Disclaimer: Harry Potter and related characters, situations, settings, and plots is the original work of J.K. Rowling and under copyright. While I enjoy playing/experimenting in her sandbox, it's not mine and never will be.
Author's note located at the end of the chapter.
Friday morning, nearly two weeks after my first morning lesson, Moody again took me past Dumbledore's ward. He transfigured a log into two chairs. "Sit," he ordered.
Confused because we were supposed to practice spells for the first hour, I gingerly perched on the edge of the chair, waiting for the first hex.
"Relax, Potter. I'm not going to hex you."
Feeling sheepish, I settled back in the chair. "Sorry."
"Never apologize for being wary, Potter. Vigilance will keep you alive. Now, the first task is dragons."
"What?" Dragons are XXXXX creatures—known wizard killers. 'Safe tasks' my ass! I thought Dumbledore was manipulating me so I would do his dirty work for him, not trying to kill me.
"Calm down, Potter. Now, Albus has a bizarre sense of fair play. He's keeping both you and Cedric in the dark about this, but I guarantee you Krum and Delacour know. Karkaroff and Maxime will do just about anything to give their champions an advantage. By telling you, I'm just leveling the playing field a bit. Understand?"
"Yes, sir," I said, still in shock.
"Don't worry so much, Potter. You don't have to kill it."
I exhaled slowly, trying to still my mind. Not another basilisk.
"They're bringing in nesting mothers, nasty pieces of work. Your job is to retrieve an object from the dragon's nest without damaging the eggs, yourself, or causing permanent harm to the dragon."
I took it back. Give me another basilisk any day. "No," I whispered. Panic set in. A heavy hand fell on my back.
"Calm down, son. You can do this. You just need a plan."
"A plan? It will eat me in the first minute."
Moody grasped my shoulder. "It's not that bad, Potter. Just play to your strengths."
"I'm a bloody fourth year. I don't have any strengths. At least I could talk to a basilisk."
His hand dropped. "Not what I meant, but not a bad thought. Unfortunately, few dragon breeds understand parseltongue and we can't guarantee you'll draw one."
"Draw?"
"You'll pick your dragon out of a bag. As the youngest, you'll either go last or first. Don't bet on having a choice. Chinese Fireballs and Peruvian Vipertooths can both understand you, but the fireball can't respond. Vipertooths can, but the Romanian Dragon Preserve is supplying the dragons. They don't have a vipertooth."
"Damn."
"Albus says you're a talented flier, true?"
"I'm fair," I said with shrug.
"Youngest seeker in a century and owner of a Firebolt—a broom that can match a dragon's speed and maneuverability."
"Professor, I doubt they'll let me bring my broom."
"You're allowed a wand, Potter."
I blinked, suddenly understanding why he focused so intently on the summoning charm. As long as I had my wand, I could summon whatever I needed. "Professor, why not just summon the object?" I asked, realizing there might be an easier way.
Moody cocked his head quizzically. "Never thought of that. Doubt the judges will either. Try summoning first. If it doesn't work, you can always summon your broom."
My panic eased. Wizards weren't known for logic. They often ignored the simplest solutions. Maybe I could survive this.
Moody took a package out of his cloak and handed it to me. "This arrived for you last night. It's from Dr. Leeds."
With shaking hands, I unwrapped the package. Removing several layers of paper and twine revealed a seamless, paperboard box. I turned it over and saw a note scribbled on what I assumed was the top.
Speak open in your native tongue.
Not English, I realized before I made a fool of myself. Closing my eyes, I pictured Dyfi. "Open," I hissed. The edge lengthened, forming a lip. A lid appeared. I removed it.
A thick envelope lay on top of four books. Two small bottles wrapped in wool were in the top right corner. After setting the box on the ground, I removed the letter and opened it.
Dear Mr. Potter,
I apologize for not responding to your inquiry in a more timely manner. In your November 8 correspondence, you raised several issues that I will endeavor to answer to the best of my ability.
