The sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden glow over the orchard behind the Lovegoods' house. Harry sat cross-legged in the tall grass, across from him, Luna sat with her knees pulled up to her chest, her usual dreamy expression fixed on him.
"So," Luna said, her voice lilting as she twisted a strand of her pale hair around her finger, "how was your trip with Professor McGonagall?"
Harry sighed, leaning back on his hands. "It was... something. I think I did well keeping everything under wraps, but it was a close call more than once."
"Close calls can be exciting," Luna said with a small smile, her wide eyes catching the fading sunlight.
"Yeah," Harry admitted. He looked down at Flick, absently stroking the snake's smooth scales. "We went to Diagon Alley to get my school supplies. McGonagall was furious when she realised how little I knew about magic. She looked like she wanted to march straight to the Dursleys and hex them."
Luna tilted her head. "Did she?"
"No," Harry said with a wry grin. "She seems too professional for that. But she did tell me more about my parents—things I already knew, but hearing it from her was... different."
"She sounds nice," Luna observed, plucking a dandelion from the grass and twirling it between her fingers. "A bit strict, but kind. What did she say about your parents?"
Harry hesitated, his throat tightening. He didn't want to dwell on the emotions McGonagall's words had stirred, but he knew Luna wouldn't judge him. "She told me about how they fought in the war, how brave they were... and how much they loved me. It's strange. I didn't even know them, but hearing it—it's like I could feel it, just for a moment."
Luna leaned forward, her expression softening. "They must have been extraordinary people to have a son like you."
Harry felt his cheeks flush and looked away, "thanks, Luna."
For a while, they sat in companionable silence, the sound of rustling leaves and the occasional hiss filling the air. Harry glanced at Luna, who was humming softly as she braided blades of grass together.
Then it hit him.
"Wait," he blurted, sitting upright. "You're not coming to Hogwarts with me."
Luna looked up, blinking in surprise. "No," she said simply. "I'm a year younger, remember?"
Harry's heart sank. He knew she was younger than him, but they hadn't spoken about it before, the thought of going to Hogwarts without Luna felt like a punch to the gut. She was his best friend, the one person who understood him in ways no one else could.
"That's... awful," he muttered, raking a hand through his hair. "I don't want to leave you behind."
Luna smiled faintly, though her eyes held a touch of sadness. "It's not forever, Harry. I'll be there next year. And we can still find ways to talk, can't we?"
Harry frowned, thinking. "Yeah, but how? I can write letters but that might seem strange considering I shouldn't know anyone in the wizarding world."
Luna tilted her head, considering. "What about enchanted journals? Like the two-way mirrors I read about in one of Daddy's books. If we had a pair, we could write to each other, and the words would appear instantly in the other person's journal."
Harry's eyes lit up. "That's brilliant! Do you think we could make them in time?"
Luna nodded slowly. "It might take some time to find the right materials, but I'm sure we can figure it out. Maybe the Pritchard's have some ideas!"
Harry smiled, feeling a little lighter. "We'll do it. I'll start researching as soon as I can."
As the sun dipped below the horizon, Harry and Luna moved to the centre of the orchard, where they had set up a small picnic with snacks and drinks Luna had gotten from her kitchen.
The moon rose high, casting a silvery glow over the orchard. Flick flicked his tongue, his voice a low hiss. "Your hatching day approaches, little speaker."
Harry chuckled. "Yeah, it does."
Luna tilted her head, looking at him with her usual serene curiosity. "How does it feel, being almost eleven?"
Harry thought about it. "Strange, I guess. I used to hate my birthdays because of the Dursleys, but now... it's nice if I get to celebrate with you." He said shyly, looking away slightly.
"We can do this every year!" Luna said, pouring juice into two cups and handing one to Harry.
As the clock ticked closer to midnight, Luna pulled a small package from her bag and handed it to Harry. "Happy early birthday," she said, her voice soft but warm.
Harry unwrapped it carefully, revealing a simple leather bracelet with a small, intricately carved charm in the shape of a crescent moon, if you look closely you could see the tiny runes etched into the material.
"It's beautiful," he said, slipping it onto his wrist.
"It's enchanted," Luna explained. "If you're ever in trouble just rub the runes with some magic and the twin bracelet will heat up! It works the other way around as well," she held up an identical bracelet that was wrapped around her wrist.
Harry's throat tightened. "Thank you, Luna. This means a lot."
The clock struck midnight, and Luna raised her cup. "Happy birthday, Harry," she said with a bright smile.
Harry raised his cup in return, feeling a warmth in his chest that had nothing to do with the juice.
They clinked their cups together, laughter ringing out under the stars.
As the celebration wound down, Harry reluctantly reached for the portkey that takes him home.
"Are you sure you'll be okay?" he asked, his brow furrowed with concern.
Luna nodded, her expression calm. "I'll be fine. You worry too much."
"Someone has to," he muttered, earning a soft laugh from her.
Harry nodded, gripping the portkey tightly. "I'll see you soon."
With a sudden tug behind his navel, he was whisked away, the orchard disappearing in a blur of colour and wind. When he landed on the familiar hidden patch of grass outside Privet Drive, the warmth of Luna's words stayed with him.
~
The morning of Harry's eleventh birthday dawned warm and bright, the sunlight spilling into his room at Number 4 Privet Drive. Harry stretched lazily in bed, letting the reality of the day sink in. It wasn't every year that he could celebrate his birthday without dread hanging over him. The Dursleys had left early for some "important outing" with Dudley, which meant Harry had the house to himself.
His new room—Dudley's second bedroom—had more space than the cupboard under the stairs ever had. There was still work to do, though, and Harry had big plans for the day.
Harry began by pulling everything out of the wardrobe, tossing old clothes and broken toys into a pile on the floor. With a flick of his fingers, he summoned the trash bag he'd found earlier and pointed at the mess. "Evanesco," he muttered. The pile disappeared, leaving the air feeling lighter.
He glanced around the room, deciding what to keep and what to discard. On the desk sat a stack of unused leather-bound journals, most likely gifts given to Dudley by people who didn't know him well enough to realise he'd never write in them. Harry picked one up, running his fingers over the smooth cover. They'd be perfect for the two-way journal project he and Luna had talked about. Setting them aside carefully, he made a mental note to research the spell work needed to enchant them.
The rest of the room came together quickly. Using wandless magic, Harry lifted the heavy bedframe to slide it closer to the window. He sorted the books he'd salvaged from the Pritchards' shop onto the small shelf by the wall, the titles a mix of magical theory, ancient magic and random mundane topics that caught his interest.
Satisfied with his progress, he turned his attention to the door. If he was going to live here, he needed to ensure his privacy. Pulling out a small notebook, Harry sketched a rune sequence he'd been refining for weeks.
The ward would serve a few purposes: the first rune would repel anyone entering (a modified notice-me-not) with ill intent and without magic, while the second would create a barrier against physical force. A silencing rune at the centre of the sequence would ensure no one could hear what he was doing inside.
He knelt by the door, carving the runes into the wood with his magic and adding his blood to the centre to anchor it. The faint glow of the lines told him the sequence was activating as intended. Just as he pressed the final rune into place, a loud banging echoed through the house, making him jump.
Harry froze, his heart pounding. The Dursleys weren't supposed to be back for hours. Slowly, he stood and approached the door, his magic tingling at his fingertips in case he needed it.
Another bang rattled the house, followed by a deep, booming voice. "Harry Potter! Yeh in there?"
Harry frowned, opening the door a crack to see who was shouting. Standing on the front step was a giant of a man, easily twice the height of an average person, with wild black hair and a beard that seemed to swallow his entire face. He wore a massive coat that looked like it was made of patched-together animal skins.
"Who are you?" Harry asked cautiously.
The man beamed at him. "Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts," he said in a voice that was both gruff and friendly. "Dumbledore sent me ter fetch yeh. Thought it'd be nice ter take yeh shoppin' for yer school things."
Harry blinked. "I've already been shopping," he said, stepping outside and closing the door behind him. "Professor McGonagall took me last week."
Hagrid's face fell, his thick brows furrowing. "Oh. Well... I wasn't told that." He scratched his beard, looking a bit lost. "Still, I was s'posed ter come get yeh. Dumbledore's orders."
