Tom had visited the Quill of Acceptance and the Book of Admittance a few more times during the two weeks leading to the Christmas holiday as he gradually unravelled the enchantments.
They were masterfully done. The Quill had multiple tiny runes carved into it to bind the Amplifying Charms, turning a single feather into an incredibly powerful magical radar, presumably covering the whole of Britain and Ireland. Over it was a layer of parametric charms – one that focused on the specific wavelength of human magical cores and another that limited the targeted strength from just over what a Squib would have to the maximum expected strength an eleven-year-old's core could have.
If the Quill detected a particular magical aura for the first time, it was Charmed to transfer it to the Book of Admittance, effectively creating a Homunculus. Tom got lucky enough once to see it in action – the Quill looked like it was writing, but it was the Book doing the visualisation, decoding the information from the magical aura like Harry's map would.
The sorting by birth date was an illusion – according to the properties of the Book and the Quill, most magical children would indeed register directly after birth, but the weakest would take years before they reached the minimum level, not to mention those who immigrated. As for tourists, the Book would logically only be able to follow the Homunculi of those who stayed in its monitoring radius.
That being said, Tom understood why the creator, most probably Rowena Ravenclaw herself, had bothered to Charm the Quill to look like it was writing and hide the artefacts away – who knew what oaths the Deputy Headmasters and Headmistresses had to take to protect the secret, had they ever discovered the principle. If someone went through the trouble of creating a number of smaller but more potent versions, they could monitor the movements of all the witches and wizards in vast areas in real time; that kind of ability fallen into the wrong hands would be disastrous.
Then again, Tom had an exceptionally delicate grip on magic, and the enchantments had seemed extremely challenging even to him – an ordinary or even above average wizard wouldn't stand a chance. Even if he managed to get ahold of a suitable Augurey feather, he was in for a challenging holiday.
Fortunately, it turned out some wizarding folk kept the Irish phoenixes as pets – although it was uncertain whether their feathers would be potent enough, the prospect of buying one was infinitely more appealing than trying to hunt one down on a broom. As Augurey feathers repelled ink, wizards thought them practically worthless anyway.
Speaking of, the value of Basilisk venom had predictably dropped since they started selling it. They were currently at 100 galleons per ounce, a fifth of the initial price, but it still allowed for a decent amount of savings, many times the cost of a generous Christmas.
The holiday began on Saturday the 16th, and Harry really outdid himself in that department – not that he would buy Sarah expensive gifts, it wouldn't have been well received and Harry wasn't an idiot, he just did his best to be festive and fun and simply there for her.
Sarah was a classic Ravenclaw, she had her passions and loved to live them out. What usually separated Slytherin and Ravenclaw was the drive – while Slytherins constantly set goals for themselves and everything else was just a means to achieve them, for Ravenclaws the path was also the goal.
In her case, those passions revolved around magical painting and fiction, unfortunately something neither Harry nor Tom knew much about, but it didn't seem to matter. She picked the room she'd found "the most inspiring", and they helped her move the things she'd left at her friend's house, mostly books.
They left her alone when she looked like she wanted to be, but Harry made sure to always ask about her day at meals, what she'd done or read, and proposed activities they could do together… For instance, the three of them decorated the common areas together on 20 December, Sarah had painted wizarding motives on some Christmas balls, then either of the young wizards animated the pictures, which was surprisingly fun.
That was the first time he'd truly felt the weight of their decisions – this was no longer some anonymous pawn on the chess board of his plans, Sarah was a very real person who would depend on them entirely in the foreseeable future… His rationale assured him it was no big deal, they were prepared for it, but his not-quite-eighteen-year-old part thought it was rather daunting.
When he wasn't with the other two, he'd spent most of his time in their private study with Voldemort coiled around his neck, basking in the body heat while his master layered enchantments upon an empty book. It was arduous work and he had to start over twice, but he believed the result would be worth the effort.
He also organised a tour for the first few prospective Staffa residents and a couple of rubberneckers who wanted have look around the island. They'd gotten their Floo connected after securing the room both from the inside (so unwelcome guests couldn't just roam around the house) and the outside (so younger children couldn't use it unsupervised).
The tour took place on 20 December, two days before the Ministry Gala, and it was hosted by both Tom and Harry. At the end of it, they revealed the terms for new residents – as long as they build a house and lived in it, the land would be provided for free. Tom would be in charge of local planning; applicants were to owl a design to him and they'd meet individually to assign a suitable lot to it.
The news was in the Daily Prophet by the morning of 22 December – it would be a hot topic at the Ministry Gala, and that was exactly what Tom had been hoping for.
xXx
This was exactly what Harry wanted to avoid. How had Tom talked him into coming? And Sarah was such a traitor for saying she was okay staying in Custodarium alone for a few hours – they'd played Exploding Snap and everything, he thought they were friends!
