Date: Friday, October 14th, 1988
Time: 10:00 AM
Location: The High Chamber of the Wizengamot, Ministry of Magic, London, United Kingdom
The ancient chamber of the Wizengamot, hidden beneath the Ministry of Magic's deepest wards, had not felt this charged in decades. Its high-vaulted ceiling shimmered with enchantments meant to mute sound and block scrying, but today, the magic pulsed like a heartbeat...echoing the rising tension seated in every robed figure.
Every Lord and Lady of magical lineage had assembled. Even the more aloof houses had returned from their estates. A matter of blood and law had summoned them. What they were not expecting was a shift in legacy that would leave the air humming with whispered futures.
Seated near the center dais, Albus Dumbledore leaned back in the Lord Chief Warlock's chair, his expression contemplative...beard woven neatly and robes darker than usual, marked in House Black and House Gryffindor trim. But beneath that twinkle of pale blue lay an unspoken reluctance, the kind only time and power could birth.
Standing beside him, in an exquisitely tailored navy robe bearing the Crest of House Potter, House Peverell, and the Hogwarts Founders' Seal, was Harry James Potter. At eight years old, he stood composed and calm, flanked on his right by a scribe in enchanted plum robes and to his left by Nymphadora Tonks, dressed not as a student or Auror...but as his personal guard. Her wand was hidden beneath her sleeves, but her eyes never wavered.
Harry's Soulstone, pulsing gently beneath his robe's collar, gave off a soft golden glow with every breath. The room may not have seen it, but they felt it...a subtle pressure that resonated not with raw magic, but presence. It was neither overwhelming nor boastful, but inevitable. Elana, Fleur, Gabrielle, Hermione, and the others of the Bound waited in secure viewing chambers beneath layered veils...linked by empathic charm to Harry through the Soulstone. Their Bands of Eternity glowed gently in support. As silence reigned, Dumbledore cleared his throat, voice weary but clear.
"By the power vested in me as Lord Regent of the House of Potter, and under advisement of the Crown, I hereby yield all provisional authority to its rightful heir...Lord Harry James Potter, descendant of Ignotus Peverell and heir of Hogwarts by rite and magic." A silver quill burned a glowing signature into the transfer parchment. The chain linking Dumbledore's placeholder crest to House Potter vanished in a hiss of magic. And then, Harry stepped forward.
He turned, letting the chamber see him fully. His green eyes met every stare without blinking, and his voice...measured, graceful...carried across the marble hall like a quiet storm. "I speak today not to claim a title, but to fulfill a duty. I am Lord Potter by blood and Lord Hogwarts by bond...not because I wished for it, but because I was called to it. And I will carry it, not with pride, but with purpose." Soft murmurs stirred in the upper tiers.
"I cast my first vote," Harry continued, glancing toward the scribe, "against Proposal 49-A, the Pureblood-Only Lineage Registry Act. Magic is not bound to blood. If it were, I would not stand before you." He waited only a breath before adding, "Instead, I propose a redirection of Department of Mysteries funds...toward the creation of an Orphan Magical Training Trust. A fund dedicated to ensuring that no magical child raised without family must also grow without guidance. This Trust will offer resources, mentorship, and protections. Magic is a gift. It must not be left to rot in the shadows."
The room froze. Lucius Malfoy, seated along the Pureblood Bloc, shifted ever so slightly forward. His silver cane tapped once against the marble. "He speaks… like a prince." He did not scoff. He did not sneer. He simply watched, and the gleam in his eye hinted at both wariness… and respect.
Tonks smiled faintly beside Harry. "That went well." Harry let out a slow breath. "I felt them listening. Not all of them agreed. But they heard me."
Above, the voting tally glowed: Proposal 49-A ... Rejected by Majority. Proposal 56-C ... The Orphan Magical Training Trust ... Referred to the Committee with Priority.
As the chamber was dismissed and the Lords and Ladies filed out...most in silence, some casting long glances toward the boy with the glowing Soulstone...none could deny what had just taken place. A shift had begun.
And the next morning, without name or photograph, Rita Skeeter's front-page article in the Daily Prophet sent ripples through the magical world:
THE RETURN OF THE PRINCE by Rita Skeeter
He did not arrive with a roar, but with grace. He did not boast, but spoke with wisdom and fire. Yesterday, an heir long-hidden by time and trial took his seat in the Wizengamot...not as a child to be pitied, but as a prince to be reckoned with. His voice calm, his presence commanding, he cast down old hatred and proposed new hope. I cannot tell you his name. I cannot describe his face. But I will tell you this: The Boy Who Lived is alive, safe… and rising. Where he is kept remains classified. But the Ministry knows. The Queen knows. And now, so do we. The title is real. The Prince has returned.