Something about this didn't sit right with Harry. He studied Hagrid, noting the nervous way the half-giant shifted his weight. "Why did Dumbledore send you?"
"Well," Hagrid began, fumbling in his pockets. He pulled out a small leather pouch and handed it to Harry. "He wanted yeh ter have this. Said it was yer vault key. Thought yeh might need it."
Harry took the pouch, opening it to reveal the small golden key. Why was Dumbledore so keen on him having it now? Why did he even have it in the first place?
"Thanks," Harry said, slipping the key into his pocket. "But if I've already been shopping, what's the point of the trip?"
Hagrid hesitated, then leaned in conspiratorially. "I was headin' ter Gringotts meself, actually. Got a bit o' business fer Dumbledore. Top secret, yeh see. Thought I'd take yeh along while I was at it."
Harry's suspicion deepened. "What kind of business?"
"Can't say," Hagrid said quickly, straightening up. "Strictly between me an' Dumbledore. But it's important."
Harry nodded slowly, masking his unease with a polite smile. "Well, I appreciate you bringing me the key. But like I said, I've already got my school things. Maybe we'll catch up at Hogwarts?"
Hagrid looked disappointed but nodded. "If yeh're sure. Jus' wanted ter help, is all."
"You have," Harry assured him. "Thank you, Hagrid."
"Well, happy birthday 'arry! Woulda made yeh a cake if ah had time."
With one last awkward pat on Harry's shoulder, Hagrid turned and lumbered off down the street, his massive form disappearing around the corner.
Harry watched him go, his mind racing. Why would Dumbledore send Hagrid to fetch him when McGonagall had already handled it? And what was this "top secret" mission at Gringotts?
He went back inside, closing the door firmly behind him. Pulling out the key, he examined it closely. It looked nearly identical to the one the goblins had reissued during his trip, but the timing of its return felt too convenient.
Sliding the key into his pocket, Harry resolved to give it back to the bank. Something about this whole situation didn't add up, and he wasn't about to let his guard down.
For now, though, he had other things to focus on. His room was almost finished, and his runes were in place. Tomorrow, he would head to Gringotts and finally take the inheritance test.
~
Diagon Alley was already bustling with witches and wizards when Harry arrived through the Leaky Cauldron. His shadows wrapped tightly around him, concealing his presence as he maneuvered through the throng. The weight of his coin pouch jingled softly at his side, a comforting reminder of his savings.
Gringotts loomed ahead, its white marble façade shining under the morning sun. Releasing his spell he bows towards the entrance guards and moves forward. As Harry stepped into the bank, a goblin clerk at the front desk looked up, his sharp features impassive.
"How may Gringotts assist you today?"
Harry had rehearsed this. "I'd like to open an account."
The goblin nodded, motioning him toward a side office. Inside, an older goblin sat at a desk piled with ledgers and contracts. He introduced himself as Grimbok, his voice low and gravelly.
"State the name for the record," Grimbok said, retrieving a thick ledger.
"I would like the account under Evan Birch," Harry replied confidently, using the alias he'd been perfecting.
"Purpose of the account?"
"Personal savings."
Grimbok scratched a note in the ledger. "Do you have an initial deposit to make?"
Harry reached into his pouch and counted out the coins he had brought. "Three-Hundred and Fifty Galleons, twenty Sickles, and twelve Knuts."
Grimbok took the coins, weighing each stack on a small brass scale. He tapped a finger on the ledger, muttering under his breath as the coins vanished into a secure vault.
"Your account is now active," Grimbok said, sliding a small key across the desk. "Vault number 1724. This key grants you access. Deposits and withdrawals can be made directly at the counter or by authorised owls. Do not lose this key, else others will have access to your account."
Harry pocketed the key and hesitated for a moment. "I have a question about inheritance tests," he said carefully.
Grimbok's eyes narrowed slightly, studying him. "Inheritance tests are a private matter," he said. "Gringotts holds strict confidentiality. No information will be shared with guardians, employers, or any other party without explicit consent."
Relieved, Harry pressed on. "How much does the test cost?"
"The standard inheritance test is thirty Galleons," Grimbok explained. "It traces your direct lineage and identifies any vaults, properties, or titles tied to your name. For fifty-five Galleons, we offer a comprehensive test that delves into your complete ancestry, including magical bloodlines, familial legacies, and any dormant inheritances. We also provide the complete lineage tree going back twelve centuries depending on magical lineage."
Harry's curiosity was piqued. The comprehensive test sounded like exactly what he needed to uncover the truth about his heritage. He hesitated briefly at the cost, then nodded. "I'll go with the comprehensive test."
Grimbok nodded approvingly and opened a drawer, retrieving a vial of shimmering liquid and a roll of thick parchment.
"This potion will activate the test," Grimbok said, placing the items on the desk. "You must provide seven drops of your blood. Once the potion is infused, you will pour it onto this parchment. The results will manifest within moments."
Harry felt a slight twinge of nervousness but nodded, taking the silver needle Grimbok offered. He pricked his finger, watching as seven crimson drops fell into the potion. The liquid glowed faintly, shifting through colours before settling into a deep gold.
Grimbok handed Harry the vial. "Pour it onto the parchment."
Harry tipped the vial, letting the potion spread across the parchment. It shimmered like liquid sunlight, soaking into the surface without leaving a single drop behind.
The parchment shimmered with faint golden light as ancient runes and intricate symbols began to etch themselves across its surface. Harry watched in fascination, the quiet scratch of magic carving into the material feeling heavy with significance. Grimbok, standing patiently at the desk, remained silent, allowing the young wizard to absorb the unfolding history of his lineage.
As the glow settled, a series of headings emerged on the parchment, each name carrying the weight of centuries. Harry's heart thudded in his chest as he read them.
Harrison James Potter-Black
James Charlus Potter (Father – Deceased)
Lily Jean Potter nee Evans (Mother – Deceased)
Sirius Orion Black (Godfather – Incarcerated)
He traced the letters on the parchment…Harrison…my name is Harrison.
Ancient and Noble House of Potter (Blood)Most Noble and Ancient House of Black (Blood/ Godfather)
Most Noble and Ancient House of Slytherin (Blood/ Conquest)
Most Noble and Ancient House of Peverell (Blood/ Magic)
"Well Mr Potter this is a surprise. We were expecting you to come for your heir rings yesterday." Grimbok said, looking slightly surprised at who the child in front of him was.
Grimbok began explaining, his sharp nails tapping the parchment. "The Potter family traces its roots back over a thousand years. As the Head of House by paternal blood, you inherit all associated titles, properties, and assets."
Harry scanned the section under the House of Potter.
Potter
Trust Vault (Vault 687): 5,435 Galleons, 80 Sickles, 17 Knuts.
Main Family Vault (Vault 12): 154,980 Galleons, 114 Sickles, 8 Knuts
Contents: Investments in magical businesses and ventures. Rare and historical tomes on magic. Various heirlooms, including wands from earlier generations.
Harry felt his throat tighten as he read further down the list. This amount of money felt obscene, adding in the properties? It was overwhelming to see the tangible evidence of his family's wealth and contributions to magical society.
Grimbok continued, his tone measured. "The Most Noble and Most Ancient House of Black is recognized as one of the most influential pure-blood families in magical Britain. Your claim arises through Sirius Black, your godfather, and through blood ties via Dorea Black, your grandmother. To counter any other claims to the Lordship, your godfather gave you the name Black with the permission of your parents."
Harry's eyes widened as he read the contents of the Black house. What would I even do with all of this!
Grimbok's lips twitched slightly, revealing sharp teeth. "By conquest, you have become the Heir of the most Ancient and Noble House of Slytherin."
Harry frowned. "What do you mean by conquest?"
"You have defeated a wizard who claimed descent from Slytherin—Lord Voldemort. Magic has recognized this victory and transferred his claim to you."
Grimbok continued with a sneer, "Unfortunately, the previous descendants were unwise with the contents of their vaults and were declared bankrupt, losing everything but their seat within the Wizengamot."
Harry's attention sharpened as Grimbok shifted his focus. "And, finally. The House of Peverell is the oldest lineage listed here. It is connected to your blood through the Potter line, and by magic, there are certain conditions one must meet to claim this title and it seems that you, Mr. Potter, have met them."
