Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore wore a self-satisfied smile as he strolled through the halls of Hogwarts. He had thoroughly enjoyed his three-week excursion to the Continent as he finalised the plans for the upcoming Triwizard Tournament, first enjoying the hospitality of Madame Olympe Maxime, Headmistress of Beauxbatons, followed by that of Igor Karkaroff, Headmaster of Durmstrang. Ludo Bagman, the representative of the Ministry of Magic, was not the most helpful person – Dumbledore suspected that he'd taken one too many bludgeons to the head during his quidditch career – but at least he cheerfully agreed with practically everything the Hogwarts Headmaster said.
He knew that it was highly likely that Voldemort would make a move this year, and such a move would inevitably involve young Harry. He doubted that the boy would survive the encounter, though, despite his inordinate luck ever since he was an infant. One of these days the boy's luck was bound to run out, and when it did Dumbledore would be there to swoop in and finish Voldemort off. After vanquishing two dark lords, he doubted there would be anyone in magical Britain who would dare oppose his word, especially after invoking the name of their fallen hero/idol, Harry Potter.
He waved aside the gargoyle that guarded his office and rode the spiral stairway to the top, running multiple scenarios and contingencies through his head. He frowned as he walked through his office to his quarters. Something seemed a bit off, though he couldn't quite put his finger on it.
The office was quiet. Then it hit him – it was too quiet. He quickly looked around, and his heart plummeted into his stomach when he saw the shapeless puddles of hardened silver where the curious instruments he had used to monitor every aspect of Harry's life once stood.
"No, no, no, no!" he cried in dismay, drawing his wand as he all but ran over to where he had kept them. Waving the wand like a madman, he cast half a dozen spells before lowering it in defeat. "Bollocks!" he cursed. "Fawkes!"
The phoenix appeared on the perch in a burst of flame. "Privet Drive, now!" the old man yelled as he grabbed a tail feather. Fawkes squawked in protest but nevertheless took the headmaster where he requested.
Twilight was falling as Dumbledore and Fawkes appeared at the entrance of Privet Drive. He immediately cast a notice-me-not charm on himself and the phoenix before hurrying down the street.
"Damnation!" he screamed as he neared the Dursley house. Even in the failing light he could see that the house was burned to the ground. A series of detection and tracking spells later, he was forced to conclude that there was no residual trace of the boy at his relatives' former home.
Taking several deep breaths, he ordered Fawkes to take them back to Hogwarts. He grabbed a couple of sherbet lemons from the bowl on his desk and popped them in his mouth, relaxing as he felt the calming drought they were laced with begin to take effect. He still wanted to lash out but was able to keep his emotions under control.
"Fawkes," he said in an even tone, "I need you to find Harry and bring him here to Hogwarts, where he will be safe."
The firebird trilled and cocked his head to the side. He disappeared in a burst of flame but reappeared a moment later, alone.
"It is imperative that you bring him here and that he remains under control," the headmaster insisted. "It is, of course, for the Greater Good. As long as the prophecy is in play, Voldemort cannot be vanquished." He truly did not believe that a young teenage boy had the slightest chance of taking down an experienced dark lord. Even wielding the "power he knows not," the best the boy could hope for was to weaken the dark lord enough that someone else (himself) could destroy Voldemort after Harry inevitably fell.
Fawkes disappeared again but once more reappeared without Harry Potter. He trilled again in a regretful tone.
Dumbledore removed his half-moon glasses and wearily rubbed his brow. "Of course you can't find him," he muttered with a sigh. Perhaps he would have to activate the Order of the Phoenix earlier than planned, just to find the wayward teen.
He was about to ask Fawkes to take him to the Granger and Weasley residences to ask Harry's friends if they'd heard from him when his office fireplace suddenly flared with green fire and the face of the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, appeared in the eerie green flames.
"Albus, you're back," the minister observed. "Good, I need to speak with you."
"I am quite afraid that I am unable to oblige you right this moment, Cornelius," Dumbledore said, his customary twinkle in his eye. "Perhaps if you would be so good as to call again tomorrow morning. Harry Potter…"
"Ah, yes. Young Mister Potter is exactly whom I needed to speak with you about. I have heard some most distressing rumours concerning the boy, and I need to speak with him as soon as humanly possible so as to lay those rumours to rest."
The headmaster had no intention whatsoever of letting the Minister know that Harry was missing, but perhaps those rumours would offer up a clue as to the boy's whereabouts. "Then by all means come through," he invited.
Huffing and puffing, the portly minister stepped through the floo connection amidst a small cloud of soot. A quick cleaning charm later, he took a seat in one of the small armchairs in front of Dumbledore's desk.
"Firewhisky?" Dumbledore offered.
"Don't mind if I do."
After the libations were poured, Minister Fudge came straight to the point. "Albus, there are reports from multiple sources that Harry Potter was seen in Diagon Alley a week and a half ago, possibly with that young muggleborn girl with the dreadful hair that he is with all the time. I have heard rumours that he took up the Potter lordship, possibly others, that he has taken a Lady Potter, possibly others, that he challenged Lord Malfoy to a duel, that Lord Malfoy challenged him to a duel, and that he killed Lord Malfoy in a duel." He stopped as Dumbledore began chuckling.
