Storytime with Rachel F Hundred

Chapter 11: Going Home

“Are we doing the right thing?” asks Harry, stirring his porridge around his bowl rather than eating it.

Hermione looks pointedly at his food and waits until he spoons some into his mouth before answering him. “I think we’re doing the right thing for this world.”

It’s an interesting qualification but he accepts it. He spoons up more porridge.

“I have to admit I’m a little nervous,” Hermione says.

Harry looks over at her questioningly.

“Hogwarts is familiar,” Hermione says, “and no matter how nice your family seems, it does seem like a leap of faith going with them.”

Harry nods because she’s just put into words how Harry feels about it all.

“Not to mention it’s going to be weird for you to be around Sirius and James,” Hermione says quietly, “given the circumstances.”

“They seem nice and it doesn’t sound like they’re going to be around much with their work and everything,” Harry replies, beginning to stir his food again rather than eating it, “but…yeah. Weird. It’s not so bad with Arcturus and Regina, even my grandparents.”

“Your grandparents are lovely,” Hermione says, setting her spoon in her empty bowl and pushing it aside. “You can tell they really love each other.”

She sounds so wistful that Harry peers at her quizzically again.

Hermione’s cheek blush pink but she smiles, if a little sadly. “Most of my grandparents are gone now. I remember going on caravan holidays with Nana and Grandad Cotter when I was young. They were both teachers and they would always let me ask anything I wanted. My Dad’s side was a little more formal? Grandad Granger was a retired Colonel and Grams was a stay-at-home wife. They had this cottage down in Cornwall and we’d go for a couple of weeks every Summer, and they’d visit for Christmas Day.”

“They sound great,” comments Harry, abandoning the last of his porridge. He wonders which of them is still alive, but he doesn’t want to ask anything which might be too personal – which is a touch bizarre, Harry allows to himself, given Hermione knows all of his family history pretty much.

Hermione seems to sense his unspoken question though because she continues. “Grams is the only one alive now. Nana and Grandad died just before I began Hogwarts – Nana hadn’t been well and Grandad went within a couple of months of her dying. The Colonel died of a heartattack when I was six; I barely remember him really.”

“I guess you don’t get to see much of your Grams?” asks Harry carefully.

“She and Dad had a falling out just after I started at Hogwarts,” Hermione frowns, “I never knew why.”

“Maybe when we’re back home we can look her up,” Harry suggests.

Hermione smiles at him but her eyes remain sad. “I guess.” She sighs heavily and pushes a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Grams isn’t young anymore and we’re going to be here a while.”

Harry grimaces but he nods because she’s right. “We need a plan for tackling that spell.”

Hermione nods. “I started noting down some preliminary thoughts while you were asleep yesterday. We can go over them later.”

Harry’s not surprised she’s already started to work on it.

There’s a knock on the door and Harry calls for the person to enter.

His eyes widen as Sirius enters. The heir of Black is dressed down; a simple grey day robe over a grey jumper and jeans; his hair is tied back with a simple strip of grey leather. Everything looks high quality though and Harry feels very underdressed in his own department store bargain bin jeans and thick cable-knit jumper.

“Sirius,” Hermione says, getting up, “we weren’t expecting to see you this morning.”

Harry scrambles from his own chair to stand beside Hermione.

“We had a change of plans last night and I thought you might appreciate the heads-up,” Sirius says, waving them back into their seats and accepting Hermione’s offer of tea. He conjures his own seat and sits with them at the table.

Harry mentally notes the ease at which this Sirius can conjure, and that the chair he’s conjured is the same as the ones Harry and Hermione occupy right down to the detailed upholstery. “There’s a change in plan?”

“The families conferred last night and thought it might be best if we all took some time off work to spend with you both, so we can get to know each other,” Sirius explains. “I’ll be joining you and Hermione at Potter House.”

Harry can’t help but feel torn about the news that he’s going to be expected to spend even more time with Sirius and James. On one hand, he’s pleased to spend time with them, but on the other…every time he looks at them it reminds him of losing his own Sirius, of the father he has only ever spoken to as a ghost. He has to get over it, Harry thinks to himself briskly. Hermione’s estimating it will take them years to get home and he can’t keep avoiding Sirius and James that whole time.

“I appreciate that being surrounded by so much family might be overwhelming if you’re not used to it,” Sirius says gently.

“Sorry,” Harry says, fighting to keep his embarrassment off his face at Sirius’s understanding, “I just…”

“You don’t have to explain,” Sirius cuts in, “it must be weird for you.”

“Yeah,” Harry murmurs, “kind of. We were just saying as much.”

Hermione looks at him encouragingly.

Harry shrugs. “But I guess it’s a good thing?”

“We hope it will be,” says Sirius. “But we all want you to know if you need a break from the family just to say. Nobody will be offended if you want some time alone.”

Harry’s not sure how to respond to the compassionate offer. His throat tightens up when he tried to respond.

“Thank you,” Hermione says. She reaches across the table and Harry takes hold of her hand gratefully. “We’re thrilled at the welcome we’ve received but as you and Harry have said; it’s a strange situation for us.”

“I can imagine,” Sirius says before he pauses. “Well, actually,” he continues, “I’m not sure I can imagine. I’m not sure I’d be as calm finding myself in another dimension.” There’s a wry self-deprecation which surprises Harry but it makes Sirius more human and relatable than the calm mask of the Baron of Blackthorn.

“We’ve had our moments,” Harry says dryly.

Hermione gives a warm chuckle and they smile at each other over the table.

Sirius clears his throat and they both startle at the sound.

“Sorry,” says Harry again, very aware that he’s blushing bright red.

“No, no,” Sirius says teasingly, “it’s very sweet the way you two are with each other. It kind of makes me regret that I’m still a bachelor.”

“Are you seeing anyone?” asks Hermione delicately.

Sirius shakes his head. “Not right now. I thought I’d focus on gaining some work experience outside the family business before I have to settle down to it, and truthfully, I haven’t met someone who I’d like to spend the rest of my life with.” He points a finger at them. “But the two of you being so together is probably going to get Gramps back on my case.”

“We apologise,” Hermione says with mock sympathy, her eyes bright with mirth.

Sirius smiles at her and turns to Harry. “Do you have anything that needs packing or…”

“We’re good,” Harry says, “we’re all packed and ready.” His necklace is back around his neck and Hermione has her purse ready on her bedside cabinet.

“Good,” Sirius’s expression sobers. “I should also probably explain some of the history between the Blacks and the Potters?”

“That would be welcomed,” Hermione replies with a quick glance at Harry, “I mean, we know the history on our world but we don’t want to presume it’s the same.”

Sirius tilts his head, his expression one of understanding. “We’re both one of the older noble families. Our politics aren’t all that dissimilar in truth, but the Potters generally have been a little more progressive and the Blacks are a little more traditional. For a long time, we were…not friends, but not enemies if that makes sense.”

Harry nods.

“My grandfather went to school with Charlus,” Sirius continues, “they became friends for all that they were in different Houses. It was my grandfather who introduced Dorea to Charlus.”

Hermione’s eyes are bright with curiosity.

“My great-grandfather apparently had planned for her to marry a minor European noble, so he wasn’t best pleased when Dorea disobeyed him and married Charlus,” Sirius says. “It essentially created the rift between our two families, because he essentially banned anyone else in the family from interacting with Dorea except on a purely superficial level and, although we don’t have proof, we believe he cursed her with infertility.”

“Dorea had James quite late, didn’t she?” says Hermione, putting together the puzzle pieces.

“Yes,” Sirius confirms, “and she fell pregnant soon after the death of my great-grandfather by all accounts.” He sighs. “He dishonoured the family magic.”

“That has serious implications from what we’ve read,” Hermione says.

Sirius nods. “My grandfather was set to make immediate amends when my grandmother had a vision and prevented him from doing so. She claimed any rapprochement had to wait until after her death.”

Harry frowns. “She had a vision?”

“She had the Sight,” Sirius says, “it’s a gift she passed onto Regina, part of the legacy of her maternal line.”

“But…” Hermione begins before she catches herself and holds up a hand, “sorry, I just find Divination to be…” she struggles to find an acceptable word.

“Woolly,” suggests Harry.

Hermione squeezes his hand. “That.”

Harry shrugs. “Trelawney was loopy, but she did manage to make two prophecies.”

“Are you talking about Sybil Trelawney?” asks Sirius sounding scandalised.

“Uh, yes?” Harry confirms tentatively.

Sirius shakes his head in disbelief. “She interviewed for a position here at Hogwarts last year. The Headmaster thought she was a fraud.”

Harry and Hermione exchange a lightening quick look of concern.

Sirius looks at Harry pointedly.

“Just…she gave a prophecy when she interviewed for Dumbledore in our world so…” Harry trails away uncertainly and looks at Hermione.

“But it may not have been the first interview he held with her,” Hermione says matter-of-factly, “we don’t really know. Actually, if he had already interviewed her before and thought she was a fake, it might explain why he was interviewing her the time we know about in a pub instead of at Hogwarts.”

Harry sighs because it’s not like they can ask either Trelawney or their Dumbledore. He turns back to Sirius and shrugs.

“It’s probably nothing,” he says awkwardly.

Sirius nods slowly. “Our timelines are completely out of synch, aren’t they?”

“We think our universes are off by a factor of about twenty years,” Hermione agrees. “Events are happening here which happened years ago in our world.”

“Which means your present is potentially our future,” concludes Sirius.

“Maybe,” Hermione allows in a careful tone, “but there are substantial differences between our worlds already. Perhaps some of the events which are transpiring or will transpire will be the same, but we can’t know for certain.”

Sirius accepts that with another nod.

“You said that your grandmother had a vision?” prompts Harry, changing the subject back to their original topic.

“Yes,” Sirius agrees, “so my grandfather waited as Grams requested and when my grandmother died, he approached Charlus for what is formally known as a rapprochement.”

“But it was refused?” Harry thinks out loud, remembering his overheard conversation between James and Remus.

Sirius nods slowly. “Unfortunately, there was an incident here at Hogwarts when James and I were students. He thought I’d attacked a member of his group of friends.”

He presses his lips together and Harry figures Sirius is working out how much of the Remus tale to tell them.

“James and I didn’t really get along at school. He was in Gryffindor and I was in Ravenclaw. We didn’t really interact but I was a Black and that was enough to gain James’ initial animosity,” he grimaces briefly. “I dare say I wasn’t that friendly either. I was very studious and probably took everything a little too seriously – no pun intended.”

Harry smiles, but he’s caught on a revelation which hadn’t come up the night before. “You’re a Ravenclaw?”

“First Black not to sort into Slytherin,” Sirius confirms. He makes a small gesture. “Anyway, James and I were definitely not friends at school. When my grandfather approached Charlus to ask for the rapprochement, James advised against it. It wasn’t until last night that James apologised after his friend had finally told him the truth about what happened. Charlus has accepted the rapprochement so our two families can rebuild our relationship.”

“Thank you for telling us,” Hermione says softly, “we appreciate knowing the background.”

Sirius gives a small nod. “You should also know that both families are united in making sure your time here is spent among people who care about you and that you’re given every opportunity to live a good life, to have choices.”

Harry can’t help but notice how sincere Sirius is and he’s comforted by his words. If there’s one thing that’s been distinctly lacking in Harry’s life to date, it’s choice. “Thank you, that means a lot to us.”

“And, on that note, I feel I should warn you that Dorea has a plan,” Sirius’ smile is warm and rueful, “she reminds me of my grandmother.”

Harry smiles at that because Dorea also sounds just like Hermione.

“Nothing’s set in stone – well, except for the Wizengamot which none of us are getting out of, but the rest…we wanted to get your input too,” concludes Sirius.

There’s a knock at the door and Ariana bustles in at Hermione’s call to enter. She blinks at the sight of Sirius sitting at the table.

“Professor Black,” she says, “I didn’t realise you were visiting.”

Sirius looks visibly abashed as he stands, but Harry figures it’s an act given the Sirius he observed at dinner was the epitome of calm and refined dignity. Harry and Hermione follow his lead though and get to their feet.

“My apologies, Healer Dumbledore,” Sirius says formally, “I just wanted a brief word with my cousins before the rest of the family descended.”

Ariana hums but she nods. “Quite right too,” she says, “and it’s good to know they’re going home to family and not just stuck here at the school. Albus sometimes forgets there’s life outside of these walls.” She gestures at the door. “But if you’ll excuse us I’d like to examine my patients before they leave.”

Sirius gives a small bow to her and turns back to Harry. “I’ll meet you at the Headmaster’s entrance when you’re done. Kitsy will show you the way.”

Harry nods. “We’ll be down soon.”

He nips into the bathroom while Hermione is examined and she takes the opportunity to do the same while Ariana examines him.

“The first treatment has settled well,” Ariana says, pleased, “I’m sure Dorea will want the Potter Healer to have a look at you but you’ve made a good start.” She taps the air and a parchment appears. She taps it twice and it rolls up. She hands it to Harry. “Your full treatment history here at Hogwarts is included. You’ll need to give this to Healer Albright.”

Harry accepts the parchment, minimising wordlessly to put it into his pocket.

“I have one more thing for you.” She taps the air again and something falls from the air and into her hand. She hands it to Harry. “This will help you keep control of your magic.”

Harry turns the copper circlet over in his hand. It’s a thin band of cooper open-ended with a thin space between the ends. It kind of reminds him of the adverts for arthritic copper bangles he’d seen in his Aunt’s magazines. Ariana shows him how to put it on and take it off with a quick wordless spell. He wears it on his wrist and as it settles against his skin he can feel the faint ripples of his magic he still feels despite the treatment the day before, calm even further.

“It will only be visible to you, but you should inform your healer you are wearing one,” Ariana says briskly, “and you’ll need to remove it during treatment. But you’ll be able to stop wearing it once you’ve completed your full course of treatment.”

