Chapter 9
Family Reunion
A train pulling into its station is always a busy undertaking. There is, of course, some activity from the train itself, but most of the movement comes from the people standing on the platform, eagerly awaiting the arrival of their loved ones. This frenzy becomes even greater when all of the train's passengers are children returning from school; such was the case of Platform 9¾ when the Hogwarts Express became visible around the curve of the tracks.
"We're here," Harry breathed. It had been seven years since he had last had a reason to look over King Cross's magical platform. After the war was over, he had rejected the idea of returning to Hogwarts for a final year, the memories of the dead simply too strong for him to see the grounds again. Though they had eventually faded, by that time he was too involved in rebuilding Potter Manor and enjoying the company of the two women he had fallen in love with to bother visiting the castle or its platform. Seeing the platform again was just as bittersweet as he had anticipated.
Hermione hugged him from behind. "We are. We'll be able to see our families, take a break, have a little fun— Families. My parents, they're okay! I didn't memory charm them yet! They'll still remember me…"
He turned around to hold her as Luna joined in the cuddle. She had left England only a couple of days after the Battle of Hogwarts, traveling alone by her own request; she had removed their memories by herself, so she felt that she must return them by herself as well. Unfortunately, the book she had learned the charm from had neglected to mention that there was a short window of about a week for restoring altered or missing memories. She had come back a few days after she left, without 'Wendell and Monica Wilkins' or any plans for them to join her. All three of them were then alone in the world, with no one but each other to count as family.
Now though, she had the chance to reconnect with her mother and father, and Luna could be with her father. He, admittedly, would much rather have nothing to do with the Dursleys, but he would take the bad with the good. His girls were happy, and that was his number one priority.
The trio had come down from their emotional high by the time the Express had finally stopped. Grabbing their trunks, they had already walked out the door of the compartment when Hermione palmed her face. "I forgot. Weasley," she said to their curious looks.
"Do we have to transfigure him back?" Luna asked.
He shrugged. "While I would love keeping him stuck as a pillow, we're still vulnerable. We have little money, no allies, and enough enemies to host a convention. Can we keep the Light off our backs for a little while, at least until Voldemort and his minions are dead, buried, and had their graves danced on?"
She sighed in response. "Fine, let's retrieve the sleeping stomach."
A wave of Hermione's wand had the red-head back in human form, though still unconscious. She was about to Ennervate him when Harry grabbed her hand. "Hold up just a moment. There's something I want to do to him first." He drew his wand and spun it through a long, sinuous movement. "Okay, you can wake him."
"What did you do to him?"
Luna might still be as stubborn as a mule, but he had learned long ago to pick his battles; having two women looking over his shoulder had made that a necessary survival skill. "I dropped a small compulsion into his subconscious. Every time he thinks ill of one of the three of us, he'll wet himself."
"Toilet humor, Harry? Really?"
The blonde giggled, then cast a spell at him as well. "Now it'll burn when he pees."
"Luna!"
He smiled innocently at the enraged witch. "Don't you want to curse him, too, just a little?"
"I will not be party to any retaliatory actions that are that crude and immature!" Stamping her foot like a young child removed much of the dignity from her pronouncement.
"Okay, then Hermione, you don't have to take part in the fun," Luna said while patting her arm indulgently. "We'll just hold it as an IOU."
"But I don't owe you anything!"
"Yes you do; you owe me the laughter I'll get when you finally pull that stick out of the mud."
Harry interjected, "Luna, I thing you have your metaphors mixed up again. She is a 'stick in the mud', and she needs to 'pull the stick out of her arse'."
"Harry James Potter!"
"But I like the stick up her arse, as long as I put it there."
He couldn't keep his composure and laughed at the poor mistreated woman's reddening face. "You both suck," she said.
Luna nodded. "Yes I do, and Harry has never complained about my technique."
"I actually don't suck," he replied, playing along.
Hermione just screamed in frustration, then pointed her wand at Ron. "Ennervate, and I hate you both!" She stalked out and slammed the door.
"Think we took it too far?" Luna asked him. He just shrugged; it wasn't the first time she had said that, and it likely wouldn't be the last. Once her anger had worn off, she would apologize for her words, with them knowing that she would get them back for their mocking, and they would apologize for having a laugh at her expense, with her knowing that they weren't sorry in the slightest.
Ron stirred. "Ugh, what's going on?"
"We're at the platform, Ron." Luna was already out the door, so it fell to Harry to catch the boy on the events he 'missed'.
"Already?" he shrieked. "What happened? I never got to eat any Chocolate Frogs!"
He nodded. "Yeah, you fell asleep right after we got underway. You looked exhausted, too, so Hermione and I figured you needed your sleep."
"Why would you do something like that?" he roared, then he grabbed the crotch of his pants as the dark spot appeared and grew. He ran out of the compartment, Harry staring in astonishment; while he knew the compulsion was going to be an oft occurrence, he was surprised that its first activation came this soon.
A glare and a bright grin greeted him as he stepped off the train. "So, who are we going to meet first?"
Hermione's glare morphed into a sickly smile. "Well, my dearest Harry, I figured we could see my parents first. After all, they deserve the chance to say hello to the man who took their beloved and only daughter's virtue, don't they?"
He and Luna stared at her. "No!" the blonde shrieked, grabbing onto him. "We only just got him house-broken! It'll take another five years to properly train up our next boy toy, even if he is more pliable than this one!"
"Sometimes, Luna, you just have to know when to cut your losses," Hermione said in a sagacious tone.
Harry sputtered, and apparently that was the reaction the girls were looking for as they high-fived each other. "That's what you get for messing with me!" Hermione crowed.
"Hermione, that was so far below the belt that I'm shocked there isn't a dent in the floor. You don't joke about your father taking your boyfriend's twig and berries like that."
"Oh, pish, you two take the mickey out of me enough that you deserve whatever comes your way. Besides, Dad's a softy, and you'll win Mum over in no time." Having dismissed his concerns, she grabbed his wrist with one hand while she used the other to do the same to Luna. "Now come on, I want to see them and find out how Xeno's doing before I have to go back to my parents' house."
He struggled against her, truly he did, but the reunion with her parents had to have given her the strength of a giant for all the good he did resisting being dragged. Her walk sped up into a run when she saw them. "Mum, Dad!"