House of Peverell
Peverell Family Vault (Vault 5):
Balance: 112,619 Galleons.
Contents: Artifacts related to ancient magic. Journals…
Properties:
Peverell Keep: A small fortress steeped in ancient wards. Uninhabited for centuries. Only accessible with Lords ring. Location unknown.
Grimbok pointed to a smaller section of the document. "The Lord rings for the houses of Potter, Black, and Slytherin are unavailable until you reach your majority or are declared an adult in the eyes of the Ministry. However, the heir rings of those houses and the Lord ring for house Peverell is accessible immediately."
Harry hesitated, recalling Luna's warning. "Will anyone be notified if I claim the rings?"
Grimbok nodded solemnly. "Yes, Mr. Potter. Your magical guardian will be notified of your acceptance as heir to these houses. Under the most recent amendments to the Law of Heirship and Guardian Oversight, introduced in 1967, a notification clause ensures that any formal acceptance of heirship by a minor automatically triggers an alert to the guardian of record. This law was specifically enacted to balance the rights of underage magical heirs with the oversight duties of their appointed guardians. It stipulates that while guardians may no longer exercise direct control over the primary or family vaults, they retain an advisory capacity, enabling them to provide counsel on the heir's access and decisions regarding these assets. Upon your acceptance, their role transitions to that of a consultant rather than a manager, allowing you to have ultimate control over your inheritance. If your magical guardian feels you are not ready for such a burden, they petition the courts to restrict your access to vaults etc until your majority."
Harry blinked, trying to process the information. "Magical guardian? Who would that even be?"
Grimbok narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Mr. Potter, are you telling me that you are unaware of the identity of your magical guardian? You have never met or corresponded with them?"
Anxiously, Harry shook his head. "No, never! I only found out about magic a few years ago by chance. Nobody told me anything."
Grimbok's movements became brisk and deliberate as he sifted through a pile of parchment, eventually pulling out a thick document. He adjusted his spectacles and read carefully.
"You are stating that you have never been contacted by Albus Dumbledore, appointed as your magical guardian in 1981?"
"Never," Harry replied, his tone sharp with frustration.
"This is highly irregular," Grimbok muttered, nostrils flaring. "You are also claiming that you have never authorised any transactions from the vaults under your name and have received nothing for your care or livelihood?"
Harry's face darkened. "I live with my Muggle aunt and her family. They've treated me like a slave since I can remember. I slept in a cupboard under the stairs while they have two spare bedrooms!"
Grimbok growled softly, his goblin features twisting with anger. "The records show that large transactions have been made monthly from your trust vault since 1981. Payments were sent to one Vernon Dursley, Albus Dumbledore, and an organisation named the Order of the Phoenix."
"The Dursleys get money for me?" Harry said, voice raising slightly. "They've given me nothing but scraps and chores! How did Dumbledore even become my guardian?"
"It is recorded," Grimbok began carefully, "that on the night of October 31, 1981, you were taken to Hogwarts to be examined by a medi-witch. Following this, guardianship was granted to Albus Dumbledore by an emergency writ issued under the authority of the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot."
Harry's jaw dropped. "But Dumbledore is the Chief Warlock! Are you saying he appointed himself my guardian?"
Grimbok nodded grimly. "Indeed. The writ was witnessed by one Mr. Diggle and filed promptly within the Ministry, which is why it has gone unchallenged."
"Can I challenge it?" Harry asked, his voice rising. "Can I take away his guardianship and get back what was stolen?"
Grimbok sighed. "It is not a simple matter. Dumbledore holds numerous positions of influence and power. Challenging his guardianship would require substantial evidence and could be a lengthy process. Additionally, until you reach your majority, it would leave you vulnerable to claims of guardianship from other, potentially more undesirable parties."
Harry felt a sinking dread. "So what can I do?"
"When you reach your majority," Grimbok said, "you may formally reclaim all stolen assets by proving unsuitability of guardianship and file an accusation of theft and child endangerment with the ministry. Until then, we can begin gathering evidence to build a case against him, though it may take a long time."
"What about claiming the Peverell Lordship, instead of the other heirships?" Harry asked hopefully.
Grimbok's lips curled into a satisfied smile. "The Peverell Lordship predates the Law of Heirship and Guardian Oversight. As no Lord Peverell has existed for over 400 years, your acceptance of this title is exempt from the notification requirement. The 1976 law mandates guardian notification only for houses with active Lordships at the time, where a guardian's advisory role is necessary. Since the Peverell line remained dormant for centuries, no such oversight applies. Thus, you may claim the Lordship immediately without informing your guardian until you yourself present it to the Wizengamot."
Harry exhaled in relief. "So, if I claim the Peverell Lordship, Dumbledore doesn't have to know? And I'll have control over that house's vaults and resources?"
Grimbok inclined his head. "Precisely. As Lord Peverell, you would have sole authority over the family's wealth, properties, and artifacts. Furthermore, you would gain a seat in the Wizengamot. This could provide you a platform to challenge other injustices, including the current structure of your guardianship, should you choose to pursue such a path. Unfortunately, you still have to reach majority or emancipation to do so unless you appoint a proxy."
Harry's mind raced as he tried to piece everything together. "What else does the Peverell title come with? Is there anything I should be worried about?"
Grimbok chuckled dryly. "The Peverell legacy is a storied one, Mr. Potter, with roots deeper than most other magical families. While there are no active legal or social obligations tied to the name, you will inherit certain magical responsibilities. The family's reputation has long been associated with mastery of the arcane, particularly in the realm of magical artifacts."
Harry frowned, recalling the tales of the Deathly Hallows. "Artifacts?"
Grimbok's sharp eyes gleamed. "Indeed. It is said the Peverells had a unique connection to three powerful objects: the Elder Wand, the Resurrection Stone, and the Invisibility Cloak. While two of these are considered lost to history, it is worth noting that your families own cloak bears markings consistent with Peverell craftsmanship."
"So a cloak... it's part of my inheritance?"
Grimbok gave a curt nod. "Correct. As Lord Peverell, you may find the cloak and its unique properties even more significant. Such an artifact, tied to your bloodline, may react differently to your magic once you have officially claimed your title. As with the previous Lords, the responsibility to protect the secrets of these objects now lay with you."
Harry hesitated, weighing his options. "And where is this cloak? If I claim the Peverell Lordship now, would that interfere with claiming the other heirships later?"
Grimbok shook his head. "Not at all. Each house functions independently. Claiming the Peverell Lordship simply allows you to establish yourself without alerting unwanted parties. It is a tricky situation as while you are not an adult in the eyes of the law, the Peverell house allows for you to accept the lordship at 11. Unfortunately, you are still a minor in the eyes of the wizarding world, but Gringotts has no such limitations. Once you come of age, you will have the opportunity to claim the other titles as well. As for you cloak, I will have to do an inventory for the Potter vaults, which may take some time."
"What do I have to do to claim it?"
Grimbok gestured to a ceremonial pedestal at the side of the room. Upon it rested an ornate ring set with a black stone etched with the Peverell crest. "Place your hand upon the ring and state your intent to claim the Lordship of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Peverell. The magic bound to the title will recognize your bloodline and grant you the mantle of Lordship."
Harry took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the decision pressing on his shoulders. Luna's warning about the risks of claiming his heritage echoed in his mind, but the thought of gaining some independence and starting to take control of his own life spurred him on.
He stepped toward the pedestal and reached out, his fingers hovering just above the ring. "Once I do this," he asked, turning to Grimbok, "can anyone take it away?"
Grimbok's tone was firm. "No, Mr. Potter. The Peverell title is tied irrevocably to your bloodline. Once claimed, it cannot be challenged or revoked, save by your own death. The power and resources it grants will be yours alone."
Harry nodded, determination filling his chest. He lowered his hand and touched the cool metal of the ring before placing it on his finger. As he spoke the words, the room seemed to hum with an ancient magic, and the air around him shimmered faintly.
"I, Harrison James Potter-Black, claim the Lordship of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Peverell."