“Thank you,” he says, “not just for this but for everything.”

“Just my job but the thanks are appreciated,” Ariana says kindly. “Now, let me show you and your Hermione to the right entrance.”

Hermione’s just waiting outside the door for him and Harry slides his hand into hers as they follow Ariana back through the maze of corridors and down a set of moving stairs to a rather undistinguished door. They step through and into a small courtyard.

There’s a Rolls Royce Phantom parked in front of the door. It’s beautiful and the silver colour catches Harry’s eye for a second before his attention is arrested by the crowd of people stood beside it; Dumbledore and his family – Charlus, Dorea and Sirius. He wonders where James is absently before he focuses on saying goodbye to Ariana.

“It’s been a pleasure, Harry, Hermione,” Ariana says warmly. “I hope to see you back here as colleagues, but I know you’ll have every option available to you.”

They shake hands and Hermione says her own thanks before Ariana steps back into the castle.

Harry turns towards Dumbledore and shakes his offered hand firmly. “Thank you, Headmaster.”

“Albus,” Dumbledore stresses, “and I hope to see you back here at Hogwarts for the new term.”

Harry smiles tightly.

Hermione accepts Dumbledore kissing her knuckles lightly and agrees to keep him in the loop of her studies on the crystal ball and spell.

Finally, Harry is left alone with his family. They greet Hermione and himself with what feels like genuine affection. They introduce the driver – a house elf named Parker. They explain and apologise for the lack of James, who apparently is clearing paperwork to enable him to take the rest of the holidays as special leave.

Charlus ushers them into the back of the car and they settle into the plush upholstery a touch self-consciously. Hermione and he settle on the bench behind the driver. Sirius slides in next to Harry with an apologetic smile but there is plenty of room.

Dorea and Charlus face them and the car sets off at a sedate pace. Harry can hardly believe the smoothness of the ride, remembering far too well the horrors of the Knight Bus. And the Floo. And the portkeys. Not to mention apparation. Frankly, Harry hasn’t ever really enjoyed magical travel.

Harry feels Hermione squeeze his hand gently and he turns to her with a small smile of reassurance. He’s not surprised when she turns back to Dorea and Charlus with questions about the car.

“I admit it’s an indulgence,” Charlus beams at Hermione, “but I wasn’t able to resist.”

“He’s absolutely crazy about cars,” Dorea says in a tone which feels like she’s imparting a confidence but she’s smiling and amused, “we have several.”

“I’ve only ever seen one magical automobile before,” Hermione says with a touch of wistfulness, “apart from the Knight bus.”

Harry knows she’s thinking of the Weasley’s flying car.

“They’ve been popular here for a while,” Charlus confides. “We saw the advantages immediately when the muggles created them.” He turns to Sirius. “I understand from Archie that you have quite the collection yourself, Sirius.”

“Motorbikes rather than cars,” Sirius agrees, “but we have a few.”

Harry thinks of the flying motorbike his Sirius owned and he’s not surprised when Hermione squeezes his hand again.

“Do you drive?” asks Charlus eagerly.

“I have my driving licence, but I was saving up for a car,” Hermione says, “it wasn’t really a priority.”

Harry shakes his head. He’d never seen the point of learning. “I cycle.”

“Healthy,” Dorea says approvingly. “Cycling is a good form of exercise.”

“Harry prefers flying really,” Hermione smiles at him indulgently, “but cycling’s about as close as he can get when we’re in the muggle world.”

“You say you were brought up there, Harry?” Dorea asks, her tone bright with curiosity.

“Yes, with my mother’s family,” Harry keeps his tone light.

Charlus hums thoughtfully. “We should probably talk about your mother. Dorea reminded me this morning that it’s possible that she has also noticed your arrival but simply lacks the means to track you.”

Harry freezes at the thought. He hasn’t asked about his mother – has tried hard not to think about her since it’s clear she and James are not together. His mouth is dry and he swallows hard. He finds his fingers tightening on Hermione’s. “I’m not sure…if I say who she is I think I might compromise the timeline?”

Charlus nods. “We may have to take that chance but there’s no hurry. Let’s get you settled first and then we can think on it.”

Harry notes how Charlus uses ‘we’ rather than ‘you.’ It’s strange to think that his family is invested in seeing to his welfare.

“So,” Dorea says tactfully changing the subject, “we have a rough plan but we wanted to get your input, of course.” She produces a piece of parchment and hands it over to Hermione.

Harry wonders if he should feel insulted by how she’s quite clearly worked out who is in charge of their plans out of the two of them.

Hermione hums under her breath. “We’re to see Healer Albright today?”

“Ariana is wonderful as is Poppy, but I think we’d be happier if our own family healer examined you,” Dorea says. “We want to make sure you’re both recovered and getting the best treatment possible.”

Harry bites his lip. He’d rather they didn’t see the healer but he guesses it isn’t optional. He also knows that it’s probably best they get a second opinion. The healer who’d seen him after the war had been ready to report Poppy for missing his obvious childhood issues.

“But today is really about getting you settled at Potter House,” Dorea’s gaze darts to Sirius, “all of you.”

“I’m looking forward to seeing your home,” says Sirius politely. “Potter House has quite a reputation.”

“Not as much of a reputation as some of the Black properties,” Charlus chimes in, “but it’s home.”

Dorea must be able to sense Hermione’s curiosity because she turns to her with a smile. “Potter House is located in Caerfyrddin in Wales.”

“Isn’t that meant to be one of the possible locations for Merlin’s birth?” asks Hermione excitedly.

Dorea beams at her in approval. “Yes, indeed. There is a set of caves just beyond the town which are said to be his birthplace.”

“The first Earl of Gryffindor was Sir Cai of Caerfyrddin,” Sirius informs Harry, “and it’s said Arthur was raised with Cai and his father Hector in Caerfyrddin.”

“You know your history,” Charlus says brightly. “We’re indeed descended from Cai and it is true that Arthur was fostered by Hector for a time at Merlin’s request.”

“How far is it to Godric’s Hollow?” asks Hermione, clearly wondering as Harry is about the relationship between the two places.

“Not far,” Dorea answers, “Godric’s Hollow is actually one of the small villages close to Potter Hall.”

“We’re on the outskirts of Caerfyrddin, and a small contributory stream to the Towy runs through the Estate,” Charlus says. “Godric’s Hollow is on the other side of the stream, adjacent to our land. The Dowager cottage is there.”

“Charlus’s mother used to live there, but she passed away many years ago now,” Dorea tells them.

Harry wonders what happened to the Potter Hall in his world, if there even was one. He shrugs the thought away and tunes into Hermione asking another question about the plan. The discussion about the busy week ahead takes up the rest of the journey, but before no time at all, Parker pulls off the main roads and into a country lane.

Harry shivers as they travel through wards heavy with the Gryffindor magic. He can feel the family magic in a way he hasn’t yet understood; there’s warmth in the magic, a sense of welcome but more than that, legacy. He feels its weight and its duty. Hermione’s fingers tighten on his.

Charlus’s eyes narrow on him but he doesn’t say anything. The driveway isn’t as long as Harry fears and they pull up in front of what seems to be a modest country estate for all that the property and grounds are large. The house captures the attention though as Harry steps out of the car.

The grey stone walls are rough and imposing reaching into the pale grey sky of the winter morning. There are clear sections; the central hub in front of them with the tall wooden front door, two squarish sections either side with end sections beyond them. The right end is more of an octangular shape whereas the left is a round tower which ascends a floor above the rest of the two-storey property. The windows are wide rectangles but divided into grids of smaller panes of glass.

Harry swallows and dimly realises he can hear Sirius praising the house to Charlus, the crunch of steps on the gravel of the driveway. Hermione gently nudges him. He turns to her and she smiles reassuringly at him as he slides his hand back into hers.

Sirius comes to stand beside Harry on his other side, an understanding look simmering in his grey eyes. “It’s something, isn’t it?”

Harry nods.

Charlus clears his throat and Harry’s gaze moves to the Earl, standing on the shallow steps leading to the front door with Dorea beside him, her arm tucked in his.

Charlus smiles and his eyes hold Harry’s intently. “Welcome home.”

Chapter 12: Family Legacies

Harry wakes with a gasp.

It takes a moment of blinking blindly up at the ceiling for Harry to remember where he is. The family magic is heavy around him, like a comforting blanket. He lets it warm him and wash away the remnants of his nightmare – of his memory of walking to his death.

He shivers despite the warmth and Hermione makes a sleepy murmur beside him. Harry turns his head and watches her sleep for a long moment.

She’s curled up on her side of the large bed they are sharing. They’d both been matter-of-fact about the sleeping arrangements when they’d been shown to the beautiful suite of rooms they’ve been given.

The suite is bigger than Harry’s flat back home. There’s a small living area with its own balcony; a study sits off the living area lined with bookcases filled to the brim. There’s another informal den room with a television; cosy and warm with bean bags as well as a comfy sofa. They have a large bathroom just off the bedroom and a giant closet-dressing room which more than houses their small collection of clothes. He’s not even sure the planned shopping trip the following day will be enough to fill it anytime soon.

The bedroom itself is comfortable; a large bed, in-built shelves to either side which act as bedside tables. There’s another sofa with a coffee table across from the bed. To the right there is a loveseat under a wide window. A dresser fills one wall across the room from the window.

Harry breathes in as his nightmare fades and the reality of where he is sinks in. The room isn’t in complete darkness thanks to a mage light set into a small lamp on Hermione’s side of the bed. He can see the stack of books she’s currently working her way through taking up most of the space on her shelving.

He wonders whether he should be surprised they didn’t freak out more about the sleeping arrangements, but he mentally shrugs the thought away. He and Hermione spent almost an entire year living in a tent together with no privacy to speak about.

She murmurs again and Harry considers his options. He could close his eyes and try to sleep again (he knows it’s unlikely that he will; that he’ll just toss and turn for a long while) or he could wander down to the kitchen and see if he could make himself some hot chocolate. In the end it’s the thought that he doesn’t want to disturb Hermione which decides him. He slides out of the bed and into his old flannel dressing gown, grabbing his glasses so he can see better. He shoves slippers on his feet and pads his way out of the suite and into the corridor.

The hallway is in darkness but moonlight floods in through the windows which line the far wall. There’s enough light for Harry to see and he heads down the stairs. Some instinct guides him through to the large kitchen at the back of the ground floor.

He enters a little hesitantly and almost screams as a house elf pops in.

“What can Pobett be getting for young Master?” Pobett asks, his ears flapping wildly.

“Hot chocolate would be great,” Harry says.

In no time at all, there’s a steaming mug of hot chocolate in his hands along with a large orange-cinnamon cookie. He thanks the house elf and makes his way out of the kitchen. He wanders until he gets to the library.

The heavy wooden doors open easily and Harry steps inside with a sigh. The vast room filled with shelf after shelf of books is as tall as it is wide. The mage lights which illuminate the room are dim and the shadows creep over every surface.

There is an upper balcony with more books and Harry makes his way up a black wrought iron spiral staircase to the top. He ambles aimlessly until he comes across a small inset alcove with a reading chair and a small coffee table set out in front of a fireplace. As soon as Harry sits down the fire comes to life and a steady flame flickers behind the wire fireguard.

Harry sips at his chocolate and stares up at the portrait above the mantel. It’s an elderly wizard sat asleep behind a table with three boxes in front of him. Harry stares at the boxes and his heart begins to pound. The symbol for the Hallows is deconstructed and a part painted on every single one of the boxes. The wizard within the picture stirs, awakening from their sleep. Harry sets his chocolate down nervously, as the wizard blinks owlishly and his sharp hazel gaze settles on Harry.

“Well met, Master of the Hallows,” says the wizard.

Harry swallows hard. “You’re Ignotus Peverell.”

“I am,” Ignotus inclines his head a touch. “I have been waiting for you.”

“Waiting for me?” asks Harry, frowning. He doesn’t like the sound of that.

Ignotus waves his hand at the boxes. “My brothers and I secured the Hallows for one who would unite them.”

Yep, Harry muses, he really doesn’t like the sound of that.

“What makes you so sure that I’m the right person?” asks Harry suspiciously.

Ignotus peers out at him, eyes bright in contrast with curiosity. “The family magic, of course.” He tilts his head. “You seem unaware of its power, but how can that be?”

“I’m not from this world,” says Harry simply.

Ignotus’ painted eyebrows shoot up. “How astonishing!” His expression smoothed. “But it does explain why you are an adult and not a child as I expected.”

“You know in my world there’s a story that Death gave you the Hallows,” says Harry, curious to know the real story.

Ignotus smiles. “I doubt Mistress Death would grant such a boon,” he says, “and the Hallows are all of our own making.”

“You invented them?” asks Harry, intrigued.

“Of course,” Ignotus proclaims as though it was obvious, “my brothers and I were inventors.” His eyes grew distant as though he was remembering far into the past. “The Hallows were our greatest creation, born out of necessity to take down the evil conclave of Callum Cauldra.” He pauses. “We each created an artefact built on our strengths. Antioch was fierce with a wand and he created a wand unlimited by a core, a wand of pure magic bound into an immortal wood.” A long bony painted finger lands on the first box. “Cadmus could speak and raise the dead, and so he imbued his talent into a polished river stone to allow he who held it to raise an army of ghosts.” There is a tap on the middle box. “And I…I created a cloak of invisibility; the ability to move without being seen or noticed.”

“You defeated the conclave,” Harry surmises, ignoring the shiver that snakes down his spine.

“Yes,” Ignotus nods, “but not without cost. Antioch fell first. He was always at the front, leading the charge. Then Cadmus, because the dead cannot be among the living without using magical energy from somewhere. Only I remained at the end of the battle.”

“But you had all the Hallows,” Harry realises.