"Hermione!" her mother cheered, pulling her into a tight hug. She looked like Hermione had when she aged passed her gangly stage, so much so that they could have been mistaken as sisters. "We missed you so much! Gran came over this Christmas and was quite put out that you weren't there, though we mollified her by telling her you were attending that ball of yours. Oh," she said as she noticed the two teens her daughter was gripping like a limpet, "and who are your friends?"
"This is Harry Potter, you met him a couple of years ago, and this is Luna Lovegood. Harry and I met her this year. Harry, Luna, this is my mother Miranda and my father Jake." He and Luna chorused their greetings, and the four adults, though not all in body, shook hands.
"It's a pleasure to meet some of Hermione's friends, or meet again in your case, Harry," Jake said. He was a small, sandy-blond man, an inch or so shorter than his wife, and while he wasn't scrawny-looking, he would never be intimidating. "Are you two going to enjoy your summer break?"
"Yes, Mr. Granger," Luna chirped, "we were actually planning on getting together for a few day trips before the three of you leave on your vacation. If it's not a problem, of course."
He chuckled. "It's not a problem at all; Miranda and I are normally busy at our practice all day, so feel free to take her with you if you can drag her away from her homework and reading."
"Dad, you make me sound like I'm obsessed," Hermione complained. "Our homework is very important for our grades, and it's not like you don't read for fun as well. And just so you know, the three of us completed all our assignments during the ride here to free up time for our trips." Her point made, she stuck her tongue out in a move completely out of character for the dour teenager she had been at fifteen.
Miranda snickered at her daughter's actions. "If you two managed to loosen her up this much, you are more than welcome to come visit whenever you like. Would either of you be able to stay for dinner after your trips?"
"I'm afraid I can't, Mrs. Granger. Daddy gets lonely when I'm not home, so I think it best if I'm with him," Luna replied.
"Oh, that's too bad, maybe you and your father can both come one night. What about you, Harry?"
He thought for a moment, then admitted, "I might very well take you up on that offer. The less time I have to spend with the Dursleys, the better."
"Who?" she asked, her brows knitting together.
"My mother's sister and brother-in-law and their son." At her look, he elaborated, "We don't get along; they don't like that I can do magic, you see."
Strangely, his explanation only made her expression more severe. "Well, in that case, I hope we'll see you quite often."
"Harry, Mione, let's go see Daddy," Luna begged, tugging at them. "I want him to meet you."
They acquiesced and began walking to the opposite end of the platform. Many of the families that they passed looked at the trio in confusion, and some even had a hint of fear in their gazes; apparently the Ministry was not tolerating any delays in their drive to sling mud all over his and Dumbledore's reputations.
Not that I blame them for that one, he thought to himself. After the Second Voldemort War was over, Hermione had followed Skeeter's trail as much as possible to track down her sources, and to her distress at the time, the reporter/muckraker-turned-author had dotted all her 'i's and crossed all her 't's when it came to recording what she had learned. She obviously felt any embellishments of her own would lessen the sordid tale's impact, or perhaps she just wanted to avoid being trapped in a jar again.
While they were searching for a glimpse of the eccentrically-dressed man, he managed to sneak up on them. How that was possible in robes that looked like they escaped from an acid trip, Harry would never know.
"Little moon!" he cried as he picked Luna up and spun her around. "When the wrackspurts gathered in your room, I was worried that something had happened to you." He set her back on the ground and looked her up and down, then in the ear canal and at her left thumb. "You are older now than when you left."
"Well, of course I am, Daddy." She looked down at their feet, unable to lie to her father's face. "It's been over five months since I was home for Christmas."
Xenophilius Lovegood waved her comment away. "I am so sorry that I missed all of those birthdays. How many was it, six?" He winced, "Or maybe seven?"
"No, no, Daddy, don't worry about it. You would have been there if you were able to."
He nodded. "I see. I was kidnapped by the plum-haired Sifflelessers; they must have gotten hold of one of my articles on the breeding habits of Crumple-Horned Snorkacks."
"Yes, Daddy," she sniffed, "that was exactly it. Oh, I missed you so much!" She flung herself into his arms and buried her head into his chest.
He rubbed her back comfortingly as he nodded to the two teens. "It is nice to see you again, Harry and Hermione, though I don't remember us being introduced before. Blame the Sifflelessers."
Hermione smiled weakly. "Yes, Xeno, it's good to see you again, too."
Harry, on the other hand, could make no response. He was too busy fighting back his last and only memory of the incredibly brave man in front of them.
"The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming."
Perhaps, if the people attending Bill and Fleur's wedding had received Kingsley's Patronus a minute earlier, events would have gone differently. Perhaps it would have been just Harry, Hermione, and Ron who ran off and searched for Voldemort's Horcruces. Perhaps Xeno would have sold his honor and his integrity in an attempt to protect his daughter, all while she was being used as the Death Eaters' sex toy in the dungeons of Malfoy Manor.
But that isn't what happened, for by the time the ethereal lynx arrived to deliver its message, the Dark Lord's soldiers had already Apparated onto the Burrow's grounds.
"Harry!" Luna shouted as she ran to him and took a position at his back. "What do we do?"
"I don't know, Luna, but we need to get out of here. Now." He scanned the crowd for his two best friends, firing stunners at the numerous black-robed magicals attacking the guests.
Hermione and Ron sprinted the last few feet to them, panting as they came to a halt. "Harry, we have to go. Sirius's house still has the Fidelius; we can take refuge there."
"Can we stop talking and go already?" Ron screamed as he levitated a chair in the path of a Killing Curse. None of the other teens were able to answer; a few of the Death Eaters had located their master's worst enemy and were bearing down on them. Salvation came in the form of a wall of blue smoke and a man whose fashion sense alone should have seen him admitted into an asylum.
"Xeno, we…" Harry stopped once he caught a glimpse of the wizard's visage. Gone was the jocularity and slightly vacant expression he had borne at the start of the reception; his face could very well have been hewn from granite to account for its hardness. Suddenly, Harry realized that he had seen Xeno before, in the photo of the original Order of the Phoenix Moody had shown him the summer they had stayed in Grimmauld Place.
"Harry," Xeno said, and his tone was completely serious, just as his daughter's was whenever someone insulted the Quibbler. "I do not know what duty Fate and Destiny have tasked you with, but I do know that it is essential for the downfall of this monster of a man. I will defend you while you escape from this place, if you but do one thing for me in return."
