort of distortion, watching an event he knew happened differently in an alternate universe, from perspective to timing to location, and there was a sense of sorrow and regret that in this one, he knew he could do nothing to help. Even if he got Croaker’s attention, it would be too late to render assistance, considering Severus wasn’t there with the venom to help with an antidote. Yet, he had to try, didn’t he? He wouldn’t be able to say he was a great Regent if he didn’t attempt to render aid when he was called to, no matter the actions of the one who slowly slid to the floor, eyes wide with shock and pain.

With a sigh, he drew on Pendragon, shifting as he landed lightly on the floor. Nagini pulled back in shock, the intelligence in her eyes filling with regret as she looked between them.

Activating the wards within the DOM, Harry tilted his head consideringly as a dome of crystallized power encompassed Nagini, “Do you want freedom from him, Nagini?”

It wasn’t human speech, but he couldn’t say it was parseltongue either; it didn’t have the right dips in tone, more of a subtonal expression that rumbled the floor around him.

The snake looked at Arthur, who was gasping, gazing up at him in awe and regret, before looking back at Harry and nodding. “Then wait for Croaker; do not attack him; he’ll find a way to help.”

Nagini blinked, tail reaching out, hesitating before brushing along his, and it was almost heartbreaking to see tears fill the eyes of a snake as she coiled on the ground.

Waiting a moment to see if Nagini would do anything different, Harry finally turned his attention to Arthur; the regretful resignation and pain in his eyes made Harry pull back in surprise. “You recognize me?”

“I think any child of Wiccan blood would, Your Grace,” Arthur whispered. The recognition not that he knew it was Harry but that he was the Regent made something in him relax.

“How did you come to be here, Arthur William Weasley?” Harry asked, straightening regally as he wrapped his tail around his body.

“Compliance, greed, and lies I believed were true.” The admission made Arthur lower his head, eyes fluttering heavily, “My shame led me here, Your Grace, and my regret is compounded by the fact I never believed you’d return.”

“Even though it was promised by magic?” Harry asked curiously.

“Even though.” Arthur agreed, “I let others influence me, steering me to this path because my blood status meant I’d never amount to anything honest. I believed I could change my daughter’s future for the better, yet in my heart, I neglected the damage done to her magic but still made plans to marry her to a man who deserved so much more than the taint and greed in her core.”

“Do you regret your actions?” Harry couldn’t help but ask, hating that he cared about the answer.

“I have so many regrets, Your Grace, the least of which means my actions have rendered me already judged,” Arthur replied calmly.

“How so?” Harry frowned.

“I couldn’t help but notice you didn’t render aid, so I assumed you already knew my guilt.” There was no regret in Arthur’s tone, just a simple sort of acceptance: “I think I knew there would be a price to pay when I tricked Molly into marrying me.”

Startled at that, Harry pulled back, “You tricked Molly?”

“Of course,” Arthur agreed, frowning a little, “shouldn’t this hurt more?”

The question was probably rhetorical, but Harry answered anyway. “I asked for the time to have this conversation; I wanted to understand the reasoning for your actions.”

“Ah… have I satisfied your curiosity, your majesty?”

Given his interactions with Arthur over the summer, it was a little disconcerting that there was no hint of malice in his tone, but a glint in his eye caused unease to ripple along Harry’s spine.

“Not really, how did you trick Molly?”

The smirk on Arthur’s face was more familiar to Lucius Malfoy, and it was shocking how revolting it was. Harry couldn’t stop the threatening rumble if he wanted to.

The action caused Arthur to pale, and he flushed, dipping his head in apology. “I apologize; it’s unseemly to take pride in my actions, especially when they cause harm to others.” Arthur sighed and shifted his weight where he lay propped against the wall, “People often assume I’m stupid. I play at being fascinated by the things Muggles invent because then they overlook me. What wizard cares what the function of a rubber duck is? Not one, nor did I, but people would dismiss and talk candidly in my presence, where I could gather information and use it to my advantage. As for Molly, against all odds, we became friends at school. Knowing she was unhappy with the contract her father had arranged, I convinced her to seduce someone else…”

Smoke curled from Harry’s snout as he glared down at the man in disgust. “Let me guess, you arranged for her to be caught?”

“I did. My plan to marry Molly wouldn’t have worked if she hadn’t been. I needed her ruined. It’s the only way a woman like Molly could have married me, even if we were friends.” Arthur agreed, eyes sliding shut as his breathing slowed, “Magic punished and cursed us simultaneously. The temptation to try and better our line was also paramount. The perception of stupidity worked in my favour. I knew Molly would be an asset in that quest. Once she was allowed off the leash of good, pure-blood behaviour, I knew her greed would overrule her common sense. She never once questioned what I’d done and provided me with seven children that I thought would be enough to restore our family name. It’s why I had no real issue letting my daughter’s obsession over Harry grow to what it did. It might have been the thing that tipped the scales and helped clear our shame.”

“You believe that, Arthur?” Harry questioned, voice devoid of emotion as he pulled and shifted into his human form, earning a sharp inhale from Arthur. “What happened to honest repentance?”

“You’re our Regent?” The whispered question seemed unnaturally loud as Harry dipped his head in acknowledgment.

“Not that knowing that does anything for you,” Harry said, tilting his head.

“I can still tell someone,” Arthur argued, embarrassment gracing his face.

“How?” It was probably rude, but Harry couldn’t stop the amusement if he tried. “You’re dead.”

Time shifted, moving at incredible speeds until it caught up, and they watched in silence as the hall was flooded with members of the DOM, converging on Arthur’s body and removing it while Croaker approached Nagini in confusion.

Harry spoke in a voice that took on an echoing quality that made Arthur’s spirit shudder. “She’s a Horcrux, Croaker. Free and heal her. She won’t fight you.”

The man in question froze minutely but nodded, “Of course, Your Grace. Is there anything you wish me to tell his family?”

Harry glanced at Arthur, not hiding the disdain in his green eyes, “No, their culpability in following a madman’s plans means judgment is rendered.”

“Very well, Your Grace.” Croaker bowed sharply to the air and twisted his hands, the crystallized dome shimmering as it lifted from the floor.

As he went to leave, Harry called after him. “Reg, I won’t remember this when I wake.”

The man’s head bowed, a sigh of defeat echoing around him, “Of course, Your Grace, I’ll report in person at a reasonable time this weekend. I would hate to interrupt your schooling.”

“The floo’s name is Meandros,” Harry informed him, shaking his head at the sass, before turning his attention to Arthur, who was gazing at him, face heavy with speculative calculation, the look making Harry grin. “You think you can use this information?”

“I’m a ghost, Your Grace.” The sneer in the tone only amused Harry further, though it enraged Arthur. “You think you can hide this?”

“Oh, I will, I have no fears over that.” Harry assured him but waved to the walls, “But if you want it, you can test it and try.”

Arthur frowned and spoke slowly as if speaking to a simpleton. “Astral projection is rare, Harry. You can’t interact in the in-between to prevent me from leaving.”

“And if I said I was more than Pendragon, what then?” Harry questioned, shifting to look at Arthur and reaching out, grabbing his wrist in a band of unrelenting strength, making Arthur’s eyes widen in fear, “Tell me, Arthur, what do you know of the Deathly Hallows?”

“They’re a fable.” The conviction would have been believable if Arthur hadn’t inhaled and rushed the next part of his sentence, “It’s a moral story, a lesson imparted to children that bartering with death isn’t worth it.”

“You’re right, and you’re wrong.” Harry told him, “They’re my original gift to this world so they could learn and grow. Eons ago, I became jaded with the souls I was sent to collect —gods, magicals, and mundanes alike; they were all alike. Simple-minded, greedy and entitled. You know what I’ve learnt in the ensuing millennia?”

“What?” The crack in Arthur’s voice was immensely satisfying, and Harry pulled the older man to him until they were nose to nose.

“You weaken Hecate and destroy the world she built for us because humanity still hasn’t learned anything. You use and abuse the gift you’ve been given and blame others when things don’t go your way. It is people like you, who follow and uplift the likes of Grindelwald, Dumbledore and Riddle, thinking you’ll finally come out on top, yet all you’ve done is get Hecate’s children killed, and it pisses me off.”

The volume of Harry’s voice bounced around them, making Arthur jerk in pain, his mouth moving soundlessly before he could force words past his lips, “What are you going to do?”

Harry snapped his fingers, the two of them appearing in inky blackness, the only light coming from the faintly glowing swirls that passed in the slow-moving current of water that lapped at the edges of the bank they stood on, “You should have taken Hecate’s punishment because mine means you’ll never rest, Arthur Weasley. Welcome to the river Styx. I sincerely hope you can pay Charon.”

Harry let go and turned away, pausing as Arthur called out behind him, “I’m sorry.”

Harry turned, scales erupting over his skin, smoke curling around his face, “No, sorry would imply you feel remorse for your actions. Right now, you’re just terrified of the consequences.“

As the crunch of a boat hitting the shore indicated Charon’s arrival, Harry rolled over in bed, brow furrowed and felt the gentle warmth of Medea ease the aches in his muscles and fell back into a dreamless sleep and knew nothing until morning.

***

September 9, 1995

Sliding into the chair, Harry yawned, jaw cracking as he rubbed his face, still completely exhausted.

It was a semi-sort of familiar exhaustion that echoed in his magic, even carrying the feeling of pride in his accomplishments and not the dejection that weighed on his shoulders during the hunt for the horcruxes.

A hand brushed against him, and he lifted his head from his hand, unaware he had been leaning into it with his eyes closed. “Sorry, I’m up.”

“Still tired, pup?” Sirius asked with amusement in his tone.

“Exhausted.” Harry agreed, summoning the coffee, the little burst of energy lasting long enough that he got the liquid in his mouth, uncaring how hot it was. “I don’t know how to explain it. It’s a good exhaustion, just…” he shook his head, unable to explain, “If I’m not cracking shit into my head at school, I’m undergoing lessons at night either from Medea or Pendragon. The approach in the teaching is so different, I feel like I’m spending more time cross-referencing than learning.”

“Cross-referencing means you are learning.” Severus intoned, lifting his head from the letter he was writing, “Is there any particular subject causing you an issue?”

Harry’s hand twitched, taking another sip of the coffee, thinking about the answer, “I don’t think so. It’s just a lot, each with a different learning method.”

Severus exchanged a look with Sirius and received a nod, making the man frown briefly before focusing on Harry again, “Is there any particular reason they’re pushing you to learn?”

“Besides my utter lack of knowledge and understanding of the magical world?” Harry questioned dryly.

“Yes, besides that.” Severus glanced at Sirius again, who shrugged, “Neither of us was aware they’d been pushing you so hard.”

Harry frowned into his coffee as if it had the answers before responding, “I think something is or has happened; I just don’t know what.”

“Why would you think that?” Sirius asked, stirring his tea and making a face directed at Harry’s coffee.

“Dreams mostly, part of them are hazy and indistinct when I wake, but I know on a visceral level something has changed.” Harry tried to explain and shrugged helplessly, “It’s why I’ve started reading the papers front to back. Maybe I’ll see something that triggers my memory.”

Severus cleared his throat. “Would legilimency help?”

Harry cut him a sharp look that made the other man wince, but he held his gaze. “It wouldn’t be like it was. What I did to you is probably one of my greatest sins, Harry.”

Dropping his gaze back to his coffee, Harry forced himself to relax, releasing a slow breath and admitting, “I think I figured that out. I just don’t know when. I assume the teaching method was under Dumbledore’s orders in a bid to open the connection to Riddle?”

“He wanted it fostered and to allow for easier skimming.” Severus agreed, “I tried working around the order but couldn’t recommend any reading materials or explain how to build internal shields. The best I could do, poor as it was, was to try to get you to envision a field of nothing by telling you to clear your mind.”

The outrage that flooded him wasn’t his, and he took a breath to understand it. Medea was reviewing his memories before she dumped the knowledge and realized she’d already taught him how to do it automatically.

Harry lifted his gaze and met Severus’s eyes, offering a soft nod of thanks, “I forgive you.”

Severus swallowed hard, hand reflexively clenching on the table even as Sirius covered it in concern, looking between them, “I feel like I’m missing something important.”

“We’re talking about the occlumency lessons I was instructed to teach Harry,” Severus admitted hoarsely. “A task I was doomed to fail at, leading to your death in the original timeline.”

Harry’s eyes fluttered shut at the remembered grief, and he swallowed the lump in his throat before clearing his throat. “It might not mean much, but I finally figured it out before I changed time.”

“Not really.” Severus offered a weak smile, “But I’m glad you know how now. I don’t even get passive thoughts anymore.”

Debating for only a second, Harry held out a hand and silently summoned a book from the library before handing it over.

With a frown, Severus accepted the book, brow furrowing as he flipped it open, his eyes skimming the words on the page before they snapped back to Harry’s. “Medea wrote this?”

Offering a gentle smile, Harry nodded, “It was primarily done for self-preservation, but yes, she came up with the theory and built the construct for the minds within the mind, later called Occlumency. I-I thought you might enjoy reading her words-“

“I would-will.” Severus corrected himself, closing the cover, hand covering it reverently, “The only other copy of this book that is left is in the Library of Alexandria, and I was never given leave to visit.”

Harry frowned in thought, “I can’t be sure what’s there. The library was hidden after Medea’s death, but most books or scrolls were copies from Medea’s library. Which you’re free to pursue to your heart’s content. I just ask that they not leave the villa.”

“I would never.” Severus said thoughtfully, then licked his lips, “If I can learn to apply what Medea wrote to what I’ve accomplished, could- would you be willing to test me?”

Startled, Harry drew back, “Me?”

Huffing, Severus nodded, “Yes, you. I assume Medea’s given you the knowledge, and your mind is practically an indestructible fortress. If anyone can break into mine, I want the founder of the spell work to find the weak spots.”

“I—alright,” Harry agreed hesitantly, grateful when the mail dropped into the basket on the sideboard. “Have you received any letters from Dumbledore?”

If Severus was confused by the abrupt change in conversation, he didn’t outwardly react, answering his questions. “No, but I’ve been having all my mail redirected to Gringotts and requested they hold those letters for investigation. I suspect most will have some sort of compulsion or charm on them to force me to return.”

“I did the same.” Harry admitted and glanced at Sirius, “Has he written to you?”

“I had Kreacher toss them in the fire.” It was a flippant response: “Same with the ones from Lupin; I don’t care what either of them says.”

“That’s fair,” Harry said, suddenly tired again and stifled a yawn.

“Why don’t you go back to bed, Harry?” Sirius asked in obvious concern.

“Too much to do,” Harry replied, eyeing the bacon, and then wiggled his fingers, too tired to reach for it. A piece of bacon flew from the bowl to his hand, and he munched it in relish.

“It’s a Saturday,” Sirius said slowly, as if that was already obvious, considering Draco wasn’t awake.

“I know, but I have correspondences I’ve been neglecting.” Harry offered, eyeing the stack that appeared next to his plate, and one that tightened his gut, then frowned as he glanced at the clock over the mantle, “And I think I’m expecting a visitor, but I don’t know why I think that.”

Severus frowned but tilted his head as he eyed the letters, “It’s going to sound unbearably rude, but who’s writing you?”

“There’s a letter from Professors McGonagall and Flitwick. A couple from Ragnok, but I think those are from the ones at the school, and….” He trailed off, met their eyes, and removed the one haunting him for days—an ivory-coloured envelope with perfect script across the front. “My grandmother.”

“I wasn’t aware you’d written,” Sirius said slowly.

“Draco encouraged me, too.” Harry admitted, “I sent it and an invitation via Gringotts, so she knows it’s legitimate.”