"Really, Cornelius," he said, his eyes twinkling with mirth. "You really should pay little heed to rumour. As young Harry's magical guardian, I can assure you that he has not taken up his lordship, as he would require my permission to do so. No such permission has been granted, nor has it been granted for him to take a wife. And duelling Lucius Malfoy to the death?" He chuckled again. "The very idea is preposterous."
"As ludicrous as it may be," Minister Fudge replied, "the fact remains that my good friend Lucius is dead, and Harry Potter has been named as a person of interest. I require his presence at the DMLE as soon as humanly possible."
"Lucius Malfoy is dead?" Dumbledore was shocked and not a little horrified.
"Yes, and his family is not taking it well at all. What happened to him seems straightforward enough, though the DMLE has no evidence suggesting who is responsible, but there is a… complication. We still have his body in stasis while we try to figure this out." Fudge sadly shook his head. "This has been a difficult week, Albus. I don't mind saying that I'm glad you're back, because we certainly need your help."
Dumbledore nodded. "I will try to get young Harry to the DMLE as soon as I can," he said, though for the moment he had no idea how he would accomplish that. That, however, was not something Cornelius needed to know. "In the meantime," he went on, "perhaps it would be a good idea to view the remains of Lord Malfoy. I may be able to detect some evidence that was previously overlooked."
"We would definitely appreciate it," the Minister said. "When would you like to come over?"
"As soon as possible. I'd come over now if the DMLE morgue was open."
The Minister nodded and stood, finishing off his glass of firewhisky. "Thank you, Albus," he said. "We'll see you in the morning, first thing."
***FTR***
"Harry?"
"Yes, love?"
"We've got some decisions to make, and soon."
Harry nodded and rolled over to face his wife as they lay in their bed. "What's on your mind?"
"Quite a bit, but let's start with the Quidditch World Cup next week," she said.
"Okay," he replied. "We'll still be on holiday here, so we won't be attending if the Weasleys send out the invitation."
"Right, but what about the death eater attack afterwards?"
He closed his eyes with a groan. "Fuck. I forgot about that."
Hermione leaned over and kissed him. "So did I, love. Don't worry about it. Anyway, my point is that we could ignore it…"
"…but we have an opportunity to take out quite a few of the bastards, don't we?" he finished.
"Exactly!" she beamed.
"Okay, I like that idea," he said. "All we need to do then is hide out and wait for them to make an appearance."
She nodded. "The only problem, though, is transportation. How do we get there?"
Harry blinked. That was a good question. Portkeys and apparation were out as international travel for both were heavily regulated and monitored. On top of that, they really didn't know exactly where the match was being held. And then, a thought began to take shape.
"Hermione, love," he slowly said, "I have an idea, but I don't know if you'll like it."
"Lay it on me," she sighed, giving him a guarded look.
"We could ask Dobby if he'd be willing to help, and offer to pay him for his assistance."
She thought about it for a moment before reluctantly agreeing. "If he's willing. I agree, I really don't see any other way to get there without drawing too much unnecessary and unwanted attention to us."
"Let's get up then and ask him."
After climbing out of bed and getting dressed, Harry took a deep breath, mentally focused on the excitable house elf, and called out, "Dobby!"
A few seconds later there was a soft pop as the little fellow appeared, wearing a clean pillowcase as a tunic and an oversized sock on his left foot. "Master Harry Potter Sir has called Dobby!" he squealed, running over and throwing his arms around Harry's knees.
In spite of her reluctance to impose on house elves in general, Hermione had to smile at Dobby's exuberance. He obviously thought the world of her husband, and she found that she really couldn't blame him.
"What can Dobby be's doing for Master Harry Potter Sir and his Mistress Mione?" he babbled, looking up at Harry with sheer adoration.
Harry laughed and knelt down beside Dobby, throwing an arm around the elf's shoulders. "Well, for starters, my friend, how about just calling me Harry?"
Dobby tilted his head to the side, considering. "Dobby can be's calling Master Harry Master Harry," he said at length, giving a decisive nod.
"That'll do, I suppose," Harry replied, exchanging a smile with Hermione. "So tell me, Dobs, how've you been?"
"Perfessor Whiskers be's hiring Dobby at Hoggywarty last year," he replied. "Dobby be's excited to work near Master Harry, but be's wishing Master Harry can call him hisself." He gave Harry a shy smile. "Since Master Harry is now being Lordy Lord of Potter family and Mistress Mione being Miss Lady of Potter family, Dobby be's thinking if he's being a good house elf, maybe Master Harry and Mistress Mione be's bonding with Dobby!" The desire in his voice was evident even to Hermione.
"Is that really what you want, mate?" Harry inquired, looking askance at his wife. She gave him a resigned nod as Dobby began frantically nodding his own head.
"Oh yes Master Harry!" the little elf pleaded. "More than anything else in the world!"
"I tell you what," Harry said, growing serious. "I know you enjoy working, cooking, cleaning, and whatnot. I don't want a slave and I don't need a servant, but I am always open for more friends and family. If there is a way for you to bond with me as a member of the Potter family, I would be honoured to accept you as such and name you Dobby Potter from this day forth."