Date: Friday, April 21st, 1989
Time: 8:45 AM
Location: Department of Magical Transportation, Apparition Training Grounds – Secure Wing, Ministry of Magic, London, United Kingdom
The training grounds beneath the Ministry of Magic were veiled in layers of silence charms and cloaking enchantments...no public records, no wandering observers. Only those with triple-clearance certifications had been granted access this morning, and even then, many stood in near disbelief at the scene set before them.
A circular dais of rune-inscribed stone glowed with magic, partitioned into training lanes typically reserved for adults nearing seventeen. The sigils carved into the floor represented the phases of Apparition: Focus, Intent, Anchor, Will. Most students took months...years, even...to master the final step.
But today, the instructors weren't facing near-graduates from Hogwarts. They were looking at children...eight and 1/2 and nine-year-olds...standing with perfect posture, centered breath, and no trace of fear.
And at the center of them stood Harry Potter, age eight and a half, his hands relaxed at his sides, his gaze steady. Dressed in a fitted charcoal tunic and dark navy slacks marked with the subtle silver crests of House Potter and the Department of Mysteries, Harry stood with the calm of someone who understood the why before the how.
Just beneath his uniform, the Soulstone of the Bound pulsed gently, hidden yet ever-present. Surrounding him were the twenty-one soul-bound girls, each dressed in training uniforms tailored to their age, heritage, and movement style...Veela, metamorph, pureblood, or creature-bonded, they stood not in a line, but in a circle, bound not just by proximity, but by soul.
All carried the Bands of Eternity on their left wrists. All had been tested. All had been approved for this trial by royal edict. In a corner booth shielded by magical privacy glass, Queen Elizabeth II, Amelia Bones, and Director Oshima of the Department of Magical Transportation sat with expressions of composed tension.
Amelia leaned forward slightly. "They understand the process?" "They do," Tonks said, standing at attention beside the circle. "I drilled them myself. Focus, intent, anchor, will. They learned it like they learned to breathe." "They shouldn't be able to learn it like that," Oshima muttered under his breath, shaking his head. "Even adults splinch." The Queen folded her gloved hands atop her lap. "That's because they aren't ordinary children, Director. They are Bound. They are one."
Hermione, nearly ten now, gave a sharp nod as the rune-field pulsed with activation. "All right, we're ready. Phase One: Solo Apparition, fixed anchor."
Harry stepped forward first. "I know where I want to be," he whispered to himself. He inhaled, exhaled slowly, visualizing the far circle. A flicker of magic shimmered around his feet...crack. He vanished...without recoil, without sparks. And reappeared cleanly in the designated ring twenty feet away. Perfect rotation. Both feet grounded. A flawless Apparition. The room went silent.
Gabrielle grinned from her place in the line. "My turn," she said with playful determination, eyes glowing with Veela spark. Crack. She landed next to Harry, only a half step off. She gave him a little smirk. "Told you I could do it."
Susan followed, then Daphne, then Fleur. One by one, they executed Apparition jumps with precision and poise beyond what any adult would have expected. Not a splinch, not a single loss of equilibrium. Director Oshima whispered to Amelia, "This... this changes the theory. The Soul-Bond must create shared stabilizing fields. They're Apparating through each other's anchors."
Phase Two came next: Group Apparition.
Harry, Fleur, Hermione, Gabrielle, and Susan stepped to the center ring. The others placed their hands on shoulders or held lightly to each other's robes. "Together," Hermione said softly. "Like we practiced." CRACK. Five lights vanished as one. CRACK. They landed in formation, perfectly synchronized, on the far circle. A collective intake of breath swept through the observers.
Then came Phase Three: the full group.
All twenty-two stepped into the main platform, standing in the unified circle of power. Elana's aura swept through the group like a guiding wave. Harry took the lead. The Soulstone flared with living gold.
"This is us," he said simply, voice clear and steady. "Not pieces. Not practice. Just... us." And with that...CRACK. In one breathtaking moment, twenty-two people vanished together. No instability. No splinching. No magical collapse. When they reappeared across the chamber as a single, radiant formation, the room fell into reverent silence. Even the magic in the air seemed to pause to take in what had occurred. Not a single student in British magical history had ever Apparated before the age of fourteen. And yet, today, twenty-two had done so at age eight to 15...together.
Later that afternoon, in the official suite of the Queen's Magical Office at the Ministry, parchment scrolls bearing the royal seal, Department of Mysteries sigils, and the signature of Amelia Bones were placed before each of the Soul-Bound.
One by one, they were signed in golden ink. APPARITION LICENSE GRANTED By royal and departmental exemption, this certificate hereby confirms that [Name] has demonstrated the capability, discipline, and magical control to perform Apparition under approved conditions.