“I don’t think many would have the nerve to fake a relationship.” Severus replied smoothly, “Though I’m sure the gesture was appreciated.”

“Maybe.” Harry glanced at the envelope before splitting the seal and pulled out the folded parchment, smoothing it carefully as he bent over it to read.

“Dearest Hadrian,

I find myself at a loss, though through no fault of your own, this is the consequence of my actions thirty-five-plus years ago.

I assure you that Dverger’s service in ferrying letters for us is not this slow; therefore, I apologize for my delayed response. You see, this is part of the consequences I mentioned, but after the birth of your mother, I felt I had no choice but to craft a carefully constructed spell that locked my memories of her existence away.

It sounds selfish, and horrible, plus about twenty other adjectives I could list, but it hurt too much to remember. I never wanted to give her up, no matter the association I had with her father. It’ll sound like a horrid admission, but I was young and naive. So incredibly young, in a rebellious phase, which resulted in your mother.

I was the youngest of six children and considered the favourite, but everyone else had plans for me that I didn’t want to participate in. I was given my summer of freedom after I finished at Beauxbatons Academy and was introduced to Tomas Marvolo, who was in France, to work on a research paper on the Founders of magical schools.

Much later, I realized that he arranged that introduction because of who our forefather was; I think he hoped to obtain something of Arthur’s, though the only known relic that still exists is Excalibur, which is hidden by the magic of Avalon.

It was only when I confirmed the pregnancy that my parents found out what I’d done, and an investigation was launched into just exactly who Tomas was.

It was heartbreaking to realize he used me and even more horrifying to find out his birth name.

My parents consulted the Oracle of Delphi, the only neutral option they could trust. It was a terrifying experience because she wasn’t kind or gentle, having minimal sympathy for my actions, but she confirmed that my indiscretion was a fulfillment of prophecy. Then, she went on to share everything she knew of Tom Riddle and the plans he had made for his future.

I was once again horrified that what I thought of as love was a twisted sense of entitlement because he had wanted information. Yet amid that, I had a bit of doubt; I thought I could save him. It was a brief, singular thought that the Delphi destroyed in the next moment.

I had two choices: save my daughter and the son she would have by giving her a chance at a normal childhood, or because, as I’d eloped, he would have the right to act as your Proxy for the regency.

I, of course, chose to save her. My oldest brother, Ricard, was married to a woman(muggle) named Olivia Evans, and they had fought for years to have children. If Ricard had been magical, it might have been possible to acquire magical assistance, but as a squib, they don’t offer those options at the wizarding hospital. They’d already adopted a girl, about ten years old, but were honoured to accept mine.

This brings me to the memory spell; I forced myself to forget Lillian wasn’t mine. I visited and paid for her upkeep, not that Ricard needed the funds; even as a squib, he was still entitled to his inheritance, being a child of Brenin’s blood. However, Lillian believed, and so did I, that she was Ricard’s daughter.

Do I regret that Lillian never knew the truth? Perhaps at this moment, yes, but then I remember the nightmare that Tomas turned out to be. I’m filled with rage and regret that he is responsible for his daughter’s death and for his persecution of you….

Yes, I know what you have suffered, even though the spell I crafted meant I forgot. My elves had been ordered to collect everything they could of Lillian first and then any children she might have had.

So, I’m sorry for the childhood you grew up with. Perhaps if the Oracle had provided a more detailed future, I might have made different choices. The only thing I can do now is offer you the support you need.

If that is only as a loyal subject to the Regent, then that is what it will be, but I sincerely pray you can accept me as Grandmere….

Lady Emilee Brenin

PS, I know school has just started, but I would be very interested in meeting face-to-face at least once. I would be delighted to accept the invitation to visit if you still wish. Touch the wand to the letter and say, ‘Pendragon.’ It will alert me and let me know if the invitation is still open. I will arrive shortly after lunch. It will be just me and my elf, so no special treatment is expected, as I’ve not told my relatives what has come to pass. I will wait for you.

Nona Emilee

Harry lowered the letter and closed his eyes, his heart beating faster than expected as he read through the confession and the simplified story his grandmother had offered.

Given what he understood of Riddle, her story wasn’t much of a surprise or shock; it was evident something had happened thirty-five years ago if his mother had been born. That it had been a somewhat tragically heartbreaking story repeated forever, wrapped up in ancient oracles, and not the dramatic kidnapping he’d been expecting, was on him and his imagination. It probably said a lot that he’d expected worse, and he desperately tried not to judge, considering his grandmother would have been the same age he had been when he’d trailed through time.

Desperation was a bitch, which Harry understood and touched the paper with his wand and said the password.

Rubbing a hand over his face, Harry glanced at Sirius, who was looking at him expectantly. “She’ll be arriving after lunch with a house elf.”

“Ah…” Sirius said, eyeing the letter curiously, “She seemed to write quite a bit just to inform you she was visiting.”

“Sirius.” Severus hissed under his breath, “If Harry doesn’t want to share the contents of his letter, that’s his prerogative. Don’t guilt him because you’re being nosy.”

Flushing, Sirius crossed his arms, “I don’t want him hurt.”

Shaking his head, Harry handed the letter over but held onto it, meeting Sirius’s eyes, “Please keep an open mind, and don’t immediately jump to conclusions. I’m still me, alright?”

Perplexed, Sirius frowned in confusion but nodded, his eyes dropping to the letter as he unfolded it. He missed the exchange Harry shared with Severus, who closed his eyes in sudden understanding, though he offered a tight nod.

Harry glanced at the clock again, growing increasingly restless, and moved to fill a plate, something telling him that time was growing short.

As he sat down, he called Pixie, “I know it’s sort of early, but could you wake Narcissa and Draco? We have guests coming this morning and early this afternoon; they’ll want to be ready to meet.”

Pixie frowned but nodded, “Pixie will get their elves to wake them.”

“I’m awake….” Draco drawled from the doorway as he plodded into the room, his eyes barely open, and he collapsed into his chair, laying his head on the table. Though he opened a single eye to stare at Harry, he added, “Your angst woke me.”

Harry flushed and muttered, “Sorry.” Eyeing Sirius, who’d paled considerably as he lowered the letter.

Draco frowned, wiping his face as he lifted it from the table, “What’s going on?”

“My grandmother wrote,” Harry explained simply.

“Ah….” Draco said slowly, glancing between Sirius, who wasn’t moving and Harry, who was fidgeting with his fork but not eating, “and did she explain the doom and gloom or the youthful indiscretion?”

Huffing an irritated breath at the blond, Harry dropped his fork and folded his arms, “Why’d you have to be right?”

Draco raised an elegant eyebrow, “Because for all his faults, Riddle was always known to be extremely charismatic. I wouldn’t be surprised if he could successfully seduce a ghost.”

Harry growled, then slumped, “Alright, that’s fair.”

“Wait? What?” Draco demanded, “You’re…” he trailed off and frowned, “You’re implying I’m right.”

“Because you are.” Harry said tiredly, covering his face with both hands, scrubbing furiously, “he convinced Rowena Ravenclaw to tell him where the diadem was hidden.”

Draco opened his mouth and then closed it with a frown, Severus taking a moment to interrupt, “Where was it hidden?”

“Albania.” Harry replied, lowering his hands, “hidden in the recess of a tree trunk before her ‘escort’ found her and refused to let her go. He raped her, killed her, and then killed himself in a ritual tying his ghost to hers before dragging her home to Hogwarts.”

“When did Riddle hide it within the school?” Severus asked, frowning furiously, eyes glinting dangerously.

“When Dumbledore refused him the post after he applied for the DADA position,” Harry answered, picking up his fork as Severus swore viciously and angrily.

“He knew where Riddle’s disembodied spirit hid, right?”

Harry finally looked at Severus, careful to keep his face impassive, “And you thought Quirrell had a sudden hankering to trot the globe the summer before I started at Hogwarts? You don’t believe that, Severus.”

Sirius finally seemed to snap out of whatever he’d been thinking because he frowned at them, shoulders slumping, “While I admit to knowing things about the previous timeline that happened after my death, I sincerely have no idea what you, too, are speaking about.”

“I was alive for all of it, but I don’t know what they’re discussing.” Draco echoed a tone laced with confusion. “I also feel like I should know what you are talking about. Which ghosts did you mean?”

Harry sighed, moodily finishing his bite of food, “The Bloody Baron and the Gray Lady. Riddle hid it in the castle in the room of requirements, which, in a roundabout way, you and your posse were indirectly responsible for helping us destroy it.”

“The fiendfyre.” Draco breathed as Sirius flinched when Harry nodded.

“What about Quirrell? Who’s he?” Sirius asked, clearly still confused.

“Our first-year DADA professor, but I’m unsure what they’re discussing concerning him. He was a waste of space, and I still don’t understand how anyone passed his classes.” Draco’s response was slow, his brow wrinkled as if deep in thought before turning to look directly at Harry. “He also mysteriously disappeared at the end of the year… care to elaborate, Harry?”

“I killed him.” Harry shrugged and sat back in his chair as they gapped at him while Severus face palmed, “I did, and the fucker deserved it; he was hosting Riddle’s disembodied spirit.”

“I….” Sirius trailed off, suddenly paler than he had been, “I think we need to sit down and discuss your years at Hogwarts, Harry, but before we do that, can we please discuss this?” He asked, waving the letter, and swallowed hard, “Did you know…”

“That Tom Riddle’s my grandfather?” Harry asks for clarification.

Nodding dumbly, Sirius set the paper down, croaking audibly, “Yeah, that.”

“It’s gotten to the point where I’m starting to believe I was cursed, and it’s just a fuck you from fate because I’ve obviously offended them somewhere… of course, I bloody suspected, Sirius.” Harry couldn’t help but snap and then flushed guiltily, muttering a soft sorry, then ruined it by adding waspishly, “It just makes sense. I can easily envision how everyone would have turned on me in that other future when I continued rebelling against the line they’d drawn. Take down one Dark Lord. I’m the next obvious choice.”

“Hey.” Draco said, rising to his feet and crouching beside Harry, grabbing his hands, detangling them from his hair, “Harry, stop. While I can see how you believe that it didn’t happen.”

“But what’s to stop it from happening now when I have infinitely more power at my disposal. I’m the bloody Regent, Draco!” Harry’s chest heaved like he was breathing too hard, and he ducked his head when he felt tears burn his eyes, “All I’ve ever wanted was a family of my own, and I get this, thrust into a world of legends and mythology.”

Hating the look of heartbreaking on Draco’s face, Harry closed his eyes, leaning back in the chair with his head tipped up, “I’m sorry, I just- it’s fucking with my head, that I think I’ve always known but could never articulate that. In the second year, he said we were similar, and hell, I know everyone says I look like James, but when I look in a mirror, all I see is him.”

A warm hand cupped his face and tilted his head down, forcing eye contact, and he swallowed at the emotion swirling in Sirius’s silver eyes, “I think you misunderstood my question, pup. It wasn’t meant as an attack, so I apologize if you took it that way.”

“Then what did you mean?” Harry whispered, tears burning his eyes.

“Who else knows?” Sirius said.

“Before that letter? I would have said just Emilee, myself, and Croaker.” Harry was slow in replying and somewhat thankful his voice didn’t catch on to the last name offered. He frowned again, glancing at the clock.

“Why do you keep looking at the clock?” Draco asked in confusion.

“I think I have a visitor coming this morning,” Harry replied distractedly.

“You think?” Draco echoed in confusion, glancing at Sirius and Severus, who both shrugged, though Severus answered, not lifting his eyes from the book before him.

“He said it earlier, too, but didn’t elaborate.”

“Harry, how can you not know if you have a visitor coming?” Draco asked slowly, “You’d have to let them into the wards.”

“I-“ Harry frowned and shook his head. “I don’t know, but that’s not important right now. I want to know where Sirius was going with everyone who knew about Riddle being my grandfather?”

“Secrecy vows, locked in with Medea,” Sirius said simply.

For one insane second, Harry agreed before slowly shaking his head. “It won’t work; they’re married, Sirius; she mentioned nothing of an annulment or divorce, which I don’t think is a thing in Wizarding society.”

“Not in pureblood circles or that of the nobility.” Draco agreed, squeezing Harry’s arm before rising to his feet and sliding back onto his chair, a frown appearing. “I wonder why no one ever heard of the marriage, though.”

“Riddle probably didn’t care enough to make a fuss when she disappeared,” Harry said plainly, then jerked to his feet as Narcissa glided into the room, the only one to look perfectly put together with not a single hair out of place.

Draco grumbled under his breath but rose to his feet and pulled out the chair beside him, a flush tinging his cheeks as she raised a single eyebrow, turning to survey the rest of them, “I sincerely hope none of you are expecting to be dressed like that when the guests arrive?”

Harry grinned at Draco’s discomfort, making a mental note to make sure they had time alone sometime today; they hadn’t had much time together, even to have a simple conversation that didn’t involve everyone else, never mind finding the time to snog.

Turning his attention to Narcissa, he offered a little wave, “Not at all, Narcissa. I think we can finish breakfast and get ready, though.”

“Should I call the others?” Draco asked curiously.

Harry shook his head, “They had plans, Draco.”

“Your security is more important, and they understand that,” Draco replied, sinking back into his chair and topping up his teacup.

“It’s not related to the regency.” Harry said, not knowing how he knew that but knowing he had to say something, “I think it’s a matter of Mávros.”

At that, everyone frowned but didn’t argue, and Narcissa was allowed to steer the conversation back to safer, everyday conversations as they ate their breakfast.

***

Hearing Harry call out for him to enter, Draco cautiously opened the bedroom door, trying to hide his curiosity at what lay beyond. It was weird, the expectations he had regarding the golden boy. It never really lined up with reality, so stepping into the room, Draco couldn’t help but blink in surprise at the array of purple hues. Not that there were many, the darkest being the bedspread that, if the sunlight hadn’t been hitting it, Draco would probably have assumed was black, that matched the dark oak of the open canopy bed that left the ceiling open to see the constellation and galaxy that moved across the space. The dark curtains, intertwined with lighter ones, wrapped around the wooden frame, linking the front to the end. However, the rest of the room featured shades of light purples with creams added, as seen in the pillows and throws on the bed and couch, which were only a couple of degrees darker than the pillows. The carpet in front of the fire appeared the same as the bedspread, but besides the dark-coloured wood, the rest of the room was a pale cream.

It was the exact opposite of what Draco suspected, and it left him feeling off-kilter and slightly confused as he took in a room that was somehow calming and said everything that Harry was; for all that, it didn’t have many personalized mementos.

On the bedside table were a couple of picture frames, hidden by the pile of books in front, and on the opposite side were a couple of potion jars.

The balcony door was open, allowing the scent of the garden to permeate the room. The warding had been altered to disallow insects as a bee bounced off and flew away.

Other than a photo album on the coffee table and the firebolt in the corner next to the desk, there really wasn’t much in the way of personal effects, and it made Draco flush when he thought of everything he’d packed when he’d left the manor. It all felt like a vain attempt to one-up Harry, and that wasn’t his intention.

A hand gripped his elbow and turned him around, and he met glittering green eyes filled with a hint of worry as they traced over his face, making Draco feel even worse.

Trying to offer a small smile, he ran his eyes down Harry, feeling a blush climb his cheeks, “Wow…. You look good.”

An answering blush tinged Harry’s cheeks, and he dropped his head, breaking eye contact to look at himself, smoothing the fabric of his robes. “It’s not too much? I was worried it would be a little too formal?”