A stunned Dobby looked up at Harry, his eyes welling with tears. "Master Harry be's wishing to use family bondings instead of servant bondings with Dobby?"
"Of course!" he replied. "Dobs, you've shown yourself to be as true a friend as Hermione, Neville, or Luna. I'd love to have you in my family." And this time I'll make for goddamn certain you don't get killed by that psychobitch Lestrange, he silently promised. He glanced over at Hermione again, smiling at her as he took in her expression of amazement and love. He gave her a nod as he reached out and took one of the little elf's proffered hands. A beaming Hermione took his and Dobby's remaining hand, joining the three in a triangle. There was a flash of light as wizard, witch, and elf joined hands, and Harry swore that he could literally see Dobby growing about a foot taller.
As the light faded away, Dobby looked at his hands in astonishment, flipping them over to look at the backs before looking at Harry. "You really are a great wizard, Harry," he said, surprising them all – not only with his clear diction but also with the fact that he changed from a squeaky, high-pitched voice to a smooth tenor.
"Welcome to the family, Dobby Potter," Harry said, giving his little friend a heart-felt hug. They were joined a moment later by Hermione as she wrapped her arms around them both.
"I am so proud of you," she whispered in Harry's ear before kissing his cheek.
"Alright Dobs," Harry said as he pulled his wife into a tight embrace, "you're a Potter now, and that means that certain standards must be kept. For example, no family member of mine is going to wear a fucking pillowcase as a shirt, I don't give a damn how clean it is. I'd like for you to put together several outfits of whatever you'd like, and brand-new everything – no second-hand shit. Shirts, trousers, pants, shoes, the works."
Dobby nodded in understanding before snapping his fingers. The pillowcase and sock were immediately replaced with a black suit and tie, white shirt, black shoes, socks, and belt, and gold-rimmed aviator sunglasses – identical to the Potters' suits and accessories given to them by their Reapers.
"Looking sharp there, Dobs," Harry nodded his approval, his sentiments echoed by Hermione. "As for anything else, you're family, so feel free to do whatever you want, okay?"
"Thanks, Harry, and thank you too, Hermione. I really appreciate the two of you giving me this opportunity." He gave them a lopsided grin. "I don't think there's another house elf who's been accepted as family in the last five hundred years – certainly not in Britain."
"That wouldn't surprise me in the slightest," Hermione said as she knelt down and gave him a hug. "Welcome to the family, Dobby." The two of them looked up at Harry as he let out a sudden bark of laughter.
"Sorry," he said. "I just imagined the Umbitch's expression if she ever learned that a family bond with a house elf was even possible."
Hermione giggled at the mental image that thought provoked, and even Dobby snorted in amusement. "That woman's bile is legendary even amongst the house elves," he said. "She'd probably stroke out if she ever saw us!"
"It'd serve the bitch right too," Hermione agreed, then grew serious. "Dobby, you need to know that Harry and I have come from the future."
"Yes, I know," he interrupted, patting her shoulder. "I learned all of that when we bonded. I was a little confused when I first saw that you and Harry were married and Lord and Lady Potter on top of that, but everything made sense when we bonded and I saw where – well, when – you and Harry came from. Never fear, your secrets are safe with me."
"Then you should know that we came back to prevent as much of the shit as possible from ever happening," Harry said. At the elf's nod of affirmation, he continued. "The Quidditch World Cup is next week, and this will give us an opportunity to take out quite a few of Riddle's band of idiots. In the old timeline a group of them felt the need to crash the post-game celebration with a spot of muggle-baiting. This time we'd like to be waiting for them. Would you be able to find out where the World Cup is being held and take us there when it's time?"
"Easily," Dobby agreed. "I can check with other elves for the location and pop you over whenever you want. Nobody will ever be the wiser.
Hermione chuckled. "Why in the hell do people keep underestimating house elves?" she asked. "They've even got their own underground espionage network! I shouldn't wonder if one day we find out that we've been working for them all along!"
***FTR***
While the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Auror and Hit Wizard Divisions, was headquartered at the Ministry of Magic's vast underground complex a couple of blocks north of Leicester Square, London, their secure morgue was at St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. The morgue was located in the second sub-level of the hospital and was sequestered from the main hospital, accessible only through two entrances, both of which led to the same reception area guarded around the clock by two aurors and a hit wizard on each shift. One entrance opened to a single stairwell in the back of the "Employees and Staff Only" area, while the other was located at the bottom of a narrow exterior stairwell leading down from the grungy alley behind the hospital. Although the guards were posted at all times, their primary role was to prevent any would-be necromancers or body snatchers from making off with any of the corpses contained within. They were also authorised to receive bodies on nights and weekends and place them in a holding room until the coroner staff could process them. Investigations and autopsies were typically conducted during normal business hours, although there was a rotating on-call coroner available to come in for emergency work.
It had been over a week since the body of Lucius Malfoy was accepted from an official Gringotts delegation, and while his widow, Narcissa Malfoy kept demanding answers and his body, very little information was to be had. The goblins of Gringotts were not forthcoming, saying only that Lord Malfoy had died in a legal duel that he had initiated against a lord of higher standing (who shall remain unidentified in order to protect his privacy), and it had been officially witnessed by authorised Gringotts personnel. All subsequent inquiries were given the exact same information, no more and no less, along with a pointed invitation for the inquiring party to mind their own business.
