Mail owls were normally allowed in the great hall only during breakfast. This was done partially to keep what was essentially a dining room from turning into an owlery, with birds flying in and out at all hours of the day. It also minimized the distraction that owl post could present, as a student waiting for some important letter would know that if it didn't come today, it would come tomorrow.
Truly important messages, or messages with urgency behind them, would come in via floo to the student's head of house. Occasionally, elves were used to deliver mail as well - but even then, the wards allowed such deliveries only via the head of house.
There were only two exceptions - Gringott's official owls, and the owls of the Ministry.
The first is a legacy of one of the many conflicts between wizards and goblins - a rebellion, if asking a wizard, or a war, if it is a goblin speaking. The fact that the goblins even consented to limit deliveries to the great hall had been a surprise to the negotiators - the goblins were the ones dictating terms, after that particular conflict.
The second, meanwhile, was the result of a string of ministers in the 1850's who would simply not take no for an answer. Several Headmasters eventually talked the Ministry into limiting evening deliveries to the most important letters and documents.
Thus, the seven owls who flew into the great hall carrying black envelopes.
Ron and Hermione watched as six of the owls landed on the Slytherin table. The seventh, to their surprise, flew over to an Irish pureblood named Evan Lewis, one of the seventh year gryffindors. The boy looked resigned, but not shocked, as he opened the letter. When Katie Bell reached over to squeeze his hand, Ron remembered that they had been dating for a few weeks.
"Gran passed," Lewis said quietly. The younger students, many of whom had not known what the black envelopes meant, now understood. Someone had died, and seven Hogwarts' students were now heads of their houses.
It was a heavy thing to learn over dinner.
Harry, Neville, and Luna entered the great hall just in time to see Aaron Harper jump up from the Slytherin table and shout.
"They're lying!" the fourth year said, angrily. The letter was shaking in his hands, and Harry could tell that the grief was at least somewhat genuine. One of Harper's friends stood up and wrapped an arm around the grieving boy's shoulder, and then hugged him. Harper let the letter fall to the floor, and Harry saw the sky blue note that fell out of the folds of the letter - a notice from the DMLE that the death was under investigation.
Glancing over at the Slytherin table, Harry saw two more of those blue notices - one in front of Ambrose Rookwood, a sixth year, and another beside Vincent Crabbe, one of Draco Malfoy's bookends. He did not see who else received notices, for the other three had left the great hall as soon as they saw the envelopes.
One does not grow up in the home of a death eater without knowing what those envelopes mean. During the first war, slytherins would frequently take bets on where each black envelope would fall. In those days, it was usually one of the Dark Lord's victims getting the notice, rather than the marked.
In the confusion, no one noticed their entrance. Luna took advantage of that, making her way over to Ginny's seat at Gryffindor. Neville, seeing where Harry was looking, stayed nearby.
"Might be easier in the kitchens, Nev," said Harry, quietly. He had exchanged nods with the other members of his team, as well as Susan Bones at the Hufflepuff table. She had tapped her ear, getting a nod from Harry. Her meaning was unmistakable - We'll talk later.
"Maybe." Neville replied. He nodded toward Crabbe, who had stood up at this point. "You think it'll work?"
Harry shrugged. "I have to try, mate. If they think they have no choice, they'll fight that much harder." He glanced at his friend. "Think of Watson." That got a nod. The story of Evan Watson was one that had shocked both of them - and Madam Bones, when she had found out.
Crabbe was approaching them now, followed closely by Pansy Parkinson, of all people. Draco Malfoy, alongside Greg Goyle, did not seem to have noticed that their friend had left. When the slytherins got close enough, Harry stepped to the side and gestured them into the entrance hall.
They walked a few paces down the corridor before Crabbe spoke. "Is it true?" he asked, without preamble.
Harry looked at him, considering how to respond. Then he turned to Pansy. "Heiress Parkinson, in accordance with the old ways, House Potter asks you to witness a Parley."
Her eyes grew wide at that, and she paled at the implication. Every pureblood knew what a parley meant, and knew why it was so rare. They learned these rules almost as soon as they could read. Her father had drilled them into her right alongside her lessons on etiquette and magic.
Among all the rules purebloods had to follow, two were more important than any other. "Never get involved in a blood feud." was one. "Never make a blood feud worse." was the other.
House Potter was in a blood feud. She realized. Her eyes darted to her friend, and she saw from his expression that he understood as well. When? With whom?