The Ministry archivists added a footnote, gilded in silver: "First and Only Known Minor Cohort to Complete Group and Individual Apparition Under Bonded Magic: 21 Girls and 1 Heir."
Tonks beamed with pride. "Well… looks like you lot just rewrote the damn training book." Harry touched the scroll, then looked around at the others. "We didn't do this to impress them." "No," Fleur said, her voice soft, "we did this to prove to ourselves what we already knew." "That we're stronger together," Gabrielle whispered. "That we can go anywhere," Susan added. "And that no one," said Daphne firmly, "will ever keep us apart."
Date Range: Thursday, March 1st – Thursday, May 31st, 1990
Location(s): Veela Court of France, Kitsune Territory in Kyoto, and Wizarding Enclaves of Scandinavia
The spring of 1990 was not marked by flowers or seasonal festivals for Harry James Potter. It was marked by duty...one dressed in silk robes, whispered titles, ancient etiquette, and soul-deep poise. For three months, he walked foreign lands not as a guest, nor as a child of war, but as something far rarer. He walked as heir and diplomat, shadowed by power and bound by fire.
Under the careful guidance of Amelia Bones, who served as formal magical escort and royal appointee, Harry embarked on a discreet but profound diplomatic tour across the magical enclaves of France, Scandinavia, and Japan. Accompanying him were five of the Bound...selected for both their heritage and their talents: Fleur Delacour, Hermione Granger, Susan Bones, Mizukume, and Ahri. Where Harry walked, they walked. Where he spoke, they stood behind him. Where he listened, they watched. Each moment, choreographed by instinct and love...yet never lacking gravity.
France – The Court of Flame and Silk
March 1st – March 20th, 1990
Location: Château Céleste, Southeastern France
It began, as it always did with the Veela, in beauty. At Château Céleste, under golden spring skies and banners of silver fire, Harry was formally welcomed by the High Matron of the French Veela Court. Ceremonial braziers lined the marble terrace as Veela dancers moved in graceful patterns, flames swirling like petals in the wind. Dressed in a ceremonial navy and white tunic, his Soulstone hidden but alive with golden heat, Harry stood with calm reverence as Fleur and Gabrielle guided him through the Rite of Inner Flame Recognition. "I feel like the fire listens," Harry whispered. "It does," Fleur smiled, brushing ash from his sleeve. "It's the oldest part of us."
In private meetings with Veela Elders, Harry gave formal bows, accepted the golden ribbon of diplomatic grace, and recited his lines in perfect French...a skill made natural through years beside Fleur and Gabrielle. "You are the first human male in Veela history to carry the Court's Emblem of Acknowledgement," the Matron announced. "But I suspect not the last to be loved by the flame." By the time they departed, the children of the Court had adopted him again as Le Prince Enflammé.
Scandinavia – The Watchers of Ice and Storm
March 23rd – April 20th, 1990
Location: Wizarding Prefect Enclaves, Sweden and Norway
Snow still capped the northern cliffs as the Bound delegation arrived under diplomatic escort via portkey to the Scandinavian Circle of Magical Prefects, an old council representing nobility from across the Nordic region.
In a silver-trimmed wool cloak with the Potter and Hogwarts crests, Harry stepped through the rune-lined stone arches into a hall of thunderclouds and magic carved from ice. At his side, Susan, Hermione, and Daphne walked in synchronized precision, their Bands of Eternity glowing faintly beneath their sleeves. "Your magic feels old," the Prefect of Norway said, studying Harry with weathered eyes. "But your eyes are new."
"I carry what came before me," Harry replied, "but I walk forward with those I trust." It was in Sweden where the first Northern Wand Dance Ceremony was held for their honor...part martial rite, part diplomatic ballet. The delegation was asked to participate. Daphne guided Harry through the complex, rune-timed steps, helping him to wield magic through movement. "You're doing fine," she whispered, barely audible over the music. "Just feel the rhythm."
By the end of their visit, three young northern nobles privately pledged future alliance oaths, signed in youth but bound by legacy.
Japan – The Echo of Kitsune
April 23rd – May 31st, 1990
Location: Kyoto Forest Sanctum, Kitsune Clan Territories
When Harry's feet touched the moss-covered pathways of the Kyoto Forest Sanctum, he felt it immediately...not footsteps, but memory stirring beneath his soles. Mizukume and Ahri, walking slightly ahead of him, glanced back with identical expressions of reverent peace. "This land remembers its own," Mizukume said softly. "You belong to us as much as we to you," Ahri added.
It was within the Kitsune shrine that Harry performed the Dream Lantern Offering, kneeling between Mizukume and Ahri before the spirit flame that marked the living will of the Kitsune Matriarchs. His Soulstone responded in kind, glowing with such warmth that the shrine lights dimmed in deference. "I don't understand it," Harry admitted after the ritual. "But I feel… seen. Not watched. Known."