The head of the DMLE, Madam Amelia Bones, was considered by all who knew her to be the very image of the consummate professional, but even she was not overly concerned with uncovering the identity of Malfoy's opponent. She had shed no tears whatsoever when she'd learned of the bastard's death. Though she had no actionable proof, she knew that Lucius Malfoy was responsible, through extensive bribes and political blackmail, for her department being as severely understaffed and underfunded as it was. There was no doubt in her mind that his efforts to undermine the DMLE were so he and his Death Eater buddies could enjoy their shenanigans with virtual impunity. As far as his demise was concerned, all she had to say was, "Good riddance to bad rubbish."
That didn't mean that she would put up with her or anyone else in her department doing a shoddy job. It did mean that she would not expend a moment's effort beyond that which was required by law.
She had been prepared to release the body to the Malfoy family for several days now, but Minister Fudge had insisted that they wait for Albus Dumbledore to return so that the Chief Warlock could provide his own input. Madam Bones was frankly disgusted with Fudge's indecisiveness. The pompous jackass seemed incapable of so much as taking a shit without consulting the polls or begging advice from Dumbledore or the late Malfoy.
Fortunately Malfoy, the smarmy bastard, was no longer an issue. Unfortunately, she still had Dumbledore in her hair.
Amelia Bones was one of the few people in magical Britain with any measure of authority who was known to be solidly in the Light faction yet still refused to worship at the altar of the Great Albus Dumbledore. She had little if any respect for the man, but wisely kept her opinions to herself. He enjoyed an inordinate measure of popularity yet, and therefore could cause her a good deal of aggravation if she got on his bad side. Due to her professionalism and well-known commitment to integrity, though, there was little he could do against her not infrequent opposition – so long as she maintained that professionalism.
That was why she was always respectful to the various officeholders in the Ministry without being obsequious. She never indulged in gossip or name-calling, nor did she tolerate it around her. By focusing on the job and staying out of politics as much as possible, and holding her aurors to the same standard, she insured not only her personal integrity but that of her department as well.
Every time she was forced to deal with Dumbledore, she was able to hide her distaste for the man behind a mask of cool indifference. After years of practice, she was very good at it by now.
Her issues with the so-called "Leader of the Light" went all the way back to Voldemort's blood war against magical Britain. She was already a seasoned auror, personally trained by Alastor Moody, and one of the most successful aurors in the department. Her biggest frustration at that time was Chief Warlock Dumbledore's insistence on capturing Death Eaters alive, using nonlethal spells only, and bringing them to trial before the Wizengamot. After seeing the same faces standing before the Wizengamot for the third or fourth time, she was convinced that the Chief Warlock was absolutely fucking insane. The Death Eaters kept claiming that they were under the Imperius curse, kept greasing the palms of the Wizengamot members, and kept being turned back out onto the streets with barely a slap on the wrist.
So many good people senselessly lost their lives during those dark days. Many of them would still be alive if Dumbledore had actually shown a lick of sense and treated the conflict like the war it actually was rather than the shenanigans of unruly juveniles. As far as Amelia Bones was concerned Dumbledore's hands were drenched in the blood of the innocent. His gross incompetence in leadership took magical Britain to the very brink of annihilation. As badly as the Death Eaters were outnumbered by the witches and wizards of Britain, each of whom carried on their person at all times a tool that could easily become a deadly weapon, anything greater than a token resistance would have ended the war in a matter of months rather than the years it actually dragged on. As it was, the Realm came within weeks if not days of falling before the feet of that ravening madman so many of the Purebloods worshipped. Only the unlikely miracle of Harry Potter destroying Voldemort kept that nightmare scenario from happening.
No, she was one of the few who understood the truth that the war was won in spite of Albus Dumbledore, not because of.
The only outward concession she made to her frustrations was that she would inevitably spend some extra time on the spell-casting range at the end of each day she had to deal with Dumbledore, Fudge, or any other Ministry idiot – which was almost everyone, come to think of it – and today would certainly be no exception.
She had barely settled behind her desk with her first cup of coffee – not tea – and the blotter report for the previous day's activity when her morning routine was interrupted by the desk clerk knocking at her office door, informing her that Minister Fudge and Chief Warlock Dumbledore were at the front desk waiting to speak with her regarding the late Lord Malfoy.
"I'll be there in five minutes," she said, taking a drink of her coffee. She quickly scanned the report, noting that nothing out of the ordinary happened yesterday. There were a couple of petty thefts reported in Diagon Alley, one of which the subject was positively identified and detained; a simple assault; a handful of drunk and disorderlies from Knockturn Alley, all of whom had been detained, fined, and were currently awaiting release; and two witches arrested in Knockturn Alley for prostitution. The most interesting case was a public intoxication outside the Leaky Cauldron in muggle London. The drunken subject was using his wand to paint obscene moving graffiti on the store fronts on either side of the magical pub. Fortunately, the DMLE was notified soon enough to dispatch a Magic Reversal squad and an Obliviation squad in time to prevent a blatant violation of the Statute of Secrecy. As the incident occurred after midnight, containment was relatively simple. After signing the final page of the report, Madam Bones dropped it off at the front desk as she greeted her two guests.