Ignotus nods. “They were too powerful to let loose in the world. We made sure if we fell, our artefacts would immediately go to the nearest Peverell.” He looks over at Harry. “He who holds them is not the Master of Death, but rather a raven sent by her hand.” He sighs. “It was not a sadness to lock them away as we had promised on our family magic to do after the war.”

Harry looks carefully at Ignotus and the three boxes. “They’re in the painting.”

“Yes, and only a Peverell can retrieve them,” Ignotus confirms, “only a Peverell who does not want them; who understands and knows their power. Only a Peverell who has need of them to save the world from evil.”

Harry shivers again.

“You do not hold the Hallows of your world still,” murmurs Ignotus.

“Only one,” Harry admits. The cloak is his legacy and he treasures it. “They were scattered on my world originally. I think it’s better that they remain that way.” He wonders if his ancestors hadn’t taken the precaution the Peverells of this world had. Or maybe they had and it hadn’t been enough.

“How did you find them?” asks Ignotus.

“I didn’t,” denies Harry, pushing a hand through his hair, “not really. I inherited the cloak from my father, the stone from…from a wizard who wanted me to have its power.” He still wasn’t sure whether Dumbledore had meant for Harry to simply use the stone to comfort himself on a walk to his death or to use it some other way. The remnant of his nightmare chills him again. “The wand…well, that was just some weird freaky luck.”

Ignotus tilts his head in what Harry is coming to see is a habitual movement. “The wand was always yours, is always yours. You are a Peverell. You are its true Master.”

“Maybe,” Harry concedes. He lifts the cup of hot chocolate and takes a sip.

Ignotus suddenly looks to the side. “Descendent, you may approach.”

Harry’s eyebrows shoot up and he rises from the chair hurriedly as Charlus steps into view.

“My apologies, Harry,” Charlus says softly as he glances towards the portrait, “Ancestor.” His tone is filled with wonder. “You are awake.”

“I have woken when I was meant to wake,” Ignotus says calmly. His painted gaze returns to Harry. “You will be Lord Peverell and you will return when you have need of your legacy.”

Harry nods slowly.

“Then I shall sleep once more until that time,” says Ignotus. He closes his eyes and within seconds he’s asleep.

“My apologies, Harry, again,” Charlus offers quietly, “I didn’t mean to interrupt your talk.”

Harry shrugs awkwardly. “It’s fine.”

Charlus seems to hesitate a moment but he seems to make a decision because his lips firm. “I realise you’re not used to the family magic but I…I sensed your earlier upset and thought I’d check to make sure you were alright.”

Harry’s mortified. Charlus gets notified if he’s had a nightmare?! “I’m sorry,” he blurts out, thinking of Petunia’s disdain for his night terrors; Vernon’s anger.

“You have nothing to apologise for,” Charlus states seriously, “we all have nightmares, Harry. I just wish I could ease yours.”

“I should get back to bed,” says Harry, unsure what to say.

Charlus nods and Harry follows him down the staircase and back along to the staircase which will take Harry up to his guest suite.

Harry sighs heavily as he enters the bedroom. Hermione is still fast asleep, at least. She’s curled up on her side, her hair a sprawl of tendrils over the pillow. He sets what is left of his chocolate down, tosses his robe on the end of the bed as he slides out of his slippers, and climbs back under the covers.

Hermione murmurs his name sleepily and he hushes her enough she settles back as though undisturbed.

Harry frowns and stares at the ceiling. He doesn’t know what disturbs him more – that Charlus will know when Harry has a nightmare or the fact that a portrait which had been asleep for years had woken up because of Harry.

He shivers and huddles under the covers. He’ll talk about it with Hermione in the morning.

There’s no time to talk in the morning.

Before Harry knows it, he’s hustled out of bed by a determined elf, through his ablutions and downstairs to breakfast where Hermione is already in deep discussion with Regina about arithmancy. The table is filled with family; James and Sirius sit on one side of the table with Regina; Harry sits down between Hermione and Arcturus; Charlus and Dorea take either end of the table.

Harry sighs, helps himself to porridge and listens in as the debate about whether the formula they’ve isolated in the crystal ball spell has a time delay or not. Harry thinks not; there’s not enough temporal equations to suggest a delay. He feels slightly smug when Sirius states the same and Hermione concedes.

“So, shopping!” Regina says brightly, changing the subject as breakfast draws to a close.

Hermione nods. “You mentioned we weren’t going to go to Diagon Alley?”

Harry sips on his morning cup of coffee. He’s happy that they’re avoiding the wizarding part of London.

“We’ll take the magical Eurostar to Paris,” says James confidently. “It’s brilliant.”

“It is a remarkable feat of magic,” agrees Sirius, “and Paris is best for the type of tailoring you’ll both need for your wardrobes.”

Arcturus pats his mouth with his linen napkin. “Try not to drown the pair in too many outfits.”

Regina’s grey eyes twinkly mischievously. “No promises, Grandfather.”

Sirius’s affectionate glance at his sister warms something in Harry. It’s comforting to know Sirius has family; has the love of his family.

“Quite right,” Dorea says, “we have a whole wardrobe which needs to be bought.” She waves her hand at the teapot and it pours her another cup of tea. “We’ll leave you boys to your politicking.”

Harry raised his eyebrow questioningly.

“Now that we’ve informed the Minister and Chief Witch, we’re telling the rest of our alliances today,” Charlus informs him briskly, “we want to make sure we don’t surprise them at the Wizengamot.”

Harry nods; it makes sense to make their allies happy by keeping them in the loop.

Arcturus clears his throat. “We’ll be sharing the bare bones of what has happened and the plan to provide you with your titles.”

“Luckily, we get out of it,” James says cheerfully, “and talking of which, we should make tracks.”

Harry lets James hustle them away from the table. There’s a flurry of getting ready and in short order they’re grasping a rope portkey to take them to the London terminal of the Eurostar. Harry sits back, content to let Hermione grill the others on the train and its magical origins. He’s not surprised though when she draws him to one side as they make their way out of the Paris station and asks if he’s OK.

Harry shrugs. “Just tired.”

“You didn’t sleep well,” Hermione notes, her eyes shining with concern.

Harry shrugs again. “I’ll be fine.”

She loops an arm around his and clasps his hand tightly. He’s warmed by the visible comfort and caring. He squeezes her hand to let her know he appreciates it.

They spend an hour sight-seeing before they end up in a private boutique near to the Eiffel Tower. Dorea and Regina head to the door on the left with the outline of a feminine figure etched in gold, and Harry finds himself firmly led into the door on the right which has a masculine figure in the same gold etching.

“Ah, Viscount Potter,” the small Frenchman who hurries over to greet them blinks rapidly, “and Baron Blackthorn. How unexpected to see you both here together.”

“Our families have agreed a rapprochement,” James replies smoothly, “and we have a new member of the family whom we share – Eduard, meet Harry James Potter; he’ll soon be confirmed as Lord Peverell, Baron of Ravenshold.”

“Incredible!” Eduard blinks again but he leads them briskly through the main shop and into a private room at the back.

Harry finds himself stripped to his boxers and measured ruthlessly before he can offer any kind of protest.

“He’ll need a whole wardrobe,” Sirius informs the tailor briskly, “formal and informal.”

“Magical and non-magical,” adds James brightly.

Eduard nods. “Colours?”

Sirius regards Harry with an assessing eye. “Do you have any preferences?”

“Nothing too loud,” Harry states, finding his voice as his clothes are magicked back on his body.

“Yeah, nix patterns beyond a good pinstripe,” says James.

“Shades of green would work well for him,” Sirius says.

“And confer with your lovely wife, Eduard, as he’ll need to coordinate some of the formal wear with his wife’s dresses,” James concludes.

Eduard nods. “Leave all with me.” He waves his wand towards the seating area, and the small table fills with a coffeepot and some pastries. “Please. Sit. I will return.”

Harry ends up in the centre armchair between James and Sirius. He’s not sure if it’s intentional or if it’s just a sign of the newness of the cordiality between the two of them. James pours everyone a coffee and Harry also takes one of the flaky croissants. Breakfast feels like a while ago and his stomach is growling. He’s amused to note that he’s not the only one reaching gratefully for the food. Finally, they all settle back in the comfortable armchairs with a shared sigh of contentment.

“How long do you think the ladies will be?” asks James, licking the last flaky crumbs from his thumb.

“A while knowing my sister,” remarks Sirius dryly. His grey silvery eyes glance over at Harry. “You’re looking better for some food.”

“I feel better,” Harry admits and takes another sip of coffee.

Both of them look at him with enough empathy that Harry sighs.

“You know about my nightmares too?” asks Harry sharply, uncomfortable with the idea he’s disturbing the entire family.

Sirius shares a quick look at James and they nod in unison.

“I’m sorry,” Harry begins.

“No,” Sirius cuts in, “there’s no need. The family magic is there to let us know so we can help in whatever way we can.”

James nods. “I know you’re not used to it, but to us it’s as natural as breathing to know how our family members are doing.”

Harry blows out a breath. It feels really invasive to him to have other people know when he hurts.

“I think Dad’s going to give you a crash course on the family magic soon,” James continues, “you’re pretty entrenched in it already so it’s likely that you’ll start to feel warning signs about us.”

Harry’s not sure how he feels about that. Although…he wouldn’t mind knowing when Hermione is in danger.

“There are tricks to muting everything without losing the ability to be warned if something is seriously wrong,” Sirius adds.

“Like setting a smoke alarm,” James says, “ignore if there a little smoke but if there’s a lot, beep like hell so we can see if there’s a fire.”

Harry nods; that makes sense. “So, your Dad…” he begins with a frown.

“Has you on all-time monitoring at the moment,” admits James. He shrugs. “You’re a bit of an unknown quantity. He wants to know you’re OK.”

“I suspect my grandfather is the same,” Sirius says, “and I’ve been tempted myself. You…you’re hurting and our magic wants to help.”

“To be honest, I’m surprised your maternal line hasn’t shown up,” James comments. “Unless…” there’s a considering look in his eye as he meets Harry’s questioning gaze, “is your mother a first generation magical?”

“Yes,” Harry says. “Does that mean she won’t realise?”

“Possibly,” James says, “she may not understand the tug on her magic.” He grins. “Also good to know that your mother is alive right now.”

Harry stares at him for a moment before giving a reluctant laugh.

James lets his grin fade. “You know, I understand why you’re hesitant about saying anything about the future or your universe in detail – and I guess, you’re right in some ways that to tell us would change things. But I want you to consider that maybe that would be a good thing.”

“You want me to tell you about the war,” Harry says.

“There’s trouble brewing,” James says quietly, “and if you can help avert it or minimise the impact of it…isn’t that worth it?”

Sirius clears his throat. “You also have to consider that you’ve already altered things by virtue of being here.”

Harry sighs and pushes a hand through his hair. “I’ll talk it through with Hermione.”

James and Sirius exchange a satisfied look. Before they can say anything else Eduard bustles back in and Harry is cajoled into trying on outfits.

It’s mid-afternoon when the portkey deposits them back in the hallway of Potter House. Harry’s tired but in a good way. They’d ended up having lunch in a Parisian restaurant near to Notre Dame and taking a boat trip on the Seine. It’s been good to spend time with James and Sirius; he’s starting to like both men for themselves and not just for the treasured thoughts and memories he has of his own universe’s versions.

Hermione is laughing along with Regina, and Harry’s pleased for Hermione; for the burgeoning friendship he can already see between the two women.

There’s a noise to his left and he’s not surprised to see Charlus and Arcturus emerge from the study to greet them.

“You clearly had a good day,” Charlus comments as he greets Dorea with a kiss on the cheek and a hug. Harry wonders at the slight edge of tension in his frame.

“Paris is beautiful,” Dorea says, “and our two newest family members are fully outfitted. Eduard and Marie did a beautiful job.”

Harry is still bewildered at just how many clothes he now owns. He suspects that they might even fill the closet.

“They are the best,” Arcturus says. He glances over at Sirius.

“Reggie restricted herself to four outfits,” Sirius says dryly.

Regina slaps him lightly on the arm. “Three!” She sniffs. “Although the pants and the top could be combined to make a fourth.”

“Well, I’m pleased to have you all back,” Charlus turns to Harry, “there’s been a development which you should know about, Harry, it’s…”

“Harry.”

The sound of his name in a woman’s voice cuts across Charlus and Harry blinks in confusion.

He knows that voice…he’s heard that voice in a forest before walking to his death, in a half-remembered memory as she begs for his life when Dementors get too close…his head snaps towards the study.

Lily Evans stands in the open doorway. She’s heartbreakingly beautiful and Harry’s breath catches in his throat.

He feels Hermione move closer as his magic begins to tremble and churn beneath his skin. He clutches at Hermione’s hand and she holds it tightly.

“Miss Evans,” Charlus says tersely, “I asked you to remain in the study.”

“He’s my son, and you have no right to keep him from me,” Lily replies. Her eyes don’t leave Harry’s. “You’re my son. I know it.” She lays a hand on her heart. “I can feel you.”

Harry can’t say anything. He drinks in the sight of her but can’t seem to move. He knows she isn’t his mother, but she looks and sounds just like his memories…his heart hurts so much…

Lily takes a step toward him and instinctively Harry takes a step back. James and Sirius both take a step to put themselves between Harry and Lily even as the others begin to move to defend him.

“No, it’s…” Harry tries to wave them off; he doesn’t want her hurt or turned away or…she’s his mother. But she isn’t. The copper bracelet heats up, trying to contain his rolling magic.

“Go!” Hermione says quietly. “Go. I’ll deal with this.”

And Harry goes.

He turns and apparates out of the House. He doesn’t go far. He stays in the grounds. He just needed to get out of the house; to get some air; to get away for a moment and catch his breath.

Lily.

He takes his broom out of the trunk he still carries and resizes it. He takes to the air.