Mr. Moody likely informed you that Albus Dumbledore and I rarely agree. I am first and foremost a scientist. Your headmaster is a philosopher. I will not argue the merits of one perspective over the other in this letter; however, I shall describe the differences.
Philosophy begins with an intuitive conclusion. Then the philosopher employs deductive logic to prove or disprove the conclusion. It suggests what the world ought to be.
Science, on the other hand, utilizes an objective model. Where a philosopher is concerned with what ought to be, we are concerned with what we can measure. Science is admittedly limited and imperfect. Using evidential truth, I can say the universe exists, but I cannot tell you whether there was a beginning of the universe.
Thus, Albus and I often have conflicting world views.
I do not say this disparagingly. Albus is a learned academic and on the few occasions he has applied the scientific method, most notably his research on Dragon Blood conducted jointly with Nicolas Flamel (a true scientist who is sorely missed), he earned his accolades. (Although, I still contend oven cleaner is not a legitimate use. Only an idiot would clean an oven with a rare and expensive magical substance.) However, I believe his interpretation of both your survival and your parselmouth ability is based more on spurious conjecture than fact.
My inquiry began with your muggleborn mother Lily Evans. You were probably told at some point that a muggleborn is born from two muggles. They are the first person in their family with magic, meaning your mother wasn't a parselmouth because that trait only exists in a handful of old lines, including Slytherin's and my own.
This assumption is false.
A true muggleborn, someone born from two individuals who are genetically muggles, does not exist.
In 1990, Terrance Morath, a Canadian wizard/geneticist, and his team identified the two genes related to magical ability as well as genes for parseltongue and legilimency, among others. Their 1991 publication, Genome Patterns in Magical Populations, revolutionized how we identify student abilities, allowing us to arrange special courses for students with abilities like yours and also to divide incoming classes based on achievable power levels. I have enclosed a book, The Muggleborn Myth, which is required reading for incoming Salem students. (I suggest you hide the book as the study and all works derived from it are banned in the United Kingdom due to the primary author's vampirism.)
In short, two genes govern magical ability.
All humans are born with magic. The ability to access this magic is governed by a dominant silencing allele (S). When expressed as either SS or Ss, you have a muggle. Witches, wizards, and squibs are ss, meaning their access to magic isn't silenced.
Magical strength is determined by two possible alleles, M and M'. These alleles share incomplete dominance. M is the stronger magical power. M' is the weaker. A strong wizard, such as myself or Dumbledore, is a MM. An average strength wizard is a M'M or MM'. A squib is a M'M'.
A true squib is ssM'M', meaning they have access to magic, but do not have sufficient magical strength to perform spells. A ssM'M couple has a 1 in 4 chance of birthing a squib. The same chance they have of birthing a powerful ssMM wizard. However, in observed populations, only 1 out of every 100 is an MM, meaning most wizards are M'M or MM'. I've always considered this statistical anomaly magic's way of compensating for the significant differences between the two types of wizards.
Britain presents a unique case. The high inbreeding coefficient among families, including the Blacks and Prewetts, has likely caused inbreeding depression. (I say likely because none of the identified families were willing to submit to genetic testing. We can only hypothesize based on family trees, reported magical strength, and reported squibs. Based on reports from Britain's previous two wizarding wars, the living Blacks and their descendants, including supposed squibs, are all assumed to be MM.) Inbreeding depression is essentially a reduction in the health and viability of offspring. For example, the Black lifespans are reportedly half the expected minimum lifespan. Studies of isolated magical villages in the Andes and Himalayas show that an inbred person's magic attempts to compensate for their health deficiencies, reducing their available magic. Hence, the theory that some British wizards were mislabeled as squibs when genetically-speaking they were wizards, not squibs.
A muggleborn is simply the product of two lines of falsely identified squibs. A true squib ssM'M' cannot produce a a witch or wizard unless they marry someone who is ssM'M, ssMM', ssMM (guarantees a magical child), sSM'M, SsM'M, sSMM', SsMM', SsMM, or sSMM. In other words, a true squib will only produce a magical child if they marry someone who is also of wizarding descent.