Harry glanced around at the contingent of Death Eaters who were making their way over to the group, their speed hampered by their need to torture the men, women, and children in their path. "Anything."
"Take Luna with you and keep her from harm. I fear that if you do not, unspeakable acts will be done to her, acts that she will never recover from. Give me your word that you will protect her."
"I give you my word." What else could he say? He did not want any of his friends to be hurt because of him, and if Xeno covered for their escape, he would owe the man a debt he would never be able to repay.
"Good, now go. I will not be able to hold them off for long, only as long as a Nargle needs to get into trouble." He waded into the fray, shouting at the Death Eaters, "You will be far more fun to hunt than Snorkacks!"
The four teens had run to the edges of the Burrow's wards when Harry finally looked behind him and stopped dead in his tracks. Thanks to Xeno's robes and hair, he could still see the man, as well as the five Death Eaters the odd man was holding back by himself. He was too far away to hear the incantations Xeno was saying, but he was flabbergasted by the volume of spells, in all the colors of the rainbow, that the Dark wizards were having to defend themselves against.
Harry turned, and grabbing Luna's hand, Disapparated to London. They would later hear that Xeno had eventually fallen in that battle, but only after the number of opponents he was facing had grown beyond eight at once.
Harry returned to the present in time to catch some of Xeno's and Hermione's conversation. "…and the article on Umgubular Slashkilter diets, you must certainly read that as well. It was one of our most popular issues, you know, due to Fudge once owning one; I sold almost as many copies of that edition as the one on Aberforth Dumbledore's affair with an entire football team in South America. And my wife added a wonderful recipe for plimpy and banana casserole that was absolutely scrumptious…" Well, perhaps it was more Xeno rambling and Hermione staring blankly at him, but at least she hadn't started arguing about the existence of the creatures he so adored.
He grabbed Hermione's arm, jarring her back to reality in the process. "It was wonderful to see you again, Xeno, but I need to get Mione back to her parents. I hope you regain the memories the, um, Sifflelessers took from you." He dragged her away from the Lovegoods and waved at their farewell.
"Ugh, I thought spending time with Luna was enough to immunize me from their insanity, but Xeno, no matter his other virtues, is completely 'round the bend. Why can't he be rational besides when he's fighting for his life?"
"If he's anything like Luna," he pondered aloud, "then he probably offended sanity at one point, and it decided that it was better off without him." His contribution to her rant over, he listened with one ear to her diatribe as he ushered her over to the adult Grangers.
"Ah, there you are," Miranda said. "Hermione, we have to get going, so say goodbye. I'm sure you two will see each other again soon enough."
Hermione turned to him with mischief in her eyes, and before he could question what she was doing, she had pulled him into deep, lust-filled kiss. Harry, out of habit, closed his eyes and pulled her tight as their tongues danced, only to remember where they were and who they were with when a muffled snort reached his ears. He immediately pulled away and removed his hand from her firm backside. Miranda had her hand in front of her face to stifle her laughter, while Jake was glaring at him in a manner oddly reminiscent of Slytherin's basilisk. Harry sighed but met his gaze head-on. He had fought and bled in two wars; what did he have to fear from a mild-mannered dentist?
"I'm afraid I have to be going, Mr. and Mrs. Granger. Mione, is there a time you want me to come over, or should I call you later?"
"Oh, just come over on Monday, Harry. We're going to spend this weekend as a family and catch up."
He nodded and backed away from her still-amused mother and equally-enraged father to depart the platform into the Muggle side of King's Cross, managing to dodge the eyes of an expectant family of red-heads. Waiting there – none too patiently, of course – were the Dursleys.
"Get a move on, you lazy freak. We don't have all day to stay around and cater to you and your kind," growled his uncle Vernon, though Harry would never refer to him by that title again. He was lucky he had suffered a heart attack after one of Dudley's particularly exciting witch burnings, or Harry would have shown him exactly why the name Potter was spoken by Death Eaters with the same amount of fear they had once reserved for Dumbledore.
"Yeah, yeah," Harry said nonchalantly. He would have loved for his relatives' cruelty to be something forced upon them, perhaps by a compulsion or some magical artifact put in the house by Dumbledore, but their hatred were lamentably and entirely natural. Thankfully, he would not have to put up with their bigotry and senseless violence for much longer.
For Harry, like the Slytherin the Sorting Hat wanted him to be, had a plan.
Ron's compulsion is an homage to DriftWood1965's Harry Potter and the Champion's Champion. Luna's addition is just because.
Kingsley's warning comes directly from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, first American edition. And yes, you read that flashback right; Xenophilius Lovegood is a badass. Just so you know, the escape from the wedding is where this whole debacle first ran off the canon rails.
You know what that ringing in your ears means? It's time for round two of "Guess that Reference!" Just like last time, there are three references scattered throughout the chapter. One of them is a story that's not on FFN, though, so I'll take the plot point all the stories have in common in lieu of that one if you can't guess it. And no, Champion's Champion is not one of them.
Chapter 10
Home Sweet Home
The drive back to Number 4 Privet Drive was tense, just like it always was. There was a routine here, a ritual of sorts, that the four relatives in the car followed every time Harry returned from Hogwarts to Surrey. Vernon, the small-minded bigot, would drive, snarling whenever he saw something or someone that did not fit in his perfectly normal world; needless to say, he did so the entire way back. Petunia, the gossiping harpy, would make snide comments about all their neighbors, even though it was clear that none of the three males in the car were listening. Dudley, who while a month older than the boy wizard already weighed as much as three Harrys, would constantly stuff candy and sweets down his throat, his piggy eyes seeing nothing but the route between hand and mouth. In the past, Harry would have been silent while he relived whatever traumatic event signaled the closing of the school year, but now he did so because he had nothing to say to the three people he was riding with. Not yet, at least.
Ah, we're getting close, he thought as he recognized several landmarks of Little Whinging. Subtly sliding his wand into his hand, he tapped the rim of his glasses and whispered, "Oculos magicae." The outer edges of the lenses shimmered, almost like they were reflecting the surface of a lake, and a paper-thin, brownish-red dome flashed into existence a few blocks away. The magesight charm was more effective when used on the eyes rather than glasses, but he did not need to see the runes and formulae for the much-vaunted blood ward. No, he was interested in spotting a more relevant ward. There, at the corner of Magnolia Crescent and Ivy Drive, he saw the first of several pale pink orbs. These were the sensors for the open ward that the Ministry, in its infinite intellect, had decided to set up around the Dursleys' home.