He can’t believe he hadn’t truly thought about seeing her again. He’s been so caught up with having grandparents and seeing James, seeing Sirius.

Flying calms his magic. It always has done. He flies for a long while; his mind and magic slowly gentling.

He wants to see her.

He wants to talk with her.

James and Sirius are wonderful; funny and smart and good men. He knows they’re not the same as his father and godfather but he can see similarities; he can see the core of who they are which is shared across the universes. He wants the same with his…with Lily.

He worries that his reaction will have offended her; hurt her. He knows though that Hermione will have explained and will know what Harry wants. He hopes Lily listened to her and…

James is waiting for him as he crosses the boundary between Potter House and the Welsh countryside. Harry slows to enable them to fly back together side by side at a reasonable speed which allows for talking.

“You know I can’t quite believe I didn’t work it out,” James says breaking the silence. “You have her eyes and I spent the better part of my teenage years looking at her.”

“Is she…?” asks Harry hesitantly.

“Your wife convinced everyone it was better for Lily to stay until you came back,” James confirms. He looks over at Harry with sombre eyes. “She told us a little about how your parents died. I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

Harry grimaces. “My parents gave their lives to save mine.”

“I can’t imagine it,” James admits, “I mean…I can imagine it; wanting to save the life of my child, but it’s…abstract, except it’s not because there’s you.” He sighs and glances over again. “I’d already figured from what you let slip about the time difference between our universes that I was either your father or your older brother.”

Harry smiles sadly. “You’re not my father.”

“Maybe not here,” James says, “but I know I’d expect another version of me to step up if my kid ever ended up in a different universe so…”

He stops and Harry stops too. They hover in the crisp air.

James’ look is intent and serious. “I’m not suggesting I take your Dad’s place, I doubt anyone can do that, and your Hermione made it pretty clear to all of us that we’re not the same people. She also suggested, and I agree with her, that we should consider ourselves like twins to your family, same genetics but different lives.”

Harry wonders exactly what Hermione has said while he’s been flying.

“So, I’d like to be there for you; to be part of your life as an honorary father type person – for as long as you’re here,” James continues. He smiles suddenly, mischievous and bright. “Maybe a favourite uncle? I mean, if I’m like your Dad’s twin that would make me your uncle, right?”

Harry can’t help but smile. He genuinely likes James.

“Yeah,” Harry says, “I guess that would make you like my uncle.”

James pulls a face. “And now I feel old.” He laughs. “How about a favourite older cousin?”

Harry smiles again and nods. Cousin. That feels…right.

They set off again, slower but steady.

“So,” James says, “Lily Evans. How did I…I mean, your Dad, how did he manage to convince her he could court her?”

Harry notes the slightly old-fashioned term. “A few things if the stories my godfather told me were right,” he replies, “but mainly I think he grew up enough that she changed her mind about him. Then they were head boy and girl so spent time together and…” he shrugs.

“Huh,” James says, “Black and Evans were head boy and girl.”

Harry nods. It makes sense given everything he’s heard about their school days. “My parents married straight out of school. There was the war and my godfather said they didn’t want to wait.”

“I can’t imagine they would,” murmurs James. He sighs. “There won’t be a Harry James Potter here, will there? It’s already too late.”

“Sirius mentioned his cousin Narcissa is pregnant,” Harry frowns, “if that’s true, it’s probably her son, Draco. He was the same age as me. Hermione’s likely already born.” He glances over at James. “Is…are the Longbottoms expecting a baby?”

“Yes,” confirms James.

“Neville,” sighs Harry. He wonders if Neville will be the focus of the prophecy in the future. If there will be a prophecy…

“I feel I should apologise for not getting together to with Lily and making your counterpart but…” James gives an easy grin, “I’m thinking you probably have enough weirdness without finding a mini-you.”

Harry grimaces at the idea. It’s bad enough having to face alternative versions of his father and mother; of Sirius. He doesn’t know how he’d feel having to face himself.

The back of the house looms ahead of them and James leads the way back. They both angle the brooms downward, landing on the flagstones outside the back entrance which leads to a mudroom. When they exit, they’re in a small corridor. Noise from the kitchen emerges from the left but James turns right and within seconds they’re back in the main entrance hallway.

Harry frowns. Magic houses drive him nuts, he thinks tiredly. Nothing makes sense about them.

Hermione slips out of the study before James can get to the door. She nods at James, but her eyes are on Harry.

Harry reaches out to her.

Hermione immediately takes his hand and moves easily to hug him tightly. “Are you OK?” she says softly.

“Yeah, I just…” Harry sighs into her hair, “I wasn’t prepared to see her.”

Hermione hums. She hugs him tighter for a second before easing back and examining his face intently. “It’s going to be OK. She’s…she’s really nice, Harry; smart. She was just…I think your own mother’s sacrifice amped up what Lily has felt in her family magic.”

“Right,” Harry says, because that does make some kind of sense. His blood carries his mother’s sacrifice. It’s a thought which comforts him; a reminder of just how much he was loved.

Hermione squeezes his hand as though she knows the thoughts running through his head.

Harry pushes a hand through his messy hair and looks around for James. He’s gone. Harry doesn’t know if he’s slipped into the study or away. Probably into the study. Either way, Harry’s a little grateful to have a moment of privacy with Hermione. They haven’t had any all day.

“James said you told them all to consider themselves like twins to our universe?” Harry checks.

“Yes,” Hermione nods briskly, “I think that’s best, don’t you? It was the only thing I could think of to try and make it less…”

“Weird?” suggests Harry.

Hermione’s eyes brighten with amusement. “Weird works.”

“The whole twin thing works,” Harry admits, letting his relief creep into his voice, “James said to consider him an uncle or really given the age difference, a cousin.”

She smiles, clearly pleased and squeezes his hand again. “Ready?”

Harry takes a deep breath. He’s going to meet Lily. Not his mother, not the woman who sacrificed herself to save him, but a beautiful and strong-willed woman who is also family, if a universe removed. He glances at Hermione and finds her beside him, steadfast as always. He squeezes her hand back. He takes another deep breath and his magic settles beneath his skin once more.

“Ready.”

Chapter 13: Magical Relationships

“Gin!” Alice Longbottom declares happily.

“You’re a hustler, Longbottom,” comments James, throwing his cards down in disgust.

“You have no poker face,” Alice retorts, elbowing Lily beside her.  “Back me up here, Lils.”

Harry smiles at the interplay between them all, amused at the teasing and banter the group had fallen into since the awkward beginning a few days before. 

Meeting with Lily after his initial meltdown had been hard and he’d never been more grateful that Hermione had been with him, her hand in his. His chaotic magic had swirled under his skin, but between Hermione and his bracelet it had remained contained.  Thankfully, his newfound family had been understanding including Lily herself.

Lily looks over as though she’s noticed his regard and winks.

Harry smiles back at her.

She’s fiercely intelligent and passionate in her views; brutally honest and obstinate; beautiful.  She’s also kind-hearted and warm; she’s witty with a keen sense of humour.  Lily Evans is everything he ever imagined Lily Potter to ever be and more.

Of course, the sacrifice of his own mother has seemingly complicated Lily’s feel of Harry within her newly burgeoning family magic.   She’s drawn to him.  She’d been with her parents for Christmas and had been driven into a coma from the magical shock of Harry’s arrival.  It had only been when her parents had been able to make contact with Professor Dumbledore through a letter that he had hurried into the muggle world to retrieve her from the hospital and get her magical treatment.  Once awake, Dumbledore had told her about Harry and, well, she’d immediately tracked him down. 

Unfortunately, her magic still sought Harry’s presence; it had physically hurt her when she had tried to take her leave.  Charlus had been kind enough to extend an invitation for her to stay, additionally inviting the Longbottoms to provide familiar company for Lily and to act as an apparently needed chaperone given Lily’s single status.

Harry knows both he and Hermione have been thrilled to get know the Longbottom couple.  Frank and Alice are friendly and kind; they can see hints of Neville in both of them.  They miss Neville.  They miss all their friends and it’s beginning to dawn on them both that they won’t see them again for years. 

It’s been weird to see Lily and James tentatively moving past their initial frostiness into something resembling a nascent friendship.  It had helped that James had offered an apology for his school-boy pranking and bullying almost immediately; that he had accepted he had perhaps gone too far at times, especially in the Mischief Makers’ treatment of Severus Snape.

Harry finds it too incredibly weird that Snape and Lily are still friends.  Just friends, because Hermione had delicately enquired about it even though Harry had shied away from the question.  Apparently, Lily had gone out on a single date with Snape in their fourth year where they had kissed and realised immediately that they were more like brother and sister.  Harry is still slightly horrified that he has the image of Lily kissing Snape in his head. 

Luckily, Snape is out of the country gathering rare potions ingredients and won’t return until after Hogwarts is back in session.  Lily has openly lamented that Harry may not meet him until the first Hogsmeade weekend since the Professors are discouraged from inviting personal visitors during term time and the school week.  Harry is content to wait.  He’s just beginning to get used to his family without adding more ghosts into the mix.

Lily’s reaction to him may make their choice of profession limited given that her magic seeks Harry constantly.  They may end up having to return to Hogwarts where Lily works to ensure she isn’t in pain.  Dorea and Regina, with the support of Charlus and Arcturus, are trying to determine exactly why the family magic is responding so fiercely, but neither Harry nor Hermione can give them much to go on except his own mother’s sacrifice left him with a powerful protection against Voldemort.

Harry has also started lessons with both men as his own ease with the family magic has begun to awaken the ability to sense the rest of the family.  He’s already started to feel when his family are in the house and when they are elsewhere.  Right at that moment, he feels the presence of James, just like he feels the absence of Arcturus, Dorea and Charlus who are attending a ball.  Frank had also taken his mother to allow Alice to remain as a chaperone for Lily.

Harry glances at the clock.  It won’t be long before its midnight and the turn of the year.

Hermione leans into him, giggling a little as Lily jibes with James.  Harry accepts the soft weight of her against his shoulder.  He frowns as there is a tug on his magic, a warning about the wards. 

James smiles suddenly and leaps to his feet.  “It looks like Remus decided to join us, after all.”

“Good,” Alice says brightly, “he has a worse poker face than you.”

James maturely sticks his tongue out at her and hurries from the room.  Harry is glad for him.  He knows James was disappointed when none of the Mischief Makers were free to attend the New Year gathering.  Peter and Albert had apparently been co-opted for another surveillance mission by Moody, and Remus had made excuses.  Harry assumes the werewolf felt awkward about the presence of Sirius given the history.

“Come on, Sirius,” Alice states firmly, “you should play the next hand.”

“I know better than to play with you,” Sirius argues, “James was right; you’re a hustler.”

“Well,” Lily says teasingly, “there’s something I never thought I’d see; you agreeing with James Potter.”

Sirius simply smiles back at her, a touch enigmatically.

“Darn,” Alice says, frowning, “I need the loo again.” 

Lily gives a half-hearted groan, although her expression remains amused.  “Do you have to announce it to the room, Alice?”

Alice grins at her and darts out.

“I didn’t think the constant loo thing happened until much later into pregnancy,” Regina comments. 

Sirius sighs heavily.  “Can we not talk about you and pregnancy?”

Regina grins at him.  “Don’t worry, Siri, I know ten contraceptive charms.”

“Ten,” murmurs Lily, “I’m only aware of six.”

Hermione clears her throat.  “I know eight.”

Sirius and Harry exchange the same look of consternation and bemusement at the topic of conversation. 

“Maybe we should check on James,” Sirius suggests.

Harry nods, trying not to look frantic in his agreement.  “Good idea.”

Hermione shoots him a fond look of exasperation, but she lets go of him as he gets to his feet and sends him on his way with a smile.  The women are starting to exchange notes on contraceptive charms as Sirius closes the door on them.

Sirius stops them before they’ve taken more than a step.  “Do you feel that?”

“What?” asks Harry, uncertain.

“Take a deep breath and focus on your inner sense of James,” Sirius instructs.

Harry follows Sirius’s instructions and frowns.  James is upset; angry.  “What do…”

They both freeze at the sound of footsteps hurrying towards them.  A second later Remus appears in the hallway and comes to a halt at the sight of them. 

Harry takes a moment to catalogue the differences between his Moony and the version stood before him. 

He’s younger, so much younger. 

His features aren’t so scarred from the werewolf transformations; he looks handsome in a windswept, upper-class English aristocratic way with his light brown almost blond hair and brown eyes.  His clothes look good quality; the dragonhide trousers and sturdy leather boots peek out from under the heavy woollen outdoor robe.

“Black, I mean, Baron Blackthorn,” Remus stutters out.  His brown eyes flash to Harry and widen.  “You must be Harry, James has mentioned you.”

“His current title is Lord Potter-Black,” Sirius corrects in an even tone.

Remus flushes red but he nods.  “Of course, forgive my presumption, Lord Potter-Black.”

Harry smiles awkwardly.  “That’s alright.” He waves at Remus.  “You’re not staying? I know James was looking forward to having your company.”

“No,” Remus replies, “I just wanted to let him know I’ll be out of the country for a while.”  He shifts to look fully at Sirius.  “I owe you an apology, Baron Blackthorn.  I regret any harm my silence about the events between us may have caused to you and your family.”

Sirius nods.  “Thank you; I accept your apology.”

Remus looks disconcerted at the swift reply.  He looks back up the corridor a moment before squaring his shoulders and facing them again.  “Well, I must take my leave.”

“Of course,” Sirius says, “safe journey.”

Remus bows his head and quickly walks away, heading to the front door which opens as he nears and shuts once he is clear of the threshold.

Harry frowns. 

Sirius looks at him questioningly. 

“Just…we should probably check on James,” Harry says, unwillingly to talk about how odd he found the stilted interaction between the two men.  He can’t help but think back to the friendship Moony and Padfoot had enjoyed; it had been a solace to both men once they’d reunited.