A soft glow emanated from the ring as it resized itself to fit his finger. The stone pulsed with a steady light, as though acknowledging its new master. Harry felt a surge of warmth flow through him, a sensation both alien and comforting.
Grimbok gave a rare, satisfied smile. "It is done, Lord Peverell. You are now master of your own house."
The goblin flipped back to the test and continued to explain. "These are your magical inheritances. Yours includes the following notable gifts,"
Parseltongue/ Parselmagic
Elemental magic
Wandless magic
Unknown
"You will be a poweful wizard one day, Lord Peverell. Its best to hide these gifts for as long as you can, there will be those who look unfavourably upon some of these," Grimbok said. "This also suggests that you will come into another gift between now and your majority, these generally occur on the eve of you birth day, if you notice anything unusual don't hesitate to come back for another test, this we will do for free."
Harry nodded, feeling overwhelmed by everything.
Finally, Grimbok added, "For defeating Lord Voldemort, several bequests have been made to you. Some wizards and witches offered portions of their wealth or items of value in thanks. These have been collected in a separate vault under your name. The balance currently stands at just under 17,000 Galleons."
Harry sat back, overwhelmed. The sheer scope of his inheritance was staggering, but it also came with immense responsibility.
Grimbok handed Harry a copy of the parchment. "What will you do next, Lord Peverell?"
Harry pocketed the parchments and tree and gave a small, wry smile. "I'll figure it out. One step at a time. In the meantime, could you please audit all of my accounts."
"Of course, this may take some time."
Harry nodded, "take however long you need, Grimbok." He bowed his head to the goblin and turned on his heel.
As he left the bank, the weight of his newfound knowledge pressed on him.
~
Harry walked briskly through the cobblestone streets of Diagon Alley, his thoughts an uncontrollable whirlpool of anxiety. His hand trembled as it clutched the folder with parchments detailing his inheritance. It felt surreal—impossible, even. He wasn't just Harry Potter anymore. He was Lord Peverell.
The weight was unbearable. What was I thinking, I'm only 11! He thought.
By the time he arrived at the Lovegoods' quirky home, shaped like a misshapen rook on the edge of the woods, Harry was shaking. He knocked, his breath shallow, and Luna's serene face appeared at the door.
"Evan," she said softly, a spark of warmth in her otherwise dreamy gaze. "Or Harry, if you'd prefer today."
Harry gave her a weak smile. "Evan is fine for now. Can I... Can I come in?"
Luna tilted her head, her pale blonde hair flowing like sunlight through water. "You can always come in." She opened the door wider, ushering him into the cosy chaos of the Lovegood household.
Luna led Harry to the living room, where mismatched furniture and strange magical artifacts filled the space. He sat down heavily on the faded blue sofa, clutching the folder tightly.
"I don't know what to do, Luna," he confessed, his voice cracking. "I'm... I'm a lord. Four houses, dozens of vaults, properties, responsibilities. I don't know what that means!"
Luna sat beside him, her silvery eyes scanning his face. "You're overwhelmed," she said simply, her tone matter-of-fact.
Harry laughed bitterly. "That's an understatement. I'm just... I'm just a kid! How am I supposed to handle all this? The Wizengamot, the politics, the—everything. I don't even know if I'm doing anything right. What if I mess it all up?"
Luna reached out and gently took the folder from his hands, setting it on the table. "Lie down," she said softly.
"What?"
"Lie down," she repeated, patting her lap. "You'll think more clearly if you stop panicking."
Harry hesitated but then complied, resting his head on her lap. Her hands, cool and soft, began stroking his unruly hair.
"You're not alone in this," she said quietly, her voice like a lullaby. "You have me. And I think you'll find others, too, who care about you. And like you said you're just a kid, you don't have to deal with politics for years. You're not just a lord, Harry. You're still... you."
Tears pricked at Harry's eyes as she started humming a soft, ancient melody in Greek. The words followed, and though Harry didn't understand all of it, the song's cadence and Luna's voice wrapped around him like a warm blanket.
When Harry finally sat up, his eyes red from crying, but his breathing was steady. "Thanks," he said hoarsely.
Luna smiled faintly. "The stars never panic, you know. They burn bright for billions of years. You'll be okay."
He nodded, wiping his face.
When Harry mentioned he might have to reveal some of this to the Pritchards to explain his absences, Luna surprised him.
"They won't mind," she said confidently. "They think I'm odd but kind, and they trust you. Besides, I think they like you more than they let on."
Harry smiled faintly. "They're good people. I don't want to lose their trust."
"You won't," she assured him. "You're... you. And that's enough for them."
~
Harry sat cross-legged on the floor of his small forest hideaway, a stack of parchment spread out before him and some of the fresh food he grew in a bowl next to him. The Potter family crest embossed on the edges of each document gleamed faintly in the sunlight filtering through the trees. Flick lay beside him, while the Old One watched from a nearby tree, her golden eyes unblinking.
Harry's fingers traced the edge of a thick ledger detailing the transactions in and out of his Potter trust and family vaults. What had started as mere curiosity had grown into a gnawing anger as he added up the sums.
His quill scratched across a piece of parchment as he calculated the figures. "Nearly 100,000 Galleons," he muttered, his jaw tightening. "That's what Dumbledore's taken."
The entries were blatant: consistent withdrawals marked under the pretence of "school fund expenses" or "guardian fees." There were also hefty sums transferred to unspecified accounts, always under Dumbledore's authority.
"And the Dursleys," Harry continued, his voice bitter, "£3,000 a month for ten years." His quill paused as he did the math in his head. "That's... that's £360,000. For what? To starve me? To lock me in a cupboard?"
The thought of confronting them burned at the back of his mind, but he dismissed it. The Dursleys weren't the real problem anymore—Dumbledore was. Harry knew he had to tread carefully. Any confrontation with the Dursleys could risk alerting Dumbledore to his growing independence.
"When I'm emancipated," Harry muttered darkly, "I'll take everything they've got. Every last penny."
He pushed the financial records aside, his eyes settling on a different stack of documents. These detailed the properties owned by the Potter family. One entry immediately caught his attention: Potter Cottage, Godric's Hollow.
He read the description, his brow furrowing. The cottage was listed as a private property under the Potter estate, yet a note in the margin declared it a "protected monument by Ministry decree."
"Protected monument?" Harry scoffed. "They turned my house into a tourist attraction?"
The injustice of it made his blood boil. How could the Ministry claim authority over his family's home? He resolved to visit Godric's Hollow when he could, to see the damage for himself and to see if there's anything left of his parents there.
Harry's gaze drifted to another intriguing detail in his inheritance records: Godfather: Sirius Orion Black.
He frowned. Sirius Black was a name he'd heard in passing, whispered with disdain in the darker corners of Knockturn Alley.
"Where is he now?" Harry wondered aloud. "Azkaban? What did he do?"
A sickening thought struck him. If Dumbledore had been able to manipulate the Potter finances and keep Harry ignorant of his heritage, had he also been involved in keeping Sirius away? Harry clenched his fists. He needed answers.
"I'll ask Grimbok," he resolved. The goblin had been helpful and seemed to take Harry's interests seriously.
Finally, Harry turned his attention to the Peverell inheritance. Unlike the other vaults, which had been weighed down with centuries of political ties and familial obligations, the Peverell estate felt... different.
The detailed records described a single property, Peverell Keep, a sprawling fortress tucked away in a hidden valley. Its location was marked only by a series of cryptic instructions:
"Follow the path of the ancient yew. Where the gate opens, the bridge of the tree will guide you to the house of Death."
Harry traced the words with his finger, his mind racing. Could he find the Keep on his own? It seemed possible. Unlike the Ministry's interference with the Potter estate, the Peverell holdings were protected by ancient, unbreakable wards.
"Is it just a ruin, or is it still standing?" he mused.
The Peverell vault, fascinated him. Its contents included artifacts steeped in mystery.
Harry leaned back against a tree popping a tomato in his mouth, staring up at the canopy. The magnitude of his inheritance felt crushing, but the Peverell legacy offered a glimmer of intrigue, one he had been researching for a while now. Unlike the Potter and Black houses, tangled in politics and obligations, the Peverell name felt like a mystery waiting to be unravelled.
When the time was right, he would visit the Peverell Keep.