He stood at a bar height table in the corner, hiding awkwardly behind Fleamont and Euphemia. Everyone seemed to want a piece of him… the two of them, their island, whatever. He was happy to let Tom do all the talking.
"What is with everyone, it's not like you're giving away land or anything," Fleamont teased after they'd exchanged pleasantries with another Wizengamot member.
"Oh, bugger off," Harry grumbled in a low voice and sipped on his Whining Sparkle.
"But Harry!" Fleamont also lowered his voice and leant in conspiratorially, "It's free real estate!"
"Yeah, that's how I excited I am this free champagne right n-"
"Mr. Riddle, Messrs. and Mrs. Potter, what a pleasure to see you here tonight," said a familiar-looking wizard in his fifties. He wore a short beard, thin grey hair slicked into a wave and an air of effortless authority.
Harry couldn't see Tom's face, but he could see the polite little bow. "Minister Spencer-Moon. The pleasure is ours, sir, thank you for having us."
"As the lad says," Fleamont, also more formal than usual, smiled and nodded to the Minister – so did Euphemia, and Harry quickly followed suit.
Leonard Spencer-Moon had been remembered by the future History of Magic textbooks as a sound Minister who managed to keep the Wizarding Britain in order during the global wizarding war and worked closely with the Muggle government. He appeared competent in person as well, but Harry had too much of a bad experience with politicians to jump to conclusions.
"There's nothing to be thankful for, Mr. Riddle, I should be apologising for not having had you sooner. I've wanted to meet you ever since I've heard of your honourable efforts, but as you can imagine, these are not the best of times for the Ministry. Nevertheless, please know our doors are always open to you."
"That is very generous of you, sir. Our project has been going smoothly, although I must admit we have been hoping for the Ministry's support in matters of custody and child protection once we launch the operation officially."
"You shall have it, of course. Let us meet in more private circumstances and discuss the details – and please owl your ideas to me beforehand, I'll see what can be done."
"Thank you, sir, we shall be in contact then."
"Excellent. Now, Mr. Potter, how's your potion's business? My wife has been most pleased with your latest product…"
xXx
Later hours of the evening found an accordingly exhausted Harry sitting at a dining table with Fleamont while Euphemia went to chat with her ex-classmates and Tom mingled with the wizarding elite, probably having the time of his life. Despite Harry's dislike for politicking, seeing his lover so excited was worth it.
"I see I had the right vow after all," he heard Fleamont say.
"Yeah," Harry agreed absently before the words fully registered. Once they did, he frowned and turned to Fleamont. "Wait, what do you mean?"
The potioneer was smiling impishly under his moustache. "I mean he's a keeper."
Harry felt his face turn red instantly and sputtered, "T-that's not, er, we're not-"
"Please, your eyes may be bad, but that certainly didn't come from my side of the family. You lovebirds bloody lived with us for a month! We're not that oblivious."
"Oh," Harry's shoulders slumped, and he stared at the table. How was one supposed to react in a situation like this? Fleamont, on the other hand, looked all too nonchalant.
"What's the big deal, Harry? … Wait, don't tell me, I can guess," he winked and wiggled his eyebrows while Harry gave him a mortified look.
"Seriously though, why not tell anyone? Do your friends know? The ones who helped over the summer?"
Harry shook his head, "We thought it would be better to tell everyone after we graduate."
Fleamont sat back and twirled the end of his moustache in thought. "I suppose some bigoted kids could be right bastards about that sort of thing. But you didn't even tell the closest ones?"
"… The closest ones would be our roommates, so no."
Fleamont barked a laugh, "Ha! I forgot you two room together! I'd give anything to see the poor lads' faces when you tell them! But then, I bet they already have their suspicions."
Harry must have been tomato-red. "It's… that obvious?"
"Only if you look closely," Fleamont smiled, then added at Harry's dismayed expression, "Hey, it's fine, as long as you look at each other like that; if he breaks your heart, I swear I'll break his wand in James's place."
Harry snorted, then did a double-take, eyes like saucers. Fleamont had a big grin on his face. "Aha! So there will be a James."
"Fleamont! That's not a joking matter, you really shouldn't-"
"But why, Harry? You said it yourself that the future had been changed, there's no paradox to fear anymore." It was strange how quickly his grandfather could go from jovial to serious, suddenly seeming years older than just seconds ago.
He had a point. Why was Harry still trying so anxiously not to change the future too much when he'd already changed it beyond repair?
The answer was simple, really.
"I guess there are things I don't want to risk changing."
The older wizard's eyes softened at that. "Of course," he sighed and rubbed his face, "I'm sorry for pushing."
"No, I get it. I'd be mad curious, too," Harry scratched the back of his neck. "Just… don't stop trying and trust me on the rest, eh?"