Without being rude, she came straight to the point. "What can the DMLE do for you today, gentlemen?"
"Yes, well," the minister began, "I thought it would be helpful for Albus to see the body of Lucius Malfoy. Perhaps he'll be able to find a clue as to what happened."
Bones carefully schooled her expression to prevent her anger and disgust from showing. It always pissed her off when amateurs felt that they could do better than professionals, and the last time she checked neither Fudge nor Dumbledore were certified in any of the medical or forensic arts. The Chief Coroner, Dermot Hickinbottom, most assuredly knew his job and performed it well, and she couldn't help feeling offended all over again on Hickinbottom's behalf. The cheek of these two, implying that her coroner couldn't do his job!
Instead of tearing into them as she really wanted to do, she merely nodded and led the way to the Ministry of Magic apparation point, and from there they apparated to St Mungo's.
Chief Coroner Hickinbottom met them at the morgue's reception desk and took them back to the storage chamber, where the bodies were kept in stasis until claimed or released. He exchanged a knowing glance with Bones but otherwise maintained just as stoic a demeanour as she. Inside the storage chamber, he led them back to a table holding a humanoid form with a white sheet draped over it. Without saying a word, he pulled the sheet back.
"Sweet Merlin," Dumbledore whispered as Fudge turned away, his face turning pale.
The only feature that was immediately recognisable as Lucius Malfoy was the corpse's long, straight blond hair. The face was caved in and barely even recognisable as once being human. The broken, bruised, and bloody mess still glistened wetly in the stark light thanks to the stasis charms that kept the cadaver preserved in the exact state the Gringotts representatives had delivered it.
Dumbledore swallowed uncomfortably as he leaned over Malfoy's remains, studying the brutal damage. "Are… are there any other injuries?"
Hickinbottom silently flipped the sheet down further, revealing the damaged hands. The Chief Warlock came around to examine them closely, deliberately averting his eyes from Malfoy's ruined face.
"What do you think, Albus?" Fudge asked, his voice weak. His back was still towards the table and each breath he took had a tremor in it.
"It would appear that Lucius was hit with a piercing hex on each hand and a massively overpowered reducto to the face, perhaps even several," he said, shaking his head in sorrow. Malfoy had been a constant thorn in his side ever since the war, but he'd always held out hope that the man would see the light like his friend Severus and take the path to redemption. Now it was too late for him, yet there was still hope for Lucius' son, young Draco.
"Interestingly enough," Madam Bones said, the barest touch of dryness in her voice, "that was the exact same initial conclusion we reached. There is just one tiny problem with that assessment."
"Yes?"
"Check for arcane residue," she invited.
The Chief Warlock cast the appropriate spell and frowned in confusion as he read the results. He cast it once more to confirm before giving her a baffled look. "I don't understand," he said. "The only magical trace is the stasis spell. There should be more than that."
"Yes, I know," Madam Bones stated. "So, what does this mean?"
Dumbledore considered for a moment. "Obviously, someone has learned to hide not only their magical signature but all spell residue as well. Amelia, this is dangerous information."
"Or," she replied, barely able to refrain from rolling her eyes, "no magic was used at all. It was a purely physical attack."
The Chief Warlock's eyes widened in shock. "Amelia!" he protested. "We are not living in the Middle Ages! I cannot for a moment believe that anyone in our time would willingly inflict such horrific damage on another person through physical means."
"As you say," she replied, keeping her features blank. "However, the DMLE believes that it is a much more likely scenario than previously unheard-of magical suppression capabilities suddenly being discovered and utilised in an officially sanctioned duel."
"Yes, well, when you put it like that…" Dumbledore trailed off, a slightly embarrassed tone to his voice.
"If you will excuse us now," Bones went on, "we need to release the body to the family, unless you can provide any additional information?"
The minister and Chief Warlock both shook their heads.
"Well, gentlemen," Hickinbottom said, giving Bones a surreptitious wink, "I have work to get back to after lunch. If there isn't anything else, perhaps you would care to join me? I hear that the cafeteria is serving spaghetti today."
"Oh for the love of…" Fudge clapped a hand over his mouth and retreated out the storage chamber door as fast as his dignity would allow. A few seconds later the sound of retching echoed out from the washroom down the hall.
Dumbledore's face turned green as he glanced back at the pulpy mess of Malfoy's face. "I don't believe that will be possible," he said faintly as his stomach lurched. "I, ah, have pressing business elsewhere I need to attend to. Another time perhaps."
The barest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of Madam Bones' mouth as she followed the Chief Warlock out into the hall.
***FTR***
The morning of August 18, 1994 dawned warm and pleasant on the Côte d'Azur. The Potters went out for their morning run on the beach as usual, joined by their new friend Fleur Delacour, who had begun running with them ever since they'd struck up their friendship. Instead of their normal sparring session though, they decided to lounge around the hotel swimming pool and relax, conserving their energy for the World Cup that night. After lunch, they bid farewell to Fleur and returned to their room. They spent a couple of hours laying out their clothes – they opted for their casual look, reasoning that it would be better for fighting on uneven terrain – and making sure that all of their weapons, including their wands, were cleaned, polished, oiled, and sharpened. The couple napped for the rest of the afternoon before joining the Grangers and Delacours for dinner. They ate just enough to be comfortable, avoiding heavy fare as that would interfere in their planned activities later on.