As you may have noticed, a SsMM or sSMM has the highest genetic level of magical strength, but their access to magic is blocked because instead of seeking out an unrelated magical mate, their ancestor married a true SS muggle. Although our culture considers these individuals to be muggles, they are technically wizard descendants. This is why magical populations with high levels of inbreeding and interaction with the muggle world exhibit significant fluctuations in the number of muggleborns entering their population each decade. Indeed, if one were to graph the reported muggleborns in the United Kingdom for the last thousand years, it would look like sine wave. Large numbers of muggleborns marry into the population, bringing down the inbreeding coefficient within select families. Those families intermarry with the other purebloods. For a few generations, you have exceptional witches and wizards. Then, the inbreeding coefficient creeps back up. Reported squibs increase. A few generations later, those supposed squibs introduce muggleborns into the wizarding population, restarting the cycle.
According to the latest studies, approximately 0.5% of the total current population (muggle and wizard) are either sS or Ss and 0.11% are wizards or witches. However, both muggle and magical census data (see The Muggleborn Myth, Ch. 12) shows a steady decrease in witches and wizards as a percentage of the total population beginning in 1835 (0.36% in the United Kingdom) and continuing to the present day. This coincides roughly with changing attitudes towards muggles. It is important to note the total wizard population in the United Kingdom did not change significantly between 1834 and the present day.
Although The Muggleborn Myth includes data from several studies on SsMM and SsM'M couples and the likelihood they'll produce magical children being greater or lesser than the accepted 50%, the sample sizes were all too small to be statistically relevant. (One study suggests an 80% chance their children will be magical. Another suggests 5%.)
Parseltongue is a dominant trait. Both heterozygous (Pp or pP) and homozygous (PP) individuals are parselmouths. Although the gene is dominant, it remains a rare trait, affecting 1 in 20,000 magical persons.
I have enclosed two potions: the blue one tests genetic power levels and the green tests for special abilities. Ten sheets of sterile, individually packed, paper are also included. Coat the square in the upper left corner with the potion. Place three drops of blood on the square. Wait five minutes. The results will be printed below the blood. I've enclosed enough potion and paper for five tests. Please note the expiration dates on the bottles.
Please test yourself before reading the second letter. If the test is negative for parseltongue, I will need to adjust the recommended course of study.
Sincerely,
Joseph Leeds, Ph.D.
Dean of Dark Arts and Archaeological Studies
Salem Witches Institute
Head spinning, I put the letter down and looked up. The sun was rising over the lake, overshadowing Moody's lumos. Moody still sat across from me, watching without interrupting. He raised an eyebrow.
"Well?" he asked.
Not knowing what to say, I handed him the letter. While he read, I carefully pried the potions out of the box, unwrapped them, and set them aside. The first book was The Muggleborn Myth. A runic book, title untranslated, lay beneath it along with Language of the Naga by Nagendra Bhatt and A Parselmouth's Guide to Spell Casting and Rituals by Joseph Leeds. The latter was a thick, spiral bound manuscript. I lifted it out of the box and leafed through it. The first chapter included a chart listing the major parselmouth families and their countries of origin.
My eyes fell on the next section. The power of language was an utterly engrossing discourse on how languages acquire magical power over time, making spells cast in ancient languages stronger than ones cast in more modern languages, such as English. Did this mean spells cast in parseltongue were stronger? If so, what types of spells could you cast? Would they offer another layer of protection between me and Dumbledore? Maybe spell that reflected his attack, making him attack his own mind. The occlumency book suggested such protections existed centuries ago, but not anymore.
A blank sheet of paper sealed in a plastic bag suddenly covered the text. I looked up. Moody pointed to the potions and resumed reading. Sighing, I closed the book and picked up the potions. "Which should I do first?"
"Both," Moody muttered.