Taking in the black formal vest robes, Draco surveyed the rest of him, understanding what Harry meant. The robes were part of a complete formal set, the outer layer having an additional two layers that included a cape; however, what he had on now was an acceptable alternative for summer events. The black shirt was a type of silk that shimmered purple in the sunlight but wasn’t overpowering or blinding, though it did make the green of Harry’s eyes stand out.

As Harry stepped closer, Draco realized he’d been staring into Harry’s eyes for too long and hadn’t answered his question. “It is formal, but an acceptable formal. You are the Regent. There’s no getting around that, love; it’s just who you are. Plus, even if this first visitor isn’t as high on the social scale as one would expect for formalwear, your grandmother is, and your mother might even expect the outer robes. First impressions and all that.”

Harry grimaced but stepped back, offering his hand, “Alright, let’s go before Sirius removes our guest’s head.”

“You know, your godfather is starting to be a pain; he’s always interrupting us when we’re alone,” Draco complained, accepting the hand, pulling Harry back and stealing a kiss, which earned him a laugh of delight.

“Starting to be?” Harry shook his head, nosing along Draco’s cheek, “Sweetheart, he was an ass weeks ago before we started living together.”

Heaving a sigh, Draco turned his head, covering Harry’s mouth, and kissed him hard, feeling the heat creep up his neck before breaking the kiss, “Let’s go before we let this go too far.”

Harry sighed but gamely followed when Draco tugged on his hand, leading him out of the room. “Do age of consent laws apply to us, considering we already claimed our lordships?”

Draco tripped on the way out the door and turned to stare at Harry, who was regarding him in amusement, a hint of challenge burning in his eyes.

It was enough to make Draco flush, but for an entirely different reason than embarrassment, and he took a step forward, “If we don’t want to be hit with chastity charms, they do.” Draco shuddered, “You might not have experienced it yet, but you really don’t want Mom’s disappointment aimed at you because we couldn’t control ourselves.”

Harry made a face, suggesting he had received the look, and leaned forward, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. “Let’s go, love.”

Heaving a sigh, Harry took his hand, lacing their fingers together and led the way to the stairs leading to the reception room, where they’d had the floo moved to. None of them liked the security risk, minimal though it was, with it inside the central part of the villa.

They heard Sirius’s raised voice before they breached the door, but it was the distorted voice that Harry tripped over, his complexion draining as he gasped audibly.

Instantly concerned, Draco steadied him, shooting a look toward the door, “What’s wrong?”

Harry took a deep breath and released it slowly, “I… a dream I forgot.”

Confused, Draco looked at him, “dream?”

Distracted, Harry pulled away but then grabbed his hand, squeezing it, “Arthur Weasley’s dead.”

Draco blinked, but the shouting increased, and Harry pulled away, pulling something from inside his shirt and palming it in his hands as he swept into the room, his voice projecting to echo throughout the villa. “STOP!”

Somehow, knowing he should be thankful it wasn’t directed at him, Draco took a breath and hurried after his intended, stumbling to a halt just inside the door.

It was a confused standoff between Sirius and Severus, both with their sleeves pulled up, with Narcissa standing just inside the door. However, she had her wand in hand. A masked man was standing in the middle of the room with his hands up in surrender, with Harry partially shifted, scales running down the side of his face, standing in the center, holding a shimmering shield in one hand directed at their godfathers, the other holding out his hand, the glint of a chain wrapped around Harry’s fingers barely visible as he held tilted it towards the stranger.

“Touch it.”

The stranger would have been glaring if the hood had allowed the expression; his voice was a distorted hiss. “You promised.”

“I promised nothing. You ignored my statement when I told you Medea wanted her children home.” Harry responded evenly, “Don’t make me order you as Regent.”

“That’s Blackmail!” Came the hissing response.

Harry shrugged unconcerned and pointed at himself, “Mávros.” Like it made sense, and then Draco snorted in amusement because it did. It was the Greek translation of black, after all. Harry continued to speak, folding his arms, “Which is more important, a fifteen-year-old secret or your magic and life?”

The shoulders slumped, voice turning soft, “But they’ll hate me. I hurt them.”

“It could be argued it was Casmir that hurt everyone three hundred-odd years ago when he forced Medea to sleep, but that’s not the issue today.” Harry nodded towards his hand, held steady. “You’ve fought independently for fifteen years and made zero progress. In six weeks, I’ve all of them but one.”

When the stranger said nothing, Harry tilted his head. “What do you remember of that other future?”

Harry ignored Sirius’ angry hiss, focusing on the hoodie man who jerked his head.

“Don’t lie to me, Croaker.” Harry snapped, “Who was left?”

“You, Your Grace.” Came the soft admittance, “but that’s not why I’m here.”

“Yes, I know, Croaker. Arthur Weasley’s dead, I took him to Charon. No, I don’t care if he paid the fare. I care if you could transfer the Horcrux and heal Nagini?” Harry spoke over him and lifted his eyebrow when Croaker gaped at him.

“You said you wouldn’t remember.” The accusation wasn’t heated; it curiously sounded more defeated than anything.

“I didn’t until I heard your voice, though I suspect if I’d read my mail, there might have been something in there that would have jogged my memory.”

Croaker snorted and lifted his head, “For your information, Your Grace. Not only was Nagini healed, but I was able to prevent the knowledge of Arthur’s death until this morning when his body was sadly found just outside the wards at the Burrow.”

“Anyway, it can be traced to the DOM?” Harry demanded.

“None, it’s why it took so long to return him. We removed the venom, healed him, and removed all traces of magic from the body. The only thing that would have been attached was portkey signatures, which unfortunately did several jumps before depositing his remains.” Croaker said plainly, and Draco, who hated admitting he was fascinated, the knowledge required to accomplish it incredibly seductive.

Harry turned and looked at him, eyes narrowing, “No.”

Draco laughed and said, “I’m not a crup, Harry.” A frown appeared, making Draco laugh again, “I promise not to go work for the DOM, love.”

“Better not,” Harry muttered, “I barely spent time with you now. It’d be a million times worse if you did.”

“Relax, love, and finish your conversation with your guest,” Draco ordered in amusement, which grew when Sirius glared at him, and he shrugged. “I’m not the one who drew their wand on Harry’s guest, cousin.”

Harry flashed him a grin before turning to look at Croaker. “Well, what will it be?”

Croaker sighed heavily, “Will my identity remain hidden outside these walls?”

“You mean as Croaker,” Harry asked and nodded. “Yes, you’re the head Unspeakable. No one but us will know who you are under the mask.”

“But…” Croaker trailed off and swallowed before explaining. “I meant the other identity, Your Grace.”

“Once Riddle’s dead, I’ll release a statement as head of the family that you were found. What public appearances you do after that will be your prerogative.” Harry stopped and frowned, “And whatever Narcissa decides, I’ll let her deal with that because I’m not brave enough to argue. She has plans.” Harry informed him seriously, shuddering a little, making Narcissa laugh in surprise.

The man echoed the laugh and then seemed to freeze before he bowed his head and slowly reached out a hand, touching Harry’s hand.

Time seemed suspended as they connected, magic rippling out from Harry to encompass and entwine around the man before reaching out, touching first Sirius, who stiffened in shock, then Narcissa, whose eyes filled with tears. It touched Severus next, and while Draco knew it was because he’d married into the line, he was slightly jealous to be last, though when it finally did touch him, he could only stare in shock as the man pulled back his hood deactivating it, revealing a face he’d only ever seen in portraits. The only difference was the lock of solid white hair that hung over his right eye, which was completely white.

There was a minute of silence before the house seemed to swell, the crack heralding the arrival of the house elves, one of which burst into tears as the feminine voice echoed around the room, “Welcome home, Regulus Black.”

No one moved for a minute, but then, with a burst of action, Narcissa ran across the square and threw herself at the young man, bursting into tears as he grabbed her close; a second later, catching Sirius with his other arm, who wrapped his arms around both.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Severus blinked open his eyes to a darkened room, a pounding head, and the remnants of a healing spell lingering on his skin and in his mouth.

Swallowing convulsively to remove the taste, Severus reached out, encountering the warm arm resting by his, “Siri?”

The jerk and motion indicated Sirius sat up, but the cool hand that touched his brow confirmed it, followed by the press of lips, “Hey, love, how are you feeling?”

“Confused,” Severus responded slowly, trying to process his thoughts, and felt like he was trying to catch the wind. It was a jumbled, chaotic mess inside his head, which probably explained the headache; however, he craved the calm, structured order he prided himself on. “What happened?”

When Sirius hesitated, Severus gripped his arm and went to move, “Were we attacked? Is Harry, okay?”

The calm palm kept him lying down, though there was a snap of fingers, and a Lumos lit the end of their wands on the bedside table. “We weren’t attacked, and Harry’s perfectly fine, though I imagine he’s not sleeping and reading through a bunch of journals and having a cathartic cry on Draco’s shoulder.”

Severus frowned and looked over Sirius’s face. His hand-fasted appearance was tired and pale, with the trail of old tear tracks on his face that showed he hadn’t washed his face, but the devastation in his eyes drew Severus back. “What happened, love?”

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Sirius asked instead of answering.

“I-” Severus closed his mouth, shook his head, and answered hesitantly, “Breakfast.” He closed his eyes, trying to piece together the chaos, “I-I think I remember, Regulus, but that doesn’t make sense…” he trailed off and opened his eyes to meet Sirius’s surprise to find tears in his gray eyes.

“Okay.” Sirius whispered and drew in a shuddering breath, “Okay, so Regulus was here. Your mind is not playing tricks on you.” he tried offering a smile that felt forced and brittle, “It turns out that Reggie found out about the horcruxes years ago, and faked his death, hiding that knowledge inside Medea. He became Croaker in ‘91 after Grandfather’s death.”

“What?” Severus asked hoarsely.

“Harry found out shortly after he claimed the Regency Croaker was waiting for him in Ragnok’s office, and he recognized him, even through the hood.”

“That doesn’t explain what happened to me or why it feels like I got hit with a bludger,” Severus said, not attempting to think about Regulus Black’s actions.

“Harry mentioned another visitor coming in the afternoon. Do you remember who that was?” Sirius asked carefully.

“His grandmother,” Severus replied instantly because he did remember that, though he wasn’t sure what that had to do with anything.

Sirius sighed heavily, “We’d just finished lunch when Harry alerted us to the portkey, so we all trooped out to the reception hall. Harry greeted her, and then he did the introductions.” Sirius explained, earning a frown from Severus and a raised eyebrow, indicating to get on with it. “When he got to you, he introduced you as his First Knight, and when you went to touch Lady Emilee’s hand, you both stiffened, and you collapsed, leaving Lady Emilee to stare at you in horror.”

“But why?” Severus asked, “The-the Dverger healed me, Harry removed his taint-”

More would have tumbled out, but Sirius covered his mouth with a gentle hand, “It turns out you’ve met Lady Emilee caught a few times-”

“But-” Severus tried to interrupt, but Sirius shook his head.

“The spell that Lady Emilee created was tied into the magic of Avalon. She hypothesizes that your status as First Knight gave you unique protection and knowledge.”

“I don’t understand,” Severus whispered, trying to ignore the older image of Lily that kept appearing in his mind.

“It was only due to magic that no one ever suspected, Lily was not the biological daughter of Ricard and Rose Evans, love.” Sirius said slowly, reaching for a frame Severus hadn’t noticed but hesitated, “Do you want more light?”

Nodding, Severus held out his hand as Sirius turned the overhead light on, which was like a Muggle design but was run by magic. Accepting the picture, Severus pushed into more of a sitting position and then turned the picture over, immediately identifying Lily, who stood in the middle with a halo of red curls floating around her face, a mouse-browned-haired Petunia glowering from the far left and dark-haired Ricard and Rose on either side of her.

Severus wasn’t sure what he was looking for and glanced at Sirius, who was regarding him softly, “What’s the first thing you notice, love?”

A cool pair of fingers pressed against his lips, and he glowered at Sirius, who tapped the picture, “No, don’t argue. Just tell me what you see.”

Frowning, Severus picked up the picture again, scanning it, frustrated at Sirius for what felt like a runaround. Yet even as he looked at the picture, little things seemed to glimmer in the dated photo. Then, three of the four occupants started waving, grins spreading across their faces, even as Rose turned to Petunia and nudged her with a furious frown, jerking her head towards Lily, who was now waving a letter around —a very familiar letter —and dropped the picture in shock. “I took this photo.”

“So, Emilee said,” Sirius agreed, “Ricard had written to say that their daughter’s best friend was a wizard and had taken Lily under his wing.”

“Okay….” Severus said, drawing out the word.

Sirius sighed and handed over another photograph, aged the same, and he stared at it, slack-jawed, gazing at the laughing woman, “That’s Aunt Emilee.”

Sirius nodded and then handed over another photo, and by the expression on the other man’s face hesitated before accepting it.

Gazing at it in wonder and disbelief, tears filled his eyes, and he blinked them away, wiping his face when they fell, watching as Aunt Emilee laughed as she drew Lily and Severus into her arms with a laugh. “I remember this. It was shortly before we went to Hogwarts in our first year.”

“What do you notice about the two of them, Sev?”

It was apparent now what Sirus meant as he glanced at the first photograph before his eyes were drawn to the one with him, noting the same-coloured eyes and hair, same nose and cheekbones, and the little point on top of their ears, “they’re identical, Lily looks nothing like her parents.”

“Lady Emilee thinks, and the rest of us agree, that because you were destined to be a knight of her sons, you were included in the spell that hid Lily’s true identity.”

Severus slowly shook his head and licked his lips, “No, it was more than that, Siri.”

Sirius frowned, “In what way?”

“It made me forget who Aunt Emilee was unless she was before me,” Severus admitted softly, tracing Lily’s face. “Harry’s said her name, and I had no recollection of meeting her before but seeing her picture. I know her, but Lily and I never spoke of her after she left, even with pictures of her home.”

“That’s- that’s a pretty powerful spell construct,” Sirius said after a few minutes of silence, “it would explain your reaction and the headache you have, Lady Emilee admitted, dissolving the spell before leaving France.”

Severus closed his eyes, and he drew in a deep breath. “How’s this going to affect Petunia?”

“Why would you care about her?” Sirius demanded.

Severus sighed, opening his eyes, “She would have been ten or eleven years old when Lily was born; she’s going to know Rose didn’t give birth to her.”

“And?” Sirius asked in confusion, though a thoughtful frown appeared on his face, and he shook his head and rubbed his face, “I get it. If Albus talks to her…“

Severus reached out and grasped his hand, “We need to talk to Harry, love. He needs to be aware of the possibility.”

“Yeah,” Sirius glanced at the clock and grimaced, “I’ll go see if he’s awake, I’ll be right back.”

Nodding wordlessly, Severus squeezed his hand, watched him stand, stretching his back as he did, and strolled from the room.

Once the door clicked shut, Severus looked down at the photograph of him and Lily and wondered if there were more.

***

September 16, 1995

A week later, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Sirius flattened himself against the wall as a gaggle of teens escaped the breakfast room, various levels of conversation overlapping the ache in his head and causing him to wince at their volume.

He received a few calls of recognition, flashed a confused look when one of them shoved a potion bottle into his hands and received two hugs and congratulations before they disappeared down the hall. The only thing speaking to the interaction was a slip of paper in his hand and the potion bottle in the other.

Not sure he wanted to know what was on the paper, Sirius shoved that into his pocket, eyeing the potion suspiciously and entered the dining room. Pixie flitted around cleaning up the mess left behind and filling a new plate for him – their familiar brunch-styled food, a favourite of the teens, which she offered with a cheeky grin, “Congratulations, Master Siri, Master Harry, be very happy.”

Yet before he could question the little elf, she popped away, leaving Sirius standing with his mouth agape, earning a smothered but delighted laugh from Narcissa and Emile, who tried hiding behind their teacups.