They bid goodnight to their friends and family after dinner and returned to their room where they finished getting ready. Taking the time-zone difference into consideration, they stood by until the game was almost done before calling Dobby.
Elf transport was much smoother than apparation, portkey, or floo, Harry decided. Even Hermione appeared pleasantly surprised when Dobby "popped" her to her husband's side.
The little elf brought them to the tree-line midway between the quidditch stadium and the campground. Dusk was falling, and everyone was at the stadium focused on the match, so their arrival went unnoticed by anyone.
An excited roar went up from the Irish section, followed by booing and angry shouts from the Bulgarians, suggesting that Ireland had scored yet again.
"Think we should've made a few wagers on the side?" Harry asked his wife with a smirk as they hid in the deepening shadows of the woods. Lights from the nonmagical landowner's farmhouse could be seen not too far away by the treeline on the other side of the campground.
She considered for a moment before tapping his side with an elbow. "Probably wouldn't have hurt, but it's not like we really need it," she said.
After dismissing Dobby, they settled down to wait.
The Dartmoor countryside was fairly remote at this location, which was fortunate for the DMLE Obliviation squads. Still, remembering the previous timeline, the attitude the magicals held towards the nonmagical landowner and his family was, in a word, disgusting. True, he was compensated financially, but with the amount of compulsions and obliviations that were thrown on him and his family even before the Death Eaters started their shit, it was a wonder that their brains weren't melted.
The worst part of that attitude, though, was that the magicals as a rule were so fucking retarded concerning the nonmagical world yet utterly convinced of their own superiority. The vast bulk of all those mind-altering (and probably damaging) spells could be avoided completely if the magicals would put forth the slightest effort to blend in – thereby more effectively preserving the Statute of Secrecy as well – but most couldn't be bothered. They both remembered the jackass from the first timeline here at the World Cup who insisted on wearing a woman's nightgown because "he liked a healthy breeze around his privates." A kilt would have been just as breezy and much more appropriate attire in that regard.
Unfortunately, the arrogant, condescending attitude so prevalent among the magicals was not limited to those of "darker" persuasion. A classic case in point was the Weasley family. The Potters had discussed this with their Reapers at length, and with the loyalty potions and compulsion charms no longer running amok through their systems, they could see their erstwhile friends in a different light. In all fairness, not a one of the Weasleys would be caught dead in Death Eater regalia (though with Ron's rage and jealousy, not to mention overblown sense of entitlement, Harry and Hermione alike couldn't help but to wonder about him in that regard), but their attitude of superiority towards those of nonmagical nature and descent was self-evident.
Arthur Weasley, the supposed "expert" of all things nonmagical, approached the "muggles" as if they were particularly clever and amusing pets, but couldn't be bothered to even learn the correct pronunciation of common nonmagical items. Molly Weasley continually lamented both Harry and Hermione's nonmagical upbringing and took it as her divinely appointed task to bring them up in a proper magical fashion – in spite of the fact that neither of them were her actual children, and in spite of any desires they may have had to the contrary. They didn't know Bill or Charlie Weasley that well and so reserved judgement on them, but Percy Weasley believed that Magical Law, embodied by the Ministry of Magic, trumped all. He would have been scandalised at the very idea that Magical Britain still technically answered to a nonmagical queen, and that the Minister of Magic was supposed to report to the British Prime Minister.
The twins, Fred and George, were a fairly hard read – everyone was a potential victim to their pranks, and as far as the Potters could tell there did not appear to be any blood bias in regard to their target selection. The only problem was that many of their hijinks skirted the boundary between pranking and bullying. On the other hand, the likeliest way to end up as their target was to be an arsehole, regardless of house affiliation or blood status, so a weak case could be made that their victims likely deserved it.
Ron Weasley, though, in all honesty was no different from Draco Malfoy in that regard. Both young men were hateful, bigoted, and utterly convinced of their own superiority. As neither one had the slightest measure of loyalty or diligence, or any intelligence or wit to speak of, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw houses were right out for them both. The only significant difference between the two was that Ron didn't have an ounce of cunning, thereby eliminating Slytherin as a possibility and effectively dumping him in Gryffindor, while Draco was too craven to be a Gryffindor, leaving Slytherin as his only option. Draco was also a lot more outspoken and disgusting with his bigotry (though Ron was equally hateful with anything remotely Slytherin), but the redheaded Weasel's bigotry was no less evident. Although Hermione received the brunt of his disdain for all things "muggle," he was just as quick to decry the nonmagical interests of any other first-generation magic user as well, despite knowing literally nothing about the activities in question. This was a source of endless frustration for Ron and Harry's first-gen dorm mate Dean Thomas, who was a rabid football fan and hated that he couldn't keep up with the games during the ten months out of the year at Hogwarts. Whether it was close friends, acquaintances, or enemies, any interest that Ron disagreed with was subjected to sneering condescension.