Wards came in two distinct types, and Privet Drive had one of each. Closed wards, like the blood ward or anti-Apparation wards, served as barriers and prevented wizards from performing a certain action. They could be as specific or general as needed; transport wards, for example, only interrupted a certain form of magical travel, but the war wards he could raise around Potter Manor would the house and its inhabitants from a variety of threats.
Open wards, on the other hand, were set to detect whatever their casters wanted to know about. The Taboo that Voldemort had used during the Second War was a country-wide open ward, while the one Harry was currently looking at would record any magic that was used in the vicinity of Number 4. This was why he had been registered as the source of Dobby's hovering charm in 1992, and like the Trace, this magical detector would need to be subdued if he was to get any work done this summer.
Thankfully, Hermione had been onto something at the end of their first year when she stated that wizards had no logic. Each recording sphere had its own range, and none of those ranges overlapped. This created 'dead zones' where magic could be used without anyone at the ministry being the wiser. When he had first lived through this upcoming August, his Lumos charm had fortuitously be performed in one of these safe areas, hence the Ministry not tacking that charge onto his casting of Prongs.
The average witch or wizard was not meant to know anything about open wards, because it was actually fairly simple to neutralize them. Harry did, and it gave him a tactical advantage over the zoo rejects that he had the misfortune of sharing blood with; when the confrontation occurred, and he knew it would, he could safely make use of their greatest terror to force them to leave him be for the rest of the summer.
Vernon's company car finally pulled into the driveway, and the Dursleys left him to gather all his belongings and carry them inside himself. Not that it was a task, really, considering that he had put a feather-light charm on his trunk before the Hogwarts Express had arrived at the station, but it was the principle of the matter.
I shouldn't be all that surprised, Harry groused to himself, because when have they ever done something for me out of kindness? Even taking me in was because they were worried that other wizards were watching their every move. He carried his trunk across the kitchen and had begun to ascend the staircase when he heard Vernon's bellow.
"Boy, you put all your… things in the cupboard. You have so many chores to do that you won't have time for your freakishness."
He hummed to himself as he set his trunk down on the bottom stair and walked back into the kitchen where his uncle was standing. Ah, that's where the pesky bugger is! The orb of the Ministry's ward was hovering in one of the room's corners, incidentally behind Vernon's considerable girth. This setup was just too perfect for Harry to resist having a bit of fun.
"No, Vernon, I don't think I will be able to do those chores. I have far too many projects to do already this summer. Magical projects," he said, enjoying watching the humanoid walrus turn purple. Just like Luna no longer feared what her housemates would do to her, he didn't care if Vernon had an issue with what he was or did.
Vernon pointed a shaking finger at him. "Now you listen here, boy. Your aunt and I put up with your… abnormality, so you will do what we tell you to do to make up for being a drain on us. We put food in your ungrateful mouth—"
"Food that I cook, and get to eat only what the three of you can't put away."
"—and a roof over your head—"
"I'm not sure that a cupboard under the stairs really counts."
"—so you put your damn tricks in that cupboard, or so help me—"
"Or so help you what!" Harry shouted. This was a surprise to the obese man, and Harry let go of his temper; he had wanted to say this for years. "You can't do a bloody thing to me! You know why, you freak?" He knew he shouldn't, but he couldn't help the delight he felt in throwing the Dursleys' favorite epithet back at one of them. Sixteen years of verbal abuse left just as many scars as physical abuse, even if they were invisible to the naked eye.
He slowly drew his wand, brandishing it at Vernon, who actually took a step back. "I can do what I want, when I want, and you're just going to have to get used to it. I have the power now, Vernon."
"But you can't," the walrus gasped, "they'll expel you from that school of yours."
"Oh no, they won't. You see, the rules change when you finish the fourth year; I can use magic whenever I want, and they won't do a thing to stop me. Finite!" The blue bolt of light flew from the wand, skimmed across Vernon's temple, and hit the exact center of the Ministry's node. It turned a violent shade of red and shrunk from the size of a beach ball to that of an apple, indicating that it was temporarily disabled.
"See, no owls." Harry tapped the wand's tip against his palm to draw Vernon's attention; fear was the only language the man understood, so he needed to play this just so. "You know, they taught us an interesting little spell in Defense this year called the Cruciatus Curse. It causes pain, so much pain that people kept under it have actually lost their minds. It's illegal to use on another wizard or witch, but our laws consider Muggles – that's you, uncle, in case you forgot – to be nothing more than animals. I'm sure that the Ministry wouldn't mind me using you to practice it on."
By now Vernon's face had turned the white of old porridge, and he stumbled backwards only to trip and fall onto the floor. "You can't do that," he whispered, "you aren't tough enough."
"Vernon, Vernon, Vernon. You gave me fourteen years of hatred for you, your wife, and your son. Did you never think that it was going to come back to haunt you?" He walked to where his uncle's body was spread out and pointed the wand straight at the man's forehead. "Give me a reason why I shouldn't kill you now."
That was enough for Vernon, and with a whimper, he soiled himself. The stench was overpowering, but Harry kept his green eyes staring into murky blue.
"Since you can't think of one, I'll tell you. Just killing you wouldn't be enough. No, I want you to suffer, and anxiety is one of the greatest forms of suffering. You won't know when I'll draw my wand, what I'll curse you with. Am I the reason your back gives out, keeping you in bed for weeks? If you lose your job, is it due to your own incompetence or my magic? Have I wilted Petunia's prize begonias, or is it the weather? And do you know what the best part is, Vernon? Whether I'm the cause or not, I know and you know that there isn't one bloody thing you can do to me in return, not without making me very, very angry."
He moved his wand away from his uncle and conjured three small clay figures in his left hand, one for each of the Dursleys, that he held in front of Vernon's face. "I hold your family's lives in the palm of my hand. Leave me alone, and you might just make it through this summer intact. Cause problems," he clenched his fist around the models, squeezing clay between his fingers, "and I'll make your remaining time on this earth hell.
