Chapter 12: Family and FriendsSummary:Welcome to the 'what the fuck' chapter. Also known as 'shut up, Harry,''whatever that means' and 'language'.
Glad to have you.
And glad to have you again, since apparently I absolutely love repeating the same thing over and over and over…
Here's what you missed on Glee.
Notes:Sirius is chaotic.
Remus is done. Just done.
The Grangers need some blood pressure meds.
Gnarlhorn and Rufus have the patience of a saint.
Swords!
Sex! (I tried, guys. Don't come at me- I had my first a long time ago.)
Also, this seventeen thousand words contain useless and unplanned sermons on art and Hermione's first steps in political propaganda.
Enjoy!
And remember, bitches.
I know everything.
xoxo, Goss- no, sorry.
-A.
Sorry again. Wrong one.
S.
Did I mention I'm returning to my teenage tv series era?
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text"So, Pup, care to explain whatever the fuck just happened?"
"Language, Sirius."
"You can't order me around. I'm the adult here," Sirius looked bewildered.
"And I'm a Princess. So suck it up." Hermione gloated.
"You're a what, now?"
Harry sighed, already exasperated.
They had just arrived in Grimmauld through the Department of Mysteries' private Apparition Point.
Sirius nearly fell over when he noticed the changes around the house, especially since in his mind he'd left it minutes before -in a completely different state.
He was still baffled by the Head Auror's presence, but if Harry trusted him, then he would wait before freaking out.
He swung his head around wildly, taking in the lightened walls and the sparkling marble floor.
"What the fuck?" Sirius muttered incessantly.
"Yes, well, it's a long story," Harry admitted, combing his fingers through his hair.
"Then you better start talking," Sirius was getting impatient.
'Should we call Remus over?' Hermione proposed.
'Yeah, I'm tired of explaining the same things over and over. Do you think he's still with the werewolves?'
'Only one way to know.'
Hermione conjured her Patronus, giving her orders.
Sirius gaped at the sight, his eyes growing misty and his hands trembling.
"I know," Harry placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.
"Pup, you…"
The bang of the door interrupted him, and Walburga's dulcet tones filled the foyer.
"Shut up, hag," a familiar voice snapped, closing her drapes in passing.
Remus Lupin entered the sitting room in a frenzy, having apparated just after receiving Hermione's summons. He'd heard very little of what had happened recently outside of the Packs- but if the two cubs had holed up in Grimmauld, then it couldn't be good.
He had to blink when he saw Sirius Black sitting on the wingback armchair in front of the fire.
He rubbed his eyes with trembling hands and looked again.
"What the fuck?"
"Language! What is it today with you potty mouths?" Hermione threw her hands in the air.
'You don't complain this much about my potty mouth,'Harry teased.
'Shut up, Harry.'
Remus did a double-take.
"What? How..?" He croaked, then cleared his throat.
"Pads?" He risked a whisper.
"Hiya, Moony, why so gloomy? We saw each other, like, half an hour ago. Where were you, by the way?"
"Half an hour?" Remus repeated incredulously, his hysterical, humourless laugh echoing in the room. "You fucking bastard!" Remus didn't even think about confirming Sirius' identity before he punched him in the jaw.
"Ow!"
"You've been dead for months, Sirius!" Sirius blanched, holding the rapidly swelling area where Moony's fist had landed.
"What?" He repeated, this time in a whisper.
"Calm down, all of you. We're going to explain everything."
Remus did another double-take when he noticed Scrimgeour's presence.
He collapsed on a sofa, deflated.
"This better be good."
"You have no idea, Moony. Firewhisky?"
Even Hermione didn't have the heart to oppose him.
"Kreacher! Come here, you little fucking monster!"
"No, Sirius!" Hermione intervened.
"This is not-"
"We need him, Sirius!"
"Why?" He shouted. "The bastard sent you into a trap, Hermione! He's the reason I died!"
"Because he's the one who knows this house best," Harry interjected calmly, understanding Hermione's line of thought. Hermione nodded slightly- they would ask Kreacher about the Horcrux that apparently was in Grimmauld.
"Why would we need-"
"Not now, Padfoot," Hermione put a hand on his shoulder. He looked ready to retort, but the warning in her eyes made him shut his trap. A miracle, if you asked Remus.
"Let us finish, and then we'll answer any questions, I promise." Harry finished.
"Very well," he accepted defeat- temporarily.
"This has been… interesting, but I have to go prep for your trial, Mr Black. I want to ask one last thing, though. How the hell did you escape from Azkaban?"
Sirius grinned rakishly, stood up, and in a second Padfoot was running circles around the table.
"Right, right. I saw that in the memories," Rufus remembered. His tolerance for what he'd named the Potter Posse's bullshit was starting to rival a monk's.
"Dementors don't affect my animal form as much," Sirius added once he transformed back.
"Oh! About that," Harry interjected.
He shared a glance with Hermione, who sighed tiredly but gestured to go on.
'One, two…'
"Roar!" Two enormous lions made their entrance in the -thankfully spacious- foyer.
They turned back to their natural forms, laughing uproariously at Sirius, who had fallen from his chair in fright.
"What the hell!" Sirius laughed with them after a second, delighted, while Remus -seconds away from banging his head against a wall- shared a commiserating glance with Rufus.
"Of course, they're all illegal Animagi," Rufus nodded to himself, resigned. "Does idiocy run in your group, or…?"
"My father was one too, if that's of any consolation," Harry said nonchalantly.
"It's not. It just proves my point." Rufus was tempted to drink another tumbler of Firewhisky- or seven.