"You're not just a guest," Mizukume whispered, placing her forehead to his. "You are family." During the final week, he was presented to the Empress of Mahoutokoro via a private mirror-aether link, where he greeted her in fluent Japanese and performed the bow of nine flames...the diplomatic salute of the fox-bound. The Empress smiled.
"Your soul walks like ours," she said. "May you always find balance in the dance between fire and shadow."
Return and Legacy
By the time the delegation returned to England, the Ministry had already received no fewer than six formal letters of magical acknowledgment, three oath-bound future alliances, and one invitation to return at maturity from the Nordic Circle.
Amelia handed the sealed documentation to the Queen's magical attaché, then turned to Harry and the Bound. "What you've built these past three months," she said, "isn't just diplomacy. It's trust. The kind forged young, but tested in years to come." Harry nodded, eyes focused, the weight of legacy resting comfortably across his shoulders. "We're not just learning how to walk the world," he said. "We're learning how to shape it."
Date: Tuesday, July 30th, 1991
Time: 11:50 PM
Location: Royal Magical Quarters, Buckingham Palace, London, United Kingdom
The chamber was quiet, lit only by the glow of the enchanted fireplace and the soft shimmer of the moonlight pouring through the tall enchanted glass windows. The walls, lined with shelves of ancient tomes and scrolls, framed the central space where twenty-one girls...each bound to one soul...sat or stood in companionable stillness, their eyes resting on the young man at the heart of the room.
Harry James Potter, one day away from turning eleven, stood shirtless before a carved stone pedestal, the Codex of the Founders open in front of him. His body had become a sculpture of purpose: 5 feet 6 inches tall, 155 pounds of honed power, with 115 pounds of muscle and 40 pounds of lean, retained fat. His arms, back, and shoulders carried the definition of years of guided training. His core was carved with the clean, deep lines of a warrior in his prime. He could lift 310 pounds in total weight...something once thought impossible for a child his age.
But this strength was not born of ego or ambition. It was the result of love, of bond, and of a soul called to prepare for a destiny far greater than itself.
Wrapped securely against his chest and tucked beneath a tailored silk tunic was the Soulstone of the Bound...pulsing gently with golden light in time with the breaths of those around him. And upon each of his girls' left wrists glowed the Bands of Eternity, their Ancient Veela script alight in gold, as if sensing what was to come.
The time on the enchanted grandfather clock struck 11:50 PM. Without warning, a surge of magic burst from the Soulstone and traveled across each Band, a pulse of synchronized power that leapt into the fabric of the world and reached across the land itself...to Scotland, to the Highlands, to the very stone bones of Hogwarts Castle. And deep within the walls of that ancient fortress, the castle stirred.
Not Elana...the soul that had bound herself to Harry through love and time...but the structure itself. The foundation. The will of the four Founders. Their enchantments long sealed beneath stone and history, waiting.
The Codex before Harry trembled. Its pages flipped on their own, faster and faster, until they stopped at a section that had never been revealed before. The words shimmered in gold and flame: To the True Lord of Hogwarts...He Who Binds Fire and Soul: You who have awakened our legacy, you who have walked with the flame and carried it not as a weapon, but as a shield... You are now called to your rightful seat. Beneath the foundations, where stone was first laid, lies the chamber of the Lord of the Castle and his chosen. Only you and those bound to your soul may pass. You are not to be hidden within towers. You are not to be guarded by portraits. You are the castle. And it waits no longer.
As the final word was read aloud by Hermione, whose voice trembled slightly with awe, the room's air shifted. Magic...living, intelligent...flared from the Codex and spun into a three-dimensional projection of Hogwarts Castle. The walls glowed like fire-forged crystal, and then, beneath the dungeons and Great Hall, a hidden layer revealed itself.
A spiraling system of ancient, rune-carved rooms, chambers, and vaults...untouched by time and unseen by every headmaster since the Founders themselves. A single line of runes lit the threshold of the central hall: For the Lord and the Bonded. Gasps echoed through the room. "Merlin…" whispered Penny Clearwater, stepping closer. "It's real," said Susan, blinking back stunned tears. "It's been waiting for him." Katarina's wings flared slightly behind her, her dragon aura reacting to the truth in the stone. "And the castle knows it." Harry stood frozen, staring at the projection. "They never built it for a headmaster… they built it for me. For us."
The clock's hand clicked. 11:59 PM. Elana Hogwarts, radiant and glowing in a white gown of woven spell-light, stepped forward. Her eyes locked with Harry's, glowing with silver and gold. She reached out, her hand warm as it cupped his cheek. "I told you, my love," she whispered. "The castle remembers. Because I remember."