But Fleamont hadn't returned to his usual jolly self just yet. "What about later? Will you have to cut ties or Obliviate us to make sure the good stuff comes to pass?"
Harry paled. "Merlin, no! I mean, I hope not… I haven't thought that far, but-"
Fleamont laid a hand on his shoulder and squeezed lightly. "It's okay, do what you think is best. I admit I'd hate to lose you or my memories, but I'd hate not to have such a brilliant descendant because of such a petty reason even more."
His smile was finally back, but it seemed somewhat heavier, more earnest and telling. If it made Harry a touch too emotional, he blamed it on the alcohol.
Neither of them spoke for a few moments, the chatter and music lost to Harry's overstimulated mind.
"But, regarding vows," Fleamont finally broke the silence, "something's been on my mind since that day – one vow to prevent a war? What was he in your time, a dark lord or something?"
Harry stared at him like a deer caught in the headlight.
"Er," he said eloquently.
"Merlin's pants!" Fleamont exclaimed, "And here I thought my time travel story was good…"
"Your time travel story?" Harry thought he remembered his grandparents sharing an insider joke about that once or twice.
"Oh, I can't believe I never told you!" Fleamont's eyes flashed, and his characteristic wide smile finally spread on his face again.
"I was just starting my business when I met this lovely hairdresser at one of my first contract salons – my beautiful wife, of course. I wanted to ask her out, but I already had a feeling that she would be the one and couldn't risk not being impressive enough.
"What could I impress this lady with? I was an ordinary wizard with a funny name to boot, I could only do three things well: brewing, duelling and pranking. I had to play my cards right," he grinned, "so I did."
"I experimented a bit and found out a skilful enough potioneer could mix Polyjuice and Ageing Potion safely, creating an Ageing Polyjuice, if you will."
Oh, no. Harry didn't know where this was going, but it couldn't be anywhere good.
"I used the Cloak to get one of her hair unnoticed and went shopping for some Muggle clothes to look alien enough. I drank the Ageing Polyjuice and waited for her near the salon."
"You didn't!" Harry gasped, realisation dawning on him.
"I stopped her on her way to work and told her," Fleamont made a theatrically horrified expression and raised his voice a pitch, "If you don't go on a date with Fleamont Potter, you'll regret it forever!" he said and started snickering at the memory. Harry wasn't sure whether to feel impressed, amused or sorry for Euphemia.
"I Apparated away immediately after and asked her to dinner that very day. She accepted. I obviously didn't want her to only go out with him because of a prank, though, so I told her the truth during the date."
"Did she take it well?"
Fleamont held up his left hand, flashing the golden ring. "What do you think?" he grinned.
Harry grinned back and hid his face in his palms, shaking it. He should have expected as much from the man who'd raise James and (adoptively) Sirius.
xXx
When Tom eventually returned to their table, he was positively glowing – Harry wanted to kiss him so bad when he looked like that.
"Mission accomplished, I take it," he said instead, giving the younger wizard a warm smile.
"More than. I got a dozen new resident candidates, a person willing to show me their Augurey and an interesting job offer," Tom answered, emanating self-satisfaction.
"Whoa, wicked! What's an 'interesting job offer'?"
"Artificer for the Department of Mysteries. They were impressed by the runework and the enchantments we did on Staffa – one of the Wednesday visitors was apparently an Unspeakable."
"Brilliant! I mean, if that's what you want to do…"
"I like the sound of it so far. I could learn all their secrets without having to spend too much time away from Staffa, though I'd have build a proper laboratory away from the kids."
Harry snickered, "You could go full mad scientist mode and build it in one of the caves under the island."
Tom raised an eyebrow, looking a little put out, "That's exactly what I've been thinking – what's mad about it?"
"Nothing, I guess, as long as you don't raise an army of clones in there or something." Harry almost immediately wished he hadn't said that, because judging by Tom's contemplative expression, he might have taken it as a suggestion.
"Er, can we go home now? So you can plot your mad scientist lair in peace while I sleep for two days straight? I'm knackered."
"Oh, but then you'd miss the visit at Mr. Scamander's – I thought you were quite fond of magical creatures yourself."
Harry blinked, "As in Newton Scamander's?"
Tom nodded, "Yes, the author of the Care of Magical Creatures textbook. I mentioned we wanted to see one for research purposes to Abbey Finch, a Ministry official I was talking to, and she was in Hufflepuff with him, so she sought him out in the crowd and introduced us."
"Yeah, he was quite famous where I come from… Hermione was really inspired by his werewolf rights campaign."
"Hmm, we should hurry and get you to bed then," Tom smirked in a manner which suggested that sleeping wasn't what he intended to do there at all. He then proceeded to exchange goodbyes with the Potters, casual as ever, leaving Harry to wonder where his tiredness had suddenly disappeared to.