"We want this to be recorded, as we don't need to give people anything more to weaponise against us, but we'd prefer it to remain as quiet as possible," Hermione warned. "Very well," Scrimgeour got up from his chair. "Since you've just gifted me an additional three days of paperwork, I'm going back to the office."
"Thank you, Rufus," Hermione said sincerely.
The Minister's help had been invaluable.
"It's my job," Rufus saluted them, then stepped into the green flames of the Floo.
Sirius was laughing so hard that tears ran down his face, his stomach aching and his forehead half-pressed onto the backrest of the armchair.
"You- you-" he hiccuped another laugh. "You kissed and ended up married?" His hysterics contrasted with Harry and Hermione's deadpan faces.
"Fucking- hilarious-" he melted into another pool of tears, his barking laugh echoing in the sitting room.
"Very funny," Hermione's voice was flat.
"You-" hiccup. "You have no idea," a bark. "James passed six and a half years trying to get Lily Evans to even look at him, and his son only has to kiss his best friend to get a wife. That's fucking priceless. Best prank ever."
"A wife, and Merlin-like amount of magic," Remus added, still in disbelief.
"Right, right. Forgot about the whole superpowers situation."
"Well, there's little to laugh about, really," Harry said. "Watch this."
They'd asked Rufus to lend them the portable Pensieve for the night, just for this moment.
Some things needed to be seen to be believed- or understood.
Harry shared a glance with Hermione.
'You sure about this?' She asked.
'If we can't trust them, we can trust no one, Mi. We need as much help as possible.'
'Fair enough. What about the Horcruxes? Are we going to talk about it?'
'Yes. They deserve to know what we're fighting against, I think.'
'Very well.'
"We're going to show you what we showed to Rufus, at first, just to give you context," Hermione said primly- so much that even Sirius sat straighter in his seat.
"-having Minnie and Lily fused in the same person. She looks like she's going to put me in detention at any moment- it's uncanny," Sirius stage-whispered to Remus.
"Shut it, Padfoot," Harry said blandly.
"Oi! I'm your Godfather!"
"And right now, I need you to be serious. Don't-" he realised his error too late.
"I'm always Sirius," he took the bait immediately. Harry passed a hand on his face, his glasses askew.
"Then-" Hermione interjected more forcefully. "We'll let you see what has happened recently."
Harry nodded.
"No one else can know about some of this, guys."
Sirius and Remus exchanged a glance, nodding firmly.
"And," Hermione added. "You have to give me your wands."
"Why?" Remus asked, a bad feeling welling up in his gut.
"Because we can't have you hexing people in the middle of dinner."
'Shall we hide the Floo powder, too?' Harry proposed.
'Good idea.'
Harry spied with the corner of his eye the furtive figure of Dobby, who had your run away from the room with a suspicious lump in his tunic. Floo powder, Harry guessed. It was exceedingly useful to have a bonded house elf, it turned out.
"Ready?" Harry asked the two Marauders.
"I was born ready, Pup."
"I don't know about that."
Remus exited the memory of their fifth year pallid and shaken.
Sirius looked like he would puke at the slightest prompt, but soon righted himself.
His eyes hardened with rage, and he charged towards the Floo like a bat out of hell.
"I swear to Merlin, I'm going to take Dumbledore and-"
"We're not done," Hermione reminded him. That was the second time in a day she had to stop someone from murdering Dumbledore. It was quickly becoming a full-time job.
"There's more?" Sirius collapsed onto his chair, his head between his hands.
Remus quietly found a wall to support himself.
"The worst part is- well, not for us exactly, but- you know, I'd rather just show you."
'Are you going to put your conversation with the other Harry into the Pensieve?' Hermione asked curiously.
'A bit about our whole year, to be precise. Our meetings with the Professors and the Goblins. Rufus, too.'
'Good, that'll give them a general idea. I think I'll read them some parts of Hermione's letter later- you know, for the Horcruxes and such. Also, I'm curious about your interactions with the other Harry. Do you think we could share memories and images between us, bypassing the Pensieve?'
'It's a possibility, I reckon.'
'We'll try it later.' Harry gave a nod.
"So?" Sirius prompted, looking a lot more serious than before. Pun intended.
"This is going to be unbelievable," Harry cautioned. "But I swear it's all true. This Pensieve is used for interrogations, and it detects false or manipulated memories. So you'll know if I'm bullshitting you or not."
"Harry, we've just seen you battle a Basilisk. I think we're fine." Remus scoffed at the absurdity of it all.
"You really are not." Hermione honestly said.
"You received a dream from your future self?" Remus asked incredulously.
"Yep." Harry hovered over the stone bowl, selecting other memories.
"How- why-" Remus had never seen magic such as this. It was wondrous. Revolutionary. Terrifying.
Sirius was uncharacteristically quiet, his hand covering his eyes.
"Padfoot?" Harry asked, concerned.
"I'm a fucking failure. James and Lily would kick my ass."
"Pads-"
"It's the truth!" He shouted. "Fuck, Moony! I let myself be killed by that psychopath because I was being an asshole, and I left Harry alone! He won a war, alone! He married the wrong girl, and he was alone! He lost everything, and he. Was. Alone! I should have been there for him," Sirius' words cracked with suppressed sobs.
"Now you are," Hermione interrupted calmly. "Now you're here, Sirius, and you can make a difference."
"How?" he croaked.
"You help us win this war. You find a life purpose that doesn't include moping around this house. You start living like you have a future in front of you- that includes not treating duels with the likes Bellatrix Lestrange like a joke," Harry said, and Padfoot nodded in grim agreement.
"I'll-" Sirius sniffed, quickly wiping his eyes with a hand. "I'll try, Pup. For you- and for Kitten," a small smirk appeared on his lips.