Her eyes went to Potter's friend, and she spoke. "Why would you not ask House Longbottom to witness, Heir Potter?"
"I would be happy to, but for the fact that House Longbottom stands allied with House Potter." Neville gave her a smile, acknowledging the suggestion as a compliment, whether it had been meant that way or not. "It would be improper."
Longbottom and Potter, she thought. Merlin. Draco will be furious. Hell, Draco's father will be furious too. She looked back at Potter, and realized that she really only had one choice. Nodding, she said the ritual words. "House Parkinson will witness the Parley."
Harry smiled at her in thanks, before the smile faded as he turned to Crabbe. Vincent had taken the chance to calm himself as they talked, but still felt the anger welling up inside his chest. His eyes met Potter's, and he spoke again - this time using the formal language of a blood feud he hadn't even known about until minutes prior.
"I would have the truth of this from you, Heir Potter." He said, holding up the black letter.
Harry nodded, sighing. "In the early hours of this morning, I and several others were attacked in the Ministry of Magic. During the fighting, I struck one of my attackers with a cutting curse, and removed his left arm at the shoulder. At the same time, another of my comrades landed a bone breaking curse on the attacker's leg. In the ensuing combat, none of the attackers chose to provide first aid to their fallen, and the man died." Harry's gaze held Vincent's. "The man was your father, Heir Crabbe."
Vincent Crabbe had been insulated, somewhat, from the renewed death eater activity of the past year, as his year was not tasked with anything important at Hogwarts. He knew that that would change this summer, if his father's will were to be done. He had been promised to the Dark Lord's service, after all.
He had not known about any attack. He did not know why Potter had been at the Ministry, why his father was there, why he had attacked Potter. To some of those questions, he would never know an answer beyond Because the Dark Lord willed it. But for others…
"You say there is a blood feud between us, but my father told me nothing."
Harry and Neville shared a look. "Yesterday afternoon, House Potter declared a Blood Feud against the House of Gaunt. We swore vengeance against the sons of that house, and vowed to eradicate it from the Earth, root and stem. We promised death to all who swore allegiance to that house, or to its heir."
Pansy spoke up, then. "And the notices?" she asked. She had no part in this, thankfully, but it was not a question Vince knew to ask.
Neville spoke, then. "The proper notices were sent to the Ministry via floo, with the required letter going to the heir of the house via sworn courier. The forms were obeyed." He did not say that the forms were delivered via Madam Umbridge's floo, nor what had happened to Madam Umbridge while that was happening - though he knew he would have no trouble finding a patronus memory after that. That the courier was a House Elf, chosen because he had once served the Malfoys, did not even rate a mention.
"I don't know any Gaunts," said Crabbe.
"The last son of the House of Gaunt is the son of Merope Gaunt and a muggle named Tom Riddle." Harry replied. "His birth name is Tom Marvolo Riddle, but these days he is more commonly known by another name."
Pansy understood, now. "No," she whispered. Crabbe's eyes widened at her reaction, not the name - he didn't know.
Harry nodded again. "The last son of the House of Gaunt is Lord Voldemort."
Vincent closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. "And when you say those sworn to his service…"
Another nod. "Anyone I see wearing the Dark Mark, I kill."
His eyes went to the notice in his hands. The cold, impersonal language of bureaucrats the world over told him that he was now the Head of House for the Ancient House of Crabbe. The pressure from his father, gone in an instant - things might get better now, if not for him then at least for his mother. Except for Potter here vowing my death, he mused. Vincent glanced at Pansy, and saw the shock still etched into her face at the news that the Dark Lord was a halfblood.
Neville saw Crabbe's shoulders sag, and the boy seemed to deflate. With a glance between the two gryffindors, Crabbe lifted the sleeve of his robes. He bore no dark mark, though they had not expected him to.
He watched as Potter looked closely at his arm, before looking up and meeting his eyes. "Would you like to kill me now, or would you prefer to have a nice supper first?" asked Crabbe, bitterly.
Potter chuckled at that. "I've got nowhere to be, Heir Crabbe, and it's been twenty hours or so since I had a good parley. Let's talk, you and I."
Pansy couldn't resist. "Who was that parley with?"
Potter shared a glance with Longbottom. "Malfoy's dad. Now, to be fair," he shrugged. "He did kind of have a hostage at the time, so it was lacking a certain sense of formality." Even with the weighty topics on offer, Harry could tell that Pansy was amused by his phrasing.