Sighing, Sirius set the potion vial beside his plate and scrubbed his hands over his face. “Could you please explain why everyone is so weird this morning?”

Narcissa shifted the letter she was reading and glanced at the clock. “If you’d been up at breakfast, you would know.”

“It was a long night.” Sirius grumbled, pulling the teapot towards him, “Regulus absconded with my husband after I tapped out and left me to a cold bed.”

Interested, Emilee looked up, “Why?”

Sirius scowled, “We were reviewing prophecies that might relate to Harry.”

Narcissa laughed again, raising an eyebrow. “You remember he was in talks to join the DOM before everything happened, right?”

Snorting, Sirus took a sip of tea, “Yeah, but Harry had already extracted a promise we won’t join again, at least not until after his coronation and this way, I’m able to hide in plain sight.” He finished tapping his neck where the hood lay deactivated.

Emilee dropped her eyes to the table, “I wasn’t aware he was planning that.”

“As far as I know, he is,” Sirius said slowly, “why? Do you know something I don’t?”

Emilee frowned briefly, and it was still a weird sense of déjà vu because Sirius would have sworn it was Lily sitting there frowning. “Not really. The things Harry and his Knights discuss make me question it.” Emilee admitted, summoning the teapot and refilling her cup, “It’s nothing specific I can point to that makes me think that, but their plans….” She shook her head and laughed softly, “They’re extensive and extraordinary. I’ve caught them a few times debating things in his study, and it just boggles my mind how organized they are.”

“I’m not really involved in those plans,” Sirius admitted, “and no, you don’t need to remind me, I’m a knight too, but I think mine and Severus’ duties are different from what his peers are.” He shook his head, unsure if that made sense, and frowned at the clock. “I thought they had plans to go on another tourist trip; why are they here?”

In answer, Narcissa tossed the rolled-up newspaper in front of him, barely missing his plate, and he offered a slight glare as he grabbed it. Only to drop it in shock as he unrolled it, and then snatched it back, uncaring of the food sticking to the last page, eyes devouring the words.

“SIRIUS BLACK DECLARED INNOCENT! ICW LAUNCHES INVESTIGATION INTO BRITISH MINISTRY!”

In a surprising move, the ICW has been meeting in secret over the last two weeks, and apparently, as it turns out, completing an investigation into the allegations that Sirius Black was guilty of the death of the Potters in October of ‘81.

While we don’t know exactly what happened behind closed doors, the ICW released this statement for the morning edition:

Under the Charter signed between the British Commonwealth and the ICW, it has been determined, following an undercover investigation, that Sirius Black was not the Secret Keeper of the Potters. As a result of what can only be a cover-up for reasons left behind a secrecy ward, Sirius Black was arrested five days after the Potters’ murder and taken directly to Azkaban, where he was held illegally without representation or counsel. As neither charges nor a trial was called for, he erroneously spent twelve years in prison, with the Wiccan society believing his guilt. As such, according to their laws, suspects are only to be held for forty-eight hours or released if no charges are filed against them. Unfortunately, the names on the indictment to toss him in there are deceased. Still, the actions of the British Ministry, specifically the Ministry for Magic, a representative of the people, conducted in 1993, it has been determined that they broke several laws, specifically the lack of investigation into the original offence, the kiss on sight order, and the exposure of Dementors’ at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for a whole school year. Due to that, we here at the ICW find him innocent and free of any guilt or charges. The British Ministry has also been informed, and due to the appalling circumstances, Sirius Black is to be paid 10,000 gallons for every month he spent in prison, in addition to his years on the run. They have fifteen days to deposit the money into an account in his name through Gringotts if one is not already viable; failure to do so will result in additional fines and possible charges.”

Those of us here at the Prophet could not reach anyone at the Ministry for comment. When this reporter tried to visit, we were denied an official comment, but we spoke with someone who had this to say: “I don’t know what’s happening. Things were done illegally, but I need this job, so I’m keeping my mouth shut and my head down.”

It will be interesting to see what the ICW does in the future because it seems like a pointed message that they name the exposure to dementors in their official statement because Mr. Potter was correct at his trial during the summer: pre-treaty with the ICW, exposure to dementors’ in underage child, is an automatic dissolution of the government the inclusion as a member…”

Sirius lowered the paper, stunned, and blinked, accepting the handkerchief and wiping his eyes. “I’m free.”

“Yeah, you are Siri,” Narcissa replied, voice warm and understanding. Sirius looked at her and held his hand out, unsurprised when she accepted it, her eyes shining as if she understood the feeling of freedom.

Kreacher appeared with a crack, making Sirius glare at the elf, who only smiled mischievously, “Master Harry is wondering if you plan on accompanying them today, or should they leave without you?”

“I-what, go where?” Sirius asked in confusion and glanced at the two ladies, who shrugged.

The old elf sighed as if put upon, and snapped his fingers, the paper he’d stuffed in his pocket appearing in front of him, “Ms. Bones be giving that to Master Sirius in the hall.”

Mouth opening, Sirius snapped it shut with a frown as he read the small missive, “Change of plans. Harry received a note from Ragnok this morning that the Creatures Counsel requested a formal meeting, given that the Dverger were the first to acknowledge and accept him as Regent. It will be held at Gringotts at 2.”

Head jerking to the clock, Sirius swore he had forty-five minutes until then but knew Harry prided himself on arriving early, which meant he had twenty minutes, but it was cutting it close. “I’ll be there. If you could lay out formal robes, I would appreciate it.”

The elf’s ear twitched, “Master Harry requested you wear the hood, even with your innocence proven.”

“But I-“ Sirius started to protest but then nodded, “Very well, I’ll be ready in twenty minutes. Does Severus-”

“He knows.” Kreacher interrupted smugly, “I tell Master Harry.” The elf bowed and then hesitated, adding quickly before popping away, “Kreacher is happy you’re free, Master Sirius.”

Sirius blinked at the empty spot where the elf had stood and shook his head, “I’ll never understand the crazy elf.”

“I don’t think you need to.” Emilee said thoughtfully, “his devotion to Harry is absolute. It wouldn’t surprise me if he managed to make himself a vassal on that alone, and I think we can all agree that’s something Harry deserves.”

Stunned, Sirius swallowed, “Elves can do that?”

“Hmm? Oh yes, it’s happened a time or two in the Brenin line.” Emilee said distractedly and then lifted her head, pointing her quill at him, “Eat, you have fifteen minutes.”

Cursing, Sirius set the newspaper aside and turned his attention to food, trying not to choke as he tried to figure out why Harry wanted him hooded.

***

Trying not to fidget with the cuffs of his sleeve, Harry fought the urge to glare at Draco, who’d picked his dress robes. They weren’t overly fancy, giving way to practicality and freedom of movement, which he was grateful for; he just didn’t understand how and when Draco had the time to assume control over his wardrobe.

Draco grabbed his wrist, turning him with a frown, “Stop worrying, you look wonderful.”

Harry frowned, “While my clothes crossed my mind, that’s not why I’m worried.”

“Then what’s wrong?” Draco asked, fixing his collar and banishing any lint that had mysteriously appeared on his clothing.

“I still don’t understand how this meeting is keeping my secret,” Harry said plainly, lifting his chin when Draco nudged it with his knuckles.

“It’s written within the Elders Accord; they recognize the magic the same way your Knights did, and because the Dverger have always pledged allegiance and loyalty, the rest have no choice but to do the same or risk not only their position but rank and possibly life.”

Sighing, Harry grabbed Draco’s hands to prevent him from fussing more. He looked into gray eyes and saw the same worry Harry felt. “I know that bit, love. It’s the whole idea of secrecy and that we expect fifteen people in minutes.”

“I think it’ll only be nine, Harry.” Luna said dreamily, “One had to withdraw because his wife was in labour.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “While I thank you for the number, it was not the point, Luna.”

“I know.” Luna replied, amused, layering her tone, “but it made you stop overthinking. The secret will be hidden behind the pledge they make upon entering the room, Harry, which Neville, Blaise, Severus, and Sirius are enforcing.” Luna assured him, moving to stand beside him, and continued speaking, “They aren’t aware of who you are. Ragnok has guarded your identity zealously, Harry. The council is just aware you’ve been acknowledged, and they’re duty-bound to pledge.”

Drawing in a breath, Harry nodded, “And I can accept it, but with conditions?”

“Of course.” Luna responded seriously, “They deserve to be called on their hypocrisy, Harry.”

Susan popped up beside him. “Think of this as a test run,” she said, flushing when Draco coughed. “Not like that; I meant in speech, inflection, and tone. You are the Regent; they must be made aware of that.”

“Traditionally, they were honoured with a seat within Arthur’s court, and on the Wizengamot, I can use that as an incentive,” Harry murmured in concentration, nodded to himself, and focused on Susan, who blinked and then quickly scribbled a note like she hadn’t been aware of that. “Can you add the ministerial seats within the Wizengamot to the research list? They weren’t an original part of Arthur’s court and didn’t exist until the 1700s, almost a hundred years after the Statute of Secrecy was signed.”

“Done.” Susan agreed to browse a page in a large book. “It was further down on the list, but I’ll get Hannah and Blaise to see what they can find, though I may have to direct it to Theo if they can’t find anything in your library.”

“They probably won’t.” Harry agreed, rubbing his brow. “Okay, make another note to discuss a vault for the knights to draw from. Maybe we can bind it and hide that under an official secret.”

Susan frowned but wrote it down with a question mark at the end, “You know we don’t mind purchasing things to keep your secret, right?”

“It’s not just that I think that’s unfair, but we might as well have an official record of purchases,” Harry said, still concentrating, “think of it as the start of our official history, if you must, I don’t know how else to explain why I think it’s necessary.” He rubbed his forehead because he didn’t know how to explain it and sighed, shaking his arms, trying to relax.

The door opened, with Ragnok‘s warriors filling the room, followed by what Harry assumed were his wife’s, because Beannacht entered a second later, followed by Ragnok. The Dverger chieftain led his wife forward, bowing formally while his wife dipped a curtsy, “Your Grace.”

“Chieftain,” Harry inclined his head, “will you be joining the council today?”

“I’m afraid not, Your Grace. A few of the council and I have had disagreements, so my duty today is protection detail for my wife.”

Harry raised an eyebrow and tried not to smirk at the backhanded insult to the council and gestured to his side, “If you would stay and introduce the members, Ragnok?”

“Of course, Your Grace,” Ragnok grinned and beckoned another heavily armoured warrior forward, who bowed to Harry and then offered his arm to Beannacht, who rolled her eyes at her husband and let herself be led to her seat, then assumed a position behind and to the left of her.

Brow furrowing briefly, he glanced at Ragnok as a commotion took place, “Is security such a necessity, or is it your own form of retaliation?”

“A bit of both, Your Grace,” Ragnok admitted, watching the three Veela make their vow, “but my wife is precious to me and our people; it would be a great dishonour if I allowed harm to come to her because she wasn’t adequately protected.”

Ragnok inclined his head, “Your Excellency, may I introduce his Grace, Regent Brenin, Duke of Avalon, Warwick, and Comte Mávros,” Ragnok gestured, “Your Grace, Her Excellency, The Countess of Chateau, Daveena Gravis, and her two advisers, Monsieur’s Kristofer Delacour, and Sebastian Monet.”

Harry inclined his head, focusing on The Countess, “As I understand it, while the Veela court exists, there is no royal charter. To obtain any power within your society requires a combination of votes and the magical fortitude to hold what amounts to a ministerial seat. Why the application of Excellency? It feels misleading.”

The Countess’s eyes widened briefly, throat bobbing as she swallowed, “I hesitate to disagree with you, Your Grace, as I understand how you feel, but my position isn’t related to my society’s government. The position I hold within the Creatures Council comes with the honorary rank of Excellency because I hold veto power in dissenting votes.”

“Why you?” Harry questioned, “Why not another person on the council? Since the conception of the Creatures Council, Veela has held the principal seat for the head. What makes your species unique in this position?”

His eyes flicker to Kristofer Delacour and the other man before focusing on the first, “Why have a purely human adviser? Does that not defeat the entire purpose of your post? While his wife and two children are half-Veela, what gives him the right to sit in judgment of non-humans?”

Flustered, the woman swallowed again, “I’m afraid I don’t have a ready answer for your inquiries, Your Grace, but if my advisers’ presence is an affront, I will respect that and request they wait outside.”

“That won’t be necessary, as long as they keep in mind, they have no voice in these proceedings,” Harry said graciously, gesturing to a chair at the table, across from Ragnok’s wife whose eyes with lit with amusement, he waited until she reached the dais’s before speaking, “and Countess?”

Lady Gravis turned back, “Your Grace?”

“I will allow you to keep your honorary title for now but remember your position as veto power is rescinded as it is no longer applicable.”

A hint of shock appeared in her gold eyes as her lips tightened, but she dipped a curtsy, “Of course, Your Grace.”

Harry regarded her briefly before nodding to Hannah, who conjured additional chairs behind the Countess and smiled sweetly, “Your advisers can sit here, Countess.”

Harry tuned them out as he turned his attention to the elegantly dressed man who seemed to glide towards him; the dark-headed shadow followed behind, heavy-footed and suspicious.

“Visconte Piero Cellini, and his companion Rom.” Ragnok intoned, offering Rom a little nod of what Harry assumed was respect and focused on him first, listening to the murmur of Medea, “Crispin had wondered if you survived your ordeal; he would have greeted you as a friend if you’d approached him after the event, Iza.”

The vampire’s eyes widened in shock; a slow smile spread across his face, transforming it from brooding to beautiful in seconds. “I was unaware of that, Your Grace, as I had fled the country in fear for my life, having been freshly turned.”

“Then you might not be aware that he also destroyed the colony that had been infected with the blood curse, which he did in retribution for their destruction of your tribe.” Harry offered, turning to Luna briefly, who inclined her head before focusing on Iza, “Without poking at old wounds, if it would interest you, he left some journals not submitted to the Hit Wizard division after the investigation; I think he would be thrilled to know you were able to read.”

The vampire blinked, astonishment appearing on his face, “I would like that very much, Your Grace.”

Harry nodded and then focused on the Visconte, “While I realize the reason you two play at the reversal in who the real power is, I request that the game be no longer played. If this counsel is to continue, it will be done with an honest face as it will be presented to the world as a seat in my court and on the Wizengamot, which I know this body has been denied.”

“Of course, Your Grace, it was not my intention to deceive you, and Rom disagreed with the play, but….” Piero shrugged helplessly, “So long have we talked in circles here that to accomplish anything makes these feel like a waste of time.”

“That will change today.” Harry assured them, nodding towards the table, “You both may take a seat.”

The two vampires bowed formally as two more approached, and based on the aura alone, Harry knew they were werewolves and asked without waiting for Ragnok, “Hazel and Fabian Lambert, I assume?”

The two of them tensed but nodded. “I have one question for you; the answer will determine whether you are welcome to sit and speak, understand?”

Warily, they nodded, “Of course, Your Grace.”

“Have you ever known and willingly taken Wolfsbane?”

“Never!” Hazel said, eyes flashing gold, “We both know what that does to the wolf, and such a dishonour would ruin the gift we’ve been blessed with.”

“Prove it.” Harry replied, lifting an eyebrow when they hesitated, glancing at those gathered, “Have no fears, it won’t be just your secrets revealed here today. While none of you are guilty over overt crimes, not a single one of you is wholly innocent either.”

Fabian gripped his wife’s hand and gave a slight nod. A second later, two wolves stood before Harry. The female was slightly larger than the male, and her red fur proved what colour her grey hair had been at one point in life.