"For who, now?" Hermione suppressed a smile.
"You're my Goddaughter-in-law, now. Gotta welcome you into the fold- especially since you did half the work to save my sorry hide, twice over."
"A Dogfather-in-law," Hermione faked a sigh. "Just what I needed."
Sirius barked a small, watery laugh.
'Did you really need to show them my attempts at flirting?' Harry asked, red in the face. Sirius was roaring with laughter, supporting himself on Remus to not fall on his arse.
'Yes, I did.'
'They'll take the mickey out of me for the next millennium.'
'Yes, they will.'
'I'll get you for this.'
'I mean, you can try.'
"Bastard! Son of a bitch! Senile, manipulative cunt-" Sirius ranted incessantly, his tone raising with each word. "I'm going to murder him!"
"We still need Dumbledore, Padfoot." Hermione reminded flatly. She felt like a broken record.
"I don't care!" He yelled.
"Then start to!" Harry yelled back.
Today had been an enormous emotional rollercoaster for Sirius. Hearing that the Headmaster had actively planned his Godson's death was the last drop, and he was torn between killing the old fucker and setting himself -and that whole cursed house- on fire.
Harry closed his eyes tiredly.
"Let us finish this first, please? It's been a long day, and we're still magically half-depleted. We'd like to eat something and go to sleep early." He admitted.
"Half-depleted?" Remus asked incredulously. "Magic is dripping from you, Harry. And what should you do to exhaust yourselves to that extent, anyway?"
"We got Sirius back, that's what we did," Hermione stated.
"Let's get this over with, yes?"
The two men gripped the Potters in a group hug, shedding silent tears.
They'd finished reading the letter from 2019. Hermione had decided to dispel the charm on the ink, not finding in herself the energy to read it again after such a day.
Harry had asked if she was sure, as the content of the letter was very personal.
'It's not me, Harry. Not really. She led a totally different life, and she doesn't even exist anymore. They are family, and deserve to know the details. I can provide that.' She'd answered sincerely.
The letter, coupled with the fresh memory of the other Harry's visit, had a great impact on the two older wizards. They were immensely glad that Harry and Hermione had avoided that fate, and silently promised themselves to do their utmost to aid them in any way possible.
It was time for the Marauders to get back in the game.
Sirius felt an enormous sense of satisfaction and pride when he saw Harry ripping into the Headmaster.
That conniving arsehole. If he ever passed through his hands it wouldn't be a pretty scene, that was for sure.
He was furious on Harry's behalf, and deeply anguished by the other Harry's story.
He wouldn't let any of that be repeated.
Marauder's word of honour.
Remus witnessed with admiration their handling of the Minister, emphatically agreeing with both of their viewpoints. His cubs were more competent, confident and powerful than any sixteen and seventeen-year-olds had any right to be.
He was enormously proud of them and felt more determined than ever in his quest to help them.
For the first time in years, he had a real pack again- and he wouldn't let anyone hurt them.
Not for anything.
"So, Your Highness, what's the plan?"
'I knew I couldn't escape this.' Hermione sighed.
"The plan is to eat something and sleep, Sirius," she rolled her eyes.
"Well, yes, but what about tomorrow? It's Christmas Eve!"
"Tomorrow morning we have an appointment with the Goblins to visit the Vaults and train, then we're popping in at my parents' for lunch," Hermione listed.
"Then we have-"
"Wait, wait. Your parents?" Sirius started laughing.
"Yes," Harry admitted, a sense of foreboding swelling within him. "I'm going to explain how I married their teenage daughter and how we're in the middle of a War. Also, how we ended up as wizarding royalty. Happy?"
"Can I come? Please, let me come."
"No," they said in unison. "You have to collect your memories for the trial and sign the permission slips for using them- and the Veritaserum. Rufus is coming to collect them around noon, I think," Harry informed.
"Boo-ring," Sirius intoned.
"Do you want your free-dom," Harry sing-songed in response. "Or not?"
"Very well," Sirius sighed.
"As I was saying," Hermione continued. "We have contacted Bill Weasley to help ward my parents' house. He should come in the afternoon. After that, we should hopefully be able to get some free time," she finished, already feeling tired. "We originally asked Professor Dumbledore to come to Gringotts tomorrow, but then we realised it would be better for him to train us on the same day as Professor McGonagall, but different times", she explained. "Training with Gnarlhorn and getting our Family Magic will be overwhelming enough, no need to add anything else."
"Couldn't they come together? Albus and Minnie, I mean." Sirius asked.
"No. You can't get both the Headmaster and the Deputy Headmistress out of Hogwarts at the same time, especially during these times," Remus explained.
"Fair enough," Sirius nodded.
"What about the Horcruxes?" Remus asked quietly.
"I think the two of you should start searching the house. Ask Kreacher if he ever saw anything like that, maybe. No one knows more about this place than him." Harry said.
"Right, that's why we needed him," Sirius ran a nervous hand through his shaggy, long hair.
"We'll talk to the Goblins about the one in Gringotts after we finish these few days of business. We think we should build our relationship with them some more before approaching the subject," Hermione explained.
"And we'll search for the one at Hogwarts when we return, of course," Harry added.
"That's the best we can do right now," Hermione admitted.
"It's more than enough, Kitten," Sirius consoled her.
"I hope so."
Harry collapsed on their bed, boneless.
He'd just taken a shower, having waited half an hour for Hermione to finish hers -time he spent sitting on the edge of the bed and staring at the wall.
He was completely drained.
The day had been infernally long, and all he wanted in that moment was to cuddle with his wife and sleep for ten hours. Better, ten days.