Sirius cocks his head as though he knows there is more than Harry is saying but he doesn’t push and instead leads Harry down the corridor towards James’s study.

The door is ajar and Sirius taps lightly against it before pushing it open enough for them to see James, sitting on a leather sofa with his head in his hands.  The Potter heir looks up and waves them inside.  Sirius closes the door behind them as they make their way over to the small sitting area.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to disturb your evening,” James says, despondently.

“You’re saving us from a discussion on contraceptive charms,” Sirius replies dryly, “I think we’ll live.” He sits down in the chair beside the sofa. 

Harry takes the seat next to James.  “Remus mentioned he was going abroad?”

“Dumbledore’s sending him on a mission to the packs,” James shakes his head and slumps back.  “It’s a losing game, Remus even knows it.  The packs don’t trust him.  He’s a lone wolf who is still more invested in his parents and friends than in joining them.  They know his politics don’t include recognition for the packs in any formal way.  It’s a fool’s errand!”

“The Headmaster must believe there is some value,” murmurs Sirius as Harry struggles for a reply.

James grimaces.  “Sometimes Dumbledore takes too much advantage of the fact that he sponsored Remus’s education at Hogwarts, as though he doesn’t have a duty to teach children.  Remus feels far too beholden to him for just giving him the opportunity.”

Sirius hums.

James points at him.  “Stop being such a Black about this.  You agree with me.”

“I do,” Sirius concedes, “the Headmaster regularly takes advantage of former students to perform errands or find out information.”  He shrugs.  “He’s not as obvious about it as old Slughorn used to be but he cultivates relationships which increase his power or are useful to him.”

James sighs heavily.  “I just…I worry he’s going to get Remus hurt one of these days.”

“A justifiable worry,” Sirius says, “I don’t believe the Headmaster worries too much about the consequences of what he asks others to do at times.”

James nods slowly, a contemplative look stealing across his expression.  “You don’t trust him very much, do you?”

“I admire his accomplishments greatly,” Sirius counters, “but in respect of having the best interests of others at heart?  I believe Albus Dumbledore thinks he knows best for everyone and that is never a good thing when he has magical and political power to follow through on his thoughts.”

James nods again.  He turns to Harry.  “You’re suspiciously quiet.”

Harry shrugs.  “I had a complicated relationship with the Dumbledore in my world.  He did great things, but he also manipulated events and people to bend to his view of what was needed for the greater good.  I think we won the war despite his machinations in the end rather than because his grand plan came to fruition.  I have a lot of unresolved anger towards my Dumbledore, so it makes viewing yours with any kind of objectivity a bit difficult.”

“That sounds a lot like Hermione,” James teases.

Harry smiles sheepishly.  “She may have some views about it.”

“Speaking of the ladies, we’d better get back before they come looking for us,” Sirius says.

James glances at the clock and nods.  “It’s almost midnight!”  He jumps up and hurries to the door, but he stops in front of it and turns back to them.  “Thanks,” he says, “for checking on me.”

Harry and Sirius follow him out and back to the living room.  The conversation thankfully has moved on and Harry sits beside Hermione and slides his hand into hers without thinking.  James sorts them all out with a glass of champagne – or juice for Alice – ready to toast the New Year.

The clock strikes midnight. 

Harry raises his glass and sips the bubbly wine as James wishes them all a Happy New Year.

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, it’s the New Year,” Alice says forcefully, “go ahead and kiss your wife, Harry.  I’d be full on snogging Frank if he was here.”

Harry blushes but he turns to Hermione.  There’s a hint of pink in her cheeks, but her eyes are twinkling as she silently agrees with his questioning look if it is OK to kiss her.  He half-regrets that they’ve never practiced kissing before; that their first kiss will be in front of everyone.  But as they lean in and their lips meet, Harry forgets to regret anything. 

His whole being centres on Hermione; on the feel of her lips beneath his, the touch of her skin under his fingers as he cups her cheek with his free hand, the knowledge that her hand is fisted in his shirt, warmth creeping into his belly as the kiss deepens a touch.

Alice whoops in the background and brings them back to reality.

Hermione is blushing as they ease back, but she tangles her fingers with Harry’s.

Regina sighs wistfully.  “I’m so jealous.”

“I’m happily married and I’m jealous,” Alice laughs.

Lily smiles at them both.  “It’s lovely that you’re so in love.  I’m so glad you found each other.”

Harry doesn’t know what to say to that. 

“I can’t imagine my life without Harry in it,” Hermione says.

Harry squeezes her hand, grateful and touched by her words.  “I wouldn’t have survived without you.”

“OK,” James waves his hands dramatically, “enough with the newly-wed sappiness.”

“Jealous, Potter,” Lily teases.

James grins at her and puffs up a touch.  “Hey, I have plenty of ladies who’d be more than delighted to give me a kiss at the turn of a New Year.”

Lily sniffs, but her face is alight with humour.  “I find that unlikely.”

Everyone laughs at James’s faux outrage at the light jab.

“What about you, Sirius,” Lily asks, turning her attention to the other single male in the room, “are you jealous?”

“Not so much jealous,” Sirius says, “but hoping I get as lucky in finding someone to share my life with as Harry and Hermione have been to find each other.”

Harry ducks his head a little.  He feels a little ashamed at lying to them about the real state of his and Hermione’s relationship, but on the other hand…he doesn’t know what he would do without her.  He glances at her and finds her looking back at him, questions in her eyes which he thinks are reflected in his.

“Aw, that’s lovely,” Alice says, “you always do have a way with words, Sirius.”

Regina clears her throat.  “Does this mean…”

“No,” Sirius says firmly, “this does not mean you can start match-making me.”

James laughs, pulling Harry’s attention away from Hermione, and back to the wider gathering.

Alice sets her glass down and stands up.  “Well, I should be heading to bed.  We’ve got an early start to get to Blackthorn tomorrow.”

Her statement seems to galvanise all of them into goodnight wishes and they troop off to bed within minutes.

Harry waits until he and Hermione are behind closed doors.  He clears his throat, nervous suddenly.  “Hermione, about the kiss…”

Hermione pauses, half-way to the bathroom.  She’s in the middle of taking off her jewellery and she unclasps her earring and looks at him quizzically.

“I want to…” Harry begins before he stops and pushes a hand through his hair.

“It’s alright, Harry,” Hermione says quickly, “we knew we would have to kiss eventually, and we probably should have realised tonight would be…”

“I liked kissing you,” Harry blurts out.

Hermione freezes, her eyes wide.  “You did?”

“Yes,” Harry says, bravely, “I did.”  He gestures at her.  “I know you don’t feel the same…”

“I liked kissing you too,” Hermione cuts in.

Harry blinks.  “You did?”

Hermione takes a step back towards him and stops.  But then she takes a deep breath and with her characteristic bravery, speaks.  “I…I’ve always liked you, Harry.”  She smiles a touch tremulously.  “I just…you never looked at me so…”

“When I might have thought…you wanted Ron,” Harry points out, “and he always liked you so…”

Hermione takes another step towards him and he takes a step toward her.  They’re close enough to touch.

“So, we like each other,” Hermione states with a wry smile, “we’ve always liked each other, we’ve just never realised.”

Harry nods.  “I think that sums it up.”

Hermione bites her lip.  “Are you sure this isn’t some kind of Stockholm Syndrome because…”

Harry kisses her again.  Sometimes he can be as brave and reckless as a Gryffindor is supposed to be.

The kiss is just as good as the last one; better.  They both reach for each other at the same time and they’re properly kissing; tongues tangling and hands seeking the skin under their clothes.  Harry draws Hermione flush against him and she gives a breathy moan.  They don’t stop kissing.

The wards tug at Harry’s magic as his missing relatives arrive back from the ball and it’s enough to break the bubble of intimacy.

Harry eases back, breathing hard.  Hermione looks at him wide-eyed, her lips swollen.  Her hair is in disarray.  One of his hands strokes over her back; one of her hands is under his shirt.

“Harry…”  Hermione whispers.

“Wow,” Harry says.

Hermione stares for a second before she giggles.  A second later they’re both chuckling. 

Hermione smooths his collar down and gazes at him thoughtfully.  “So, we’re really doing this?  I mean, being together?”

“I want to try,” Harry replies, “but only if…”

“I want to try too,” Hermione hurriedly assures him.  She kisses him softly but pulls back before he can deepen the kiss.  “But as much as I really enjoy kissing you, I think maybe we should take it slow.”

Harry won’t lie; he’s a little disappointed.  His body is very much on board with kissing, on the fact that there’s a bed right next to them.  But he won’t push her. 

“It’s just there’s a lot at stake, Harry,” Hermione continues, “we’re pretending to be married and we’re relying on each other a lot and we still don’t know how we got here or how we get back and what that whole thing with Ignotus waking up means.  We need to make sure we’re not just getting carried away and that we’re really serious about this and I don’t want to risk our friendship and…”

He drops another quick kiss on her lips.  “Hey, it’s OK,” he says, “I understand, and our friendship comes first, right?  No matter what we add to it.   We’ll always be friends.”

Hermione’s face eases with relief.  “Thank you, Harry.”

“And you’re right, we probably should take it slow given the circumstances,” Harry admits.  “I don’t think either of us are the type to get carried away, and it would be good to try to maybe do this normally?”

“You mean like go on a date?”  Hermione asks, a little incredulous.

“Yes, something like that,” Harry immediately replies, “just something normal.”

“I like that idea,” Hermione admits, “maybe we can arrange a date together before we go back to Hogwarts.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Harry says.

They grin like loons at each other.

“OK,” Hermione says firmly, “let’s just…do what we usually do and get ready for bed.”

“You still OK sharing?” asks Harry.

Hermione nods.  “If you are?”

Harry gives a nod of his own in reply.  She kisses him gently and disentangles herself from their embrace.  He watches as she walks over to the bathroom and closes the door. 

He breathes in deeply.  He can’t quite believe they’re going to be together.  He feels indescribably happy, as effervescent as the champagne they’d drunk.  He still feels the same bubbly joy a few minutes later as they swap places and he heads into the bathroom for his own ablutions. 

Still, there’s a moment of awkwardness as he slides into the bed.  Hermione huffs when the lights go out and he’s very carefully keeping to his own side.  She snuggles up and Harry tucks her against him carefully.  He falls asleep with her hair tickling his nose.

They have no time the next morning to really talk about it; it’s a flurry of activity as they all make their way from Potter Hall to Blackthorn through a floo connection. 

Harry steps out and immediately shivers as the weight of the family magic surrounds him for a long moment; there is duty and honour, a magical legacy that reaches into his spirit and calls to him.  But there is also warmth and affection; a purity of love and welcome which feels heartbreakingly familiar.

“Welcome home, Harry,” Arcturus says as the magic recedes and leaves Harry breathless in front of the ornate fireplace in the reception room.  “Let’s get you settled in.”

It’s Sirius who shows them to their suite of rooms; equally as spacious as their rooms at Potter Hall.  He gives all the guests a quick tour and they end up passing the morning in the library, Lily and Hermione captivated by the books.

Lunch is a lively affair.  Regina, Lily and Hermione debate the merits of an old Arithmancy book as the rest of them look on indulgently.  Eventually they pause and take in their captivated audience.

Hermione gives a sheepish smile. “My apologies, we got caught up.”  She slides her hand over Harry’s on the top of the table and Harry weaves their fingers together comfortingly.  They’ve enjoyed holding hands and sharing quiet looks all through the morning.  His glee at their relationship has caused a couple of indulgent looks from Charlus and an audacious wink from James.

“No need to apologise,” Dorea says, “it’s interesting to hear such an intelligent debate amongst our young women.”  She looks over at Lily curiously.  “Have you considered a Mastery?”

“Yes, actually, I’m apprenticed to Professor Flitwick,” Lily replies.

Dorea frowns.

“Why are you the Muggle Studies Professor if you’re apprenticed?” asks James bluntly.

Charlus sends him a chiding look but he stays quiet.

Lily flushes under the weight of the attention she’s garnered.  “I’m afraid…”

Alice rolls her eyes. “Dumbledore was an arse and wouldn’t agree to her being in the castle if she wasn’t a Professor.”

“Alice!” remonstrates Lily.

Charlus and Arcturus exchange a sombre look. 

“I hadn’t realised you had such an arrangement,” Sirius says, frowning.

“Why should you?” Lily gestures around the table.  “The Headmaster simply had concerns given I am first generation and without family to look after my interests.  He noted I would have incurred gossip being apprenticed to Professor Flitwick and staying in his quarters without a chaperone.  My employment gives me a valid reason for being in Hogwarts, provides quarters of my own, and I can continue my apprenticeship.”

“While the Headmaster raised some valid concerns, I cannot say I agree with his solution,” Dorea responds, “there are a number of ways the issue could have been resolved without you slowing down your apprenticeship to accommodate a full-time teaching position.”

“Perhaps,” Lily says, “but the Headmaster has always looked out for me.  I respect his decision in this matter.”

Alice snorts and Lily glares at her.

“Don’t look at me like that, Lily,” Alice says, “you know my feelings on the subject.  Personally, I think he’s taken advantage of both you and Severus, and I don’t even like Severus.”

“I don’t think offering Severus an apprenticeship is taking advantage of him,” counters Lily with a touch of exasperation.

Harry remembers the conversation between James and Sirius the night before and isn’t too surprised to find them exchanging a look further down the table.

“Well, I’m sure given the current circumstances, we might be able to come some arrangement with Albus on your apprenticeship,” Dorea comments.

Lily looks flummoxed.  “The current circumstances?”

“The Evans family is now a cadet branch of both the Potter and Black family magics through Harry,” Regina chimes in, “you have our protection now.”

Lily frowns.  “Thank you but I’m sure…”

“Perhaps a discussion for after lunch,” Dorea asserts smoothly, “the ladies can take afternoon tea and discuss the matter.”