~
It was late in the evening one day, when Harry finally worked up the courage to tell the Pritchards the truth. They were gathered in the cosy sitting room, the fireplace crackling softly. Mrs. Pritchard was knitting, her needles clicking away rhythmically, while Mr. Pritchard lounged in his armchair, a book balanced on his knee. Flick was curled up at Harry's feet, occasionally letting out contented hisses.
Harry cleared his throat nervously, twisting his hands in his lap. "There's… something I need to tell you," he began, his voice barely above a whisper.
Mrs. Pritchard looked up from her knitting, her kind eyes soft with encouragement. "Go on, dear," she said gently.
Harry hesitated, the words caught in his throat. He'd been so afraid of this moment, worried they'd be angry or feel betrayed. But he knew he couldn't keep it from them any longer. "I'm… I'm not just Evan Birch," he admitted. "That's not my real name."
The room was silent except for the crackle of the fire. Harry took a deep breath and continued. "I'm Harry Potter. And I'll be starting at Hogwarts in September." He glanced down at his hands, unable to meet their eyes. "I'm sorry for not telling you sooner. I thought… I thought you'd be angry with me."
For a moment, there was silence, and Harry braced himself for their reaction. But then, to his surprise, Mrs. Pritchard let out a soft laugh, setting her knitting aside.
"Oh, Harry," she said, rising from her chair and crossing the room to him. She knelt in front of him, taking his hands in hers. "We've known who you were from the beginning."
Harry's head shot up, his green eyes wide with shock. "What?"
Mr. Pritchard chuckled from his chair, closing his book with a soft thud. "You're much better at disguising yourself now, but when we first met you, you couldn't hide that scar of yours fully. It was faint, but it was there."
Mrs. Pritchard smiled warmly. "We recognised you, Harry, but we never said anything because it was clear you were trying to keep it a secret. And we figured if you wanted us to know, you'd tell us in your own time."
Harry blinked, his throat tight with emotion. "You… you're not angry?"
"Angry?" Mrs. Pritchard said, her voice full of affection. "Of course not. You're still the same boy who's been helping out in the shop and making us laugh with your stories. It doesn't matter what name you go by, Harry. You're family."
Before Harry could say anything else, she pulled him into a warm embrace, and he felt tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. He hadn't realized how much he'd needed to hear those words.
When she finally let him go, Mr. Pritchard spoke up, his tone light and teasing. "So, Hogwarts, eh? Guess we'll have to get used to the shop being a bit quieter come September."
Harry laughed, wiping at his eyes. "I'll come back in the summers if I can," he promised.
Later that evening, as they sat together by the fire, Harry brought up an idea that had been forming in his mind. "I've been thinking," he began, "about a way to keep in touch with someone while I'm at school. You know, without anyone else finding out."
Mrs. Pritchard tilted her head, intrigued. "Go on."
"I heard about these two-way mirrors," Harry explained. "They let people talk to each other no matter how far apart they are. But I was wondering… do you think it's possible to enchant journals to work the same way? So you could write in one, and the words would appear in the other?"
Mr. Pritchard's eyes lit up with interest. "That's an interesting idea, Harry. It would take some careful spellwork, but it's not impossible."
Harry leaned forward eagerly. "What kind of spellwork would it take?"
Mr. Pritchard grabbed a piece of parchment and began sketching out a rough diagram. "First, you'd need a way to link the two journals together. That would require a tethering spell, something that binds them magically. Then, you'd need a duplication charm to ensure that anything written in one journal is immediately copied into the other."
Mrs. Pritchard added, "You'd also want a privacy charm to make sure no one else can see what's written in them, even if they manage to get their hands on one."
Harry nodded, his mind racing with possibilities.
They spent the next hour brainstorming and researching. Mr. Pritchard pulled out a few old books on enchantments, flipping through the pages to find relevant spells. Harry took notes, sketching out his own ideas and jotting down questions to explore later.
By the end of the evening, they had a rough plan in place:
Protean Charm: a charm that allowed several objects to change simultaneously through a common purpose.
Privacy Charm: A layered enchantment combining notice-me-not and a concealment spell to protect the contents.
A drop of blood: To bind the books to the owners.
Harry felt a surge of excitement as he looked over their plan. "Do you think we can make it work?" he asked.
Mrs. Pritchard smiled. "With some trial and error, I think we can."
Harry grinned, already imagining how useful the journals would be. He couldn't wait to get started.
Over the next few days, Harry, Mr. Pritchard, and Mrs. Pritchard sat at the long worktable in the back of the shop. Spread before them were two of the blank leather journals Harry had salvaged from his cleanup of Dudley's second bedroom, several enchanted tools, and stacks of parchment filled with their notes and ideas.
"This is quite the project," Mrs. Pritchard said, adjusting her glasses as she carefully studied the plan they'd written up. "But I think using the Protean Charm is a brilliant solution, Harry. It's advanced magic, but with the right modifications, it should do the trick."
Harry nodded, feeling both excited and a little nervous. The Protean Charm was known for being complex, but he'd read about it in some of the books he'd borrowed from the shop's shelves, and he was determined to master it when he got the chance.
"Right," Mr. Pritchard said, rolling up his sleeves. "Step one is binding these journals together. We'll use the Protean Charm to link their contents so that whatever's written in one appears in the other."
Harry carefully placed the journals side by side on the table, their blank covers gleaming under the lamplight.
"The charm should handle the connection, but to strengthen it, we'll add a personal element—something that ties the journals to the two of you specifically," Mr. Pritchard said.
Mrs. Pritchard smiled. "A drop of blood from each of you should do the trick. Blood magic is ancient, and while it can be dangerous in some forms, this is a harmless application. It'll make the connection between the journals stronger and more stable and tied to yourselves."
Harry stood at the table as Mr. Pritchard walked him through the steps of the Protean Charm.
"So," Mr. Pritchard said, his tone steady and reassuring, "the key to the charm is focus. I'm not just linking the journals; I'm creating a magical network between them. I will picture them as two halves of the same whole."
Mr. Pritchard took a deep breath and raised his wand. He muttered the incantation, "Protean vinculum!"
A soft, golden light emitted from the tip of his wand, weaving through the air and settling over the journals like a shimmering net.
The golden light sank into the journals, and for a moment, nothing happened. Then, the journals glowed faintly, their leather covers pulsing in sync like a heartbeat.
"Did it work?" Harry asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
"There's only one way to find out," Mrs. Pritchard said with a smile.
Harry picked up a quill and dipped it in ink. On the first page of the journal, he wrote, Testing, testing—can you see this?
They all leaned forward as the words appeared, almost instantly, in the second journal.
"It worked!" Harry exclaimed, grinning.
"Brilliant work, if I do say so myself" Mr. Pritchard said.
The next step was enhancing the connection with blood magic. Mrs. Pritchard handed Harry a small silver pin.
"All you need is a drop," she said gently. "Press it to your fingertip and let the blood fall onto the page."
Harry pricked his finger. A single drop of blood welled up and fell onto the first page of his journal. The inked words glowed briefly before fading back to black.
When he handed the second journal to Luna later, she'd do the same, ensuring the connection was unique to them.
After completing the enchantments, they tested the journals thoroughly. Harry wrote a message in his journal and watched as it appeared perfectly in the other. He even tried using different colours of ink and slightly messier handwriting, but the words always came through identical.
As Harry packed up the journals later that night, he couldn't stop smiling. The thought of being able to communicate with Luna, even while he was at Hogwarts, filled him with a sense of relief and excitement.
"You did well, Harry," Mrs. Pritchard said as she helped him tidy up. "These journals are something special. And I'm sure Luna will appreciate them."
Harry nodded. "Thank you—for helping me with this, and… for everything."
Mr. Pritchard ruffled his hair affectionately. "You've got a good head on your shoulders, Harry. Don't forget that."
~
The late afternoon sun cast a golden glow over Diagon Alley as Harry strolled along the cobbled streets, enjoying the lively hum of the wizarding world. He was here for a few last-minute items before September, though nothing specific was on his mind. It was nice to just be surrounded by magic.