Finally, there was Ginny Weasley, the youngest sibling and only daughter. She too was hard to read as she did not seem to be caught up in issues of blood purity on the surface, but there was no question at all that she was growing more and more into a spoiled, entitled little bitch. Her derision towards things she didn't like or understand was just as scathing as her next oldest brother's, and she had no qualms against tagging people with cruel nicknames. Both of the Potters distinctly recalled her referring to Luna Lovegood as "Looney" and Fleur Delacour as "Phlegm" in the previous timeline. After getting to know the Weaselette, though, they could tell that her senses of superiority and entitlement were just as overblown as Ron's, and it was here that her latent bigotry made itself known. She was obsessed with the "Boy-Who-Lived," and her attitude screamed that she believed that she was entitled to him for no other reason than that she wanted him. It didn't matter what he wanted; he was a half-blood and therefore expected to submit to her whims. Likewise, Hermione certainly didn't deserve to be with someone of his status, as she was little more than a jumped-up muggleborn.
The only problem, though, was that Ginny Weasley literally had nothing else to validate her thinking besides blood status, whether it was money, family, social status, intelligence, personality, or physical attractiveness. Oh, she'd certainly claimed that they shared a common interest in quidditch, but Harry honestly wasn't that interested in the sport. Chasing the snitch just gave him an excuse to fly like a madman, which was what he truly enjoyed.
Both of the Potters also recalled how they were both expected to coddle the feelings of the youngest Weasleys, how they were expected to surrender their words, bodies, and even thoughts and feelings to them. And if they didn't submit, then the Weasleys – including Molly, since she was the one that actually brewed the shit – felt fully justified in drugging them up to force their compliance with their plans.
Blood status be damned, actions like that were evil.
The Weasleys, however, would be dealt with in due time.
Another roar of approval burst forth from the stadium, and from the volume and the current time the Potters knew that Viktor Krum, the Bulgarian seeker, had just caught the golden snitch, earning his team one hundred fifty points and ending the game. While Harry was certain that that would make him a shoe-in to be named Most Valuable Player of the game, thereby earning himself and the Bulgarian team much prestige, it was still not enough to clinch the win from the formidable Irish chaser line.
The din did not lesson and after a few minutes celebratory fireworks began lighting up the sky. Vendors and hawkers scurried to their posts to take advantage of the post-game excitement. Before long the spectators began filtering out of the stadium, stopping to purchase food or last-minute souvenirs, or returning to the campsites to continue celebrating.
Harry and Hermione waited patiently in the treeline behind a mild notice-me-not charm, enjoying several cigarettes each as they awaited the impending attack.
"I am so glad we're not staying with the Weasleys this time," Harry muttered quietly as he took another drag.
"Wonder if they even made it?" his wife mused. "Seems like I remember Arthur dropped your name in order to get the tickets, didn't he?"
"Yeah," he snorted. "Any of the seats would be pretty bloody expensive, but box seats with the ministers? Department Head or not, there's no way he'd be able to get them otherwise."
It was no secret that the Weasleys weren't at all well off, which really made Hermione question the family's sense of priorities when they blew a small windfall prize drawing on a trip to Egypt rather than on, say, new wardrobes for their children, or other essentials.
"It'll be quite embarrassing when they show up without you," she giggled. "I hope Arthur can talk his way out of that one!"
Harry shrugged. "Not our problem," he said. "All he'll have to say is that he tried to send out an invitation but the owl never could find me." They had both expected to see the Weasley family owl Errol winging his way to Harry bearing their invitation to him, but they hadn't seen so much as a feather of the old owl. Or any other messenger bird, come to think of it, including Fawkes. Only Hedwig was around, but since she was Harry's familiar they didn't wonder at her presence. Apparently they were blind to regular owl post, which given their circumstances was not at all unwelcome.
Things began to settle down somewhat after another hour or so as the spectators by and large had returned to their campsites to continue their celebrations there. Music, laughter, and excited shouts peppered the night air, punctuated every so often by smaller fireworks being set off by those who had brought their own personal supplies.
It wasn't long after midnight, when most of the celebrating had wound down, that Hermione noticed flashes of spellfire coming from the direction of the farmhouse. As they neared the house, they began to hear screams of terror and pain from the landowner and his family.
Hermione drew her katana. "I've got this," she said. "Cover me, okay?"
"Got your back," he agreed, dropping his wand into his palm. "No quarter, love."
"No quarter."
A dozen Death Eaters in full regalia were gathered in a cluster around the farmer, his wife, and their two teenage daughters. Their nonmagical victims were immobilised and floating in the air, held in place by four of the sadistic former followers of Lord Voldemort. The others laughed in wicked amusement as stinging hexes intermixed with brief crucios were hurled up to their helpless victims. The first indication that something was amiss was a faint swishing sound accompanied by a glint of reflected light, followed by a severed head adorned with a stylised death's head mask thumping on the ground.
The concentration of the four holding the victims in the air was broken, causing the helpless nonmagicals to fall towards the ground. Unseen, Harry moved his wand and eased them to the ground as the next Death Eater found three feet of steel through his gut. A moment later his head joined that of his dead cohort.
The bushy-haired young lady moved through her opponents in a graceful and beautiful but deadly dance. Ducking, slashing, dodging, stabbing she flowed through the Death Eaters, leaving body parts, mutilated corpses, and dying men in her wake.