“Thank you,” Harry said, gesturing to the seats, “you may both be seated.”

The two wolves changed back, both bowing, even if it was more traditional for a woman to curtsy, but Harry didn’t care and inclined his head as the last woman strolled forward, leaning heavily on a cane and the arm of a Dverger warrior.

Stepping forward, Harry took her hand before she could force her ancient body to curtsy and led her to her seat, “I had an interesting conversation with my grandmother about you, Oracle.”

“I’m sure you did, Your Grace,” the woman responded, grinning, revealing a tooth-gapped smile, “she wasn’t as impressed as you seem to be.”

“I prefer honesty, and if that comes across as blunt, then so be it,” Harry responded, nodding at Draco, who had pulled the seat out for the woman to sit, “if you have the time, Oracle, at the behest of my seer, I was asked to request a private audience, she has questions and little guidance as there is no one we trust to train her.”

“You may call me Pythia, Your Grace. It’s been my name longer than the name I was born with, and I would be delighted to speak with Luna at her convenience, though I don’t expect that until sometime in October, as I understand you’re to be busy over the next few weeks.”

Sighing as Draco snorted a laugh, Harry helped her sit and glanced at him, raising an eyebrow.

Draco just quirked a grin, “I believe it was formally called the Potter effect, Your Grace, but now I think I’m just dubbing it the Brenin effect because I can’t think of a single relative on your father’s side who had your sort of luck.”

“Well, there was Ignotus,” Luna said mischievously and grinned as Harry glared at her, “though, to be fair, it was his son who married into the Potter line.”

“Lily had an interesting sort of luck,” Severus said, voice distorted by his hood, masking his identity as he moved to stand behind Harry’s chair with Sirius beside him.

Shaking his head at their banter, Harry moved around the table, assuming the head but continued standing, nodding as Ragnok came and sat behind his wife, dismissing the other Dverger.

The rest of his knights, except for Draco and Luna, who sat just behind him, assumed seats on the dais behind him.

Waiting until everyone was comfortable, Harry waved a hand towards the double doors and waited until they shut before addressing those gathered, “Let us begin.”

“While I realize you requested this meeting, it was only because the Dverger acknowledged me,” Harry began, looking around the table, “ideally, if I’d been raised to understand what I am, I would never have allowed Ragnok to do such a thing, until I was older.”

Pythia nodded in understanding, “There is power in anonymity.”

“There is,” Harry agreed, “but my knights and counsellors reminded me that while I may not have that now, I can still use what I do have.”

“You’re ashamed of our actions.” Pythia sighed, ignoring the gasps of outrage, “While that doesn’t surprise me, as you can tell, Your Grace, it does the others, and I think, except for two, offends the rest.”

“I don’t care if it offends anyone.” Harry replied evenly, “It’s true. Honest and blunt, but still true.”

He turned to stare at the Countess and lifted an eyebrow, “Turn it off.”

Shock drifted over her face as she turned pale, “Not only am I immune to your subtle use of your allure, but the rest of my knights are also too, my intended and future Consort already forewarned and reminded us of your ability.”

“I apologize, Your Grace, I didn’t realize I was doing it.” The Countess whispered, eyes fixed on the table.

“Then double shame,” Harry snapped, “if you use your allure so much, you’re not aware of when it’s appropriate to use, I question your placement on the council.” He lifted an eyebrow as she opened her mouth and shook his head, “It calls into question every single vote you’ve vetoed since your inclusion, and because of that, an internal review will be conducted on those decisions.”

“But- Your Grace, that’s almost twenty-five years’ worth of judgments.” The Countess protested, “It would ruin me, socially and financially.”

“I don’t care.” Harry shot back, “I already warned you, if you’ve done something to influence a veto indictment, then that’s on your conscience, not mine.”

The Countess bowed, hiding her trembling hands under the table, “Of course, Your Grace, I apologize for my outburst.”

Harry looked around the table, noting Ragnok grinning and not bothering to hide it, and quirked his lips in acknowledgment, “Is there any reasonable explanation why Dverger, Veela, Werewolf and Vampire have individual voices and a seat on this council, yet the Oracle of Delphi is the representative for the rest of the Creatures within our world?” Harry asked leaning forward on the table, as even Beannacht appeared shocked at the question. However, to her credit she also took the initiative to respond, “there isn’t an acceptable answer, Your Grace, and I take responsibility for that oversight, as a woman with a similar power structure as the Oracle, I’m ashamed at my lack of action and accountability.”

“Very well,” Harry replied fisting his hands, “that is something that will be addressed and changed going forward. Oracle, if you wish assistance in representing an individual voice for a creature, please call upon one of my knights, excluding the two beside me.”

“Will you be introducing them?” Fabian asked in a curiously flat tone, making Harry glance at him sharply and issued a subtonal rumble that sounded like low-lying thunder, causing them all to jerk back in shock. “Are you challenging me?”

“No, Your Grace,” Fabian answered hurriedly, “I apologize; it was an honest question.”

“Yet the lack of emotion in your tone suggests otherwise.” Harry responded, glaring at the werewolf, tilting his head as Luna cleared her throat, “Start there, Your Grace. Of the issues found, I believe they’re the most critical and must be addressed.”

“Alright, thanks, Luna.” With a slight frown, Harry said, “Why isn’t there a non-magical werewolf at this table?”

The two werewolf representatives frowned in confusion, “Why would there be?”

Harry almost smiled, though he suspected it wouldn’t have been called a pleasant smile, as they pulled back, and Harry raised an eyebrow, “Because I want an explanation as to why not one person here has done anything about Fenrir Greyback?”

***

Harry sighed in relief as he was ushered into Ragnok’s office, scrubbing his face as he sank into a chair. The meeting with the council had gone better and worse than he suspected, and he hated the fact that they were so concerned with circling and protecting their own that they forgot their number one tenant, which was the protection of all, including muggles. That they had systematically failed for centuries galled and left him pissed, though he couldn’t be sure – at least in the privacy of his mind if they were truly at fault or if he blamed the rest of Wizarding society for the blinders they wore.

Ragnok settled across from him and gently cleared his throat. “You alright?”

“I’ll be fine,” Harry responded automatically, then opened his eyes as Sirius plopped into a chair across from him, his face free of the hood.

“I must admit to being impressed, pup, that was a remarkable thing to witness.”

“I have to agree,” Severus said, sinking into a chair beside Sirius, “I’ve never questioned the lack of a Muggle changed creatures’ lack of space on the council before.”

“Why would you?” Harry said tiredly, “You’re predominantly magical; none of their laws or customs would affect you.”

“Hadrian’s correct,” Ragnok said, handing out goblets of a sweet-smelling drink.

Harry took another sniff before tasting it hesitantly, then smacked his lips, earning a grimace from Draco. “What? It’s good.”

Draco rolled his eyes but didn’t respond directly, only drinking his goblet.

Glancing at Ragnok, he took another sip. “What is it?”

“A Dverger-made juice,“ Ragnok admitted, “I couldn’t tell you all the fruit put in, but it’s been a specialty within my society for centuries.”

“And prejudices against your people mean you can’t sell to the general population?” Harry asked with a raised brow.

Ragnok dipped his head, making Harry huff and lean back in his chair, looking at the goblet in thought, “Have the clan draw up a proposal if they’re interested, though I won’t be offended if they decline.”

“I’ll pass the offer along,” Ragnok said after a minute of silence and then cleared his throat, “I know we have a meeting scheduled for later in the week, but I have a private request for a meeting,” he shifted uncomfortably and shrugged, “I would normally decline acting as a go-between, but given our friendship…”

“That’s fine,” Harry said, “is it related to the Regency?”

“Not at all,” Ragnok quickly assured him and then stopped, a look of indecision on his face. He glanced at the other three men. “It has to do with the magical house of Mávros.”

Perplexed, Harry sat up, “What do you mean?”

“If I may, Your Grace, may I have the individual summoned? He can explain in greater detail than I ever could.” Ragnok resorted to formality, showing his unease.

Nodding, Harry glanced between the other three, who all shrugged, as Ragnok stuck his head out of the door and spoke in a low tone to someone.

A few minutes later, the door was opened fully, and a wizard stepped in, wearing a uniform, a solid black outfit standing out amidst the formality of the office.

The man was unique for all that he was plain, and it was a startling realization that his pale blue eyes were his most remarkable feature. He was neither tall nor short, skinny nor overweight. His hair was a nondescript brown, trimmed close to the scalp, and it made Harry wonder if he had Muggle roots as it reminded him heavily of a neighbour who had been in the military, including the bearing he had as he crossed the room, one step down from completely rigid.

Rising to his feet, Harry looked at Ragnok, who swallowed awkwardly, “May I present Albert Perkins, the Head Warden at Azkaban, Mr. Perkins, Comte Hadrian Mávros.”

Mr. Perkins regarded him shrewdly for several moments before inclining his head and bowing formally, “Not just the Comte, Your Grace.”

Startled, Harry wasn’t surprised when Sirius and Severus rose fluidly to their feet, alert for trouble, even as the Warden rose, rubbing his brow, “I apologize. That was not what or how I expected this meeting to go.”

“I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage, sir,” Harry replied stiffly, gripping Draco’s hand as his bonded shifted into place behind and to the side of him, leaving him a clear shot if it became necessary.

The man frowned and shifted, “Are you not the Duke of Warwick?”

“I am.” Harry said slowly, eyeing Ragnok, who looked at him just as confused, making him relax slightly, “How do you know that?”

A self-deprecating laugh escaped the man, and he sighed warily, “A familial curse, Your Grace. I’m overtly familiar with the aura and magical structure of dementors, which is, as you know, closely associated with the Warwick line. However, much has been lost to modernized myths surrounding your title.” He shrugged helplessly, “As the spare within my family, I inherited an immunity to them and was duty-bound to become a Warden of Azkaban and knew that from a young age.”

Horrified, Harry could only open and close his mouth before forcing the words from his lips, “An immunity?”

Albert Perkins frowned, “Of course, Your Grace, it is the same sort of immunity you have.”

Helplessly, Harry glanced at the two adult wizards, who looked as horrified as he did, and focused back on Albert, “Mr. Perkins, it is true I claimed the Warwick title, but I can assure you, I’ve never had any sort of immunity to Dementors and often if face-to-face, suffer unimaginably as I hear the death of my parents.”

A frown appeared on his face. Albert tilted his head as he surveyed Harry, “Are they drawn to you?”

“Yes….” Harry said slowly, “They’ve always been overly interested in me. When they ganged up on me at the school in my third year, they ignored the deflection wards while a Quidditch game was underway and attacked me.” His eyes flicked to Sirius, who offered a sympathetic smile. “At the end of that same year, dementors tried to attack Sirius but ended up focusing on me. I managed to cast a fully corporeal Patronus, saving our lives, and was told later I destroyed quite a few of them.”

The colour seemed to wash from Albert’s face, and he took an automobile step forward before seeming to remember himself, “I-if I could touch you, Your Grace, I-I believe I might have a reason for that, and it’s absolutely petrifying to contemplate, but it’s the only explanation.”

Harry closed his eyes. “You speak of the Horcrux? It’s him they’re drawn to and not me.”

“You know?” Albert demanded and whirled to stare at Ragnok, demanding furiously, “And why haven’t you done anything? It’s your sworn duty to magic-“

“Mr. Perkins, the Dverger are doing something,” Harry interjected before the wizard could continue yelling at the Dverger Chieftain, not wanting the man sanctioned in defence of him.

“He made more than one?” The Warden swayed dangerously, Sirius lurching forward to steady him, and received a breathless thanks, “This isn’t good, Your Grace. I apologize, Ragnok, I should have clarified first.”

Ragnok nodded in surprise. “It is quite all right, Mr. Perkins. I understand the justifiable reaction; it is indeed horrendous.” He flicked an eye to Harry, who nodded, “We have a plan; we know six were intentionally made, the seventh unintentional, as we know it, is Hadrian. I have all but two, one in his Grace’s scar and one hidden in Hogwarts.”

“Are you able to access the school to obtain it?” Albert asked, rubbing his hands together and accepting the seat he was directed to.

“Not directly,” Ragnok admitted, “but I have a plan in place, and I’m not at liberty to discuss it now.” He sat in the chair he’d previously left. “I haven’t informed Hadrian of this yet, but my wife plans to do a ritual to remove the shard on the Fall Equinox.”

Harry hid his frown at the pleased expression that crossed Sirius’s face and focused on Ragnok, “But…? There’s always a but when it comes to me.”

Ragnok snorted, inclining his head, “But to do that, his Grace will need to lead a magical petition that will need to be conducted at the base of Yggdrasil.”

Harry dropped his head to the back of the chair. “What you aren’t saying is that it will be enough to trigger the Protocols.”

“Yes.” Ragnok agreed plainly, “While my wife has foreseen other rituals that result in success, the best date is the one closest to us.”

“I told you my life was a fuck you from fate,” Harry said, lifting his head to stare at his godfather, who was gazing at him sadly.

Looking at Ragnok, he nodded, “Ask your wife to send a recommended reading list.” He paused, “Will I need all of my knights?”

“It would be best, Your Grace.” Ragnok nodded, penning a note in a journal he pulled from a dimensional bracelet, “and I beg forgiveness for already starting in on the plans to have them escape the school.”

Exhausted, Harry turned to Draco, staring at him in wide-eyed shock, and leaned forward, “You’re explaining this to Susan cause I’m not taking the blame for this.”

Laughing abruptly, Harry caressed his face, “You don’t believe Luna already gave her a heads up, and it’s in the contingency pile.”

Draco opened his mouth and huffed, folding his arms, “That’s not the point, Harry.”

Sighing, Harry dropped his head to Draco’s shoulder, “I know it’s not, I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Draco whispered, pressing his face to Harry’s hair, leaving Harry looking at Severus, who was watching them sadly.

Draco inhaled deeply before lifting his head, and Harry sat up, focusing on Albert. His expression was not as surprised as his reaction to the Warwick title garnered, “I apologize for ignoring you, Mr. Perkins.”

A hand waved, an amused expression crossed his face, “I think I’m going to enjoy working under your rule, Your Grace. You’re much more entertaining than my current job calls for.”

Laughing abruptly, Harry shook his head. “Well, I thank you for your patience and not freaking out; the revelation of my titles has been stressful.”

Albert inclined his head, “I can only imagine, Your Grace.” He shifted forward in the chair, rubbing his hands together, “which I’m afraid I’m going to make harder potentially, if I may explain?”

“Of course,” Harry said graciously, accepting the refilled glass of juice that Draco handed him, along with the plate of sandwiches.

“As I said earlier, I knew I intended to be a Warden of Azkaban as a young child, but I never expected to be the Head. I’ve been a warden for forty-five years and head for fifteen. My normal duties make up my days, weeks, and months, and very little disrupts those duties. It might sound strange, but I enjoy my mundane, monotonous work. I know what’s expected and what to do when it’s not.”

Harry nodded, understanding what the Warden wasn’t saying, and while Harry wasn’t sure he’d want to live in Azkaban, the simplicity of his work and life seemed like a dream.

Albert drew in a deep breath. “That monotonous existence was challenged on August 14, though I wasn’t officially notified until a week had passed when I was summoned to Prisoner 93 for a welfare check.”

Dread crept up Harry’s spine, and he felt Draco stiffen as Sirius paled, and he forced himself to focus on the Warden’s words.

“The prisoner in question has never exhibited issues being surrounded by dementors, but they’ve always been combative and are either screaming or laughing, but when I arrived, it was to an eerie silence. I unlocked the door, on guard as always, even though I expected them to be deceased.”

“Yet they weren’t?” Harry asked quietly.