As he passed a shop with a brightly painted sign that read Magical Menagerie, the sound of squawking and screeching animals caught his attention. He paused, glancing in the window at the rows of cages and tanks filled with creatures of all shapes and sizes.
"Maybe a cat," he mused to himself, stepping inside. The thought of having a companion at Hogwarts was appealing, and a cat seemed practical. Quiet, clever, and not too much trouble—he figured it might suit him well. He couldn't take flick with him after all.
The shop was a chaotic symphony of sounds: meows, chirps, and an occasional low growl. He walked slowly past rows of cages, eyeing the cats. There was a sleek black one curled up in a ball, a ginger kitten pouncing on its sibling's tail, and even a hairless cat blinking up at him with sharp green eyes.
But before Harry could make up his mind, a loud hoot rang out from the back of the shop. It was sharp and commanding, almost as if it was demanding attention.
Curious, Harry followed the sound to the far corner, where a row of owls perched in large, spacious cages. Most of them were calm, preening their feathers or dozing. But one owl—a snowy white one—was flapping her wings furiously, rattling the bars of her cage as she stared directly at him.
"Well, there's trouble again," came a weary voice. The shopkeeper, a stout man with a balding head and a harried expression, appeared beside Harry. "That one's been a handful since the day she got here."
"She's beautiful," Harry murmured, stepping closer. The owl was stunning, her snowy feathers practically glowing in the dim light, with piercing amber eyes that seemed to bore straight into his soul.
"She is that," the shopkeeper admitted grudgingly. "But she's a menace. Won't settle, won't bond with anyone who tries to take her. Keeps causing a fuss, like she's desperate to fly somewhere specific. Almost like she's being summoned, if you believe that sort of nonsense."
Harry's heart skipped a beat at the word summoned. He thought back to the magic he used whenever he needed an owl to deliver a letter, the gentle tug of magic that guided them toward him. Could it be possible that this owl had been feeling that tug?
As if reading his mind, the owl let out another loud hoot and fluttered her wings, staring at him with an intensity that made his chest tighten. Tentatively, Harry stepped closer and raised a hand toward the bars of her cage.
"Careful," the shopkeeper warned. "She's pecked plenty of folks already."
But the snowy owl didn't peck him. Instead, she tilted her head and stepped forward, her talons clicking softly against the perch. She stretched her neck toward Harry's outstretched fingers, and he felt the soft brush of feathers against his skin.
"She's not so bad," Harry said quietly, stroking the owl's head. She closed her eyes and let out a soft, contented hoot.
The shopkeeper snorted. "First time I've seen her act like that. Must be your lucky day."
Harry smiled, feeling a strange connection to the bird.
"Well, if you want her, she's yours," the shopkeeper said. "But are you sure you don't want to look at the cats? Or maybe a toad? They're much easier to handle, and they won't be breaking out of their cages every other day."
Harry shook his head. "No, I think… I think she's perfect."
The shopkeeper grumbled under his breath but fetched the cage and a perch for the owl. As Harry paid for her, she let out a triumphant hoot, as if she knew she was finally going home.
"What's her name?" Harry asked, glancing at the shopkeeper.
"She doesn't have one," the man replied with a shrug. "Didn't think she'd stick around long enough to need one."
Harry looked back at the owl, who was watching him intently from her perch. "How about… Hedwig?" he said softly, remembering a name he'd come across in one of his books. "Do you like that?"
Hedwig tilted her head and let out a soft, approving hoot.
Carrying Hedwig's cage through the bustling alley, Harry couldn't stop smiling.
As they passed a group of witches and wizards, Harry caught a snippet of their conversation.
"Did you see that owl?" one of them said. "Such a striking bird!"
Harry's chest swelled with pride. He didn't care that Hedwig had been labelled a troublemaker; to him, she was perfect.
When he arrived back at the Pritchards' shop, Mrs. Pritchard greeted him with a smile. "Who's this?" she asked, peering into the cage.
"This is Hedwig," Harry said, setting the cage down carefully. "I think she was waiting for me."
Mrs. Pritchard's eyes softened. "Well, it seems like she found exactly who she was meant to. She's beautiful, Harry."
Hedwig let out a soft hoot, and Harry smiled, feeling a warmth in his chest.
As the evening wore on, now back at number 4, Harry set up Hedwig's perch by his window, giving her a clear view of the street below. She seemed to approve, ruffling her feathers and settling in comfortably.
"Welcome home, Hedwig," Harry whispered.
She blinked at him with her bright amber eyes, and he could've sworn she understood.
~
The late summer sun filtered through the orchard's trees, casting dappled light onto the soft grass below. Harry and Luna sat cross-legged beneath their favourite tree, the air heavy with the bittersweet feeling of parting.
"You're going to have such a lovely time at Hogwarts," Luna said dreamily, her voice lilting as though she were describing a magical place she'd only read about in books. "The castle is alive, you know. Not in the way trees or animals are alive, but in its own way. It feels everything that happens inside it."
Harry smiled faintly, trying to imprint this moment into his memory. "I wish you could come with me," he said, his voice tight.
Luna tilted her head, her long blonde hair catching the sunlight. "I'll be there next year," she said as though it were the simplest thing in the world. "And until then, we have the journals. You won't really be alone."
Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out her matching journal, its leather cover slightly worn but radiating an unspoken connection to the one Harry carried. "You must write often," she said softly, her pale blue eyes locking onto his. "Even if it's just to tell me about the weather or the creatures you find in the forest by the castle. It will be like we're speaking to each other."
Harry nodded, his throat tightening. "I will. I promise."
Luna smiled, a faraway look in her eyes. "And don't be sad," she added gently. "Just think of this as the start of a new story, and every time you turn a page, I'll be reading it with you."
For a moment, Harry couldn't speak. Luna had a way of saying things that felt like they reached into his heart and settled there. He leaned forward and hugged her tightly, his arms wrapping around her slight frame. "I'm going to miss you," he whispered.
"I'll miss you too," she replied softly. "But we're tied together now, Harry. Like the stars and the moon."
When he pulled back, Luna smiled brightly, as though to chase away the shadows of goodbye. "Go on, then," she said, motioning toward the road that led to Privet Drive. "Hogwarts is waiting for you."
With one last look at Luna, he turned and walked away, clutching the weight of their friendship like an anchor in his chest.
~
The morning of September 1st arrived with a crispness in the air that hinted at autumn's approach. Harry stepped out of the cab in front of King's Cross Station, a knot of anticipation and unease twisting in his stomach. He hadn't felt this nervous in a long time—not even when dodging wizards and witches in Knockturn Alley.
His enchanted leather side bag hung at his side, which held his shrunken trunk and the Pritchards' discreetly charmed book trunk that they gifted him before leaving. In his hand was Hedwig's cage, her snowy feathers gleaming in the soft morning light. The owl gazed imperiously around at the milling crowd of muggles, as if they were all beneath her notice.
Harry's Veil of Shadows was faintly active, just enough to make him blend into the background. It wasn't invisibility, but it made people's eyes slide past him, as though he were unremarkable and not worth a second glance. It was a habit now, one born from necessity and survival.
The station buzzed with life, muggles hurrying to catch their trains or reuniting with loved ones. Harry weaved through the throng, scanning for the barrier between Platforms 9 and 10, but his nerves made him second-guess himself.
Then, a loud, commanding voice sliced through the noise.
"Now, now, keep close, all of you! No wandering off! This place is packed with muggles!"
Harry turned toward the sound and froze. A woman with bright red hair bustled into view, herding a group of equally red-haired children through the station. Her voice was sharp, cutting through the chaos with practiced authority.
"Fred, George!" she barked, glaring at two identical boys who lagged behind. "Stop dawdling! And don't even think about setting off those dungbombs in here!"
The twins exchanged mischievous grins that were far too practiced to be innocent.
"What dungbombs, Mum?" one of them asked, his tone dripping with feigned sincerity.
"We're perfect little angels," the other added, his expression the picture of mock outrage.
The woman scowled. "You'll be angels when I send you to meet Merlin at this rate," she muttered under her breath.
Harry's lips twitched as the twins sped up, their trunks clattering behind them. One of them leaned casually against a solid brick pillar—and vanished.
Harry blinked. That had to be the barrier.