After tearing the plastic off and removing the paper, I unscrewed the lid on the blue potion and removed it. A small glass rod with a ball on the end was glued inside the lid. I touched the ball to the square, swirling it on the paper to smear the potion around and resealed the potion.
After repeating the process for the second potion, I hit my left index finger with a minor cutting curse, dribbled blood onto both pieces of paper, and set them on a nearby stump.
"Professor," I said after I healed my finger, "why haven't…" I paused, searching for the right words. "If genetics is common knowledge overseas, then why…" Not right, either. "I mean like all the wizards like Malfoy who believe in blood purity and—"
"—politics," Moody said, setting the letter aside. He regarded me thoughtfully, tapping his fingers on his knee. "Here's the rub. Albus built his career on muggle issues. He holds people like your mother and Ms. Granger up as shining examples of what muggles can create and contribute to the magical community. The pure bloods, including Malfoy, do the opposite. They claim their blood is superior to muggleborns because they have magical ancestry. If what this letter is true, then Genome Patterns in Magical Populations says both sides are wrong."
I closed my eyes and imagined a blackboard covered with the goals and ambitions of each group. I didn't know much. The Prophet said very little about why the Order and Death Eaters fought, but one glaring fact stood out. "But the Death Eaters were less wrong because they advocated magical blood staying within the magical community. They thought anyone who married a muggle was destroying magic. If the person was an SS muggle, they're right, especially if they're descendants continue marrying SS muggles, which comprise the majority of the population.
"Dumbledore points to half-bloods as proof muggles and wizards can peacefully coexist without harming either race, but the study says those half-bloods aren't half-bloods. Their muggle parent was a squib descendant, not a muggle."
I opened my eyes. Moody beamed at me. "Spot on, Potter. Your five minutes are up."
Startled, I leaped to my feet and dashed for the stump. Typewritten on the first sheet was the phrase "MM - high power". The second was more interesting.
Expressed
lL - Legilimens; heterozygous
OO - Occlumens; homozygous
pP - Parselmouth; heterozygous
Carrier
Tt - metamorph
"Interesting," Moody said, looking over my shoulder. I jumped. He plucked the paper out my hands, reading through it a second time. "Both your parents were potential occlumens, but one was a potential legilimens and a parselmouth."
"Potential?" I asked, homing in on the word.
"A genetic ability is meaningless without training. However, snakes seek out parselmouths so most of them are aware of it. How old were you when you found out?"
I frowned. "Ten when I realized it, but I don't think that was the first time."
"Why not?"
I gnawed on my bottom lip. Moody rapped his knuckles on my skull.
"What did I tell you about facial expressions?"
"Mind them," I answered. "There was a garden snake when I was four. I took him to Mrs. Figg's. Told her he was my best friend. Uncle Vernon killed him the next day."
"Makes sense. Albus wouldn't want you befriending snakes," Moody said gruffly.
I froze. "Who told him? My aunt and uncle wouldn't spit on him if he was on fire."
His eye whirled around, checking for eavesdroppers. "Arabella Figg was a member of the Order of the Phoenix during the last war," he whispered.
"What? Batty, old Mrs. Figg? My crazy, cat-loving babysitter was in the Order with my parents."
"Squib. Never understood why Albus recruited her."
Well, that put a new perspective on things.
Glancing at my palm, I checked the schedule I'd doodled on my hand. Oculist at 10, solicitor at 1, account manager at 3. Somehow, I had to squeeze the usual Hogsmeade activities, buying parchment, ink, quills, spare potions ingredients, and whatnot, into my packed day. At least, Ronald still wasn't speaking to me. Not really a good thing, but he'd pitch a fit about me meeting with the lawyer and an account manager. Hermione was already having kittens.
"Harry," she said for the hundredth time since we'd left the castle, "I still don't understand why you won't ask Professor Dumbledore for help. Let him take care of Skeeter. You don't—"
"—Hermione," I said, cutting her off before she entered full lecture mode, "I'm the last Potter, not Professor Dumbledore. I have an obligation to my parents to protect my family name, and I will not sit back and let that woman drag either of us through the mud. Maybe you don't care about her lies, but I do."