He silenced the room with a sweep of his wand, then slid under the heavy duvet.
'You okay, there?' Hermione whispered.
'Yeah,' Harry breathed in her scent, immediately feeling calmer.
'It just… a lot, you know? Having Sirius back, dealing with everything else… I don't think I've actually processed any of it yet.'
'Yeah, I get it,' Hermione said, brushing some hair out of his eyes. 'Come here,' she said, opening her arms.
Harry lay his forehead in the spot where her shoulder met her neck, and her arms wrapped around his waist.
Since they'd started sleeping in the same bed, he'd developed the habit of synchronising his breathing with hers. It helped him a lot, hearing her regular breaths and matching them- it slowed his own rapid rhythm when he felt anxious, relaxed him when he was tense, and most of all reminded him that she was there with him. That he wasn't alone, trapped in Dudley's spare room or in the cupboard under the stairs. That he would never be there again.
Harry closed his eyes, wrapped in the warmth of Hermione's skin and the sweet scent of her hair, and fell asleep.
He'd never felt safer.
"Rise and shine, Padfoot!" Harry slapped Sirius' shoulder good-naturedly.
Unfortunately, Sirius was feeling the effects of a hangover the likes of which he hadn't experienced since Gryffindor won the Quidditch Cup in '77.
At Harry's greeting, the arm that was holding his head upright slipped, and his forehead banged on the table.
"Ow!" This was the second time in not even twelve hours that something hit his face.
"Is there a conspiracy against my good looks?"
"What good looks, Sirius?" Hermione snarked in passing, her hair a frizzy cloud around her face. She hadn't yet touched her morning tea, and as such had to be treated like a very, very dangerous magical beast.
"Oi! I'm extremely handsome," Sirius exclaimed, offended, and his head throbbed at the sound of his own voice. He pressed it back on the cool surface of the table with a groan.
"Tell that to your beard. Are you trying to one-up Dumbledore?"
"You're just jealous, and I'm too drunk to talk to you," Sirius mumbled.
Sirius and Remus had gone on a bender the previous night, silencing the sitting room after the teens had gone to sleep and summoning all of the Firewhisky remaining around the house.
They had cried like babies, laughed like lunatics and insulted each other like enemies. It all nearly came to a brawl, but they'd finally hashed out their problems with each other.
Old tensions wouldn't get in the way of their duty to Harry- and Hermione, now.
Remus had ranted about his years alone, when he thought that nearly everyone he loved was dead because Sirius had betrayed them, only for him to get himself killed barely two years after their reconciliation.
Sirius had shouted that Remus should have known that he wasn't guilty, that he, of all people, should've been aware that he was the least likely person in Britain to stab James Potter in the back.
They'd gone in circles for a while, only to end up crying on their knees, finally taking the chance to properly mourn their best friend and his wife- like they should've done from the start.
Together.
'This is bullshit.'
'We have to do it, Harry,' Hermione rolled her eyes in exasperation for what felt the fiftieth time in half an hour.
'I would prefer going directly to the fun part. You know, the one with the swords and the super-powerful spells.'
'I have no doubts about that, but our financial situation is just as important. If everything goes south, for example, we have to know how many people we can host, feed and water and for how much time.'
'I know,' Harry grumbled. "But I've never liked math.'
'You'll survive.'
'I'm not too sure about that. These numbers are written so small that I'm seeing double. I might be going blind- and my wife doesn't even care!"
'In sickness and health, Harry. There's no escape for you- or me," she added in resignation. 'Now pass me that - not that one, the black one,' Hermione snatched it from his hand with a huff.
'You're bullying me,' Harry pouted, hoping for a reprieve.
'Cry me a river.'
No reprieve, then. Harry mock-glared at her profile for a moment before opening his own report again, huffing and puffing.
Nobody got between Hermione Potter and her ledgers. Not even her husband.
"Whoa," Harry gasped. The gold was so bright and so much that he'd been blinded for a second.
"This is…?"
"Your family Vault. The main one, anyway. It's divided into chambers, each with a different purpose and expanded at need. This one is the storage room for your immediately available Galleons. You have seen the investments and the rest of the ventures on the ledgers," the two teenagers nodded. "That income goes directly into that room in the back," Ripclaw continued, guiding the teens through the maze-like Vault.
"The door on your right takes you to a selection of heirlooms and antiques, and further down the hall, there's a section dedicated to furniture and tapestries. On your left, the first room houses some of your book collection- the ones that didn't make it into the permanent Potter Library. Mostly darkish stuff they didn't want around their children, I believe. You own separate Vaults for each of these categories as well, but the creme de la creme is all in here. The last door takes you to the room I've arranged to house the remaining Gryffindor inheritance. It's mostly empty, but I thought it deserved its own space, even after being absorbed."
Harry nodded in agreement.
"As we have discussed, you might be Lord Potter on paper, but you still have to claim your Family Magic. In the Potters' case, it's stored in the ring," he nodded in the direction of Harry's hand. "Gryffindor House's situation, however, is a bit different. You'll be able to obtain the Magic only after successfully summoning the Sword- or so Godric said in his directives to his assigned Goblin," Ripclaw clarified.
"I have used the Sword before," Harry admitted. "But I didn't summon it. It came out of the Sorting Hat."
"Another of Godric's possessions, I believe. His residual magic probably attracted the Sword to it," Ripclaw theorised.
"Possible," Harry said nervously.
He had no idea how to summon the Sword from nothing.
"Er- how should I…?"
"That was not disclosed to me, Lord Potter. You'll have to figure it out yourself."
"Fantastic."