The other twin followed suit, disappearing just as effortlessly. The other children both turned to their mother with pleading expressions, the youngest two of the bunch—an auburn-haired girl and a freckled boy about Harry's age—were the loudest.
"Mummy, can we go now?" the girl whined, her voice grating. "You promised I'd get to see Harry Potter!"
Harry stiffened, gripping Hedwig's cage more tightly.
"Ginny, dear, be patient," the woman replied, clearly exasperated. "And I didn't promise. I said maybe. Now hold your tongue while I check that we haven't forgotten anything."
The girl huffed dramatically, stomping a foot.
The youngest boy, who Harry guessed was Ron, scowled. "This is ridiculous. Why couldn't I have gone through first? Fred and George always get to go first, and I never do anything cool!"
"Ronald Weasley," the woman snapped, her eyes narrowing. "You'll go through when I tell you to, and not a second before!"
Harry watched the exchange with a mixture of curiosity and unease. The family was chaotic, loud, and far too noticeable for his liking. They drew attention like moths to a flame, and Harry could feel the subtle tug of suspicion in the red-haired woman's glances.
The mother scanned the station again, her gaze lingering on anyone who seemed even slightly out of place. Harry shrank back instinctively, pulling his Shadows tighter around him. Her sharp eyes passed over him without catching, but the tension in her posture didn't fade.
"We're waiting here because Professor Dumbledore said Harry Potter would be coming through the muggle way," she said in a lower voice, her words intended for the children but loud enough to carry.
Harry's stomach twisted uncomfortably.
Ginny's eyes lit up. "So he'll be here any minute!" she exclaimed, her earlier sulk forgotten.
Ron groaned. "Do you think he'll be in Gryffindor? He'd better be. I'll bet he'll want to be my best mate."
"Of course he'll be in Gryffindor," Ginny replied, as though it were obvious. "All the best wizards are in Gryffindor. If he's not, something's wrong with him."
Harry's jaw clenched. He edged closer to the barrier, taking advantage of the fact that the woman had turned her attention back to her daughter's incessant whining.
"I don't see why we can't just wait inside," Ron muttered sulkily.
"Because Dumbledore said to wait out here," the woman replied sharply, scanning the crowd once more. "And that's exactly what we're going to do."
Harry vowed to avoid these people as much as he can, especially if they're in Dumbledores pocket.
Harry exhaled slowly, using the noise of the station to cover his steps as he approached the barrier. He glanced around one last time, ensuring no one was paying attention to him, before slipping through the brick wall.
The transition was seamless, and Harry emerged on the other side to the sight of the gleaming scarlet Hogwarts Express. The platform was alive with wizards and witches, all bustling to load trunks, say tearful goodbyes, or chatter excitedly about the upcoming school year.
Harry stepped aside, letting the crowd flow around him as he took it all in.
Hedwig hooted softly, drawing his attention. He glanced down at her, offering a faint smile. "Let's get aboard," he murmured.
The Hogwarts Express whistled sharply, and Harry stepped onto the train with Hedwig's cage in one hand and his enchanted bag slung over his shoulder. He didn't rush, weaving through the crowded corridor as students chattered excitedly and poked their heads into compartments. Harry's nerves prickled at the unfamiliarity of it all.
He passed several compartments already filled with loud and energetic students, each one feeling more intimidating than the last. It wasn't until near the back of the train that he spotted a compartment with only one occupant: a round-faced boy who was anxiously fiddling with the strap of his battered trunk.
"Excuse me," Harry said hesitantly, stopping at the door. "Are you saving this for anyone, or…?"
The boy startled, his wide, anxious eyes meeting Harry's. "Oh! Um, no. You can sit here if you want."
"Thanks," Harry said, sliding the door open and stepping inside. He stashed Hedwig's cage on the luggage rack, careful not to jostle her too much, then placed his bag on the seat beside him. The boy didn't say anything at first, simply wringing his hands nervously.
"I'm Harry," Harry offered after a moment, trying to break the silence. He adjusted the fake round glasses on his face and resisted the urge to fidget with his short hair. Slightly regretting the decision to keep up the appearance of Harry Potter, to distract from being recognised as Evan Birch in the future.
"Neville," the boy said quickly. "Neville Longbottom." He hesitated, then added, "Are you a first year too?"
"Yeah," Harry replied with a small smile. "First time on the train. You?"
Neville nodded, but his face scrunched with worry. "My gran's been talking about this day for years, but I'm not sure I'm ready. She says Hogwarts is where everyone in our family gets sorted into Gryffindor." He lowered his voice. "I don't think I'm brave enough for Gryffindor."
Harry blinked, surprised by the boy's candor. "Why not?"
"I lose things all the time," Neville admitted miserably. "Like my toad, Trevor. Gran got him for me as a gift, but I've already lost him twice today."
As if summoned by the mention of his name, a small, warty toad hopped up onto the seat, its beady eyes looking almost smug. Harry stifled a laugh and pointed. "You mean that toad?"
Neville's face lit up. "Trevor!" he exclaimed, grabbing the toad before it could make another daring escape. "Thank you! He's always trying to get away."
"Maybe he's just adventurous," Harry said with a grin, relaxing slightly.
Neville gave a shy chuckle and sat back, holding Trevor tightly. "Maybe."
The train jerked into motion, and Harry felt a mix of excitement and nerves as the platform began to slide away from view. He glanced out the window but quickly turned his attention back to Neville, who was now chatting about how he hadn't done much magic yet.
"Gran says I'll get the hang of it eventually," Neville said. "But I'm not sure. I accidentally turned my ears purple when I tried a simple levitation charm."
Harry snorted softly. "Could've been worse. At least you didn't blow anything up."
Neville gave him a grateful smile, clearly relieved by Harry's easygoing response. They fell into a companionable silence for a while, the rhythmic clattering of the train filling the compartment.
It wasn't long before the door to their compartment slid open again, revealing a lanky red-haired boy with freckles and a slightly sour expression.
"Have you seen Harry Potter?" the boy demanded without preamble, scanning the compartment quickly. His gaze passed over Harry, who had activated his Veil of Shadows spell just as the door opened. To Ron, it would look as though Harry's seat were empty, and Neville was alone.
Neville blinked in confusion. "Uh, no. I haven't."
The red-haired boy—who Harry guessed was Ron based on the station fiasco—sneered. "Figures. You wouldn't know him if he were sitting right next to you." He gave Neville a once-over and added, "You don't look like anyone worth talking to anyway."
Harry clenched his fists, biting back a retort. Neville's cheeks flushed, but he said nothing, staring down at Trevor in his hands.
"Whatever," Ron muttered, turning to leave. "Bet he's up front with all the other popular kids."
As soon as the door slid shut, Harry dropped the spell. "What's his problem?" he muttered.
Neville shrugged uncomfortably. "I think he's one of the Weasleys. Gran says their family's well-known, but I've never met them." He looked up at Harry. "Why do you think he's looking for Harry Potter?"
Harry shifted awkwardly, not wanting to reveal too much. "Maybe he's just… curious."
"Yeah, I guess," Neville said, still looking a bit flustered.
The rest of the journey passed more pleasantly. Harry found Neville easy to talk to once they got past the initial awkwardness. They talked about Hogwarts, speculating about the classes and professors, and Neville shared stories about his eccentric gran. Harry, careful not to let slip anything about his past or advanced knowledge, stuck to vague responses about how he was excited to learn magic.
As the sun dipped lower in the sky, a witch pushing a trolley of snacks stopped by their compartment. Harry bought a handful of Chocolate Frogs and some Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, sharing them with Neville, who was delighted to try the different sweets.
By the time the train began to slow, the two boys had settled into an easy camaraderie. Harry felt a small pang of relief—maybe making friends at Hogwarts wouldn't be so hard after all.
As the train pulled into Hogsmeade Station, Harry and Neville gathered their things and followed the throng of students out onto the platform. The air was cool and crisp, and the towering silhouette of Hogwarts Castle loomed in the distance, its turrets glowing faintly in the evening light.
Harry felt a surge of anticipation as a booming voice called out, "First years, over here!"
A massive figure stood near the edge of the platform, holding a lantern that cast a warm glow. Harry recognized him instantly as Hagrid, though he kept his expression neutral as he nudged Neville.