Hermione covered my hand with her own and squeezed gently. "I know. I'm just worried about you. You're taking on so much. First the tournament and Moody's lessons. Now this. You're working yourself to exhaustion, Harry. I don't know what Dumbledore was thinking ordering Moody to tutor you. If Dumbledore won't help you get out of this, he should be tutoring you himself."
I smiled faintly. After the meeting, I told Hermione everything that happened in Dumbledore's office. When I repeated what I told Dumbledore about the sorcerer's stone, Hermione turned pensive and fled immediately after I informed her I had tutoring every morning.
Between Moody's lessons, studying for said lessons and classes, classes, homework, and my research, I was insanely busy. Hermione and I still met up in the library every day, but we didn't talk about anything other than classes and homework. I didn't know if her opinions were changing or if she backed off to spare my feelings. She seemed like a less rabid Dumbledore fan, but she still supported the headmaster. Difficult to say.
I shoved the issue to the back of my mind and grinned at her. "You're still coming with me, right?"
"Of course, Harry."
I took my glasses off and twirled them in my fingers. "What do you think?" I asked, looking at her while trying not to squint. "Round, square, rectangular, or oval?"
Smiling, she took my glasses and tapped them with her wand, morphing them into oval lenses. Hermione popped them on my face, shook her head, and tapped them again. "Not sure. What look are you going for? Smart, but sophisticated? Forever geek? Fashionable?"
"I thought you didn't care about this sort of stuff."
She squared her shoulders. "I don't," she said, sticking her nose in the air. A grin split her face. "But it's not every day I get to make over my best friend, Harry Potter, the boy who lived to have the worst fashion sense in the history of Hogwarts."
I groaned and buried my face in my hands. "Who are you and what have you done with Hermione?" I was only half joking. She sounded like a poly-juiced Lavender Brown.
Hermione poked me in the ribs. "Shut up, you," she said playfully as the carriage pulled into Hogsmeade.
Two hours later, we left the oculist, laughing as we walked towards the Three Broomsticks. My spatial senses were nonexistent. The oculist assured me I would adjust within a few hours. Meanwhile, Hermione kept me from running into lampposts. The new glasses, good ones crafted especially for my eyes, were amazing. I'd never seen the world in such detail. Never knew Hermione had freckles on her nose, noticed that she had Madame Pomfrey fix her teeth, or possessed what looked like a permanent ink stain on her right middle finger.
The silver frames were lighter than my old pair and rectangular, making my cheekbones stand out. With the new frames, I looked less like my father, more like a mix of both parents. Speaking of which, I made a mental note to ask Sirius a few questions about my mother. At Hermione's urging, I added a self-repairing and a locator charm. The anti-summoning charm was purely for Moody's benefit.
When we entered the Three Broomsticks, a brief hush fell over the room before the noise resumed. The whispered words and pointed fingers bothered me, but I hid my true feelings behind my carefully crafted mask. Hiding my emotions was better than wearing an invisibility cloak. I'd rather everyone think I'm emotionally stunted than a coward.
Even after seeing my puppet strings, part of me still clung to the brash Gryffindor personality that I now understood wasn't really me. I felt odd sometimes, like my mind was literally splitting in two. Part of me wanted to ask Moody for help, maybe an introduction to his legilimens friend. I sorely needed assistance putting my head back together, but I held back. I enjoyed our lessons. I learned more during those two and half hours than I did in a week of classes. Despite his insane auror reputation, or maybe because of it, the man was a brilliant teacher.
But he was Dumbledore's friend. Until I figured out how far Dumbledore's manipulations stretched, I'd sooner ask Lucius Malfoy to poke around in my mind than a friend of a friend of Albus Dumbledore.
Hermione nudged me in the side. "Professor Moody's waving at us."