It’s clear that the discussion is over at least for the lunch table.  Dorea adeptly changes the topic and a debate about the current state of the Quidditch league quickly takes centre stage.

The question of whether Dumbledore is taking advantage of Lily stays with Harry for the rest of the day, through the afternoon of flying which James insists upon, and into the evening meal where Lily is unusually quiet and contemplative.

Harry can’t settle to sleep, not even with Hermione curled up beside him after a pleasant making-out session which had left them both a little flustered.  He makes his way out of their rooms and heads to the patio at the back of the house.  Luckily the doors slide open easily and Harry steps into the night air with a sigh of relief.

The sky is filled with stars and the moon is a crescent of silver light pouring over the dark ground.  The picturesque gardens are obscured; tantalising flashes of clarity where the light hits, and the rest shrouded in shadow.

Harry wishes idly he’d worn something other than just his pyjamas and a dressing gown.

He loves the feel of Blackthorn.  It feels like Sirius, he realises.  His Sirius.  His Sirius had been damaged and broken by years in Azkaban; a mosaic of bad judgements and decisions.  But he had loved Harry and Blackthorn feels like being wrapped in Sirius’ arms before they had said goodbye and Sirius flew away on Buckbeak; when Sirius had risked everything to be near Harry during the tournament; when Sirius had greeted him at Grimmauld the summer after his fourth year.

He breathes in and lets the family magic comfort him. 

A movement on the lawn in front of him draws his eyes, a dark shape like a dog but not…

His breath catches and his heart skips a beat.

Was it a grimm?

There’s a sound behind him.  Harry glances over his shoulder and finds Sirius standing beside the patio door.

For a second, his mind can almost paint the picture of his Sirius to allow Harry a moment of pretending.  But the thought is gone almost as soon as he registers it.

Besides, muses Harry, no-one would be able to get the two mixed up.  This world’s Sirius is measured in a way his Sirius never was; he’s intelligent and fast; calm and controlled.  There’s a steadfastness about him.  He’s everything Harry’s Sirius might have been had he been rescued from his parents; if he’d been raised with love and security and without his only anchor being the Marauders and James Potter. 

Harry really likes this Sirius.  It still feels like a betrayal some of the time, but his Sirius has been gone for years and Harry appreciates the differences between the two men.

“Sorry,” Harry says belatedly, realising Sirius has been waiting for Harry to speak, “I just needed a bit of air and I didn’t want to disturb Hermione.”  He turns back and isn’t surprised to find the lawn empty.

Maybe he’s seeing things?

Sirius takes the few steps separating them, stopping as he draws level.  He peers out into the darkness too.  There’s a cold frost seeping in on the top of the grass.  A breeze which has Harry shivering before Sirius mutters and the patio becomes a haven of magical warmth.

“Can’t sleep?” asks Sirius carefully.

Harry grimaces.  “Sorry.” 

Sirius hums.  “I’d be worried if you didn’t get a few given some of the stories you’ve told us, and then there is the whole world jumping thing.  I’d think I’d have a few sleepless nights if I were you.”

Harry blinks in surprise but he lets out a small chuckle because he guesses Sirius is right.  “Yeah.”

“You want to talk about it?” offers Sirius.

He sighs.  “Actually, I was thinking about Lily and Dumbledore.”

“Ah,” Sirius says.

“You think he took advantage of her, don’t you?” asks Harry bluntly.

“She’s the brightest witch of our generation,” Sirius replies, “and having her in debt to him gives him a powerful asset.”  He sighs.  “I hadn’t realised her employment terms were anything but above board.” He turns to Harry.  “She’ll have better options when she returns; she can seek the shelter of both the Houses of Potter and Black now.  That’s thanks to you.”

Harry breathes out.  “I feel so protective of her already.”

“That’s your family magic stirring,” Sirius says. 

They’re quiet for a long while.  Harry stands and stares up at the night sky.

“You should head back to bed; get some sleep.”

Harry almost jumps as he’s reminded he’s not alone.  He blinks again at Sirius; at the weird double vision of the Sirius in his heart and the one in front of his eyes.

Harry nods.  “Thank you for checking on me.”  He takes a step and stops when Sirius calls out his name.

“Who was Sirius Black in your world?” asks Sirius.

He’s not just asking out of curiosity, Harry thinks, but he’s not sure why Sirius wants to know either.

“Does it matter?” asks Harry warily.

“You look at me sometimes as though you expect to see someone else,” Sirius says quietly.  “I like you, Harry, and I think we’re on our way to being good friends, cousins.  But I dislike the idea that I hurt you just by being.”

“You don’t.”  Harry automatically denies, crossing his arms.

Sirius just raises an eyebrow.

Harry blows out a breath because, yeah, that was a pathetic attempt at a lie.  He paces a little away from Sirius and stand at the edge of the patio and stares out into the night sky again.

“Sirius Black was my godfather,” Harry confesses quietly.

Sirius stays where he is and Harry is grateful for that.  “He was the one who was wrongfully imprisoned.”

“Yes,” Harry confirms.  “Sirius…Sirius never got rescued from his parents by his grandfather.  He met my father on the Express and they became fast friends during the journey.  Sirius was sorted to Gryffindor.”

“That would not have gone down well with my mother,” Sirius comments.  “By all accounts, she was devoted to Slytherin; had the whole house decorated with snakes.”

Harry smiles a touch sadly at that.  It’s weird to think of Sirius as being anything other than a Gryffindor.  “My Sirius…he ran away from home at sixteen and was taken in by my grandparents.  He and my father were raised as brothers from that point.  He was best man at my parents’ wedding.”  He sighs.  “He loved them very much.  He got to the house just after the attack and found me.  Hagrid turned up with orders to collect me and take me to Dumbledore so…” he shrugs, “I sometimes wonder if Hagrid hadn’t taken me, if Sirius had been able to keep me with him, if he could have cleared his name and…”

There’s silence as Harry gathers his composure as he tries to will the desperate wish of what might have been away again.

“He said to me once that after Hagrid left he went mad with grief and anger.  He went after the traitor who’d given away the location and then Sirius got framed for my parents’ murders,” Harry says simply.  “Azkaban wasn’t kind to him; he suffered.  But he broke out to protect me when he realised the traitor was at Hogwarts with me.  He wasn’t right mentally or physically really, but it didn’t matter to me.  He loved me and tried to protect me.  He died trying to protect me.”

“He sounds like a good man,” Sirius says.

“He was,” Harry says.  “He was stubborn and prejudiced in his own way; reckless and hot-tempered.  But he was kind to me and he lived in a house he hated so I would have some protection.”  He turns to look at Sirius.  “But you’re not him and I know that.  Sometimes it hurts to look at you because…you, this world; you’re everything Sirius could have been.” 

Sirius regards him for a long moment.  “I don’t remember being beaten by my mother.  I know my medical records tell me she broke three of my bones and I was bruised and bleeding when my grandparents found me.  I was apparently protecting Regina when they came in and found my mother whipping me.”  He pauses.  “I dread to think what would have happened to me if the family magic hadn’t alerted my grandfather.”

“It’s made such a difference in this world,” Harry says. “I think we’re on our way to being good friends too?  I just…I know you’re not him, but I just wish…I wish he could have had the same life.”

“I’m lucky,” Sirius acknowledges.  “Maybe I haven’t expressed that enough or thought about that enough.”

Harry smiles at him.  “I think if I could speak to him now, he’d be pleased we’ve met and that we’re going to be friends.”

Sirius looks pleased at that.  He gestures with a jerk of his head toward the door.  “Want to see if the house elves can rustle up some hot chocolate?”

They head inside to the kitchen.  There’s a young elf on duty who positively squeaks with delight at the prospect of serving them hot chocolate. 

Once they have drinks, Sirius nudges Harry. “Come on, I have something to show you.”

Harry follows him through the house to a study.  Sirius waves him inside and walks him up to a familiar tapestry; the Black family tree.  Harry smiles at the pristine condition; the gleaming threads of silver and gold.

“Here,” Sirius points to a low point on the tapestry.

Harry starts as he reads his own name and – Hermione.  Hermione is displayed as his wife.  He swallows hard.  He remembers the rush of magic as Hermione had accepted his ring and he wonders… 

“Are you nervous about the Wizengamot tomorrow?” asks Sirius.

Harry takes a scalding hot mouthful of chocolate before replying.  “A little.  I wasn’t raised to this like you and James.”

“You don’t talk much about your childhood before Hogwarts,” Sirius says.

Harry shrugs, uncomfortable with the turn of the conversation.  “There’s nothing to talk about.”

Sirius considers him for a long moment.  “Nobody rescued you either, did they?”

“It wasn’t bad.”  Harry says immediately, and winces because his therapist is going to have a field day with him about that response. 

Or would if he was still on the right world to make his next appointment. 

He sips his chocolate.  “My aunt just didn’t like me and her husband hated me.  They both raised their own son to do the same, although Dudley wasn’t all bad at the end.  They made me know I was a burden; that I wasn’t deserving of love or kindness in their eyes.  I just thought it was normal.”  He looks over at Sirius.  “Dumbledore basically threatened them into taking me in.  I can’t blame them for being resentful or fearful.  He had no right to do that to them or me, but he did it anyway for the greater good.”

“Harry?”

Both of them turn at the sound of Hermione’s voice and find her in the doorway.  She’s wrapped in a dressing gown, but she looks a touch pale.

“Hey,” Harry gets to his feet and immediately goes to her.  “Are you OK?”

Hermione nods and takes his hand.  “Just woke up and you weren’t there.”

“And I think that’s my cue to leave,” Sirius says smoothly.  “Goodnight,” He sweeps out of the second doorway without waiting for a reply and Harry is thankful that Sirius could clearly see Hermione needs him.

Hermione frowns.   “I didn’t mean to chase him off.”

“Come on,” Harry says, darting a look back at the tapestry.  “We’d best get to bed.”

They walk back up to the suite.  The bedroom is dimly lit.  Hermione has set a mage light into a small lamp on her side of the bed.  They clamber back into the sinfully comfortable double bed and settle back down.

Harry doesn’t ask Hermione to dim the light.  He likes the glow. 

Hermione turns to face him.  “You OK?”

“Just couldn’t sleep, I didn’t want to wake you,” Harry admits softly.  “I went out for some air and Sirius found me.”

“He’s nice,” Hermione offers.

“He is,” Harry agrees.  He turns on his side so they’re face to face.  “I told him about our Sirius.”

Hermione’s eyes widen.  “What did he say?”

“I think he already knew he was someone important to me back in our world.  He was really good about it,” Harry pauses.  “He talked about how things were for him with his parents – if our Sirius had the same…it’s no wonder he was so screwed up.”

“I’ve noticed he’s very good with the house elves,” Hermione murmurs. 

It seems like a strange segue, but Harry understands.  Hermione had hated how Sirius had treated Kreacher, but even Hermione had to allow that Sirius had been badly treated by the elf as a child on his own mother’s orders.  That this Sirius is kind and polite to his elves suggests he never had to go through the same.

Hermione smiles.  “It’s interesting, isn’t it?  The change family magic has made on the Blacks?  Regina’s lovely.”

Harry nods – a little awkwardly given his position.  He sighs.  “They have the Black family tapestry in the study, it has us on it.”

“Us?” Hermione’s brow creases in confusion.

“Us,” Harry taps her finger where she wears his ring, “it thinks we’re married.”

“Oh,” Hermione says.  She bites her lip.  “How do you feel about that?”

“Honestly, I think I’m relieved there’s something which gives truth to what we’ve claimed,” Harry says, “if we’re truly married nobody is going to find out we’re not.”

“Me too,” Hermione says.  “But it’s a little weird, isn’t it?  With where we are?”

Harry lifts a shoulder in a half-hearted shrug.  “We’re together and I’m happy we’re together together even if we’re taking it slow.”

Hermione snuggles closer.  “Me too.”

Harry nudges her hand with his.  “What about you?  Why did you wake up?”

“I was thinking about my parents here,” Hermione admits.  “When we were taking afternoon tea, Dorea and Regina offered to track them down.” 

“You don’t want to check in on them,” Harry surmises reading the uncertainty in her eyes.

Hermione bites her lip.  “I’ve thought about it but…I think I’m going to ask Dorea to check if they exist and if they’re OK but…I don’t think I want to meet them.  They’ve never really been comfortable about the magical world and there’s no guarantee that I’ve been born or that I’d still be magical.”

“That would be a loss for this world,” Harry says.

“Yeah?” asks Hermione with a small smile.

“Well, you’re the best thing about our world so I may be a little biased,” Harry’s tone is teasing but he’s sincere, his heart kicking up a gear as he waits for her reaction.

Hermione beams at him.  “You’re definitely biased.”

Harry lifts his shoulder again and shrugs lightly.

“Let’s get some sleep,” Hermione says eventually.  “We’ve got a long day tomorrow.”

Harry agrees.  Hermione shifts to settle on her back and Harry watches as she falls asleep.  He closes his eyes eventually and drifts away.

Chapter 14: Call to Arms

The morning dawns and it is a sunny crisp day. The sky is a brilliant blue, sun beaming down unimpeded by clouds. There’s a hard frost on the ground, silver and white glistening up from the grass, gravel and concrete pathways.

Harry and Hermione breakfast with the family before returning to their suite to get ready for the Wizengamot.

Hermione is already dressed in a warm Paisley dress of beautiful grey, green, silver and blue tones when Harry exits the bathroom. The smart grey trousers he pulls on match the darker grey in Hermione’s dress. He teams them with a green cotton shirt and a Paisley tie. The dark grey robes are open in style – something Sirius has assured Harry is in trend but acceptable still for the more formal Wizengamot.

It helps when they head down to meet up with the rest of the family that Sirius and James are wearing something similar. Sirius in black on black which gives him a dangerous air, and James in a smart blue outfit with a ruby shirt.