Ripclaw left them with a nod, returning to his duties.
"I think I'll start with the ring," Harry said.
"Go on," Hermione took a seat on an old, ornate chair.
Harry stood there for a good minute, looking at the ring in contemplation. When nothing happened, he tried another way.
"Er- hello? Activate?" He tried lamely, shaking his hand.
"Activate, really?" Hermione snickered.
"What else should I do?" Harry asked, irritated.
"I don't know," she admitted helplessly.
He tried pressing it with the pad of his finger. Nothing.
Harry tripped on a pile of gold, catching himself with a hand on a worn wooden table. A concussion, just what he needed- he tought.
"Bloody-" A drop of blood slid down his finger, where a splinter had punctured him.
His ring suddenly felt very hot, almost uncomfortable on his skin. He was caught unprepared by a forceful, strange sensation he couldn't identify for a moment.
Harry felt something watching him, the feeling of being measured and judged hard on his nerves. The ring pulsed against his finger twice, then started glowing.
Abruptly, the faint light receded, and everything came back to normal. He was ready to turn towards Hermione, but then he sensed his Magical Core opening.
It was something he'd never even heard of before.
He physically sensed the Magic invade his Core, warming him up from the inside. It was comforting, good. Like a father's embrace should be, Harry surmised.
The Magic joined his own, pulsing and merging together until he everything became stable. He felt strong- stronger than ever, really.
He'd been accepted as the new Lord Potter, at last.
He thought for a moment of the other Harry. He couldn't imagine being rejected by this warm current, not living this overwhelming sense of belonging and the added strength running through his veins. He couldn't imagine being denied even this pale imitation of a father's presence.
He'd do better for him, too, he decided. For all he'd sacrificed and suffered.
He owed it to Harry.
Hermione's delighted laugh interrupted his maudlin thoughts.
"You did it!" She exclaimed, wrapping him tightly in her arms.
"Did you sense it, too?" He asked curiously.
Hermione nodded, smiling widely.
"It felt like home, I think," Harry admitted, his lashline slightly damp.
Hermione held him a bit closer.
"Concentrate harder, then."
"I'm trying, Mi," Harry repeated for the third time, his teeth gritted and his patience shot to hell.
He'd been trying to summon the Sword for twenty minutes, at least, and nothing had come of it yet.
"This isn't working," Harry huffed, abandoning the semi-heroic pose he'd taken in the hopes of catching the Sword in mid-air.
Hermione might have reminded him a time or two of how ridiculous he looked, but he personally disagreed.
He dropped to the ground of the small room dedicated to Godric's possessions, taking his journal in his hands. It was blank.
Hermione had hypothesised that it'd become legible once he claimed the Magic, but he had his doubts about being able to read it either way.
He dropped the leather-bound journal on the ground, ignoring Hermione's outraged shriek, and sat with his back against the stone wall to take a breather. The whole morning had been stressful, and it wasn't even eleven o'clock.
He closed his eyes for a moment, his mind going to a place he usually avoided like the plague.
That day's events made it impossible not to think about them, however.
His parents.
What would they think about him?
Would they be proud of him? He liked to think they would. He'd gotten a Bonded Soulmate, he was extremely powerful, and he'd just been accepted by the Family Magic as the new Lord of the House.
These were good things, right?
But what would they think of Harry, as a person?
Maybe James would think he was lame. He wasn't as big a prankster as he had been, after all. He did get himself in trouble a lot, but it was more of the deadly type, not the fun one.
Would Lily think he was wasting his talent? Harry was an ace at practical spells, but he'd never been the best at theory- or at the parts not linked to combat or survival in some way, to be honest. Would his mother think he wasn't good enough?
No, he reassured himself.
He was doing better. He'd spent the last month and a half with Hermione, practising spells of all kinds day and night. He'd become an Animagus. He was going to train with the best people Britain had to offer, all of his own initiative.
He was brave, or so people -especially Hermione- said. She'd once said she'd never met anyone as 'completely and absolutely Gryffindor' as him.
Was that a good thing? Probably, but with Hermione you never really knew.
She often threw around insults so subtle that you didn't understand you ought to be offended until you replayed the conversation in your head a couple of times.
Was his mom like that, too?
Sirius often said that Hermione reminded him of Lily.
Was she just as brilliant? Was Lily as magical as her?
Harry had always associated Hermione with magic. His own power always sang in her vicinity, and he felt so comforted with her magic around him.
Would he recognise his mother's magic just as easily if he met her?
Harry didn't realise his consciousness had slipped deeper into his Magical Core.
He detected the Potter Magic swirling around his own, like a soft blanket lying on his soul. It felt strangely familiar, and still totally new.
Like it belonged there, but at the same time, like it wasn't complete. Was that empty space where Gryffindor's Magic should go? Would it feel warm and welcoming like the other, like his father's forgotten embrace, or would it be cool and calming, like the half-memory he'd managed to scrape from his mind when he'd practised Occlumency?
He remembered that night vividly.
He'd been pressed and mocked by Snape all evening for his meagre mental barriers, and he'd taken the rest of the night to practice 'clearing his mind', whatever that meant.
After hours and hours of trial and error, he'd sensed something different surface in his mind. He remembered likening it to watching something in a Pensieve, only hazier and less detailed.
Harry had mostly gotten sensations from it.
He'd felt the whisper of the evening breeze on his skin.
He'd felt a lock of extraordinarily soft hair brushing his cheek.
He'd heard a soft, low laugh dancing vaguely in his ears.
Then something had sharpened the air around him, but hadn't disturbed him in the slightest. No, everything had been still sweet and safe, but that was different- more charged. It was magic.