I jerked out of my reverie. "Sorry, lost in thought," I said as I steered her through the crowd to Moody's table, which he was sharing with Hagrid. Moody waved his wand and drew up two additional chairs.
I sat down, still examining all the new details. Where before Moody's face looked misshapen, now I could see each scar in clear detail. The missing chunk on his nose was particularly gruesome. Hagrid's face was more lined than I remembered, especially around his eyes. Suddenly, I realized Hagrid probably attended school with McGonagall. He was a few years younger, but the difference looked like decades. Maybe it was the giant blood.
"Finished counting all the dents and dings, Potter?"
Hagrid flinched. Hermione looked appalled and kicked me under the table, muttering something about manners. I gave Moody an unrepentant grin and tapped my glasses with my finger. "These are phenomenal. Thanks, professor."
"Don't mention it. Seriously, Potter," he said when I started to thank him a second time. "Someone should've taken care of that years ago."
"What?" Hagrid asked, squinting at me. "Nice glasses. Reckon you got those over the holiday."
I opened my mouth to reply, but Hermione stopped me. "Harry, time."
Glancing up, I noticed the clock read 12:50. I stood and excused myself. Ignoring Hagrid's curious expression, I walked up the stairs to the private rooms, found Room 6, and knocked on the door.
Lunch with two humans and a goblin was a unique experience. The solicitor, Silas 'just Silas' Matthews, Ravenclaw Class of 61', and the barrister, Pherkad Norton, Slytherin Class of '49, pointedly ignored Ralmuth, a taciturn goblin who took his beef raw and dripping. I wasn't so fortunate. Watching Ralmuth lick blood off his fingers made me seriously consider becoming a vegetarian.
I pushed my half-eaten meal aside and sipped a butter beer, waiting. They hadn't said why they came together when their letters indicated separate appointments. Silas and Ralmuth glared at each other whenever they thought the other wasn't looking while Mr. Norton rolled his eyes at their antics. They clearly weren't friends.
"Mr. Potter," Mr. Norton said, setting his napkin on the table, "Gringotts has several concerns that must be addressed before we extend an offer to represent your interests. I am here to offer an expert legal opinion. Depending on my opinion, Silas and Ralmuth may or may not assist you."
I exhaled slowly. "I understand, sir," I said politely.
"I find your situation most unusual, Mr. Potter. Typically, a legal guardian selects and hires solicitors, not the child. Your guardian, in particular, currently retains one of the best firms in London. I fail to understand why you believe you need Gringott's services."
Frowning, I cocked my head. "I'm sorry, sir, but to my knowledge, my aunt doesn't have a solicitor."
"Your aunt?" He opened his satchel and pulled out a sheaf of papers. "The Ministry," he said, shuffling through the papers, "doesn't list an aunt." Mr. Norton handed me a small scroll.
I opened it. Application for Guardianship of a Minor Child, it said. I skimmed it, noting my name and my parents along with their birth and death dates. My stomach flipped when I read the applicant's name and date. Albus Dumbledore applied for guardianship on November 1, 1981, the day after my parents were murdered. Sirius was arrested on November 3, two days after Dumbledore claimed my guardianship. I swallowed hard. "Did Sirius Black ever apply?"
"To my knowledge, the only other applicants were Frank and Alice Longbottom, Andromeda Tonks, and Narcissa Malfoy. The latter two on grounds that they were your closest wizarding relatives."
"Did my parents have a will?" I asked, struggling to not hyperventilate.
"Wills," Silas said, emphasizing the 's'.
Mr. Norton glared at him before turning back to me. "As he says. The wills were sealed by the chief warlock, who also served as their executor." He tapped line on the scroll.
Appointed by the Last Will and Testament of James Charlus Potter dated January 15, 1981.
I read the scroll three times before I set it down. "I don't understand. I lived with my aunt and uncle until I started Hogwarts. I still reside with them every summer. At no point have I ever lived under Professor Dumbledore's roof nor has he offered to take me into his home. I never even met him until after I started Hogwarts. How can he be my guardian?"