The Warden shook his head, “No, and may Lady Magic forgive me, but it would have been easier if they were.“

Harry leaned forward, understanding that on a visceral level, “What was Bellatrix Lestrange doing?”

“Crying, Your Grace,” Albert whispered, and Harry hid his shock as tears sprang to the old man’s eyes. “She was crying like a girl scared of monsters, begging to write a letter.”

“Did you allow her to write a letter?” Harry questioned.

Albert continued with a simple head shake, “Not that day, and to my shame, nor any that followed in the following couple of weeks. It was not only against the rules and regulations, but she couldn’t name you. It wasn’t until Peter Pettigrew was transported to be placed in a cell that her reaction changed. Albert met his gaze. “Your kinswoman is extraordinarily powerful, even within the confines of Azkaban. She took umbrage at his presence and said he should have died a traitor’s death but was quite pleased to provide some retribution for you. And I quote, “the one most wronged and harmed by his actions.”

“She was always powerful; her service to Riddle was for a reason. He didn’t keep weak people around him.” Harry acknowledged, “I’m assuming, as I haven’t been notified of any charges, Peter’s still alive, correct? What did Bella do?”

“A-she-um, she cursed him, Your Grace, and from what I can tell, it’s permanent.” Albert admitted, “Charges won’t be pressed, as there are five other witnesses, and the dementors refused to retaliate, proving her actions justified. She called on The Morrigan, and he’s been magically transformed into a rat. A common household brown rat.”

Sirius laughed, loudly and abruptly, and while Harry understood the reaction, he was thinking furiously, “I apologize for my godfather’s poor manners.“

“Oh, it’s fine,” Albert said, “I’ve heard worse, I’m just curious why he’s laughing.”

Harry said slowly, exchanging a look with Ragnok, “I hate to question your professionalism, but you do review the paperwork for the prisoners, right?”

“Thrice,” Albert said, unoffended and proceeded to recite the information. “Prisoner 132: Peter J Pettigrew, born September 31, 1960, transfer prisoner while awaiting trial.” He shrugged, “Why?”

“Because he’s an unregistered Animagus, his form is that of a common household rat,” Harry informed him, watching the shock and anger spread across the Warden’s face.

“An Animagus? You’re sure?”

“100%.” Harry agreed, nodding towards Sirius, “When my dad, James, Sirius and Peter were in school, they learnt to help and keep Remus Lupin company during his werewolf transformations.”

“And I assume the ministry knew that…” It wasn’t really a question, but Harry nodded.

“They did. It’s how Peter framed Sirius for mass murder. He cut off his finger, threw a blasting hex at a pipeline and transformed into his rat form, hiding amongst the rats from the sewer.” Harry explained and added, “he spent twelve years hiding as a rat in the Weasley household.”

“Alright,” he sighed heavily and ran a hand down his face, “I should have been informed, so he would have been just placed in a cell with a runic array to prevent transformations.”

“They wanted him to be able to escape, but what they don’t know was he was ordered not to do that or transform by Riddle,” Severus said, amusement layered in his tone, “it’ll be interesting to see what sort of magical punishment he’s suffering from, goddess bound curse or not, he transformed without permission, and Riddle won’t care he had no choice in the matter.”

Silence filled the room after Severus finished speaking, leaving Harry feeling unsettled. “When did this happen?”

“September 2, it’s how I figured out she wanted to write a letter to you because she finally said your name.”

“That was fourteen days ago,” Harry said.

Albert lowered his eyes, a red tinge creeping up his cheeks, “Um, yes, I know. It took her days to perfect the letter. She insisted it had to be perfect, or she’d get in trouble.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a stack of crumpled letters. “I started checking on her twice a day a week ago and even offered to write it for her, but she’d cry and accused me of trying to make her look bad. When I told her I had a meeting with Ragnok, she gave me these….” He hesitated before handing them over, “I’ll admit I lied, but it wasn’t until I looked through these that I realized I’d have to make an appointment because I don’t know what to do.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked in confusion and accepted the papers.

“The woman who entered my jail fifteen years ago is not the same woman today,” Albert explained slowly, “Bellatrix Lestrange has not shown one ounce of guilt in the ensuing years and has always displayed signs of the reported Black Madness. By rights, she should never have been placed in Azkaban, but there was a near riot when it was proposed to have her confined to the Janos Ward, the same place as two of her victims. Now, she sits in the corner crying, saying her name should have been Kassandra and that she didn’t want to but couldn’t stop herself and can fix it; she just needs to speak to her Patriarch. To me, one of two things happened, though I’m gonna go out on a limb and say they’re both, but at some point, Bellatrix Lestrange was cursed, or it has to do with your ancestral matriarch waking.”

Harry felt the hairs rise on his neck and sighed in defeat, “Can you arrange a visit to the prison without anyone knowing?”

“Easily.” Albert agreed, “especially if you can visit tomorrow. The Ministry is too busy scrambling to pay attention to Azkaban right now, though I expect that to change before the end of the week.”

Confused, Harry glanced at Ragnok, who looked equally as perplexed. “Why?”

“You didn’t see the special edition of Prophet this afternoon?”

Everyone shook their heads, but Harry answered, “We’ve been in a meeting all afternoon.”

“Ah, well, the ICW appeared this afternoon and shut the ministry down; the only thing still running is the accounting department and the DMLE.” Albert said and rose to his feet, “If that’s all, Your Grace, I need to leave and make arrangements.” he paused and said, “For how many, Your Grace?”

“Six.” Harry said instantly and frowned at Draco, who spoke over him, “Eight.”

Sighing, Harry shrugged when Draco looked back at him and stood up, “Eight. Do you have a preferred time for us to arrive?”

“8, if that’s not too much of an inconvenience?” Albert responded.

“It’s not.” Harry assured him and glanced at Ragnok, who nodded once, “Ragnok will have a portkey ready and waiting for us.”

“Good. Good, that will give me a bit more time.” Brightening, Albert nodded briskly, “Thank you for taking the time to meet with me, Your Grace, and I’ll see you and your party tomorrow.”

“Thank you for reaching out,” Harry said as the man bowed correctly, hurried from the room, and made a mental note to reassure the man that he hadn’t taken offence when he realized his lapse tomorrow.

***

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

September 17

She didn’t know what to think, she really didn’t, but the kind man had said her lord was coming, and there was a nervous sort of anticipation running through her while she tried to fight the fear that was there too.

Articulating that, though, was impossible. She didn’t want that lord, not the scary one that liked to cause pain. She desperately wanted the righteous one. The one that burned with a fire in his soul. His magic wild and untamed, barely leashed by the convention of modern society, yet it felt like absolution. It meant freedom from this living nightmare.

Feeling something brush along her skin, she jerked uncontrollably in the chair the thoughtful man had directed her to. He was also kind, the first to show her kindness in years, even before monsters had trapped her. He’d let her shower with water so hot it felt like it had been removing a decade’s worth of dirt and grime and allowed her to eat. A meal that before she wouldn’t have been looked at twice, the simplicity of the meal below first her parents and then her husband’s standards. But she didn’t like thinking of him; he hadn’t been as cruel as her lord, but he’d still hurt her, using her body for his own pleasure and then beating her because she hadn’t conceived a child.

Not that she could have them, that had been the deal, take away the gift and ability to have children, and become the embodiment of madness. A double-edged sword, but the relief…. Oh, she remembered the relief when her request had been granted. It had been the last time she’d cried. At that moment, she’d felt everything that made up the family magic; she’d felt the love, acceptance and grief at what she’d suffered and would suffer in the future.

The door opened after a soft knock, and she blinked back to herself, squeezing her eyes shut and trying to ground herself into the here and now, her body wedged into the corner, nails scratching at her arms while rocking back and forth.

“Bella?”

Bella? Yes, that was her name, but who? Who was saying it? It didn’t sound like the first lord. He wouldn’t have concern in his tone, and it wasn’t the one she wanted. Yet…. Yet she felt him, felt the familiar bite of his magic, and a second later, she could smell it. Rain-soaked earth and ozone in the eye of a storm. It was safety, home and forgiveness. Maybe it was even acceptance of what she’d done.

Reaching out blindly, she felt around, encountering a warm hand that sent a shiver through her body, showing how cold she’d been, and she couldn’t fight the whimper of longing as she was drawn forward, her head was buried against a firm chest, the fabric of the robes soft and welcoming as she curled forward, pressing closer head tucked under his chin and let the tears fall and remembered.

It had started innocently. A random comment about the weather, another about the staircase, or the book was too close to the fire. Nothing earth-shattering or world-ending, but the adults had listened.

Sometimes, they even asked, and it should have been strange that they were requesting advice from a child, but no one in the family had blinked an eye.

That had changed the day a prophecy was born, “Two lives will be lived, the first dark and lost with pain untold…. Families are torn asunder until only one remains, surrounded by grief and ghosts. He’ll be presented with a choice… Cissy’s son will marry a king, dark and light, opposites in looks, but mates, perfection and loved.”

A small voice piped up, echoing distorted and filled with excitement, “What about me?”

Something bigger was twisting the words in her mouth before Bella whispered, “A metamorphosis you will have, but that won’t satisfy. In desperation and anger, a gamble is made, cursing your sister leads you down a dark path, brother turns against brother, cousin against cousin until only one is free. However, another has brought salvation to the line through his sister of heart. Know when you conspire with a wolf-bound traitor, what you’re trying to steal is already claimed. When your daughter marries the wolf, know you have failed. Life is a circle; one undeniable fact remains that the truth will come out when the lord is chosen by birth and blood. Be prepared, for he is king.”

Only one ever asked for the ending; the rest never cared, not after Andy started crying; Bella curled around the pillow, flinching as small hands reached out to wipe the sweat-soaked hair from her forehead, “What about you?

“No one cares about me, Cissy.”

“I do, you’re my sister,” was the tear-filled response.

“One sister of three will be bound in a curse, forgotten, ignored, and disbelieved by all but two, tortured and abused, threatened with the unimaginable, death impossible. Justice is sought in the arms of the mother, but be forewarned, you’ll be saved one Fate; another happens that could be worse than the first…. You’ll know what you do, but can’t stop your actions, though redemption and forgiveness may be possible in Fate’s hands, you’ll be reborn again….”

Coming to was a weird sensation; for the first time in thirty years, her mind was her own, and her body no longer felt like she was fighting for control.

Stiffening in embarrassment, Bella shifted off the body, running a hand through her hair, and slowly lifted her eyes, unsure what she would find when she did.

It was a punch to the gut, the breath whooshing from her the second her eyes met brilliant green eyes.

Memories swept through her mind, thoughts no longer chaotic or jumbled, but it still took time to know who the man was. It shouldn’t have surprised her, having Harry Potter sit and hold her like she mattered, that expected rejection never came; instead, the green eyes warmed with an understanding and a wave of anger not directed at her. “You know?”

His green eyes flashed, and he nodded once sharply, lips forming a thin line, “Everything, though I only understand parts of it.”

It might have been a single sentence, but she understood. Harry’s anger and rage at her circumstances took her breath again as she inhaled.

“What do you want to happen?” Harry asked softly, the question leaving her reeling.

She’d never had a real choice or opportunity to make decisions, and that he was asking was humbling in the face of everything she’d done. “I don’t know. I am guilty of the crimes that place me here.”

“If I could get you off, would you want it though?” Harry questioned curiously.

Bella thought of the question and the answer and slowly shook her head, “Is it fair to my victims? I hurt people, though I believe I can help two.”

Harry sighed, “You mean the Longbottom’s?”

Nodding hesitantly, Bella picked at the string of her prison uniform, “I didn’t want to do it. I never wanted to do anything I did.”

“I know,” Harry assured her, “Andromeda will get her due, as the argument could be made, she’s actually the guilty one. If she hadn’t cursed you, none of this would happen.”

Bella shrugged, “I don’t know if I need to see her punished. Her actions broke my heart, but ultimately, I embraced Medea.”

Harry regarded her intensely, a little frown appearing on his brow, but he lifted a hand, pulling a chain from inside his shirt, and held it out, “Touch the stone, Bella; Medea would like her children home.”

Eyes darting down the stone, Bella swallowed, the galaxy-etched stone flickering in the light, and she reached out, hesitating before meeting Harry’s eyes, “This is a Stone of Theia.”

“A gift from her great-grandmother and the essence of Medea,” Harry agreed, “it’s also the anchor that hosts the entire family so their collective knowledge can be shared.”

“Or summoned for a talk,” Bella added, dropping her gaze to the stone, fascinated by the swirls of colour, “no one knows which came first, the Stone of Theia or the resurrection stone. They’re both ancient in their own way.”

“The resurrection stone.” Harry stated softly, running a thumb over the stone, “This was based on the same principle, but is keyed and bound in blood to those of Mávros’s line; only a selected few have ever been granted acceptance into the collective whole.”

“Boudica was one.” Bella admitted shame face, “I could hear her whispering at Grimmauld, and unfortunately, I couldn’t stop myself from using her suggestions against supposed enemies.”

Harry held the stone out, “Touch it and come home, Bella.”

At her name, she looked up and got lost in the captivating green eyes that swam with grief and sadness, love and forgiveness. It felt like a precipice, and one wrong move would cause everything to come tumbling down.

Swallowing hard, Bella listened and touched the stone.

Warmth spread through her fingers and up her arm, slowly encompassing her whole body. The muffled gasps could not distract her from the sensation of being accepted and finally coming home.

***

Sirius lifted his head, hearing the soft scuffle of a boot on grass, and glanced over, unsurprised that Harry had found him as his godson sat down on the grass in front of the headstone.

Neither said anything for a long time, just sat in silence, listening to the sounds of twilight fade into the peepers that still clung to summer. “I never visited in that other time.”

Sirius winced at his statement, not even sure why he admitted to such a thing, but it felt appropriate somehow, given the events of the day.

“I visited once,” Harry admitted, glancing behind him, “and almost died as a result. I couldn’t bring myself to come back after the war.”

“You don’t think the same this time?” Sirius asked curiously.

Harry shook his head, “No, last time Nagini was still a snake, so that avenue is close to him. Not that he’d think of Godric’s Hallow right now. It holds no particular significance for him other than his last defeat. He only had someone watching then because of me; he’d gleaned enough from my thoughts to realize I’d want to visit.”

“You haven’t been having dreams?” Sirius asked, tilting his head to look at Harry.

“No, he’s not getting through between Medea and Pendragon.” Harry replied, focusing on the tombstone, “How do you really feel about Bellatrix?”

A harsh, bitter, tinged laugh rumbled Sirius’s chest, “I don’t fucking know.” He scrubbed a hand down his face, “I know what happened, what she suffered, and I spent the time I’ve been here reviewing my interactions with Andromeda from that other time and this summer….” He trailed off, staring at the headstone, “I don’t get it.”

“Jealous is a hateful destructive force.” Harry said evenly, “but I think we both know it’s not what has you twisted in knots.”

Sighing, Sirius dropped his head to his chest, arms tightening around his legs to comfort himself. “No, it’s not. I always thought Uncle Alphard had been disowned for supporting me; he left me money when he died, and I used that to furnish my first apartment. To learn that-that mother realized what had happened to Bella….” He shook his head, “I’m glad she had someone, but…” he trailed off and shook his head.

“You wish you could have been saved?”

“Yeah.” The whisper was hoarse and filled with shame, “Does it make me horrible that I’m hurt?”

“No, it makes you human.” Harry cleared his throat, “you know you can’t go after Andromeda, right?”

“I know. It’s why I came here, a reminder of what my anger lost me last time,” Sirius nodded, fixing his eyes on James and Lily’s grave, “Lily would have been enraged, learning what we learnt today.”