Had that been his mother's magic? If yes, then he would know it anywhere.
He was startled upright by a sudden, heavy metallic noise very near to his face.
It was the Sword of Gryffindor.
Harry's green eyes -his mother's eyes, as many people liked to tell him- widened, then softened in understanding.
The Potter Magic had required his blood and his magic to testify for his worthiness, while all that the Gryffindor Magic had wanted was recognition and remembrance. A connection.
There would be time for bloodshed later, he guessed.
He heard Hermione's soft gasp, but he remained focused.
Harry gripped the hilt of the Sword, both physically weightless and heavy with power in his hand. It immediately recognised him, and the Magic it contained joined its other half in his Core.
It felt cool and soft -just like the evening breeze in Godric's Hallow.
"That was surprisingly easy," Hermione commented.
"I don't think it was meant to be a difficult process to begin with," Harry reasoned. "It's Family Magic, after all. It's already part of us in some way," he shrugged.
They were interrupted by Ripclaw's return- this time in Gnarlhorn's company.
"All done?" He asked.
"Yes," Harry confirmed. "It took a bit of trial and error, but I was accepted by both Families as Head of House."
"Good," Ripclaw nodded once.
"Good morning, Chief," Hermione greeted.
"Greetings, Lady Potter," Gnarhorn inclined his head slightly.
He and Harry shared a respectful nod.
"Shall we?" He indicated the door.
Hermione nodded, a nervous look on her face, and followed the two goblins out of the Vault.
Once they were seated on the cart, Harry took her hand in his.
'Don't be so tense, love. You've seen how it works.'
'I know, Harry. But what if-'
'No what-ifs. There's no reason why the Pendragon Magic should reject you. Christ, it has been waiting for you for centuries- I believe it will be more than happy to reunite with its rightful Heiress, don't you think?'
'That's true,' Hermione admitted. 'I guess I just don't like not knowing what to expect.'
'Shocking.'
'Very funny, Harry.'
'I don't think the Magic will quiz you on Charms theory, Mi. Relax.'
'But-'
'No buts.' Harry stressed the word.
'You like mine, though,' Hermione quipped.
'That was like, seriously horrific.'
'Then you won't get to touch it anymore.'
'Correction- that was the best joke I've ever heard. The peak of comedy. The-'
"Have you had a chance to go through your ledgers, Lady Potter?" Gnarlhorn asked.
"Yes," Hermione nodded, abandoning her gloating over Harry's verbal defeat. "They were very well kept. Very detailed," she complimented.
Gnarlhorn hid a half-smile that could've put a child to sleep. Permanently.
"I'm happy to hear that. Maybe we could speak about some new ventures, at a later date?" He proposed.
Hermione's eyes sparkled.
"Of course, Chief. I have some ideas about Muggle companies that are sure to gain- "
Harry suppressed a laugh. Leave it to Hermione to get a money-date with a goblin.
'Let him breathe, love.'
'You'll thank me when we're rich.'
'We're already rich.'
'Richer, then.'
'We're richer too, Mi. Richer than anyone else in Magical Britain, as far as we know.'
'Details.'
'Who knew you were such a Scrooge McDuck?'
'I'm not. But Wars are expensive, and so are books. The rare, useful ones, at least.'
'What about books like the naughty ones you transfigure the cover of- like that would fool me?' Harry tried to steer her away from the anxiety he knew was threatening to overwhelm her. If he got to rib her a bit in the meantime, all the better.
'You know about the books?' Hemione whipped her head around, her face taking a fetching pink tint.
'Of course I know. I've known for a month or so- I even read a couple of them. Hermione Granger or not, even you wouldn't own four identical copies of 'The Magic of Numbers' without a reason. I got curious,' he revealed with a smirk.
'Harry!' Hermione was scandalised. And profoundly embarrassed.
'What? How do you think I knew what to do with my hands and mouth, if not because of your books? They were very informative. Explicit, one might say.'
'Oh God,' Hermione dropped her head on her hands, mortified.
'Yep.' Harry gloated. 'I plan to read a whole lotta more of them- and to put them in practice. Who knew Little Miss Prefect was so kinky? Reading about people getting tied up, blindfolded, spanked… and don't even get me started on the whole breed-'
'Harry James!' She shrieked in his mind.
'I'm not abandoning this conversation, just so you know. Just postponing it- Let's see if you'll keep playing Prissy Proper Prude, then.'
Hermione squeaked.
Gnarlhorn stopped the cart.
Harry hopped down, offering a hand to his wife with an insufferable smirk. Or so Hermione thought.
In the span of a few moments, she'd circled through embarrassment, irritation and slight arousal- but most of all, her heart was burning with fierce fondness and gratitude for him.
She had noticed his attempts at calming her down, after all. His intentions were blatant.
Silly boy, she thought. Godric, how she loved him.
It should've been illegal to love someone as much as she did Harry. It was all-encompassing- and as inevitable as the sun rising and the tide changing, she now understood.
Hermione wasn't kidding when she said that there was no world in which she would choose to be without him. It was impossible, nightmarish, a crime against nature to even think something like that, for her.
She was startled by Harry's nudge on her shoulder.
"Yes? Sorry, I was lost in thought for a second," she admitted.
"I just asked if you were ready for me to open the Vault," Gnarlhorn repeated patiently.
Hermione steeled herself.
"Certainly, Chief."
"Very well."
The goblin slid a claw-like nail in complex patterns around the steel lock until the massive double doors started to open, slowly and soundlessly.
The Vault was very similar to the Potter one, if slightly bigger.