"We believe," Mr. Norton said, passing me a sheaf of newspaper clippings detailing Voldemort's supposed death and Dumbledore hiding me in the muggle world, "that Mr. Dumbledore employed a loophole that allows the headmaster of Hogwarts or a head of house to assume custody of muggle raised minors. This allows the school to arrange medical care and such for students whose parents and/or legal guardians are unable to visit the castle, but doesn't require the student live with the headmaster year round."
My eyes shut. I breathed deeply, hearing Moody's voice softly instructing me to relax and calm myself. After the urge to strangle Albus Dumbledore passed, I opened my eyes. "You're saying this is perfectly legal."
Ralmuth gave me a toothy grin and leaned forward in his seat.
"That depends," Mr. Norton replied. "On 1 November 1981, Dumbledore addressed the Wizengamot concerning the Dark Lord's defeat. In his address, he clearly stated your father died first, then your mother, meaning your guardianship fell either solely or jointly to your mother immediately after your father's death, depending on whether he listed her as your primary guardian. As most parents list each other as sole guardian first, I suspect your mother's will should have determined your guardian, not your fathers. Unless, you know something that wasn't included in Dumbledore's testimony."
"I remember. I heard my father die and saw Voldemort," they all flinched, "kill my mother. Dad died before Voldemort came up the stairs. Then he killed mum. I'm sure."
Mr. Norton arched a blond eyebrow and turned to Ralmuth and Silas. "It is my opinion that Albus Dumbledore's guardianship of Mr. Potter is invalid. If he challenges our representation, I'm prepared to argue that in court. However, parents normally use mirror guardianship clauses. If James Potter's will lists Dumbledore as Mr. Potter's guardian, Lily Potter's probably does as well. As the wills are sealed, we cannot know for sure. Therefore, we can reasonably argue Dumbledore does not have guardianship of Mr. Potter as the guardianship papers reference the wrong will."
"Flimsy," muttered Silas, "but workable." He handed me a thick scroll with the Gringotts seal affixed to one end. "Have you reviewed our standard contract?"
"Yes, sir." They sent it earlier in the week. After going over it with both Hermione and Moody, I felt confident I understood it. I unrolled the contract and cast a revealing spell Moody taught me. "Can never be too careful," he'd said. "You wouldn't be the first wizard who signed something with provisions written in invisible ink."
The parchment turned blue. Negative. Good. I skimmed through it, comparing it with the one I'd read. Save for my name, it looked the same. "I'll sign."
Mr. Norton placed a small case on the table and removed a quill. He passed it to me. "You'll sign first, Mr. Potter. Then Ralmuth will sign for Gringotts."
I accepted the quill. A sharp pain stabbed through my hand when I wrote the first letter. I stared at my hand in shock. A bloody 'H' was etched into my skin.
"Blood quill," Silas said. "Ties the contract to your blood, not your name. If an impersonator signed your name, they'd be bound by the contract, not you."
I turned the quill over, studying it. "Are these legal?"
"They are for goblins," Mr. Norton replied. In other words, no.
I quickly scrawled my name on the scroll and passed it and the quill to Ralmuth. While he signed, I covertly rubbed my stinging hand.
"Dittany," Mr. Norton said, passing me a small bottle.
Grateful, I uncapped the bottle, poured a dollop in my hand, and rubbed it in. The burning stopped and my name disappeared from my skin.
"So Mr. Potter, what can Gringotts do for you?" Silas asked, picking up his quill.
"I want to sue The Daily Prophet, Rita Skeeter, and her editor for libel. Although I was interviewed for the tournament, the interview was interrupted by Professor Dumbledore immediately after she asked how my parents would feel about me being in the tournament. I never answered. Yet, her article claimed I said my parents would be proud of me. She also claimed I'm dating my best friend Hermione Granger."
"What is the nature of your relationship with Ms. Granger?" Silas asked, scribbling furiously.
I paused, considering the question. "Hermione's like an older sister," I said after several minutes. "She's bossy, a little annoying, and always has to be right. I love her dearly, but not like that."