The Soulstone pulsed one final time, and as the second hand struck the top... 12:01 AM. July 31st, 1991. Elana leaned in and kissed Harry on the lips...not quick, not bold, but with the depth of a vow now fulfilled. "My husband," she whispered. "Lord of the Castle. Our Castle." A soft wave of magic surged through the Bond. All twenty-one girls felt it...a weight lifted, a path opened, a new chapter beginning. And somewhere in the highlands of Scotland, within the ancient halls of Hogwarts, stone shifted. The Castle had awakened, and its Lord had come home.
Time: 7:00 AM
Location: Royal Magical Quarters, Buckingham Palace, London, United Kingdom
The morning sun filtered gently through the gauze-draped windows of Harry's private suite, catching in the soft shimmer of the runes etched into the wood beams above. The room smelled of parchment, polished oak, and faintly of the lavender-and-rose blend Gabrielle had placed in the window vase the night before.
Harry James Potter, now eleven years old, sat on the edge of his bed with a steady heart and quiet anticipation. He had grown tall and strong...5 feet 6 inches, weighing 155 pounds, with 115 pounds of hard-earned muscle and 40 pounds of lean fat carefully maintained by years of training, meditation, and care. His body reflected not vanity, but purpose. His soulstone, the Soulstone of the Bound, glowed gently beneath the soft linen of his sleep shirt, resting against his chest like a second heartbeat.
The room was still when the first knock came. Then a second. Then the golden flame runes on the wall flared...and with a soft chime, two envelopes slid beneath the door as if carried by magic itself.
Harry stood, bare feet touching the cool marble, and crossed to the door. He picked up the letters carefully, and the Soulstone's pulse intensified as his fingers touched the parchment. The first was sealed with the familiar Hogwarts crest, the wax pressed firm and proud. The second… bore no seal. Just a name in graceful, blooming script: To My Son... On Your Eleventh Birthday. ...Lily Potter
His breath hitched. The moment froze. The world narrowed to that line of ink and the cool edge of memory. His fingers trembled slightly, then stilled. With the utmost care, he opened Lily's letter.
Inside was a single folded page...and a photograph. A magical photo of Lily Evans Potter, radiant in a field of summer flowers, her hair dancing in the breeze like living firelight. She smiled...warm, open, and utterly full of love. She didn't speak, but the photo didn't need to. She was there, eternal, and present in a way Harry had never known her before.
He sank onto the bed as he opened the letter itself. Her handwriting was elegant and soft, touched with emotion even across time: My dearest Harry, If you're reading this, then you've turned eleven. And if fate has been kind, you've lived in safety, warmth, and surrounded by love. That is what your father and I dreamed for you… We both had a vision once...a moment so strange and clear. We saw you, standing tall beside girls with flames in their blood and stars in their eyes. French fire and Japanese grace. We never learned their names, but we knew that you were never meant to be alone. You are the bridge between worlds, Harry. And today, you take your first steps into one of them.
Tears blurred the words. He held the letter against his chest for a long, silent moment before exhaling slowly and opening his Hogwarts letter. It was exactly as the others had described in years past...though this one bore a slight glow around the crest, subtly reacting to the Soulstone.
At the same moment in rooms throughout the palace, Hermione, Susan, Daphne, Padma, Parvati, Sue Li, Lavender, and Pansy were opening their own Hogwarts letters...each arriving precisely at the same time as Harry's. Each one written in the same emerald ink. Each girl felt her Band of Eternity flare warmly as they read it.
In the trunk by Harry's bed...a beautifully crafted piece of oak carved with the Peverell crest...lay several more surprises. He opened it slowly. Inside, carefully stacked, was a full set of filled-out dual citizenship documents, freshly marked as active as of 6:00 AM this morning. Three wax seals gleamed across the top: France, Japan, and England.
Tucked beneath the documents was a note written in James Potter's neat, slanted script: If you're reading this, Harry, then your path is unfolding just as we glimpsed it in the old ritual circle. You'll be bound to fire and fox, to grace and wisdom. We didn't see their faces...but we saw your strength. And your heart. And the light surrounding you. Never forget...you carry us both, always. Love, Dad
Harry's fingers brushed against something else. Velvet. Cool to the touch. He pulled it out...a cloak. Black as moonless night, light as air. And yet… "The Invisibility Cloak," he breathed. "It's real…" He turned it over and saw it: the symbol of the Deathly Hallows, stitched into the hem in silvery thread. The same symbol found in The Tales of Beedle the Bard.
"That's one of them," whispered Hermione, who had stepped into the room. "The actual Hallows." Harry looked up at her, eyes wide. "It was my dad's. Maybe even before him…"
"Then it's yours now," she said, gently taking his hand. Also within the trunk lay a glass chess set, beautifully carved...its knights shimmering like polished quartz...and an array of first-year supplies carefully packed with military efficiency. Potions kit. Writing gear. Two new pairs of dragonhide gloves. But three things were still missing:
"A wand," Harry said aloud. "Clothing," added Susan, who'd entered quietly behind Hermione with Fleur and Daphne in tow. "And an animal," Gabrielle finished softly, kneeling beside the chest. Harry smiled, slowly closing the trunk. "Then we have a few things left to do, sweethearts."