There’s a lot of chatter as the elder Potters, the Longbottoms and Arcturus take one carriage leaving Harry and Hermione to take a second with Regina, Lily, Sirius and James.

Their arrival at the Ministry building is a new experience for Harry and Hermione. There’s an old-fashioned entrance with a wrought-iron gate leading into a small quad, which reminds Harry of the Tower of London. He wonders if the private entrance for the Wizengamot members exists in his world; he’s only ever used the phone box.

There are Aurors guarding the door and Harry sees James nod at someone who looks like a younger Kingsley Shacklebolt.

“This way,” James says and leads them through the warren of corridors, ignoring all the gaping onlookers who are clearly bemused by the sight of the Potter heir with the Black heir and his sister, accompanied by three strangers. He takes them to his father’s office.

“Are you alright there, Harry?” Charlus asks as Harry sits next to Hermione on a comfortable two-seater leather sofa. The Longbottoms are absent having gone to wait in Frank’s own office.

“I’m fine.” He feels sick. More than nerves before a match. More like he’s genuinely going to throw up.

Hermione slides her arm around his in a loose hold.

“Deep breath.” Lily advises, her gaze sharp on his.

Harry nods and breathes in shakily.

Sirius taps his shoulder and hands him a mug filled with hot chocolate.

Harry gives him a tentative smile of thanks and sips the drink. It’s sweet and smooth. He drinks another sip.

“Don’t worry,” Charlus soothes him. “You’ll have both myself and Arcturus beside you.”

“And Sirius and I will be right behind you,” James says with bright cheer. “So most of the old fogies will probably be so taken aback by that they’ll not focus on you at all.”

“Really, James,” Dorea mutters, “I did bring you up better than that.”

Harry’s lips twitch and he can’t help but be grateful for James’ attempt to lighten the moment.

Hermione squeezes his hand gently.

There’s a chime which sounds through the room.

“That’s the signal,” Arcturus says.

They gather themselves and troop out into the corridor.

Charlus and Arcturus lead the way with Dorea between them. Harry and Hermione are next, and true to his word, James, Sirius, Lily and Regina are bringing up the rear.

Harry tries to take in all the twists and turns as they head down a hallway lined with pictures of previous Ministers on one side and Chief Warlocks and Witches on the other. There’s another Auror guard in front of the tall wooden doors which are standing open.

Harry recognises Pettigrew and Albert Croaker – James’ friends and Auror partners. They both simply nod though as the group draws level.

Their arrival in the chamber causes a stir as they enter, chatter breaking out and noise filling the room almost to a deafening degree.

Hermione breathes in sharply beside him and he checks on her to find her staring out in wonder. She’d had that look a lot in their first few years at Hogwarts; the wonder of magic, the awe it inspires, breath-taking and unbelievable…

Harry hasn’t seen her look that way for a while. She’s beautiful when she’s awe-struck, he thinks. He looks out to see what has enraptured her and his breath leaves him.

The Wizengamot chamber isn’t anything like the courtroom he had attended. It’s a circular space with a large round wooden object lodged in the central floor. The Round Table, Harry thinks half-hysterically and looks up to avoid seeing it.

The ceiling is a wonder of mosaic glass telling the story of Merlin; his birth, the fight between the dragons which had earned him his Sorcerer status, Arthur’s birth and claiming of the throne with the sword, and the unification of the clans and tribes of Brittanica. There are floating mage lights lighting up the glass and the figures ripple and move just as in a wizarding photo.

There is an upper public gallery which is teeming with people; ordinary wizarding citizens and a cordoned off area for members of the press.

Harry yanks his gaze back to the main space in front of him.

Seven tiers rise-up from the ground. The ground tier is Ministerial and there are twenty-one seats occupied by the Minister, Director of the DMLE, Director of the DOM and Heads of Department. The second, third and fourth tiers are occupied by elected representatives of the wizarding enclaves; twenty-one in each tier. There are no chairs, just a simple padded bench in each of these tiers.

The sixth tier are the Minor Noble seats; another twenty-one. They each have two chairs; one for the current head of the family, and one for the Heir. The chairs are primarily wood but with comfortable padding and cushions.

Harry’s eyes register Dumbledore in one seat before they catch on someone who looks like Malfoy and he has to take another steadying breath.

The final tier is where Harry will sit. There are family boxes; a bench behind for family, and two chairs in front again. The chairs are beautifully carved, the cushions comfortable and decked in expensive material.

According to Charlus, the upper tier originally had twenty-one seats, but time has seen some family die away or be subsumed into another line. There are currently only twelve families occupying the tier along with a box for the Chief Witch. A scribe sits to her left and a secretary to her right.

Harry follows Charlus and takes a seat in the Potter box alongside Hermione, Lily and Dorea. Only when Harry claims the Peverell seat will a chair and box appear to accommodate him.

James winks at him as he takes his seat in front.

“Seal the doors!” Chief Witch Marchbanks orders.

The cry is echoed by the guards at the door.

The noise dies away and the chamber falls silent as the doors shut with an audible bang.

Harry takes a breath.

It’s time for the Wizengamot to begin.

“The first item on the docket is a Special Circumstance,” the secretary announces.

Harry tries not to squirm as the Chief Witch looks up to the family box.

“Earl Gryffindor, if you could please explain,” Chief Witch Marchbanks asks briskly.

Charlus sends Harry a supportive glance before he stands and faces the Wizengamot. “Over Christmas, the Earl of Grimmauld and I felt a new addition to our family through our magic. We both separately believed at the time that it was the birth of a new child into a dormant line and we would discover the child in a matter of days which is the usual case.”

Harry tries not to fidget as Charlus pauses for a breath.

“We were both invited to Hogwarts for dinner and discovered that our belief was incorrect,” Charlus takes his time, looking around the Wizengamot. “Professor Dumbledore explained that during the holidays they had received two young visitors in need of help. The couple had been pulled through a magical tunnel from one world and into ours, and they were the new kin the Earl of Grimmauld and I had felt: Lord Harry Potter-Black and his wife Hermione.”

There’s an immediate outbreak of chatter.

“ORDER! There will be order!”

The Wizengamot falls silent again at the Chief Witch’s shout.

“I call upon Director Bell of the Department of Mysteries to give testimony in this matter,” the Chief Witch states firmly.

Harry is pleased to see the tall blonde witch who led the DOM rise from her chair and view the Wizengamot with a no-nonsense air.

“We have investigated the claims and found that the evidence supports Lord Potter-Black and his wife,” Bell says firmly. “The Lady Potter-Black was gifted with a crystal ball on her birthday by a family friend as she is a first-generation witch; the family friend had placed a geas on the ball tied to the Lady Potter-Black to show her a specific image at midnight. The ball had been spelled years before to create the dimensional travel. We believe when the geas was activated by the Lady, it accidentally triggered the travel spell. Frankly, it’s a wonder both of them survived the journey.”

Harry felt Hermione’s hand tighten on his.

“Upon arrival, the pair were able to make their way to Hogwarts which is familiar to them in their own world. They realised something was awry when faced with Professor Dumbledore who had died in their world some years ago,” Bell continues. “The pair were treated by Hogwarts’ staff and Professor Dumbledore notified their immediate family in this world. The families have, of course, welcomed them and given them protection and sanctuary. Once they were introduced to the rest of the family, their marriage was registered magically here at the Ministry.”

There’s another ripple of sound.

Harry and Hermione exchange a look; it’s another sign that they are actually married. Hermione squeezes his hand reassuringly and he manages to smile back at her.

“Will they be able to return to their own world?” asks the Chief Witch loudly, sending everyone back to silence.

Bell clears her throat and glances up towards them. “The spell is complex and will take some time to decipher. There are many of us willing to work on the spell given its uniqueness but even with willing wizards and witches, the DOM estimates that to understand the spell may take five years or more. Certainly, the ability to alter it to enable the couple to return may take another similar length of time beyond that.”

Whispers break out across the crowd. Hermione leans against him. They’d both been torn at the estimates when they’d heard them. As much as they hate the way their own world has treated them, they miss their home, their friends. It’s difficult to think they’ll end up spending so long in this world before they can return.

“It is for this reason we have recommended that official paperwork be enacted to recognise Lord Potter-Black and his wife to give them citizenship and rights thereof,” Bell concludes.

“Thank you, Director Bell,” the Chief Witch says. “Minister, your thoughts?”

Millicent Bagnold gets to her feet. She’s a stately woman with grey hair and a long nose. “We agree with Director Bell’s recommendation. We have found the young Lord and Lady to be honest and forthright. Their arrival here may be the result of a confluence of spells and fate but we would welcome them.”

The Chief Witch nods and looks back up to Charlus. “Earl Gryffindor, what say you?”

“We have already welcomed Harry and Hermione into our home and our family, alongside recognising Harry’s maternal line as a cadet branch,” Charlus says. “The House of Potter has also accepted the rapprochement of the House of Black to enable us to properly provide sanctuary and care to our new members.”

That causes a huge rush of chatter which is quelled by a look from the Chief Witch almost immediately.

“Earl Grimmauld?” She asks briskly. “What say you?”

Arcturus stands. “The Earl of Gryffindor and I are agreed. We welcome Harry and Hermione to our world and to our family. We are united to protect them.”

“Very well,” the Chief Witch says. “Let it be known on this day, the second of January in the year two-thousand and two, Harry James Potter and Hermione Jane Potter nee Granger are hereby acknowledged as rightful citizens of this world and issued with official papers proclaiming them as such.” Her face softens into a soft smile as her eyes find Harry’s. “Welcome, Lord and Lady Potter-Black.”

Harry and Hermione both bow their heads in unison as a mark of respect and acknowledgement.

“You have another request, Earl Gryffindor?” The Chief Witch moves on briskly, stalling another wave of chatter.

Charlus smiles. “Yes, both the Earl of Grimmauld and I…we believe the Lord Potter-Black should not lose his rights due to his unique position. In his world he has the right to sit on the Wizengamot for both the House of Potter and the House of Black.” He nods at Arcturus.

“Our proposal is to award one of our lesser titles to Lord Potter-Black providing him with the same rights here,” Arcturus says.

Harry isn’t surprised when the moment of stillness after the announcement breaks out into pandemonium.

“ORDER!” The Chief Witch accompanies her shout by waving her wand and a small bang silences the Wizengamot. She looks out furiously. “We will discuss this sensibly and I will eject anyone who cannot do so. Is that understood?”

The crowd settles again and Harry takes a shaky breath.

“Earl Gryffindor, what title do you intend to bestow?” asks the Chief Witch.

“The Earldom of Peverell,” Charlus replies.

There is an audible gasp.

The Chief Witch’s eyes narrow. “And you, Earl Grimmauld?”

“The Barony of Ravenshold,” Arcturus replies.

It doesn’t get as much of a gasp but there is a scattered muttering.

The Chief Witch sniffs. “I can see there are people who wish to speak. Raise wands if you wish to speak for the motion.”

Harry watches in surprise as both Sirius and James raise their wands.

The Chief Witch calls on James first.

James stands, legs apart, arms behind his back, almost at parade rest. “Our family honour demands we treat Harry, Lord Potter-Black, with the respect due his position. To not recognise that he has a title, that he has a right to a vote in this body, would be to deny him his familial and magical heritage. I stand with my father in our decision.”

“Well spoken, Viscount Potter,” the Chief Witch sighs. “Baron Blackthorn, you are recognised.”

Sirius gets to his feet and Harry can see the immediate way he captivates the Wizengamot. “The arrival of someone from another world into ours is unprecedented. The acts we take now to protect and welcome Harry and his wife will say much about our own civility, magic and legacy. How can we not give him what he is justly entitled to? He is ours now and our magic is his.”

There are a few people nodding and Harry can see Sirius’s words are resonating around the room.

“Earl Longbottom, you are recognised.”

Frank rises to his feet. “I have had the pleasure of spending some of the holidays with the Lord and Lady Potter-Black and their new family. The love and kinship between them is a delight. This is not our business but the business of family magic for these two families. If they wish to confer a title upon a member of their family that is their right. I say we have no right to stand in their way.”

The Chief Witch thanks Neville’s father and he sits back down. She calls upon another two members of the Wizengamot, Lady Bones and Lady Appleby, who both echo the arguments already made.

“Raise your wands if you wish to speak against the Earl’s motion,” the Chief Witch announces.

Harry blinks in surprise when she recognises Dumbledore.

“I have also had the pleasure of meeting young Harry and his wife,” Dumbledore begins, “they are intelligent good people. I have no doubt if Harry were to be given a voice in our Wizengamot he would act with honour and integrity.” He pauses. “I also believe that the wish for him to take his place as expressed by the Gryffindor and Grimmauld families are sincere and truthful; that the intent comes from love and family.” He sighs. “But Harry is young. He is not even as old as the heirs to the Houses of Potter and Black. He has endured much in his world and has his titles because of the loss of his family there. I understand the motivations, but I believe it would be a kindness not to press this young man to take up a responsibility in this world and allow him a moment of peace.”

Harry shivers as several people crane their heads to look at him. Hermione strokes her thumb over the back of his hand. Her silent support eases Harry’s thoughts.

“Lord Malfoy,” the Chief Witch.

Hermione tenses beside him and it’s Harry’s turn to comfort her.

“I also appreciate the sentiment expressed by the families, but I question the right of a visitor from another world gaining a voice in the body which governs ours.”

Abraxas Malfoy has similar mannerisms to his son Lucius, but he lacks the air of menace which Harry had always associated with Malfoy until the end of the war when the wizard had been nothing more than a cowardly servant of Voldemort’s.

There are another three who speak against the request and the Chief Witch finally calls a halt.

“Perhaps we should put it to a vote,” she says briskly.

Sirius raises his wand. “Point of order, Chief Witch.”