"I see," said Crabbe. He went toe to toe with Malfoy's dad, and lived. He fought Da, and killed him. "How many others died last night, Heir Potter?"
A heavy sigh. "Twelve in total."
Vincent shared a look with Pansy. They knew where this was going, for both of them. Crabbe Senior had told Vincent, in no uncertain terms, that he would be marked before the end of July, and thereby dedicated to the Dark Lord's service. He knew that Greg and Draco had similar plans, Greg at the behest of his grandfather and head of house. Draco would take the mark on his own, even if his parents disapproved. He would have been marked this year had they allowed it, he thought.
For Pansy, the pressure came from her uncle, a marked death eater who had tried to recruit her father multiple times. If the pressure grew too great, he might just agree - and if that happened, she would be marked herself or given to one who was.
Standing here now, though, in Potter's presence, hammered home the truth they had always known, deep down, but never dared speak out loud - if they took the mark, they would die.
Somehow, Potter understood what their expressions meant, what that glance had conveyed. "Is it your wish to continue this feud between our houses?" he asked.
Crabbe could not prevent the look of shock that crossed his features. "My father swore our house to his service, Potter." When Harry did not respond, Crabbe found himself raising his voice for the first time. "What would you have me do, Harry?!"
Harry kept his gaze even, and his voice calm. "Walk away."
That, even more than Pansy's gasp, brought him up short. "What?"
Potter shrugged. "My quarrel begins and ends with the Dark Tosser. If you don't take the mark, and if you - as head of house - agree to remain neutral, then the disagreement between our houses is at an end."
oOoOoOoOo
After they ate in the kitchens, Neville walked Harry down to the gate, where he would use his portkey to go to Grimmauld Place and formally meet his parents and brother.
They hadn't talked about the Parley, but Harry could tell that Neville was itching to ask a question. "Spit it out, Nev," said Harry.
Neville grinned. "By your leave, My Lord," he said, formally. Both boys chuckled at that. "I just wondered what you think Crabbe will do."
Harry's pace slowed as he considered that. "I'd bet five galleons that he walks. You were looking at Pansy when I suggested it, but the look in Crabbe's eyes when I offered sanctuary for his mother? That was nothing but relief."
"So he didn't want to be marked?" asked Neville.
Harry nodded. "I don't think so." He smiled, elbowing Neville a bit. "What about Pansy?"
A snort. "What about her?"
"Heir Longbottom, will you be offering Miss Parkinson sanctuary anytime soon?" asked Harry, laughter in his voice.
Neville couldn't help but grin. "Where a Potter goes, a Longbottom follows," he recited. "I'll say the same thing you told Susan - nothing for me until the war is over."
"Uh huh." said Harry, unconvinced.
The Longbottom Scion rolled his eyes. "Merlin, Harry, just because I've made commitments to the team doesn't mean I'm dead!"
Harry clapped a hand on Neville's shoulder. "That's my brother," he said lightly. Then he remembered, and his expression fell. Neville sensed it, and said nothing. "Shit, I have a brother."
"More than one," said Neville, quietly. "But the one is new, of course."
"Yeah," said Harry, absently. "How the hell do I relate to someone who was apparently raised to replace me?"
"He wasn't, though, was he?" Neville asked. Off Harry's look, he continued. "I mean, he wants to replace the boy who lived, right? Fine, let'em have it." He shrugged. "I'm not standing here because I want to fight alongside the sodding boy-who-lived. I'm here because my brother, Harry Potter, asked me to stand here. No other reason."
Harry gave Neville another clap on his shoulder. "Thanks for that, mate. Thanks for everything. You five, I mean, you got me through this year, you know that right?"
Neville smiled. "I know, Harry. I know it."
They continued down the path to the gates, and the edge of the wards, for a few minutes more. When they reached the line, it was Harry who broke the silence.
"Do you ever think about him, Nev?" Harry asked, quietly.
Neville knew exactly whom Harry meant. "Sometimes." He looked up, taking in the early evening sky. "Named my toad after him, didn't I?"
Harry chuckled. "Always wondered about that."
"Algie got him for me, you know that." said Neville, his voice thick with emotion. "He felt bad for dropping me out of a window. So I named the toad for my long dead twin, to rub his nose in the fact that he almost dropped the Heir Longbottom on his head from four stories."