Fleur stepped forward, gently brushing his hair back. "You're ready, love. And more than that… you're becoming who you were born to be." Elana entered last, in a flowing white robe embroidered with old Hogwarts runes. She stepped up to Harry, cupped his cheek, and leaned in, eyes glowing with warmth. "My husband," she said softly, kissing his forehead. "Today, the world opens for you. And it will never be ready."
The Soulstone pulsed between them, and across the room, twenty Bands of Eternity glowed as one.
Date: Wednesday, July 31st, 1991
Time: 9:00 AM
Location: En route to Diagon Alley by the The Leaky Cauldron, London
The 1991 British Military Bedford MK transport truck rolled through the quiet London streets like a shadow from a forgotten war. Painted in forest green and reinforced for magical shielding, it bore no Ministry symbols...only the Royal Magical Seal discreetly etched into the front grille. Its presence turned no heads among Muggles, its path shielded by obfuscation runes woven by the Department of Mysteries.
Inside, seated across padded benches and dressed in neutral cloaks and simple tunics, sat Harry James Potter and his twenty-one Bound.
Harry sat forward, elbows resting on his knees, cloak loosely covering his form. The early morning light filtered through the canvas flaps of the truck bed, outlining his broad frame. At 5 feet 6 inches, 155 pounds, and visibly more muscular than any boy his age, Harry no longer blended with his peers. Eleven years old, he looked like a well-trained young athlete, and nothing like the boy the wizarding world remembered in prophecy.
The Soulstone of the Bound glowed softly against his chest, hidden beneath his shirt, but its pulse was felt by every girl seated around him. The girls, each wearing their Band of Eternity on their left wrist, sat with practiced quiet...some with excitement in their eyes, others calm with quiet readiness.
Hermione, her curls tamed in a neat braid, held a list of required Hogwarts items. "We'll need to go to Gringotts first," she said, looking over to Harry. "You'll need your vault key and official confirmation documents."
Harry nodded. "Already in my satchel, love. First stop is gold. Then we get everyone fitted properly...no rushing."
Fleur, dressed in sleek white with silver trim, leaned into Gabrielle and whispered in French, "He walks like a prince now. Do you feel it, ma sœur?"
Gabrielle nodded slowly. "More than that, Fleur… he commands the air without trying."
The truck came to a full stop with a soft hiss of braking air. The back doors opened, revealing the narrow cobbled alley that led directly into The Leaky Cauldron's service courtyard. Two Royal Magical Guards, cloaked in blended grey dragonhide, stepped out first to sweep the area.
Harry stood, pulling up the hood of his cloak, his face hidden in shadow. The girls followed in pairs, forming a loose, flowing formation. The Queen's magical detail stayed hidden from sight...close enough to react, far enough not to intrude.
The pub's rear door creaked open as they approached. Tom, the bartender, blinked twice before recognition sparked in his eyes. "Ah… party of twenty-two, I reckon?" He looked at the formation, a flicker of confusion visible. "Didn't expect a full house."
Hermione stepped forward, smiling politely. "Just passing through. We have vault business and school shopping."
"Right, right," Tom muttered, then gestured to the back wall with a flourish of his wand. "Best go on then. Tap third brick from the left above the trash bin. You know how it works."
Harry stepped up to the brick wall. With practiced calm, he tapped the third brick...one, two, three. The stones shifted, twisted, and with a low grinding sound, revealed Diagon Alley in full summer bloom.
The Bound stepped through the arch with Harry at the center.
The sight ahead was breathtaking. Diagon Alley bustled with movement...witches and wizards in traveling robes, children clinging to shopping lists, spell parchment fluttering in enchanted breezes. Merchants hawked cauldrons and enchanted quills, familiars chirped and meowed from pet shops, and above it all hung the warm buzz of magic.
Heads began to turn.
Not because anyone recognized them...Harry's face was still concealed...but because the presence of the group was undeniable. A subtle shift in the magical field. A sense that something important had arrived.
The Bound moved forward with grace and confidence, drawing curious glances as they made their way to the grand white marble building at the alley's far end: Gringotts Bank.
Two goblin guards straightened as the group approached. One narrowed his eyes. "Business?"
"Vault access," Harry said simply, pulling back his hood. The moment his face was revealed, the older goblin's eyes widened.
"Name," he demanded, a bit too quickly.
"Harry James Potter. Heir to House Potter. Vault confirmation and bloodstone are present."