"All right," he said. "What do you want?"
"I don't understand."
"Suing The Prophet once is simple," Mr. Norton said, taking over the discussion. "How do you want them to treat you afterward?"
I sipped my water as I mulled over my options. "I want them to leave Hermione alone. I don't want my name mentioned in The Prophet unless I agree to an interview and approve the final draft in writing beforehand. I would dearly love for Rita Skeeter to spend the rest of her life scrubbing toilets the muggle way, but I'll settle for her spending her career writing obituaries." Looking up, I set my water aside.
All three wore matching grins. "I can't promise anything, but I think we can help," Silas said. He placed a wooden case on the table and opened it. A silver bowl, etched with runes, rested on a velvet cushion.
"This is a pensieve," he said, touching his wand to his temple. "Close your eyes and submerge yourself in a particular memory. While drawing your wand away from your temple, focus on needing to preserve the memory. A copy of the memory will collect on your wand tip. To place it in the pensieve, simply place your wand on the rim and think the pensieve is a good place to store the memory," he said, demonstrating each step. "Place the interview in the pensieve. We'll need it for the lawsuit."
It took three tries to place the memory in the pensieve. Then, Mr. Norton showed me how to review it while Silas and Ralmuth compared notes. Together, Mr. Norton and I touched the silvery liquid and fell inside the memory. After Dumbledore terminated the interview, Mr. Norton turned to me.
"Mr. Potter, Silas will be handling most of your affairs. However, if Dumbledore challenges Gringotts, I will be representing you before the Council of Magical Law and the Wizengamot, not Gringotts. Gringotts has separate in-house counsel. Do you understand?"
I nodded, wondering why he was explaining this.
"If there's anything else relating to your guardianship case, abuse, neglect, anything, you need to leave it in the pensieve. If Dumbledore challenges our representation, we may need to attack his guardianship more directly."
My stomach twisted in knots. I understood perfectly, but what would everyone say if they knew the complete truth? Where would I go? Did my parents list anyone other than Sirius and Dumbledore? "Yes, sir. Can you get my parents' wills unsealed?"
"No," he said, turning shifty-eyed, "but you can."
"How?"
"The minister can override the Chief Warlock's seal. I'm just another barrister, but you're the boy-who-lived. Offer an endorsement or campaign contribution in exchange. Fudge won't say no."
When we emerged from the pensieve, I felt hopeful. If Dumbledore sealed both wills, he likely read them, but he claimed my guardianship with my father's, not my mother's. Maybe mum had different provisions. I could always hope.
Author's Note: Although not the earliest census, Britain began conducting a modern census in 1801. The genetics lecture is a combination of a two page handout my second cousin asked for help with (Harry Potter specific, but I have no idea where her teacher found it) and my admittedly spotty recollection of college biology. The stats are all me. (Sorry, sometimes I need to indulge my love for numbers.) If anyone is interested with my spreadsheet, which uses the average generation length, lifespan (wizards), Hogwarts student body size, and % of the population enrolled in Hogwarts to estimate the total number of wizards and witches in the UK, I'll try to figure out a way to share it anonymously.
I spent several years of my life after graduation drafting wills and trust agreements, meaning I don't always explain what for me are common phrases adequately. Sorry.
Mirror Guardianship Clause Example:
Lily's Will
1. James
2. Sirius
3. Dumbledore
James's Will
1. Lily
2. Sirius
3. Dumbledore
Although I've seen a few joint wills before, women's rights made them less common. Additionally, if James had a large estate, he probably provided for Lily separately from Harry, especially if there was property like the invisibility cloak that could only be left to a heir of the body. I think I've seen two wills that explained why the testator/testatrix (person making the will) left a responsibility or bequest to someone. If they deigned to leave behind a reason (don't count on it), it's normally in a letter or video.
Information wise, this is by far the most complicated chapter, but it was necessary to get all this out of the way.
Please read and review. Thanks!