"That's us," he said quietly.
Neville nodded, clutching Trevor tightly as they followed the other first years toward the boats that would carry them across the lake to Hogwarts. As the castle grew closer, Harry couldn't help but feel a thrill of excitement.
~
The line of first-years shuffled nervously into the Great Hall, their wide eyes taking in the grandeur of the space. Harry had to admit, the enchanted ceiling, with its swirling night sky full of stars, was breathtaking. Beside him, Neville looked like he might faint, clutching Trevor in one hand and the brim of his hat in the other.
Professor McGonagall stood at the front of the hall, a scroll in hand and the Sorting Hat resting on a stool. The hat was old and patched, its brim slightly frayed, but it commanded attention when it began to sing. The Hall fell silent as it described the traits of each house: brave Gryffindors, loyal Hufflepuffs, clever Ravenclaws, and cunning Slytherins.
Harry couldn't help but feel a pang of curiosity about where he might end up. Gryffindor seems too predictable. Slytherin would be… interesting. Ravenclaw, though—that might be a good fit.
"Abbott, Hannah!"
A pink-faced girl stepped forward, trembling slightly, and sat on the stool. The hat barely touched her head before shouting, "HUFFLEPUFF!"
Cheers erupted from the Hufflepuff table as Hannah hurried over, relief written across her face.
The sorting continued, with names being called one by one. Harry waited quietly, his mind racing. He glanced at Neville, who was wringing his hands.
"Don't worry," Harry whispered. "You'll be fine."
Neville gave him a wobbly smile but said nothing.
When "Longbottom, Neville" was called, he stumbled forward, nearly dropping Trevor in the process. The hall chuckled softly, but Harry clenched his fists, feeling a protective surge.
Neville sat down, and the hat was placed on his head. The seconds dragged on, the hat clearly debating. Finally, it shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!"
Neville looked utterly shocked but stumbled toward the cheering Gryffindor table, his face red as he avoided eye contact with everyone.
The sorting went on, and Harry felt his nerves building. The hall felt too hot, too loud, and the stares from the older students didn't help.
"Potter, Harry."
The name hung in the air like a thunderclap.
The entire hall went silent, heads swivelling to look at him. Whispers erupted almost instantly.
"Did they say Potter?"
"Harry Potter?"
"Is it really him?"
Harry straightened his glasses, feeling a flush creep up his neck. He forced himself to walk forward, keeping his shoulders straight despite the weight of the stares.
When he sat on the stool, the hat was lowered onto his head.
"Ah," a voice drawled in his ear. "Interesting. Very interesting indeed."
Harry swallowed hard. Great. The hat talks.
"You're a curious one," the hat continued, sounding amused. "Plenty of ambition, I see. A strong desire to prove yourself, and a sharp mind to match. You'd do well in Slytherin, you know."
"Oh, you could be great there. You have the cunning and resourcefulness for it. And the connections you could make… but I see. With your power they would flock to you."
No thank you, Harry thought firmly.
"Very well. If not Slytherin, then where? Gryffindor? You have the bravery for it, though it's a little more subtle. No, no… I think your thirst for knowledge outweighs even that."
Harry felt the hat pause, almost like it was grinning.
"RAVENCLAW!" it bellowed.
The silence that followed was deafening.
The Ravenclaw table erupted into cheers, their blue and bronze banners gleaming proudly in the torchlight. Harry glanced toward them, surprised by the warm welcome. But when he looked back at the rest of the hall, he saw nothing but stunned faces.
The Gryffindor table seemed particularly shocked, as if they couldn't comprehend why the Boy Who Lived hadn't joined their ranks. At the Slytherin table, several students whispered among themselves, their expressions unreadable.
Harry stood and made his way to the Ravenclaw table, feeling self-conscious but relieved. The students there greeted him warmly, clapping him on the back and making space for him to sit.
"Welcome to Ravenclaw, Potter!" said a dark-haired boy with an eager grin. "I'm Terry Boot. This is Padma Patil and Anthony Goldstein."
"Hi," Harry said, managing a small smile as he sat down.
Across the hall, the buzz of whispers grew louder. Harry could hear snippets of conversation, most of them cantered around his unexpected placement.
At the Gryffindor table, Ron Weasley gaped at him, looking thoroughly betrayed.
Up at the staff table, Professor McGonagall looked startled but quickly composed herself, nodding approvingly. Dumbledore's eyes bored into him as he observed Harry, his expression unreadable.
As the sorting continued, Harry began to relax, listening as his new housemates explained more about Ravenclaw. They seemed excited to have him, though they didn't bombard him with questions like he'd feared.
When the last student was sorted, the feast began.
The Great Hall was alive with chatter and laughter as the Sorting Hat was whisked away and the tables magically filled with food. Platters of roast chicken, mountains of mashed potatoes, and goblets brimming with pumpkin juice materialised before Harry's eyes. It was a sight to behold, yet his appetite wavered.
Instead, his eyes wandered to the staff table at the far end of the Hall. It had been impossible to ignore the way the teachers watched him during the Sorting, their gazes filled with curiosity and, in some cases, thinly veiled scrutiny.
But now, his attention was drawn to the man sitting at the centre of the table. Albus Dumbledore.
The headmaster was unmistakable, even among the diverse assembly of Hogwarts professors. His long silver beard gleamed in the candlelight, falling nearly to his waist. Half-moon spectacles perched on his crooked nose, and his robes, a swirling tapestry of stars and moons, shimmered faintly. Dumbledore was chatting amiably with Professor McGonagall, but Harry noticed the occasional glance the man cast his way, his piercing blue eyes twinkling with an unsettling intensity.
Harry's stomach turned as he observed him. So that's Dumbledore. The one pulling all the strings.
It was strange. For years, Dumbledore had been this distant, almost mythical figure in Harry's mind—the powerful wizard who had left him on the Dursleys' doorstep like an unwanted parcel. But now, seeing him in person, Harry felt a chill he hadn't expected.
He didn't look like someone capable of stealing a child's inheritance or orchestrating years of neglect. No, Dumbledore looked every bit the kind and eccentric grandfather figure people claimed him to be. But Harry wasn't fooled. Not after everything he'd uncovered over the years.
The twinkle in those blue eyes wasn't warmth—it was calculation. Harry was sure of it. The headmaster's reputation might have been built on wisdom and benevolence, but to Harry, it now seemed like a carefully crafted mask.
How many times has he checked on me, not out of concern, but to make sure I stayed in line? How many people has he sent to spy on me, all while pretending to care?
Harry's jaw tightened as he tore his gaze away, focusing instead on his plate. He didn't want Dumbledore to catch him staring. The last thing he needed was to draw the man's attention any more than he already had.
But his thoughts churned. He left me with the Dursleys, knowing what they were like. He let them treat me like a servant, let them starve me, lock me in a cupboard, and steal everything good out of my life. And for what? The money in his vaults? The unwanted fame of the Boy-Who-Lived?
It made Harry's blood boil. If it weren't for the Pritchards, Luna, and his own efforts, he might still be the malnourished, desperate boy Dumbledore wanted.
A burst of laughter from the Ravenclaw table jolted him out of his thoughts. Anthony Goldstein was grinning as he recounted a story about his older sister's time at Hogwarts, and the rest of the table was hanging on his every word. Harry forced himself to focus, nodding along and even managing a weak chuckle when appropriate. But his mind kept drifting back to the man at the staff table.
He risked another glance at Dumbledore. The headmaster was smiling now, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he clapped Professor Flitwick on the back. To anyone else, he looked like the epitome of geniality. But to Harry, that smile felt more like the Cheshire Cat's—hiding secrets behind a façade of charm.
You don't own me anymore, Harry thought, his grip tightening around his goblet. I'm not the ignorant child you left hidden away. And I'm not going to let you control me.
The resolve steadied him. He might be under Dumbledore's roof now, but Harry knew better than to trust him—or anyone connected to him. Hogwarts might be a new chapter, but it didn't mean he'd let his guard down.
Dumbledore raised his goblet in a toast, his eyes sweeping the room. For a brief moment, they landed on Harry. The twinkle in those blue eyes seemed brighter than ever.
Game on, old man.