The goblin grunted and nodded sharply. "Right this way. Bring the… entourage."
They descended swiftly into the lower vaults aboard a steel-wheeled cart, the ride fast and sharp around the rails. The wind tore through cloaks and hair, but none of the Bound flinched. When the cart finally screeched to a stop, it rested before the Potter Family Vault...carved doors thirty feet tall with ancient magic shimmering across the runes.
Harry stepped forward. The goblin pricked his finger and pressed it to the Blood Sigil.
The vault groaned. The doors opened.
Inside were piles of gold, silver armor stands, and family heirlooms lined in neat rows of stasis fields. But at the center, resting beneath a hovering light crystal, were two things that stopped Harry cold.
A magical photo of James Potter, lounging with a crooked grin in a sunlit chair, winked at Harry and flicked the brim of an imaginary hat.
Beside it...nestled on a low table...was a larger magical frame, filled with a soft-lit living room setting. It held two empty chairs… but Harry knew what it meant.
"This is where they'll go when they visit again," he whispered. "Together."
Hermione touched his arm. "It's… beautiful, Harry."
He reached out, gently lifting the two photos, and carefully placed them in his satchel.
Once the money was taken...enough for supplies and investments...the group ascended. The moment they stepped outside Gringotts, Harry pulled his hood back up.
Next stop: Ollivanders.
The old wandmaker blinked several times at the sight of the group entering. His gaze lingered on Harry, his eyes going distant. "Yes… yes. I've been expecting you, Mr. Potter."
Three wands chose him that day: the frist a 11" Holly, phoenix feather, bending slightly with a flick...Ollivander's voice trembled when he whispered, "sister to the wand that gave you your scar," the second one a 11" Rosewood, two Veela hairs, both from Fleur and Gabrielle, set in a silver and gold harpy eagle head handle. The wand hummed like songfire, and the third and finile one a 11" Elder and Holly, phoenix feather and Ancient Dragon heartstring, its handle shaped like a silver and gold dragon's head. Ollivander whispered, "This wand... this one was meant to awaken for a soul like yours."
The girls each left with wands of their own, and each received a triple wand holster, sleek and charmed to function like a Muggle tactical pistol rig...designed for comfort, speed, and discretion.
From there, they flowed to Twilfitt & Tatting's. Harry entered under concealment and stepped out in full regalia: fitted Potter-blue robes, Kevlar-lined layers sewn into a refined silhouette bearing the Potter, Peverell, and Hogwarts crests.
Every witch turned to stare as he emerged, cloak flaring behind him. "He looks like a Lord," whispered Lavender. "He is one," said Daphne, adjusting her sleeves. "They're just realizing it now."
As they moved through the alley, shopping for potions, books, and personal effects, they passed Madam Malkin's, where Draco Malfoy stood complaining about sleeve lengths. His eyes caught Harry's.
"You there," Draco said, tone clipped. "First year too?" Harry turned slowly, his face unreadable. "Yes." "You don't look like one," Draco said. "Who are your parents?"
Gabrielle laughed softly beside Harry. "He doesn't need parents to walk taller than you."
Draco huffed, said nothing more, and turned away. Finally, they reached Eeylops Owl Emporium. Harry stepped in and found her...a regal snowy owl, who blinked once and ruffled her wings. "I'll call her Hedwig," he said with a smile.
They exited with two more creatures...a female baby fox whose fur shimmered with the magical resonance of Mizukume and Ahri, and a warm, cuddly female puppy with amber eyes and a loyal presence.
As they walked from the final shop, Diagon Alley quieted slightly behind them. The air was different now. The world felt it. The heir had come. And he did not come alone.
Date: Thursday, August 1st, 1991
Time: 9:00 AM
Location: Royal Magical Quarters, East Wing, Buckingham Palace, London, United Kingdom
Morning sunlight filtered gently through the tall enchanted windows of the Royal Magical Quarters, bathing the polished floor in golden warmth. The chambers—spacious, sunlit, and lined with centuries-old magical art—were alive with quiet anticipation.
Today was not a diplomatic summit. Nor a ceremony. Nor a ritual of Veela flame or castle-born oath.
It was a council of truth and legacy.
Inside the large receiving room, a single enchanted magical photo frame stood on the central wall—framed in shimmering oakwood inlaid with runes from the Founders' time. Inside that frame was a softly lit living room, with sunlight from an unseen window illuminating two familiar figures.
Lily Evans Potter, radiant and peaceful, sat on one of the armchairs with a serene smile, her red hair catching the light like fire-draped silk.
James Potter, lounging beside her with one leg crossed over the other, lifted a glass in greeting as his eyes twinkled with familiar mischief.
They were not ghosts. They were not paintings. They were magical imprints, bound by blood, bond, and intent into a living frame preserved in stasis by the Potter vault's deepest spells.