"Do you understand?" Vernon stared at him, so he shot a pinching hex at the man's shoulder. "Do you understand?" This time the walrus nodded, so Harry returned his wand to his pocket. He left the kitchen, then poked his head back in. "And clean yourself up. This isn't a barn, after all."
Grabbing his trunk, he staggered upstairs and tried to keep the shaking of his limbs to a minimum. Only after he had closed the door to his bedroom did he allow himself to collapse.
Merlin's beard, that was harder than I expected. I don't want them to fear me, but it isn't like anything else will make them back off. He wiped off his brow, surprised to find himself in a cold sweat. I need to get Potter Manor back into shape, just so I don't have to live here anymore. My threats will probably be enough, but I'll have to watch my back around here, just in case. There's no telling if they'll try to get rid of me if I don't keep an eye on them.
Hermione's ride back home was no less uncomfortable than Harry's. This was why she planned everything out: what had seemed like a good idea at the time was certainly not in hindsight. Her mother had been increasingly withdrawn as the night progressed; her father, on the other hand, started grumbling about her having a boyfriend once they left King's Cross, continued while they were eating dinner, and was still going strong as they walked through the front door of their home in Chelsea. Her face burning in embarrassment from his threats of grievous bodily harm and a free dental exam, she rushed to her bedroom.
Oooookay, I'm going to need to redecorate this place. Her walls were a dark pink, completely at odds with the blue and gray her lovers had painted the master bedroom in the Manor. Her carpet was a thick shag rug, and while she would love to make it worthy of the name, it was just too different from what she had become accustomed to. To put the proverbial cherry on top, the bed sitting in the middle of the room was, much to her shame, absolutely buried in throw pillows. When she moved in with Harry, she had brought a portion of them with her to add a little flair, but he and Luna had given her an ultimatum once they saw how many she had: she could either sleep with her pillows or with her lovers. Obviously, she had returned them to storage at once.
Her bookcases, however, were the greatest eyesore. She had filled them to overflowing, making it difficult to pull any of her books free without causing an avalanche of paper. Her mother had ruled that she could only have three bookcases in her room, which meant she needed to push down her heartbreak and box some of the books up; taking note of the available spaces, she realized that she couldn't even fit all of the past school year's textbooks on the shelves. With a sigh, she transferred her shrunken trunk from her pocket to the nearby nightstand and started the laborious process of sorting her books.
An hour and a half after she had begun, there was a knock on her door. "It's open!" she called, her mind still on whether she should place the romance novel in her hand in the 'put on shelves if there's space' or 'deserves a second look' pile. With a mental coin flip, she dropped it on the former, which was several times larger than latter but still smaller than the 'keep in room' pile. The 'discard'pile contained only one book.
"Is it all right if I come in?" her mother asked. "I wanted to talk to you about Harry."
Hermione sighed. "Is this the 'I want you to stay away from him' talk or the 'I'm going to get as much information as I can in order to scare you out of dating him' talk?"
"Neither, it's the 'you're gone for ten months out of the year, and even though I know you don't need or want me around anymore, I still hope to be at least a small part of your life' talk."
She winced guiltily. In the future, she had drifted farther and farther away from her parents and the Muggle world as the years went by. It said something about their relationship when memory charming them was easier than explaining why they needed to leave the country. "I didn't mean to imply that I didn't want to be with you or Dad. Between the Quidditch World Cup last summer and the Yule Ball, I hadn't realized how little time we've spent together."
"I know you didn't, honey. I knew when you wanted to attend a boarding school that your father and I would miss seeing you grow up; I just didn't expect it to hurt this much." Her mother settled herself on the bed's comforter. "Now, about Harry?"
"What about him?"
"That kiss wasn't something two people who have just started dating do. It was far too intimate for that."
"Could you just ask the question you want to ask?" she asked, her cheeks stained by her flush.
"Fine, have you two been having sex?"
How do I answer this? Yes, we've had sex plenty of times, but we hadn't at this point in time. She already knows there's something more going on between us, so I can't say no, but considering I told them I wasn't in a relationship in the letter I sent that Christmas, a few months is incredibly quick for me to jump into his bed. Perhaps a middle road would be best?
"We have not had sex beyond oral, no."
Her mother blushed as well. "That was far more specific than I was expecting to hear."
"Mum, I understand your concerns, and I'm willing to answer your questions frankly and honestly. If you aren't willing to hear it, though, we could always postpone this…"
"No, no, we need to get this out of the way." Her mother took a deep breath in an attempt to relax. "Are you two planning on doing so this summer, then?"
"No, Mum, Harry and I aren't going to have sex until at least the end of October." A cocked head prompted her to explain. "That's when Luna will turn fifteen."
"Why are you waiting until she turns fifteen?"
Here comes the moment of truth, Hermione thought. She hadn't accepted her attraction to other women until after she had already destroyed her parents' memories, so she was unsure how they would react to her leaving the closet, as it were. "I'm waiting because Magical Britain's age of consent is fifteen, and I want my first time to be with my girlfriend as well as my boyfriend."
"Oh." Her mother was shocked, but at least she wasn't visibly disgusted. "So you're… you're…"
"I'm bisexual, Mum." She reached out to take her mother's hand, but sighed and drew back when the older woman pulled away. She said sadly, "I thought you'd be happy that I found people who love me."
"I'm not unhappy, Hermione. But why? Wouldn't dating Harry be enough without also dating Luna? And how is he dealing with his girlfriend having someone on the side?"
"Um, Mum? Harry's dating Luna, too." She took in her mother's bewildered expression and said hurriedly, "She and I were both attracted to Harry, and when we realized that we also had feelings for each other, we felt that we could make the relationship work. Harry certainly doesn't mind having two girlfriends. Mum? Miranda?"
Her mother started at her name "I see. Er, that's fine." She stood from the bed and robotically walked over to the door. "I'll see you in the morning for breakfast."
"Mum, please don't go. I don't want you angry with me just for being who I am."
"I'm not angry, Hermione. I… need some time to process this, that's all. We'll talk more tomorrow." With that, she departed.
Hermione fell face-first into her bed, tears streaming down her cheeks. That hadn't gone as well as she had hoped. It's a good thing that Harry will have the Manor mostly repaired this month. I may need a place to stay earlier than I planned.