She found everything she'd expected to find: the mountains of gold and silver, the open doors leading to rooms full of paintings and tapestries, the chambers full of gemstones. Everything gleamed, appearing as new as if it had just been placed there- if not for the fact that every object looked like a prop for a Middle Ages-inspired film.
It was fascinating, really, but she couldn't get lost in the splendour of her heritage just yet.
"So," Hermione breathed heavily. "What do I have to do?"
Gnarlhorn smirked- at least she thought that was a smirk- and indicated a direction with a twitch of his head.
He guided them to a seemingly regular stone wall, occupied for the most part by an enormous tapestry. It was one of those pieces with entire stories stitched onto the sturdy fabric- scenes of battle and goodbyes to loved ones, of tender moments with one's beloved and gruesome deaths in the name of a forgotten belief.
Everything about them, from their antiquity to their mystique, had always attracted Hermione. Maybe even more than the Impressionist paintings her mother insisted were the highest-reaching point of the visual arts. She used to get lost in museums as a child, wandering around canvases and statues, sculptures and manufacts, and asking herself why that person had decided to immortalise that precise moment, that precise person, or that precise place instead of others.
What made something more or less deserving of immortality? She'd asked herself once in front of a Constable. It was a simple landscape, all rolling hills and wind mussed trees. Why painting this? She'd thought. What made him choose this?
She never found an answer to that question.
In the end, she'd been just a curious pre-teen with pedantic tendencies and a heart too big for her mind to shoulder- no matter how much she tried to invert the equation.
She wasn't meant to find the answer at all, maybe. Or maybe art wasn't just one person, or one moment's immortality, but a reflection of the one who painted, composed or wrote about them.
The choices they made in what to portray and in what way didn't say much about the subject, after all. Maybe the real immortal was the artist and what he revealed of his soul with his decisions, not the piece itself.
Maybe she got all of it wrong, and Millais' Ophelia was just that. A painting of a fictional woman, nothing more.
What would a pre-teen know of art, anyway?
But that was what Hermione had always thought about art. Be it a song on the piano, a written page in a journal, a sketch on a piece of paper or a majestic work of oil on canvas, she thought that was the only true immortality humankind could ever hope to achieve.
Degas's dancers would be forever pirouetting, until nobody would know who they were- just as she didn't know who the people embroidered on the tapestry in front of her were. But they'll still be there, immortal.
She'd been terribly, terribly wrong, though.
Someone had succeeded in another, more direct form of immortality- and it wasn't nearly as romantic and intellectually satisfying as her early musings.
She looked as the majestic work of art dissolved in front of her eyes, and heard Harry's sharp inhale of surprise.
Hermione didn't even blink, though. She felt disconnected from everything around her, as if a force was pulling her in a specific direction. It felt remarkably like when she received Hermione's letter from 2019, only hundreds of times stronger.
She walked through the newly opened path, cold stone and dim torches making everything feel like a dream. An incredibly vivid, magically charged dream.
Hermione vaguely heard her companions follow her, their low chatter and Harry's attempts at shaking her from her reverie, but she just continued descending underground, layers and layers lower than the already-deepest 'Vault Number One' had been.
Soon, she found herself in a vast stone clearing illuminated by faint, bluish light. It looked like one of the caves one saw in films about pirates, Hermione thought offhandedly.
In the centre of the room stood a ramp-like boulder, tall and imposing. A gleaming, bejewelled hilt disappeared into the rock, the low light converging and reflecting from the cool-toned gems.
Hermione felt it in her bones. That was her real birthright.
It was Excalibur.
When Hermione's eyes glazed over, and she started walking off without a word, Harry felt a flash of concern. He relaxed very soon, though.
He knew what being magically controlled meant and it usually wasn't pleasant, but the power around them didn't feel threatening at all. It felt like Hermione- but ancient, he realised.
If his wife were a thousand-year-old immortal, her magic would've felt like that, he reckoned.
It was difficult to explain in words. He only knew that the place was pulsing with energy, and Hermione looked entranced by it.
When they arrived in the stone chamber, Harry looked around in wonder.
They had to be very, very deep underground.
Then he noticed the gleam of some sort of gem. A hilt, he noticed when he stood closer to the rock. His excitement mounted exponentially.
Fuck him sideways.
It was Excalibur.
He had joked around with Hermione some days earlier, talking about swords and who'd get which, but he'd never imagined that they would truly get to wield such legendary weapons.
Goosebumps covered his arms once Hermione started scaling the boulder.
The air shimmered with that blue-green light one might see when underwater, looking up at the surface. His magic sang in response to Hermione's, which had started sort of reaching outwards, grasping at the ambient magic the cave was chock-full of and making her glow faintly in the semi-obscurity. He was mesmerised.
Merlin, how beautiful she was.
If he could paint, he would portray her just like that- with her head held high and her power swirling around her.
Harry's heart sped up with every step she took, almost beating out of his chest when she gripped the hilt of the sword.
In one fluid motion, the sharp, deadly blade was revealed for the first time in centuries.
There was no shockwave, no explosion. Just a quiet, throbbing energy running through his wife's veins.
Harry shuddered.
Excalibur seemed to respond to Hermione, just like Godric's Sword had immediately recognised him.
He felt the pulse of Magic joining Hermione's Core.
The sword looked like it was made of ice, but the power it stored felt like fire. The exact opposite of his own, he realised. Both, however, felt like something old and sentient and powerful had been released after years and years of dormancy.
Harry looked directly into Hermione's eyes, and even from a distance he could see the golden irises gleaming at him.
"Well, it seems I don't have to explain much else," Gnarlhorn admitted. "We've stored the sword secretly for centuries, as my ancestors promised to King Arthur, in the hope that-".