“Well, I think from the stories you and Severus have shared, she might have led the charge on exacting revenge.”

A grief-filled noise emerged from Sirius’s throat, similar to Padfoots mournful cuff, and Sirius buried his face in his arms, “I just wish I could do more.”

“Bella’s getting the help she needs,” Harry reminded him, “Pythia assured us of that.”

Sirius shrugged, not that the reminder headed, “I’ve never researched the Oracle of Delphi. I still don’t understand how they’re considered a creature; they look completely human and have nothing to suggest otherwise.”

Amusement flashed across Harry’s face, “do you want to know?”

“I-“ Sirius glanced at him and frowned at the silent laughter that danced in green eyes, reminding him strongly of Lily. “Yes, I do.”

“She a Valkyrie.”

“But,” Sirius objected, sitting up straight, “the traditional understanding is that they were the ones who chose which warriors fell in battle and escorted the souls to Valhalla.”

“And how would they do that without the gift of prophecy?” Harry countered, lifting an eyebrow, “Valkyries are the hand of the Moirai on earth. When the Greek pantheon fell, the Oracles tried to go underground. Still, as the elders died off, they became hunted by Jupiter, who had already started experimenting on them in the hopes they could recreate Harpies and Furies, so they turned to Odin, who twisted what he wanted out of them in a bid for self-preservation.” Harry explained, tilting his head as if listening to a voice only he could hear.

Sirius waited, knowing he probably was, but was startled when Harry rose fluidly to his feet and held out his hand, “Come with me?”

Confused but not questioning his godson, he hid the flinch when Harry pulled him effortlessly to his feet, and that apparated them away, the sensation from a normal apparating strangely absent. It was like blinking because one second, he was standing in front of Lily and James’s graves, and the next he was standing in a cluttered muggle apartment, the faint traces of magic lingering in the air reacting to their presence until Harry waved his hand and they settled.

“Where are we?” Sirius asked curiously, looking around.

Harry said nothing, looking around in distaste, before flicking his hand to the only chair in the room, transfiguring it into something reminiscent of the furniture at the villa, and sat as the bedroom door opened hesitantly.

The man edged into the room, back hunched with age, and his eyes widened in shock and then fear as if he understood instantly who was sitting calmly before him.

“My lord,” the man inclined his head and swallowed nervously, “how can I assist you?”

The smile that spread across Harry’s face was so cold it felt like the temperature dipped considerably, making Sirius shiver.

“I have questions.” Harry replied, “Depending on the answers, it will determine how long I let Sirius torture you after dragging your soul to Charon.”

The man paled and collapsed onto the couch, even as Sirius cleared his throat, “Harry, who is that?”

Harry glanced at him and then focused on the old man before whispering a word in a language Sirius didn’t recognize, and neither did the man, though he tensed all the same.

“No, please don’t.” He begged, grabbing at something hidden under his shirt.

“You have no hope of stopping Medea, Alphard, and she has questions,” Harry informed him calmly, a juxtaposition to the anger that burned in his eyes. “How long has Andromeda been helping you hide?”

As his glamour fell away, Alphard flinched, leaving behind a middle-aged man with the classical looks of Black, black hair, grey eyes, tall but thin, and it made Sirius step back in shock, “You’re alive?”

His uncle dropped his head and sighed, “She helped me fake my death in ’76, shortly before Wallburga successfully convinced Artecus to disown me.”

“How? It was an established fact by then that she was considered by society to suffer from the famed Black madness.” Harry questioned.

“I don’t know, I never figured it out. Andy came to me one day and told me it was almost a done deal, and the only way to save myself was to hide in the muggle world.” Alphard whispered tone, pleading.

Harry snorted, the sub-tonal growl threatening making Sirius flinch, finally understanding why Remus hated it, and it wasn’t even directed at him, “you know I’m not falling for that ploy, so drop the subservient act, you’ll get no sympathy from me.”

The transformation was startling and jarring, the act disappearing between one breath and the next, until a stranger with Alphard’s face, sat on the couch, body relaxing insolence and challenging as he crossed a bare foot on his knee, “How are you going to hide the fact you’re here? You realize Andy will be here soon, right?”

“You think Andy’s gonna save you?” Snorting a laugh, Harry shook his head, “At best, she’ll disavow any knowledge of what you two did; at worst, she’ll toss you to the proverbial wolves.” He paused and frowned, “Or maybe, literally, her daughter did just marry one.”

Alphard frowned, body tensing, “you can’t prove anything.”

“Eh…” Harry made a see-saw motion with his hand, “Technically, I don’t need to prove anything to justify killing you or allowing Sirius the right. You already know who I am. Bella told you that as you raped her repeatedly.”

A flash of fear crossed the man’s face, quickly replaced by defiance as he repeated his sentence, “You can’t prove anything. Bella is locked away in Azkaban and madder than Walburga ever was.”

“Of which you did your best to ensure because you thought it would get you the title.” Harry said, “As for Bella, you might be upset to know she’s no longer insane.”

“Yes, she is.” Alphard denied it instantly, shifting uneasily on the couch, “There’s no cure for the Curse of Kassandra. It’s why we chose it,” the sneer in his tone indicated he thought Harry a fool, “Andy found it in an old book in the manor, the original home of the Black’s and couldn’t cast it herself, she was only eight or so at the time, but she was smart. So, she approached me, and we cut a deal. I’d help displace her sisters, and she’d help me achieve my goal of getting the title.”

Sirius had been watching Harry the entire time Alphard spoke, confused by what the man was talking about or why he was talking; it was like he was confessing.

“To do that, we needed to turn Walburga, so we started simple, Maledictio Linguarum, but we twisted it, so it was a reflection, for lack of a better word.”

“You did it so when people spoke, it sounded like languages she couldn’t understand.” Harry filled in flatly.

“Of course. Someone would have figured it out if Walburga started speaking in tongues.” Alphard replied snidely, and Sirius glanced at the man to find him sitting there, a furious scowl on his face, body ridged and knew somehow that Harry was not only forcing him to talk, he was preventing the man from moving. “But when we observed it wasn’t doing what we wanted, I had to layer additional curses. The first one, Inpurus Cogitatio, made Walburga see Sirius as a reflection of the worst traits exhibited by our house.” He turned a smirk on Sirius, “It was almost poetic when you sorted into Gryffindor. She was incoherent with rage and shame. So, I twisted the knife and influenced the old Black elf to start echoing Walburga’s ranting, leaving nothing positive to discuss.” He stopped his recitation with a frown, “The elf was strong, though, I’ll give him that. He fought the compulsions until one of your mother’s jinxes accidentally hit the elf, and I was able to enter the filthy things’ mind to lay the foundation.”

“And you did this simultaneously with the curse against Bella?” Harry questioned.

“It had to be believable,” Alphard said with a shrug, “everyone knows two suffer the madness at the same time.”

“So, you hid it in two other victims.” Shaking his head, Harry rubbed his forehead, “The line of succession puts you like sixth. Did you expect you’d be able to kill everyone off in line before you?”

A wicked grin crossed Alphard’s face, “But of course, my lord, I’d already successfully killed two. The hardest one to access was Pollux; he was kind of the loner within the family and was more Crabbe than Black near the end. I imagine if they had no male heir, their family magics would have claimed him, loving him as they did. I had plans for the rest, admittedly mostly through Walburga. Victory was sweet-tasting when Orion and Reggie died in 79’, but it was a long game, so I was content to wait. When I got word via Andy that her father had finally passed away in ’92, I approached the bank to claim the title.”

“And found yourself more squib than magical,” Harry smirked.

“Yes.” the hissed response was so filled with venom that Harry growled again, Alphard’s eyes widening, “I obliviated him so he couldn’t tell anyone I’d failed, and Andy insured it by slipping the account manager Thallium, a tasteless and odourless substance that is almost impossible to trace.”

“And when did you realize that Andy had her own agenda and was receiving help from someone else?” Harry asked, tapping his thigh absentmindedly.

Alphard glared at him, “In ’93, when Sirius escaped from Azkaban, she brought a visitor to my door.”

“And what did Dumbledore want?” Harry questioned intensely.

The older man reared back, eyes widening, “I never said-”

“You didn’t need to,” Harry replied carelessly, “What did he want?”

“The spell constructs. The one I designed and used on Walburga. They wanted it as a backup; if Sirius managed to get a trial, they could make the world think he was crazy from his time in Azkaban. No one would question his placement in The Janus ward.”

“I have one last question, Alphard Sine Nomine,” which earned Harry a hiss of displeasure, and he smiled, “Why didn’t you tell Andy I was the Rightful Heir?”

A harsh, bitter, almost desperate laugh left Alphard, “I can’t. I’ve never been able to say, speak, or write your name, and even if I did, do you really think Andy would have believed me? We’re mad for a reason.”

“And it had nothing to do with the fact she turned on you, right?” Harry asked, a sharp, sly look appearing on his face, “It’s not that she considered you useless at best and a liability at worst? But due to the vow you two made, you can’t kill each other, so she stashed you away here, with wards and alerts to tell her when you die, but that’s it, she no longer visits-“

“Yes! Yes, damn you, how do you know?” Alphard snarled, face twisting a reflection of the madness in his eyes, a worse aspect than whatever Bella had shown the world.

A singular brow raised, “You know the answer to that? You just don’t want to admit that what Bella warned you came to pass.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” It was bitten and harsh, voice trembling in his rage.

“No, I don’t suppose you do,” Harry said sincerely, amusement threaded through his tone. He tilted his head consideringly before speaking, “Magics Promise, tied to Fate’s hand shaped like claws, brought to pass by a forgotten prophecy and a child hidden within plain sight. Mávros, Warwick, Brenin, and Slytherin’s Heir, an impossible quad wrapped in one soul, but live or die, he’ll be my retribution and salvation when he escorts you to Charon….”

Alphard jerked, eyes widening in shock, “the little bitch obliviated me!”

“Hmmm….” Harry agreed, rising to his feet, and lazily flicked his fingers. The sound of clothing tearing sounded loud in the room as something small flew into Harry’s hand, earning a desperate “NO!”

“Oh, yes,” Harry disagreed, “you can join Arthur Weasley on the river’s shores, pleading for passage and being denied for eternity.”

“That’s not fair!” Alphard cried, even as a key and door unlocking echoed in the apartment, and he shot a triumphant smirk at Harry, and Sirius panicked at getting caught.

Harry gently laid a hand on Sirius’s arm, focusing on Alphard as smoke curled from his nose and scales erupted down his neck, “It’s justice. You, in your twisted sense of entitlement, persecuted a nine-year-old girl and raped her for years! You systematically laid the groundwork to destroy your familial house and are responsible for the death of seven members of the Black family-“

“I didn’t kill them all myself,” Alphard denied as footsteps.

“That doesn’t make you less guilty!” Harry snapped, taking a step forward, “What makes you irredeemable is that you’re furious that you got caught, not that you regret your actions.”

“Finally.” The voice from the doorway snapped Sirius’s head up, having forgotten that they’d heard the door, and he lurched forward as Alphard jumped to his feet and froze even as he started shouting, “Andromeda! They’re here to kill me. You need to get help!”

Andromeda didn’t react, only flicked a wand at Alphard, the diagnostic spreading out over him, and his eyes widened, noticing that neither Sirius nor Harry had moved as if unconcerned about the unexpected guest. Alphard swallowed hard, glancing back towards the couch and flinched, seeing his body lying there, like he’d been since he’d collapsed at the beginning of the confrontation, still in the glamour minus the tear from the accio charm Harry had cast.

Jerking as if stung and turned to stare at Harry in horror, “You set me up! You never intended to let me live!”

“I never said anything about you living. I told you that your answers would determine how long Sirius got to torture you, but if that’s what makes you feel better about your current circumstances, I’ll let you have it.”

As Harry finished speaking, the air shimmered around them, making Sirius stumble, clutching at his godson’s shoulder to keep his balance, his eyes widening in horror at the inky black that swirled out of view and lapped at the shores of the river.

A second later, baying echoed, bouncing along the fog-strewn land, the sound of feet pounding along the dirt unexpectedly loud. Moments later, Arthur Weasley stumbled into view, robes ratted and in disarray, and what hair he had left sticking up all over the place, “Please, help me! please!”

Harry laughed brightly, ignoring the wizard as the group was swarmed with Grimm pups and thresteral foals, though they ignored everyone but Harry, who knelt and allowed them to clamour all over him. A few more curious glanced at Sirius in confusion before hesitantly making their way over, sniffing him with growing interest before the baying started, leaving Sirius staring at his godson in fascinated disbelief, “Harry?”

“They smell Padfoot, Siri.” Harry offered and shrugged, ignoring Arthur, who inhaled sharply at their voices, “They probably want him to come out and play, but we’d need to wait for Charon.”

“I-I don’t understand,” Sirius admitted, squatting beside Harry, running a hand through the thick, soft fur on the Grim’s neck and frowning at the fur. “Is that how I feel?”

“No, adult grim are a lot coarser. People wouldn’t be scared of them if they were cute and fluffy.” Harry replied with a laugh and rose to his feet as a boat bumped along the shoreline.

A skeletal hand emerged from the mist rising off the water, curling a finger towards Alphard, who stumbled forward, feet dragging as if trying to resist the summons. “Payment.”

The demand wasn’t a question, and the voice of Charon grated like bone on bone.

Alphard flushed, glaring at Harry, “Your master stole it.”

A cruel laugh echoed, “I have no master, mortal. Thantos and I are kin. If he deems you unworthy to enter Hades’s realm, then here you wander for a hundred years…”

Alphard and Arthur both jerked and turned to stare at Harry in horror, who ignored them completely and dipped his head in acknowledgement of Charon’s words, “I believe the young need fresh souls, so expect more before the end of the year.”

A grating chuckle bounced off the water, and Charon tilted his head, then whistled, a low, mournful, haunting sound and a rift formed beside Harry; a second later, he was bowled over by a three-headed hound that was trying to lick him in joy.

“Cerberus can supervise their hunt. We both have jobs to do.”

Grinning, Harry laughed joyfully, nudged the hound off, and rolled to his feet, the animal bounding away with a yip, the pups and foals following, “you always had the best of ideas, but I promised my godfather a chance to torture someone, so we’ll stay for a bit.”

Charon regarded him before wordlessly pushing off the bank, and Sirius glanced at Harry, who gave him a brief nod. It was like a switch was flipped, and with permission granted, Padfoot took over, letting out a haunting howl that was eagerly echoed by the pups that watched the two-foots start to run, and with the pup trailing after him, he looped to follow, retribution fueling his blood.

***

Sirius woke with regret, head pounding like he’d gone a three-day bender, and he glanced over at Harry, who was reclining, watching the sunrise, humming a melody under his breath.

Swallowing, Sirius sat up slowly and licked his lips, “did-did that really happen, or was it a dream?”

Harry shrugged, “can’t it be both?”

“I suppose….” Sirius said slowly, rubbing his face with both hands, “Sev’s gonna kill me.”

Laughing, Harry rose to his feet, dusting off his robes, “No, he’s not, I sent him a message last night.”

Cracking open an eye, he stared at Harry suspiciously, “Do I want to know what you said in the message?”

Harry winced, “Probably not, but he’s not mad. A little envious maybe, but not mad; he understands why I brought you, at any rate.”

Sighing, Sirius ran a hand down his face and rolled to his feet, “I need tea, lots of tea.”

Harry laughed and walked towards the entrance to the cemetery, pausing briefly as he watched a blond-haired witch with a familiar green ensemble slip out the back door of a house.

Sirius frowned, looking from Harry to the witch, “Do you know them?”