Luna's ride home was short and uneventful. She and her father used the Floo to travel to the Rook, and then they prepared a simple dinner. As she brushed her hair before bed, she couldn't help but rejoice in having the Rook back at last. It's wonderful to be home again.
I'm not happy with the first scene. I don't know if it's the information dump in the beginning, or that the confrontation with Vernon sounds stilted, or that Harry just isn't that cold. I rewrote the scene twice, and this is the best I came up with.
Don't worry, the Grangers aren't going to disown Hermione because of her orientation or anything similar. I just feel that, if they grew up in the same era as my parents – which they would have if they had Hermione in their mid-twenties or older – they wouldn't be comfortable with the idea that their daughter was attracted to her own gender. That's not to say they have won't eventually accept it; they just never expected to be in that situation.
Does anyone care about the references, or would you rather I just made the occasional recommendation? In case you were curious, they were Vox Corporis by MissAnnThropic (Jake and Miranda Granger), This Means War by Jeconais on (Xeno/Horatio's article on Aberforth and the Brazilian soccer players), and Holly Evans and the Spiral Path by wordhammer (Dumbledore's enchanted clock that caused Harry/Holly to be literally tortured).
Chapter 11
Money Matters
Harry was pulled from Morpheus's realm by a soft snuffle. Cracking open one eye, he could just barely make out the white blur sitting on the headboard of his bed. "Morning, Hedwig." As with Dobby and Xeno, somehow she knew that he and the girls were from the future, and she had been quite put out that he had not immediately searched for her. She had thankfully restricted her vengeful pecks to his ears and hands, which he had healed as soon as she was out of sight. Considering how angry she had been, he felt it best that he not even try cajoling her into her cage, but had instead asked that she fly back to Surrey at her own pace.
Now that he was awake, he fumbled for his glasses as his stomach rumbled in protest at not being given dinner. He had fallen asleep practically as soon as the adrenaline from his fight with Vernon had dispersed; his Cruciatus exposure may be healed, but there was still some lingering fatigue from his magical core refilling after the experience. Hauling himself from his bed, he looked out his window and saw that both of the family's cars were gone, which meant he had the house all to himself, not that he would be there for long that morning.
After luxuriating in a warm shower for half an hour and changing into clothes that weren't rumpled from being slept in, he strolled into the kitchen and almost nonchalantly flicked a finishing charm from his wand at the Ministry's ward node. He would prefer to shut down the ward permanently, but that would require disabling all of the nodes, casting a magic-dampening spell on the entire neighborhood, and then using magesight to track down the wardstones and remove them. Quite frankly, he had better uses for his time, especially since he would spend the days he wasn't with the girls rebuilding Potter Manor.
Another growl from his abdomen reminded him of his priorities. "Dobby," he called out, and the elf appeared in a soft pop.
"Master Harry calls Dobby! What cans Dobby does for Master Harry?"
"Could you make me some breakfast? I don't care what, just make sure that Hedwig has plenty of bacon."
Dobby nodded at his usual frantic pace. "Dobby be making lots of rashers for Her Owlness."
Shaking his head at the elf's title for the owl — not that she wouldn't demand to be referred to by it if she could speak — Harry idly watched the pans and food flying through the air, eggs in a conga line waiting to be fried and sausages frolicking in a buttered skillet. Soon enough the entertainment was over, and Harry dedicated his attention to satisfying the beast in his belly while Hedwig, who had joined them midway through the show, contently munched on her greasy bacon. Once finished, he pushed himself away from the table. His plate vanished before he could pick it up, causing the snowy owl to glare blearily at Dobby. If he knew his bird as well as he thought, and he did, she would diligently eat the last crumb of pork before taking her day's rest.
He returned to his bedroom and found the key to his Gringotts vault. He pictured the Leaky Cauldron in his mind's eye, spun on his heel… and nothing happened. Frowning, he attempted to Disapparate again with the same results. Odd, I distinctly remember Fletcher and Dumbledore Apparating and Disapparating around here. He placed the tip of his wand against his right temple. "Oculos magicae."
The magesight charm provided a long-lasting passive effect when cast on lenses, like his glasses or Omnioculars, but it was meant to be used for the short term on the eyes themselves. The dome of the blood ward flared into existence, its surface racing with numbers and symbols. He ignored the formula displayed and twisted his wand as if it were a dial. The ward blurred and faded, but there was nothing outside of its protection, so he slowly spun the holly shaft in the opposite direction. Just inside the blood ward, threads drifting to the Ministry's node, was a thin white ward. He glanced at the runes drifting lazily across the surface and swore. "I was right, an Apparation ward with an additional charm to blind the Ministry to anyone coming in or out. Dumbledore probably cast it, which means he's the only one who can key people in. Well, he may want me isolated in this dump, but there's more than one way to skin a Kneazle."
Harry opened the window, allowing a hot, dry wind to blow in. He vaguely remembered this summer being oppressive, but at the moment, it was perfect for his needs; the high temperature would create a great number of updrafts for him to ride. He pocketed his wand and concentrated on his other self. He initially feared that he would be forced to meditate for several days or weeks to regain his animal form, but he was grateful when he felt his body shrinking, his fingers fusing together, his nose and jaws elongating to a sharp point. His clothing disappeared at the same time as his eyes shifted along the sides of his head and dark feathers sprouted from his skin.
After the first month of the trio barricading themselves inside the manor, they had all decided to become Animagi, and he had been overjoyed to learn that his form was a Peregrine Falcon, an animal that shared his love of diving at high speed after elusive flying objects. He was on the small side for the species, only sixteen inches tall, and that size was to his advantage here. A falcon flying around Little Whinging was an unusual event, but one that could be easily ignored; a teenager on a broom doing the same would be far harder to miss, and would almost certainly cause the Hit Wizards to arrest him for breaking the Statute of Secrecy.
With a hop and a few flaps, he moved to the windowsill and peered out. Snoring came from one of the bushes, so he forewent stealth and dropped off the ledge, his wings catching the hot air and bringing him up to a soaring height with a minimum of effort. He lazily floated away from the neighborhood, savoring the joy of flight once more, but he landed on a nearby rooftop after ten minutes. He was far enough away from Privet Drive by now to be out of the Ministry's ward, so he retook his original shape and again tried to travel to London. This time he was successful.