“Yes, Baron Blackthorn?” asks the Chief Witch, a hint of remonstration in her voice.

“Motions to confer titles cannot be placed to the Wizengamot for a vote. At the beginning of the Wizengamot each noble family was weighed by the Round Table before they were able to sit within this body. The head of a family has had the unassailable right since to confer a title on whomever they wish so long as there is a blood and magical connection,” Sirius points out crisply.

The chamber breaks out into a furore of chatter again.

“ENOUGH! ORDER! ORDER, OR I WILL BAN ALL BUT THE SITTING MEMBERS FROM THE CHAMBER!” The Chief Witch glares around the Wizengamot as silence falls. She nods at her scribe, a stately looking wizard who reminds Harry vaguely of Daphne Greengrass.

“I do not disagree with the Baron’s proclamation; he is right,” the wizard says.

The Chief Witch recognises a witch on the opposite side of the chamber. “Baroness Selwyn.”

“To put this matter to the vote would set a precedent I do not believe we wish to make; to allow the Wizengamot to interfere in the family right to confer inheritance,” the elderly witch raises a hand. “But I do think the matter of giving a voice in the Wizengamot to a wizard from another world…that does not sit easily with me. No matter the character references we have heard, his magic does not originate in our world. To simply confer this honour…I do not agree even if I cannot deny Baron Blackthorn’s point; the Round Table gave us these rights and we cannot deny them.”

Sirius rises again. “Perhaps there is a way forward. The conference of the title of Peverell will recreate the family box, therefore we could request that Lord Potter-Black be weighed by the Round Table,” he suggests crisply. “If he is accepted then he gains his seat; if he is not accepted then we confer the titles but without the responsibilities or votes which would normally accompany such an act.”

Charlus and Arcturus exchange a long look. Harry clears his throat quietly, catching Charlus’s attention.

Charlus glances back swiftly. “Harry? You wish to speak?”

“Lord Potter-Black, you are so recognised,” the Chief Witch says.

Harry stands, reluctantly letting go of Hermione’s hand. He took a deep breath. “Firstly, on behalf of Hermione and myself I’d like to say thank you for recognising our citizenship in this world, and for the care and protection our families and Hogwarts here have given to us since they have known of our arrival.”

He can see how pleased Charlus is by his words.

“I know Earl Gryffindor and Earl Grimmauld make their request from a place of magic, family and love. They wish to honour my status in my own world; to give me an equal place in theirs,” Harry continues. “I am honoured by them.”

Charlus gives a nod of acknowledgement.

“I also understand the arguments against giving me a vote here in this Wizengamot,” Harry says, looking out into the listening faces in front of him. He turns to Sirius. “Is this Round Table test fatal if I am not accepted?”

“No,” Sirius immediately answers, “there’s not a lot known about it in truth. But it is said to have weighed the character of the wizard or witch and if they passed the spirit of Arthur appeared to them and offered them a seat within the Wizengamot. Any who did not pass simply did not achieve a seat.”

“OK, so I think the suggestion has merit then,” Harry says. “My family honours me with the titles, but I take this test to see if the magic here believes I have the right to have a vote in the Wizengamot.”

The Chief Witch blinks at him as though surprised. “Well, I think we may have found a compromise.” She waves at Charlus. “Is this acceptable to you, Earl Gryffindor?”

“I will accept the outcome of the Round Table.” Charlus says and sits.

“And you, Earl Grimmauld?” She checks.

Arcturus gives Sirius a hard look but he nods. “I too will accept the outcome of the Round Table.”

“Please make your way down, Lord Potter-Black,” the Chief Witch invites him with a smile.

Harry breathes out slowly. He turns back to Hermione who ignores the whole Wizengamot to give him a brief hug. He can see how worried she is but he hugs her back hard and steps away. He makes his way down the tiers aware all eyes are on him. He stops just a step away from the Round Table in the centre of the floor.

“When you are ready, Lord Potter-Black,” the Chief Witch says, “please take step onto the Round Table.”

Harry nods and tries to remember to breathe. He looks up towards Hermione and his eyes find hers easily. She smiles tremulously back at him. He breathes in again and turns back to face the Round Table in front of him again. One more breath. He takes a step forward…

The air around him stills.

Silence.

A heartbeat.

There’s a deep chime.

Loud and long.

Harry feels it in his soul.

Connection.

A call to arms.

Magic rushes around him, a mini tornado…

Harry is frozen, unable to move…

And the tornado drops leaving behind a figure who glows with magical light…

A man stands in front of him. He’s tall and broad; blond hair tied back with a strip of leather and a full beard. He’s wearing armour; a chest plate with chainmail; leather trousers and boots. He has a cloak falling behind him in a sweep of red. He rests his hands on the pommel of a large broadsword which is pointing down into the table.

“Your King has need of you,” the man says solemnly.

Harry’s heart stampedes in his chest as his eyes widen. He’s standing in front of King Arthur.

Arthur reaches out and clasps Harry’s shoulder.

The world shifts.

They’re no longer standing in the centre of the Wizengamot but in a circular room of an ancient tower.

In front of Harry the Round Table is again a table and sat around it are the ghostly figures of Arthur’s Knights and the slumped figure of the Queen, still in battle armour but her female form unmistakeable.

There are banners with the crest of Pendragon falling from the high ceiling. Candles float in wrought iron chandeliers, unlit and dark. The tall windows are thin but a pale light streams in to cut across the dark and highlight the floating motes of dust.

Harry feels a moment’s anxiety, his magic surging, but before he can panic…

“No-one will notice we are gone,” Arthur states, “to them this is a blink of an eye.”

Harry takes a breath. Then another. “This is…”

“The place in-between,” Arthur says. “Avalon asleep,” He looks around a mix of wistfulness and nostalgia. “We’re waiting.”

“What for?” asks Harry, giving into his curiosity.

“Merlin,” Arthur says. “He will return and find the path to awaken our spirits in this new world beyond.” He smiles at Harry. “Come.”

They make their way out of the room and down a dusty hallway. There’s a door and a step later they’re outside on a narrow strip of roof, parapets shielding them. Harry looks out. Beyond the castle walls there are fields of green and low rolling hills. The sun is shining but it’s muted; there’s no air, no breeze. There isn’t a sound in the distance or the natural cries of birds and animals.

Everything is suspended, waiting.

“War is coming,” Arthur’s piercing gaze holds Harry’s. “I need your wand and your magic to guard Camelot.”

It’s a blow.

He doesn’t want another war. He doesn’t want to fight any more. He wants peace and a life and…he wants coffee and cake with Hermione arguing about essays and Ron complaining about anything muggle except fish and chips and…

“I was raised as a fosterling,” Arthur says, cutting across his thoughts, “Ector was fierce and stern but he cared about the people under his rule. I had food and shelter. Kay was…too aware of his own status but he was friendly sometimes, brotherly rarely, and a bully when he didn’t get his way. It taught me a lot my time in Ector’s estate.”

Harry thinks of his own experience with Petunia and Vernon; of Dudley’s taunts and slaps before he’d finally clued into his own horribleness. It had taught him a lot too.

“I was twelve when we went to Londinium; when I drew the sword and became the King,” Arthur shakes his head. “It was the way back then; boys went to battle long before they were properly men. But I wasn’t ready and there were years of wars. Every day was another battle. If it hadn’t been for Merlin and my knights…we barely won.” He turns back to Harry. “I know you understand. I can see the scars of the battles you wear upon your soul.”

“All I’ve done since I was eleven is fight,” Harry says. “Even in the moments when there wasn’t a battle, it was still…” he sighs. “I’m not…I don’t think I can fight anymore even if my magic will be fixed soon.”

“I think you underestimate your strength,” Arthur says.

Harry doesn’t reply.

Arthur turns away and looks out. “Albion was united, but it was stitched together with thin thread and nothing stronger than spit. We knew it wouldn’t hold. Merlin and I…we knew it wouldn’t hold, couldn’t hold.”

Harry frowns, wondering where Arthur is going with the tale.

“Merlin and I had already seen the truth; we’d lived it once before.” Arthur says simply.

Harry blinks.

“We’d slipped between this world and another, where we had lived a life where Morgana and Mordred betrayed me, my wife fell in love with another, and where Camelot had fallen to ruin,” Arthur says. “We knew when we returned where the cracks were, the petty jealousies and human failings which would break apart the fragile peace we’d built.”

“Merlin created the family magic,” Harry says.

“It worked for a while,” Arthur smiles fondly. “But the fragility of our peace, we could do nothing to fix that. What we wanted to build was too soon for the world; it wasn’t ready. We weren’t ready. Merlin saw the end; the descent back to war, the final battle where I’d take a fatal blow. And so, we planned.”

Harry waits for the king to continue.

“Merlin cast a spell, one that when the end was imminent sent our spirits to sleep and wait,” Arthur says. “But Merlin could see beyond to each threat to our return. Some we could nothing but hope, some we planted seeds long before which helped to change the tide in our favour, and then there was this threat.”

“Is it Voldemort?” Harry asks softly.

Arthur turns back to him. “Yes and no. Tom Marvolo Riddle is not yet the abomination he could become.”

“But he’s part of what’s happening,” Harry says.

Arthur nods and sighs. “There is more here than you know or we could see. Evil walks and we cannot know its face for certain. But what we knew back then was that we would need someone to help us fight it.”

Harry suddenly knows. “The spell on the crystal ball. It was intended to bring someone here to fight this evil for you.” He whirls away, furious and uncaring he’s furious with a king. “How could you do that?” he thrusts a hand out toward Arthur. “Hermione almost died!” He stops. “It wasn’t me you meant to bring. You meant to bring Hermione here and…”

“No, we meant to bring you and you would never have come willingly if not to save her,” Arthur admits.

Harry is so angry, his magic rolls beneath his skin and he almost doesn’t care if he controls it.

“The magical world does not survive here without your presence, Harry,” Arthur says. “There is no other way. Merlin searched for a long time before we determined this.”

It’s blunt and honest. Harry can hear that. He just doesn’t want to hear it. He’s angry and tired…so tired of having to fight and…

Harry looks away from the king’s piercing gaze. “If I don’t fight…what happens?”

“The war will be brutal. Evil will triumph and the magical world will burn. There will be no world left for me to return to rule.”

“But aren’t you meant to return at the greatest hour of need?” asks Harry tersely.

Arthur frowns. “This magic is complex and ancient. Merlin and I…we agreed we would return when the world was ready for Camelot again.”

Harry paces a step away, stops and looks out. He can barely believe what he’s been told. He can’t deny that he’s standing looking out at a beautiful pastoral scene on top of a fairy-tale castle. He can’t deny Hermione and he are in another world and a spell brought them there.

He hates this though. Hates being back at the beck and call of prophecy and fate.

“Know I do not ask this of you lightly. We may have chosen Hermione to bring you here, but we also knew you needed her beside you to support you; to ease the burden I can see you already carry. I know I have no right to ask you to carry more,” Arthur says, “but this world needs a protector until I can return.”

Harry can’t argue with that. He just doesn’t want it to be him. But he knows…he knows he won’t sit by and let evil win. He won’t. He can’t. It’s not in his nature. He can already hear Hermione scolding him about his saving people thing.

Hermione.

Merlin only knows what Hermione will think.

Although Harry thinks he can guess.

Harry rubs his forehead and turns back to the king. “I don’t know if I can be what you want me to be.”

Arthur’s expression softens. “I trust in Merlin’s magic and I trust in you, the boy with the mark of Taliesin on your brow. You are our choice,” he keeps Harry’s gaze. “Your King calls you to arms, Lord Peverell.”

Harry nods slowly. “I accept.”

The world shifts.

They’re back in the Wizengamot; back on the Round Table in the centre of the chamber, all eyes upon them.

“You swear that your wand and magic will guard Camelot,” Arthur says, his blue eyes blazing with inner light.

Harry acts on his instinct and goes down to one knee, his head bowed. “My wand and my magic will guard Camelot.”

“Rise then, Harry James Potter, Earl of Peverell, Baron of Ravenshold,” Arthur says.

Harry gets to his feet. He has no idea what he’s supposed to say. He’s barely aware that the Wizengamot is on its feet beyond the Round Table. He darts a look toward Hermione and finds her; hand over her mouth, eyes wide. Their eyes meet and he regains his calm. He takes a breath and turns back to the glowing figure of the King.

The Chief Witch finally finds her voice. “Our King has declared you, Harry, Earl of Peverell,” she says shakily. “You may take your place among us.”

Harry bows his head a touch and walks back up. He holds a hand out to Hermione and she takes it, her eyes brimming with questions. The Peverell box waits for them and Harry swallows hard at the sight of the grim on the coat of arms. He steps inside and Hermione follows him, her hand tightly holding his. They look back down to where Arthur’s glowing figure still stands upon the Round Table.

Arthur looks out at the Wizengamot. “Know that the Earl of Peverell and his Lady are Knights of Avalon; they have our blessing.” He declares and looks up at Harry. “Merlin’s gift to you both…”

Beside Harry a large grim appears – it’s not Padfoot but there’s an immediate bond; the grim is his familiar. Next to Hermione, a kneazle, the image of Crookshanks, has appeared and she immediately sweeps it up and into her arms.

“Until we meet again.” Arthur disintegrates into a million gold motes of magic which swirl and fly and disappear…

Chaos erupts, loud and noisy and deafening.

“ORDER! I WILL HAVE ORDER!”

Harry ignores the rest of the Wizengamot; the searing gaze of Dumbledore; the speculation and worry of his family and turns instead to look at Hermione. She looks back at him fiercely, protective and knowing.

He’ll tell her everything soon enough. About Camelot, the King’s orders, and Merlin’s spell…but it’s going to be alright. There may be another war to face but they have each other and that’s all they’ve ever needed; friendship, bravery and love.

fin.

Continued in A Jump to the Left: Part 1