“Unfortunately,” Harry muttered, and they watched as the witch walked towards the end of the lane in the opposite direction of them and disapperate with a crack, “I just don’t know if I’m going to prevent her from writing her book or help.”

“What? Who is it?” Sirius questioned in confusion.

Harry looked at him and grasped his arm, drawling, “Rita Skeeter.” the familiar sensation of apperating pulled at his stomach before he could respond.

***

Four days later, after the relatively simple ritual that ended up being more anticlimactic than exciting, Harry stood at the base of Yggdrasil, allowing the shield to dissolve and stared up the white trunk as it filled up the ritual circle, the branches disappearing into the ceiling. Standing before, it was as awe-inspiring and humbling as when he’d first walked into the room. Reaching out a hand, he gently placed it just about a knot in the bark and felt warmth, acceptance, and excitement spread through his fingers at the contact. He then inhaled as energy was pushed into his hand.

It was heartbreakingly familiar, but he understood that sensation came from Medea, who had been humming, almost vibrating the family magic with happiness since Sunday.

It felt weird knowing the Horcrux was out of his head, the remembered pain from its presence dulled by distance and time. Since he’d been back, he hadn’t felt it, not even the causal testing pokes he’d experienced at the beginning of summer. It was probably frustrating, Riddle, and while he was missing out on the reaction, Harry couldn’t regret the blocked connection, which was now gone. It meant he didn’t have to die to accomplish that goal this time.

Turning around at the whisper of sound, he found Albert Perkins, a surprising addition to the previous evenings’ events. However, the Warden had unofficially attached himself as security, working with the Dverger warriors unasked.

The rest of his circle were lying on the floor glowing faintly, the reassurance that they were fine, just exhausted, slowly starting to work, as a few of them were sitting wrapped in a blanket and eating the food pressed upon them by Beannacht who wasn’t just Ragnok’s wife, she was the High Priestess for the Dverger, a fact they’d forgotten to mention.

Albert cleared his throat, drawing Harry’s attention back to his. “Your Grace, do you have a minute?”

“Of course, Mr. Perkins. Was the ritual everything you expected?” Harry asked, focusing on the man, still unsure why the Warden of Azkaban had arrived at the bank.

“It was.” Albert agreed, dipping his head, “It was an honour to your casting.”

”Thanks,” Harry murmured and turned to the alter of roots Yggdrasil had provided, picked up the wand that had appeared at the start and stared at it.

“It’s not as intimidating as I feared it would be,” Albert said after a minute’s pause, “though I don’t understand how Dumbledore used it for years. It’s plain it was miserable in the headmaster’s hands.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed tiredly, “no one understands the purpose of the wand. They’re obsessed with dominion and subjection, meaning the wand fought his dark tendencies for nearly fifty years.”

“It’s neutral then.” Albert said softly, “That makes a great deal of sense.”

Harry flicked an eye to his and nodded, “Of course, it’s neutral. Death comes for us all. It’s only through the outdated and backward classification here in Britain that half the creatures associated with death have ‘dark’ attached to their names.”

“Yes, I can see that,” Albert said, annoyance in his tone, “he’s done it to prevent others from searching for the Hallows.”

Nodding silently, Harry slid the wand into a dimensional bracelet, “you didn’t approach me to discuss magical theory or creature classifications.”

“I realize our vast age difference and your rank are urging you to the formality, but please call me Albert, Your Grace.” Albert pleaded.

Harry raised an eyebrow but nodded, “Then Hadrian, please, Albert.”

Albert grimaced at the tables being turned but sighed in resignation, “of course, Hadrian. I’ve been asked to relay a request from the dementors.”

Harry nodded, “they wish to be released from the prison and returned home.”

“Yes,” Albert agreed, then frowned, “it should disturb me that you already know that, but it makes sense.”

“No, it doesn’t, but the protocols are awakening.” Harry explained and shrugged, “When Arthur died and Avalon with him, the chamber lost much of its power, making the rendering of judgment inconsistent. The Lords felt that they needed a fair system, and to give them credit, they tried, but they lived in a somewhat simpler society where cases were black and white and punishment extreme; they forgot human nature and that instinctive need for survival.”

“Which is where money, bribery, and blackmail came into play.” Albert sighed, “I can see how that plays into the brokered agreements.”

“Since Avalon fell, the chamber has only had a hundred odd judgements, the last in 1929.” Harry said simply and looked Albert in his eyes, “You realize if the Dementors are let go, your curse will be lifted, right?”

Albert blinked, “I- no, I can’t say that occurred to me, Hadrian.” He shifted on his feet, “I’ve lived with it for so long, I’m not sure I know how to react to that news.”

“Technically, we’ll still need a Warden, but if you feel your duty is done, we can help you find another purpose.” Harry offered and glanced at the door, tensing in shock.

He didn’t know if it was the magic of the regency or Medea, but he recognized her instantly and moved before he thought it, causing half the room to stand in alarm.

Knowing he’d taken Bellatrix Lestrange from Azkaban and allowing the Oracle of Delphi to take her as an apprentice was one thing, but it was another matter to see the woman standing in the doorway; not only was it unexpected, she looked completely different. She was so different; there was no way anyone would recognize her, and he didn’t know how he felt about that.

Approaching her, he surveyed her critically, happy at least to see her magical reserves repairing and the leftover magical residue indicating at least one ritual healing. However, given her damages and the apparent changes in her natural circumstances, he suspected two or three. Going from Witch to Valkyrie would be a difficult transition, and he didn’t believe it was painless.

Bella offered a sheepish smile and dipped a curtsy, long blond hair falling gracefully down her back as she rose, and unnatural lapis blue, with a slight glow to them, met his, “I apologize for interrupting Your Grace.”

“It’s fine, how can I help you….” He trailed off, unsure what to call her given her history, and she lifted an eyebrow.

“Secrets amongst your trusted will only breed contempt and fear, Hadrian.”

“It feels like a family shame,” Harry admitted, running a hand through his hair.

“I understand, and though we don’t have much time, an explanation will be necessary.” Bella gestured behind her before Harry could respond, eyes widening in surprise. Neville shouted inarticulate in shock and hurried across the room, bursting into tears as they wrapped him in a two-way hug.

“You-?”

“I helped them, broke the curse on their minds, and healed them, offering them my abject apologies.” Bella confirmed softly, “They were gracious in their forgiveness and only wanted to see their son.”

Swallowing hard, Harry nodded, glancing at Neville and his parents, and resolved to keep the Wizengamot waiting a little longer.

***

September 22, 1995

There had been an honest expectation that it would be a horrible summer and possibly a more horrible school year, but Albus had been prepared for that. Had he expected the difficulties he’d encountered so far?

No, not exactly, but the olde age advice, “plans never survive first contact with the enemy,” was advice for a reason, something he’d learnt at his mother’s knee, the saying passed on down through the family line.

Had he understood it as a child? Not exactly. Did he know it now? Eh, that depended on the day and his focus, and he had more things to worry about than half-remembered stories his mother told him of Mariam Sadler.

No, his focus was on the calculations. Bending over the cluttered desk, Albus once again worked through the arithmancy, still trying to understand what had gone wrong with his plans. That nothing had been working out since the middle of August, when he’d lost control of Harry, was frustrating and somewhat terrifying. He could attempt to blame other people or events, but he knew it was Harry. It was the only common denominator he had and given Harry’s importance to the war effort and Albus’s continued success at the end, he needed to know what had gone wrong.

It hadn’t been the isolation or lack of news from his friends. Albus knew that had been working, chipping away at Harry, feeding into Tom’s anger. He wanted to blame Delores for putting the cart before the horse. Still, upon hearing about the dementor’s attack, he thought it would work in his favour, and the subtle suggestion they change the time had worked beautifully.

The only problem was Harry’s apparent about-face in trusting the Order. Watching the pensive memory of his articulate and thought-out reasoning for not taking muggle transportation had been infuriating, knowing Severus had ‘let it slip’ to Tom the plan. He had wanted Tom to stage an attack, had even planned for it, never once mentioning he’d hoped it would remove Arthur, having started to suspect his true loyalties when he’d let Molly write the contract between Granger and their youngest boy, Ronald. Learning after the fact that they’d admitted to Ginevra that the contract she’d signed to dispel the ‘life-debt’ had been invalid had sealed Arthur’s fate, and it had been a relief at the beginning of September to learn that Arthur was indeed dead. However, the question of how still lingered.

Albus sighed and ran a hand down his beard, trying to refocus on Harry. He glanced at his pensive, wondering if he should rewatch the trial again. The Harry he’d expected that morning was replaced with a coldly calculating one that reminded him too much of Tom. It was disturbing and distressing how similar they were, even in looks, and if he’d been born twenty-odd years before he had been, he would have suspected Harry was his son.

The equally disturbing thing about that trial was the mental slap he’d received that had caused an instant headache when he’d tried passive legilimency, not understanding how the teen had managed it or learnt to shield his mind in the four or five weeks he’d been trapped inside Private Drive.

There had been a momentary fear he had claimed his father’s title, but confirmation from the Ministry records proved that hadn’t happened. The news wouldn’t have hidden it, considering the will would be required to be read.

So how had Harry learnt it? After correcting Ronald’s behaviour in the fourth year, there was no way Harry would have been able to keep a secret between Hermione and Ron whispering in his ears. So, it wasn’t Severus who had betrayed Albus, not after everything Albus had done to sow the tumultuous relationship between them.

Though utterly baffling, Harry knew things, names, and laws that he shouldn’t be aware of, such as the purpose or even the theory behind a magical vow, so what did that leave?

A magical inheritance no one knew anything about? Possibly, but that begged the question, what? Nothing had appeared in any records, there were no hidden surprises in the Potter line, and Albus had done a deep dive into that history when he’d learnt of the Cloak. The Peverell line had died out in the 1600s when the last Duke had died with no apparent heirs.

Albus might have been suspicious of Lily’s heritage, but considering she was the only magical in the family, and he’d gone back ten generations, it wasn’t from her, leaving him at a loss.

Albus had briefly considered the Black title, but it was a registered fact that Artecus Black had died without naming an heir, and it was an accepted fact that it would pass to Draco, being the only male Black who could possibly claim it at the appropriate age. Thankfully, Andromeda was working on that, hopeful that the child Tonk carried would be male, leaving her to step in and claim regency as a direct line of Black blood.

Huffing, Albus threw the quill on the desk and glared at the perch where Fawkes had been until early that morning, when he’d flamed away without a word, leaving Albus hopeful the Phoenix had sensed Harry to bring him to the castle. He had under four hours to conduct a ritual ensuring Harry returned to the fold instead of depending on the bill he’d drafted to return students to the point they started. It was a weak bill and utterly sure to fail, but he hoped the argument that they couldn’t be sure of the education their ‘Saviour’ received would be enough to let it pass.

Hopefully, that would bring Sirius back under his preview, though with his innocence declared internationally, Albus suspected that would be harder to accomplish than controlling Harry. It was enough to make him wish he’d allowed Fudge to hold a trial; if Albus had been the one to ‘free’ him, it could have beholden Sirius to him. Instead, he’d keep him on the run and imprisoned in Grimmauld, hoping the Dark artifacts would drive him insane so he could be disposed of or removed. Still, Sirius had already pulled back from his support of the Order, defending Harry’s actions and doing nothing about the house’s actions during the summer. Moody had completely shunned the Order, and every owl sent to the old Auror had been returned unopened.

The most disturbing thing was the appearance of Peter Pettigrew, which had taken some fancy talk to get his trial delayed and information redacted from Azkaban in the hopes man would try and escape because he needed him to dangle as bait in front of Sirius when he showed his face again.

Albus sighed, glancing at the reports Tonks had smuggled about suspected Death Eater active, actively cursing Severus deflection. He had no reliable insider information on Tom’s actions now, and his tactics from the first war were not following the same patterns. He also had no one who could whisper and plant targets in Tom’s head. But Albus didn’t know where Severus was and briefly thought he’d been killed. However, between the resignation later and the magical devices showing he lived and still had his magic, even if it made no sense, it was enough to resent all the years he’d spent cultivating in his potions master.

Rubbing his brow, Albus took a sip of tea, wincing at the cold brew and reached for his wand before remembering and encountering empty air. Given that Fawkes hadn’t returned and his wand had disappeared, he was starting to suspect it was a ritual, though he had no idea of why or how, though he guessed it had something to do with balance, given the religious significance of Mabon. Nothing else made sense in the context that his wand was stolen, other than being the Elder Wand.

Glancing at the clock, he blinked in shock, then cursed, not understanding why the elves hadn’t alerted him to the time, as he’d not realized how much time had elapsed as he worked on his calculations and rose to his feet.

Thankful at least that the only good thing that had come of Harry blindsiding him and everyone else at his trial had been his reinstatement as Chief Warlock.

Entering the Ministry fashionable late, Albus was stymied by the lack of people. Wondering if he should have taken the time to read the papers, or mail since Sunday. Given it was a Wednesday, the Atrium should be filled with people rushing about and attempting to accomplish their jobs. Yet, strangely enough, the only people he saw were other nobles who sat the Wizenagmot rushing to the lifts ahead of him, wanting to get there before he shut the doors.

It was even more aggravating when not one of them thought to hold the doors for him, leaving him to wait, showing an utter lack of respect for his position and power. He made a mental note to chastise those he recognized later as he reviewed the key points of his bill, he wanted to mention again to Dedalus Diggle, hoping the Wizard could pull it off.

Stepping off the lift, he was met with a wave of sound and a wall of bodies, leaving him perplexed, wondering why they were all outside the chambers when he was half an hour late.

Pushing through the bodies, who didn’t make room, Albus heard snatches of conversations that made the hairs rise on the back of his neck, but didn’t have time to stop and demand clarification before Dedalus snagged his arm, “Albus, where have you been?”

“I’m sorry, dear friend, I got caught up in some paperwork.” Albus reassured his friend, “Are you prepared for the bill this morning?”

The other wizard frowned at him, “I am, but I don’t know if we’re going to get anything done today.”

“Why not?” Albus demanded, half his attention on weaving through the bodies, “It’s a relatively straightforward bill. We only need a thirty-five percent vote, if you present it right, focusing on young Harry’s education and our fears-“

“Albus, the doors won’t open.” Dedalus interrupted, face serious and grave. “No one can find Croaker. The ICW director is closeted with Fudge, and the rumour is that they’re shutting the Ministry down for its ineptness, and people are starting to panic.”

Mind blanking at the unforeseen complication, Albus stumbled a little before rallying, “Let’s not panic ourselves. Even if the ICW does something ridiculously drastic, they can’t close the Wizengamot.”

“Maybe not, but they have the right to place their own in the Chief Warlock position as it’s an appointed seat by the Ministry.” The other wizard replied, then added, “I think it was a mistake to be kicked off the World Court. It’s damaged our position.”

Albus kept his face impassive, internally grateful he’d kept the real reason he’d lost the seat on the World Court, happy at least that they had agreed with his reasoning in not releasing his disgrace to the population at large. Making Tom aware that his horcruxes were suspected would do them no good, and the extra freedom allowed Albus more time to search them out, though admittedly, he’d been focused on other things over the summer. It also allowed Tom more time to spread the fear around, making Albus’s plan all the more viable when he defeated him.

Shaking his head at the irrelevant thoughts, Albus stepped around the people gathered in front of the doors, brushing them off when they went to speak and frowned at the doors when they didn’t react to his presence, causing an uncomfortable murmur to build behind him.

Not wanting to subject himself to that, he sent a little pulse of magic into them, hiding the little wiggle he wanted to let out as they finally started to swing open.

He didn’t care how long it took; they opened for him, which meant something to the sheep at his back; he, Albus Dumbledore, was still important.

***

 

---