And today, as Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, and Madame Olympe Maxime stepped into the room, they all froze.
Minerva's hand went to her chest. "Merlin's light…" she breathed. "That's—"
James lifted his hand in a wave. "Still dashing, aren't I?"
Lily chuckled. "Harry, sweetheart, don't let your father overdo it. He's been rehearsing that line for over a year."
From the far end of the room, Harry James Potter, now fully eleven and standing tall at 5 feet 6 inches, turned with a warm, amused smile. His emerald green eyes sparkled with pride and a hint of mischief all his own.
"I think you delivered it just fine, Dad," Harry said, his voice steady and rich with quiet confidence.
He wore a fitted royal-blue tunic bearing the crests of House Potter, House Peverell, and Hogwarts, and beneath it, close to his heart, pulsed the Soulstone of the Bound—hidden, but never dormant.
Surrounding him were all twenty-one of the Bound—each in formal attire befitting the moment. Their Bands of Eternity shimmered faintly on their wrists, the Ancient Veela script glowing softly in the magic-rich air. Hermione, Fleur, Gabrielle, Dora, Susan, and the others stood poised and proud, each radiating strength, grace, and sisterhood.
Elana, luminous in a flowing white dress marked with Founder runes, stood just behind Harry. Her presence filled the room like sunlight through crystal.
The moment settled. Albus lowered his head slightly. "I… did not know this existed."
"No one outside my House did," Harry said. "It was meant to wait until I turned eleven. The vault released it after I received my Hogwarts letter."
Madame Maxime, towering yet graceful in midnight-blue silks, took a step closer. "Mon Dieu… this is old magic. Ancestral. Tied to blood and memory, yes?"
Gabrielle nodded softly. "The frame is not just visual. It holds their essence… and speaks to our Bond. It is alive."
McGonagall drew a breath. "The Founders' legacy... it was never meant to be a title. It was a charge."
"Which brings us to the reason for this meeting," said Dumbledore, recovering his composure as he moved toward the sitting area.
The room adjusted, shifting subtly through enchantments as chairs of appropriate size and comfort appeared. Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Maxime sat opposite Harry and the Bound—Hermione, Fleur, and Daphne seated at Harry's flanks, while Elana stood behind him like a radiant guardian.
Minerva folded her hands. "Harry, by confirmation of the Codex and magical documentation from Gringotts and the Department of Mysteries, we acknowledge your status as Lord of Hogwarts and rightful heir to the Founders."
Harry inclined his head respectfully. "Thank you, Professor. But I don't want that title to sit on parchment. I intend to live it."
Dumbledore's eyes gleamed behind his half-moon glasses. "Indeed, and we have considered what that will mean for your time at Hogwarts. The castle itself revealed something to us… in fact, to Minerva and myself... after your Soulstone resonated with the old wards last night."
McGonagall lifted a parchment scroll and placed it between them. "A section of Hogwarts, sealed for over a thousand years, has become accessible again. The Founders called it the Lord's Wing. It was meant to serve as the residence and sanctuary for the Lord of the Castle and their companions."
Elana stepped forward. "It is located on the first floor, behind the Eastern Stairwell. The castle has already begun to awaken its walls for us."
Dumbledore nodded slowly. "We propose that Harry and his Bound—those attending Hogwarts—be quartered there. Secure. Independent of House dormitories, yet given full freedom to attend lessons and participate as they wish."
Harry looked over to Hermione, then to Fleur, who both gave him subtle nods of support. "We accept. On one condition—no favoritism. We learn like everyone else. We earn our place by work, not title."
"That is acceptable," McGonagall said. Olympe Maxime turned then, her rich voice filled with warmth as she addressed Fleur and Gabrielle directly. "Mes petites étoiles, you will return to Beauxbatons for now. The Veela dormitories will continue to house our people, but for you two… a royal suite has been prepared within the living quarters. A private wing has been opened at Château Céleste, separate from the communal chambers." Gabrielle smiled. "Merci, Madame Maxime. I will keep it clean this time."
"Don't lie to her, sweetheart," Fleur said with a playful nudge, which Gabrielle deflected with a grin. Dumbledore stood at last. "Then it is settled. On September first, Harry and the Bound will take up residence in the Lord's Wing. The school will not be told the full truth—but the castle knows, and that is what matters."
As they stood and began to part, Lily's voice echoed gently from the magical frame. "You're walking the path now, my son. And we are always watching, always proud." James raised his hand in a lazy salute. "Don't let the hat boss you around." Harry chuckled, eyes bright with emotion. "I won't." And with that, the meeting ended—not as a formal declaration, but as a shared vow.
The Lord of Hogwarts had claimed his place. And his Bond walked with him, step by step, into the halls of destiny.