Diagon Alley was bustling when he entered from the Leaky Cauldron. Not that they knew it was him, of course; it was incredibly what simply changing his hair to a limp mousey brown did to lessen his noticeability. He had gleaned from the headlines of the Daily Prophet that the Ministry was already focused on destroying his reputation. Why else would they have featured a photograph of him right after escaping the graveyard, bloodstains and pallid face included? Shaking his head in exasperation, he began the trek to the marble behemoth of Gringotts.
"Packed with morons, of course," he groused, mocking his first memory of Molly Weasley in the same breath. He impatiently went to the end of the line farthest from the giant bronze doors and waited for his turn with the teller.
The creation of Gringotts Bank was an interesting footnote in the history of Magical Britain. During the goblin rebellion of 1756, the last remnants of the goblin force had been forced back to their stronghold in the northern Pennines mountain range, and the Wizarding Army spent seven weeks attempting fruitlessly to break through the underground fortress's defenses. Just as the Ministry was weighing the risks and rewards of using Fiendfyre on the mountains, so the tale went, a messenger from the Gringott clan brought word that the clan leader wished a parley. Their discourse lasted long into the night, but a deal was eventually struck. A platoon of wizards were guided into the fortress through a series of tunnels the next day and opened the main gate for the rest of the army to enter through.
Once the war was over, the sole remaining clan of British goblins demanded that Ministry uphold its side of the bargain. No one wanted the fighting to continue, so the goblins were given the control of the human's gold they wanted so much. The wizards, though, got the last laugh; the clan leader had been so desperate for the war to be over that he had neglected to read the magically binding treaty thoroughly before signing and missed the section that prevented that greedy and violent race from raising their weapons at the Wizarding World ever again. Their last native enemy defeated, the army was soon disbanded except for the elite Aurora Company that guarded the Minister and Wizengamot. Aurora Company was later merged with the DMLE to defend the country against users of the Dark Arts, becoming the Aurors.
"Next," the goblin called out snidely twenty minutes after Harry entered. He stepped up to the desk and handed his key to the irascible creature.
"I'd like to visit my vault, as well as speak to the account manager for the Potter family."
The goblin looked at the key for a moment, then returned it. "Whiptorn, escort the human to Goldfinger's office."
A younger and — literally — greener goblin appeared as if out of thin air. "This way, human," it sneered, and led him through a grimy entrance behind the desk, down a labyrinthine hallway, and finally to a plain wooden door with Goldfinger's name carved into it. Whiptorn opened the door and unceremoniously shoved Harry through it before slamming it to.
"Sit, boy," ground out the day's third goblin, this one corpulent from sitting behind a desk eating snacks all day if the plates stacked on one end of the desk were any indication. "What business do you have with me?"
"I am Harry Potter, and I need to request an audit of my accounts."
"Prove you are who you say you are, and we can discuss your audit after." Goldfinger handed him a sharp-edged stone and a small saucer. "Fill the vessel with blood."
He glanced at the rock, its surface stained with other people's blood. "I don't suppose I can just swear a magical vow that I'm me, can I?"
"And trust you to know your own identity? Certainly not, you could be deluded or the target of mental manipulation. Blood, however, does not lie. If you do not wish to verify your identity, get out of my office." Seeing no other way, he closed his fist around the stone, its sharp bite allowing blood to flow into the dish. Once he had enough, he set the object down on the desk, and Goldfinger threw him a wad of rough gray cloth that he used to staunch the weeping wound. Magicking it closed would have to wait until he had exited the bank; drawing a wand here was a serious offense, and he didn't want to ruin his morning with a battle to escape the bank.
The goblin drew a black quill from his desk, set the nib into the pool of blood, which was quickly sucked up into the pen, and then placed it point-down on a scrap of parchment. The feather wrote out 'Harry James Potter'.
"Good," Goldfinger stated, though his tone indicated the situation was anything but, "I was convinced that you would be the two-thousand, three-hundred and sixty-fifth person to try to claim relation to the Potter family since your parents' deaths. Now that that is out of the way, which account did you want audited?"
Thankfully, Harry had already claimed his vaults once, though he hadn't asked for an audit. That was simply to reassure himself that Dumbledore hadn't been sticking his fingers where they didn't belong and weren't wanted. "My trust vault, the main Potter vault, and Lily Evans's personal account." His mother, like Hermione, liked to keep as many options open as possible, so she had opened a vault specifically for her 'mad money', as his lover called it. As she had restricted access to herself and her children, his father would have never been able to touch it.
The goblin grumbled at the work he was obligated to perform and pulled a thin book out of the shelf behind him to consult. "Your trust vault currently contains three hundred galleons, and will be refilled from the main vault on July 1 to a total of fifteen hundred. That vault has 80,497 galleons, ten sickles, and twenty-two knuts inside. Your mother's personal vault has a balance of two thousand galleons and five sickles.
"The accounts for the family vault and the Evans vault have not had any other activity after 1981 beyond the removal of security fees and the deposit of interest from their investments, and will continue to have none until you come of age and can legally demand entrance. The only activities for your trust vault this year were a transfer on August 1 to Hogwarts for five hundred galleons, and August 26, a withdrawal by one Molly Weasley of seven hundred galleons."
That was a lot of money, far more than necessary for a single textbook and what he had since learned was a set of basic dress robes. "I didn't authorize for her to take that much from my account; she couldn't have possibly needed more than fourteen or so. Is there any way I can get compensation from her for the excess?"
Goldfinger harrumphed. "If you want to control how much someone can remove from your account, you should not give them your key."
He grimaced, that was a good point. "And you're sure that no one has withdrawn any money from the other two vaults? I have reason to suspect that a… certain individual desires my family's finances."
This prompted a snarl from the goblin. "I do not care if this 'individual' claims to be Khorne himself. Unless this person can prove descent from the Potters or Lily Evans, he will not be granted access. Now, if there is nothing else, begone."
Harry cautiously stepped out the door and found himself in the lobby by the grand entrance. I don't like the goblins much, but I can't deny they're efficient.
After healing his wound, then returned to the bank for another wait to get a ride down to his trust vault, Harry made his way to his other destination, the shop of the reclusive and, if he was honest with himself, creepy Garrick Ollivander. He entered the building, ignoring the bell over the door, and moved his gaze over all of the room he could see. He still remembered being surprised by the elderly man when he first came in here, and he would prefer to not have that happen this time.
"Hello again, Mr. Potter."