Harry had never known that he was a twin, but Neville had grown up with that knowledge - and with the knowledge that he would never be with his twin brother, killed the night his parents were tortured into madness. Killed by Bellatrix, thought Harry, darkly. At least Trevor Lewis Longbottom got some measure of vengeance last night.
"What do I do with them, Neville?" asked Harry.
Neville's answer was immediate. "What you have to, same as always."
oOoOoOoOo
Sirius Black watched as his old friends and their son - their other son - ate a light dinner. James and Lily barely touched their food, though Jamie seemed to be immune to the tension. Sirius had seen Harry eat like that, despite the drama and heartache of last summer.
When asked about it, Harry's answer had given Sirius a lot to think about. "Sometimes you never know when you're going to eat next, so you eat when you can." He had phrased it in the context of soldiers at war, where they didn't know when battle would come for them and had to get what rest and food they could.
The reality was that he could just as easily have been referring to the Dursleys. The thought brought the old anger back to Sirius - for the thought of what Harry had endured truly sickened the Lord Black.
Sitting in his kitchen, watching James and Lily sit there, fighting their nerves, made him begin to wonder how necessary those trials had been. Despite everything, Prongs was his brother in all but blood, and Lily-flower his wife. Jamie, surely, would be an important part of his life.
But Harry was his responsibility. Harry was his godson.
If Harry reacted as he had every right to do, and rejected the Potters - what would he do? What could he do? Nominally, he was the Regent Potter and the Potter Proxy - only nominally, in an effort to keep Harry's acceptance of the Lord's ring under wraps. James was not the Lord Potter - Harry still wore the ring, or had the night prior.
He sipped his coffee and considered the ultimate question, stripping everything else away.
If I have to choose, what do I do?
Across the room, Lily and James were nervously talking about the meeting to come. They were worried enough about their reintroduction to the Order, for they knew that there would be some hard questions - questions that, hopefully, Dumbledore would answer. The existence of Jamie, and the fact that the prophecy includes Harry somehow, would all have to be addressed.
"When Harry is here, we'll make sure we're all on the same page." said James.
"I don't know," said a worried Lily. "You didn't see him, James. I don't think he's who the Headmaster thought he is."
"Honey, I don't…"
"James, he killed Bellatrix Lestrange. He took her head and twisted it and broke her neck, right there in front of me." She sighed, rubbing the fatigue from her eyes. Even after arriving at Sirius' home, she had gotten little rest. "What could we have in common with him, beyond a name?"
James wrapped an arm around his wife's shoulder. "We stand for the light, Potters always do. He'll come around."
Lilly shook her head. "We don't know where he grew up, we don't know what he likes or dislikes, we don't even know who raised him."
James held her closer, glancing up at Sirius - who had been watching him closely. He saw Sirius' eyes flick up to the doorway, and turned around in his seat.
"You know, the muggles have a saying," Harry said, taking a seat midway down the table, between his father and godfather and across from James Junior, who watched him with interest from his seat next to Lily. "They say that you have to play the cards that are on the table."
Kreacher chose that moment to pop in with a mug of coffee, which Harry accepted with a nod.
"So," continued Harry. "Let's lay our cards on the table." He leaned back in his chair, glancing between his father and mother. "Who wants to start?"
A/N:Special thanks to the Rigel Black discord, and to stories in particular, for naming Neville's long dead twin. In addition to the toad connection, we have Lewis, referring to Matthew Lewis, who played Neville so well on screen. (We also briefly considered using the name of the actor who played Frank Longbottom, but sure enough that was James Payton - so, nyet.)
Vincent Crabbe has always been a bit of an odd character for me. The traditional thinking goes that he went to Slytherin exclusively because his family was dark, or because he convinced the hat that his family would disown him if he went anywhere else. Some stories have him better suited for Hufflepuff, which - when you consider how loyal he ends up being to Malfoy, for the most part - might make sense. I decided to use him here to show Harry taking a tool of the blood purists - the Blood Feud - and using it as his own tool. It gives him options he might have lacked otherwise, and allows him freedom of action - always an important tactical consideration. James might not be too happy, though, but we'll get there. A neutral-ish Pansy can be fun as well - she, too, had to be sorted into Slytherin for something, right?
Notifying students of their parents or grandparents' deaths via mail owl is exactly the sort of bone dead stupid move we've come to expect from the Ministry. But then again, this is the Ministry.
As I've said before, the response to this story continues to amaze. Thank you all.
Feedback, as always, is welcome.