The Chief continued talking, but for once Hermione was less than interested in a history lesson.
Her Core was stronger than ever. She'd never felt so in tune with her magic, nor had she ever been readier.
It was a fantastic sensation.
The couple shared knowing smiles.
They were finally whole.
"We should start with the Swords, don't you think?" Harry asked, bouncing on the balls of his feet.
Gnarlhorn snorted in derision.
"Come here and try to hit me, Lord Potter."
"I'm sorry, what?"
"Try to punch me. Before you touch that deadly, venom-filled thing, you have to know what you're doing. I don't fancy dying much, especially not because of your clumsiness."
Harry groaned.
"Did you truly need to hit that hard?" Harry massaged his shoulder.
"I've imparted all of my knowledge on the subject, Lord Potter. If you can't keep up, then the problem is yourself."
"You're such a boon to my confidence, Chief," Harry snarked back, gearing up for another round of getting-his-arse-kicked, also known as some kind of strange martial art he'd never seen before- plus some Goblin tricks.
Warrior race, indeed.
"I aim to please," Gnarlhorn rolled his eyes.
"Not like that, Your Highness! You have to turn on your- yes, that's correct. Again!"
"I- already-" Hermione panted. "-Said that you can call me Hermione. I still have to get used to this whole Highness business." She supported herself on Excalibur's hilt, taking a breather in the meantime.
"And I said that you have to accept your place in society, Your Highness. Now stand up properly and repeat that combination."
Hermione mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like 'slave driver'.
"What was that?"
"Nothing," Hermione smiled brightly.
'Faker than a thirty-Galleons bill,' Harry commented from the peanut gallery.
'I'm waiting for your turn, Harry. Then I'll have a real laugh- but for now, just shut up.'
"When is this going to end?" Hermione whined.
"Come on, Mi, it's fun!"
"You're mental."
"Oi! Don't act like you're not enjoying it, you big-fat-liar," Harry poked her side with his pointer finger. "I saw you swanning around all smug when you beat me, earlier."
"What can I say, I'm just that good," Hermione smiled broadly, taunting him.
"Please. We're evenly matched, aren't we? We've won almost the same number of times." Harry mumbled, his head burrowing on the sofa's armrest.
"Operative word being almost," Hermione replied in her snottiest voice.
"You're making this much noise for one duel?" Harry replied.
"You're just jealous."
"You're delusional. And I'm going to hand you your arse tomorrow. Well, in a few hours, when Gnarlhorn returns. Or whatever. I still don't understand how this whole thing works."
Harry moaned when Hermione's hands went to play with his hair.
"I told you, Gnarlhorn didn't explain in detail how this room functions. It's a Goblin thing- he can't tell me at all. But basically, for us the outside time is suspended. We're not going to age while we're in here, because our bodies are in a stasis that will break only when we go out. The only thing that can be bent and modified is our magic- and our knowledge, of course," Hermione explained.
"This amount of training at once can't be healthy," Harry grumbled.
"It wouldn't be, outside. Here, we won't get hungry, sleepy or thirsty. It's perfect, and fascinating- we don't even feel time passing, because it's not passing at all."
"Still, it feels so strange. I mean, I feel like I spent ten years fighting with the Sword, and at the same time, like not even a second has passed since we came here. It's uncanny."
"Just think about the advantages it gives us. After we train with the Professors, we're going to be so much more knowledgeable, and we'd really only be spending a few moments in Gringotts for a couple of days. We won't need to train outside for nearly as long as we would need to if we couldn't use the Suspension Chamber. We will be ready to face almost anything," Hermione said confidently.
"Almost being the operative word," Harry parroted back with a heavy stare.
"Almost being the operative word," Hermione agreed with a sigh, pressing her forehead to his shoulder.
They knew that Dumbledore probably wouldn't be inclined to teach them anything fitting for a Battle Mage- or anything truly harmful to one's opponent, really. That would have to come from their libraries and their own efforts.
But after some reflection, they realised that what they truly needed to learn from the Headmaster was control. They had a perilous amount of magic. It was a fact.
What if something happened to one of them during a fight? The other was sure to go berserk.
What destruction could come from power such as theirs, unleashed in rage? They couldn't risk that, especially while they were still at Hogwarts.
Also, they couldn't keep bottling up and suppressing their magic all the time- it was uncomfortable and heavy on their Cores. They had to learn how to harness, direct and channel it properly.
The couple didn't want to keep accidental magic at bay, to waddle through freak shows of barely-contained energy erupting at the wrong moments. They wanted to weaponise it.
Any pain they would inflict on their enemies would be intentional.
They exited Gringotts with much more confidence in their posture and a few nifty new gadgets.
Also, a momentary lack of temporal awareness.
"What year is it, again?"
"I feel like I should be fifty," Hermione agreed. She didn't want to think about all of the effort she would have to make for physical training, in order to match the fitness of their bodies to the muscle memory of their technique.
"Instead, you're seventeen, you can wield a sword, and you're hot as hell. Woe is you."
"The same applies to you, Harry."
"Are you calling me hot?" He smiled smugly.
"I'm calling you dead if you keep that smirk in front of my father."
"Merlin, I forgot about that."
"Then remember it quickly, because we're almost late for lunch."
"Apparition?" Hermione nodded.
"I'll side-along you. There's a little alley near my house that should do nicely."
"Lead the way."
Harry sent Prongs to inform the two Marauders of their completed business.
"Done," he confirmed with Hermione, who was looking around to cover for him in case a Muggle happened to pass the alley at the wrong time.
They took a deep breath, linked their hands, and nodded to each other.
It was time to face the parents.
"