He jumped forwards and whirled around, wand out ahead of him while he prepared to cast a shield with his off hand. Even though he was only two feet from the door, the wandcrafter had somehow snuck up behind him. "Do you have to do that?"
"No, I don't have to. I just enjoy it." Ollivander walked over to the counter and sat down behind it. "Now, what can I do for you?"
Harry cleared his throat and joined him. "Have you heard about what happened after the third task of the Triwizard Tournament?"
"I have."
"Then you know that Voldemort has returned."
Ollivander frowned. "I do not know that, I only know that you say He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has escaped Death's clutches. Nevertheless, I fail to see why you have come to me."
"Well, when he was throwing curses at me, I cast a disarming hex at him, and our spells connected —"
"Connected, you say?" Now he had the man's full attention. "Connected how?"
"Well, both spells turned gold, and there was a lot of phoenix song and a cage of light," Harry said as he tried to recall the memory. He also knew that he would need to twist the story a little for his request to make sense; he couldn't say that needed a new wand because he survived his girlfriend using a Killing Curse on him, after all. "His wand sent some beads of light into my wand, and now I'm having difficulty casting spells with it."
"His wand forced yours to submit?" Ollivander pondered. "Yes, I can see how that might lose you your wand's loyalty. You are in need of a new one." Harry nodded, and the wandsmith rose from his seat and scurried into the shelves. "Very well, allow me see what I have in stock. We'll try this, and this, perhaps that, these most assuredly, doubtful but possibly, and those."
He returned with his arms loaded with boxes. "Yes, let us begin anew. Beech and dragon heartstring, nine inches, flexible." Harry gave it a wave, and a weak spark came out before Ollivander snatched it back. "Yes, that will happen now that you are accustomed to using a wand. Every wizard may use almost any wand, but those that are proper matches will be few and far between.
"How about hawthorn and unicorn hair, ten inches?" Another weak response.
"6½ inches, walnut and phoenix feather." There was a stronger reaction, but considering it sent a lightning bolt at the box the wand came in, he would prefer using something else.
"Pine and unicorn hair, twelve inches." A yowl of a dying cat, and Harry nearly threw it back at its maker.
They spent over an hour trying out different combinations, and Harry had become very worried about his immediate future, when Ollivander pulled another box from the back. "A strange combination, but you astonished me when you were eleven, as well. Eleven inches, acacia with heartstring from a particularly crafty Peruvian Vipertooth."
He took the wand in his hand and instantly knew it was different. It seemed to hum in his hand, and a short flick created a ball of brilliant blue light. "This fits even better than my old wand did."
"Interesting, very interesting. Your previous wand was holly, a wood excellent for protection, but one that often finds a match in wizards with a tendency for impulsive decisions." He looked askance at Harry, and the boy had the decency to blush. "Acacia, on the other hand, is usable only for wizards who have progressed passed the 'bangs and smells' magics, as I like to call them; wizards who understand the value of subtlety and prudence."
Harry certainly understood being subtle. After his lovers' near fatal accidents and the mass desertion of the various members of the Order, he had realized that he couldn't continue to wade into battle as if he were invincible, for he refused to put either Hermione or Luna through what he had been forced to deal with. Unfortunately, his dueling repertoire was composed entirely of radiant jets of color, so he decided to move away from the field of magic he was used to and look for something that was dangerous over a distance and could not be easily traced back to its source. One of the paths he explored was Mind Magic.
Memory charms, Legilimency, compulsions, even the Imperius Curse. These spells were invisible when they left the wand and, without proper preparation on the part of the victim, were nearly unbreakable. He had tried a few spells, only to find that he had a natural talent for them now that the Horcrux was no longer tied to his mind. It shouldn't have been surprising, to be honest, considering that he was capable of throwing off an Imperius cast by a master of the Dark Arts and that it took Snape several seconds to expel him when he had reflected a Legilimency probe during one of their 'Occlumency lessons'. It even explained why he had such difficulty learning Occlumency to begin with, for the two branches were fundamentally opposed; he could not be receptive to others' thoughts while holding a shield in front of his own.
This was why the Death Eaters feared him so much. There were many witches and wizards who could hold off an assault by themselves for a short while given enough cover, but he was unique in that he would turn a battle into a bloodbath without anyone ever knowing he was there. Adding in his Invisibility Cloak gave him a distinctly unfair advantage.
Ollivander's voice pulled him out of his reverie. "That will be sixteen galleons, Mr. Potter."
"I could have sworn that my first wand was only seven."
"It was," the man explained, "but the Ministry gives me a smaller subsidy for replacement wands than they do for the first. My payment, please?"
He reached into his pocket to pull out his money, but a paranoid suspicion stopped his hand. "Mr. Ollivander, you weren't planning on telling Dumbledore about this, were you? He seemed unusually well-informed about my and Voldemort's wands, as well as their relationship to each other."
"Who I tell about the goings on of my shop are no one's concerns but my own. Is that all, Mr. Potter?"
"Actually, there's one more thing." A Stupefy would have been easier, but a left hook was far more satisfying. He used his holly wand to levitate the unconscious man down the aisles to the back of the building and set him roughly on a chair in front of his workbench. "I really don't want Dumbles to hear about this. Episkey, Obliviate. Ennervate." The waking charm was quick to work its magic if someone had been hit by a stunner, but he knew from personal experience that it left several minutes of disorientation and grogginess when used on someone with head trauma. Pocketing both wands, he left Ollivander's store and the Alley entirely, then Disapparated when he was out of sight of any observant Muggles.
It was time to go home.
It was time to return to Potter Manor.
Yes, the trio are Animagi; I hinted about it in chapter 3. I know it's fairly common in fanfiction, but it's a useful skill and, if three schoolchildren can figure out and complete the process on their own before taking their OWLs, it can't be that difficult.
I don't like the goblins, but I'm trying to be scrupulously fair here. They'll work as bankers rather than warriors, but they're not happy about it, which is why they are such assholes.
Since I still have people bugging me about it, I put replies in the chapter because there are people, especially those without accounts, who will read reviews and wonder the same things that have already been asked; I know, I used to be one of them, and still am to some extent. Also, doing it this way means I can keep track of which reviews I've responded to. If you have a problem with this, remember that I'm not forcing you to read them! At this point the chapter is done, so feel free to move on to something else.