After half of their number lay dead or dying, the remainder broke and scattered with the deadly witch in close pursuit. Most attempted to flee in different directions, but Harry noticed one of their number peel off and move through the shadows to sneak around Hermione as she brought another to the ground. With skill honed by countless hours at the tutelage of Chopper, Harry whipped out two throwing knives, grasped the blade tips by the knuckles of his right hand, and with a deceptively powerful underhanded flick of his wrist sent the blades hurtling off into the night. The moment the knives left his hand he raised his index finger and thumb to his mouth and blew an ear-piercing whistle.
The Death Eater jumped in surprise and spun around, just in time for the twin blades to hit through the eyeholes of his mask, slicing his eyeballs in half and embedding the tips in the bone at the back of each socket.
Blinded, the Death Eater screamed in pain and terror as he clawed impotently at his face. Harry calmly walked over to the man, who had dropped his wand and sunk to his knees by this time, drawing his kukhri as he approached. A vicious kick to the kneeling man's chest knocked him flat on his back, arms flying wide. Before the Death Eater could even recover his breath, Harry brought the curved blade to the man's neck and with a powerful swipe, cut the man's throat down to the spine. As he brought the blade up, it caught the lower edge of the mask, knocking it askew. The face revealed closely resembled that of Theodore Nott, one of their Slytherin classmates.
He looked up to see Hermione walking back towards him, calmly wiping off the blood dripping from her blade with a piece of black cloth torn from a Death Eater's robe. "Three got away," she reported.
Harry nodded and began checking the bodies. Two were still breathing, barely, but were quickly dispatched with efficient slashes of his kukhri to their throats.
A commotion in the distance caught their attention and they turned, only to see the ominous image of a skull with a snake crawling from its cadaverous mouth rising over the trees. "Well shit," Hermione observed. "Looks like I missed Crouch Junior."
"It's just as well," Harry said as they began walking towards the spot where the Dark Mark was cast. "We need to let the Triwizard play out again so Riddle can be resurrected at a time and place we know about – we just make sure he doesn't have the support he had last time."
His wife nodded. "We'll need to go over what you remember of the ritual too," she said. "There may be a way to sabotage it and make him weaker than he was."
"Let's talk to Fleur tomorrow," he said. "Maybe she can take us to the French magical district, and maybe they'll have a pensieve."
Still hiding in the shadow, they neared their destination in time to see a scowling Bartemius Crouch Senior begrudgingly hand a familiar wand to their so-called friend, a rather nervous-looking Ronald Bilius Weasley. Based on their experience here during the previous timeline, they could tell that Ron's wand was the one stolen by the Death Eater Barty Crouch Junior and used to cast Riddle's Dark Mark.
They watched from the shadows as Crouch argued with a ministry official they recognised as Amos Diggory, the father of future Hogwarts Triwizard Champion Cedric Diggory, as well as a couple of other officials they didn't recognise. Arthur Weasley, the twins, Ron, and Ginny looked on as the discussion grew more heated. Harry and Hermione were too far away to hear the conversation, but enough light was cast by various wands for them to see a cringing house elf huddled on the ground at the centre of the argument.
"Goddammit," Hermione growled as she grabbed her husband's hand. "I forgot this part. Fucking arsehole."
Even as they watched, Barty Crouch Senior pulled a glove out of his pocket and threw it at the elf, dismissing it from his service. He turned and strode away without a backwards glance. The wailing and sobbing of the distraught elf was heart-breaking.
The remaining officials exchanged embarrassed looks with each other and the Weasleys before they too began shuffling off into the night. As Arthur began gathering his brood, excited shouts and a few horrified screams sounded from the direction of the farmhouse.
"Looks like they discovered our handiwork," Harry whispered as he pulled Hermione back into the trees.
Everyone stopped and looked in the direction of the new commotion, except for the little elf, who was weeping inconsolably, and the Potters, who were carefully watching everyone else. After a moment, Arthur rushed his children off in the opposite direction towards the portkey area. The ministry officials changed their courses and hurried away towards the farmhouse, leaving the miserable elf alone at the edge of the woods.
Hermione looked up at her husband, her eyes pleading in the moonlight. He smiled at her indulgently and nodded as he took her hand, intertwining her fingers with his own. Together, the young couple left the treeline, careful to remain unseen, and approached the elf, kneeling beside it.
"Hi, little one," Hermione whispered, her voice kind and sympathetic.
The elf looked up with wide, tear-filled eyes. Almost identical to their friend Dobby, a shock of brunette hair and more delicate features indicated that this house elf was female. "What… what you's be wanting with Win… Winky?" she sniffled, blowing her long nose on her pillowcase.
"Your name is Winky?" They already knew this, but appearances had to be maintained.
"Y… yes," she nodded. "Winky be's disgraced elfie though. Master is not being pleased with Winky's work enough and gives her… gives her clothes!" she wailed, burying her face in her hands.
Hermione couldn't help herself. She immediately wrapped her arms around the sobbing elf and held her close. "Why would your master be displeased with your work?" she asked.
Winky violently shook her head, despite clinging tightly to the witch. "Winky mustn't say, she be's a good elf even if she's being disgraced."
"That's all I needed to hear," Hermione smiled. "Winky, would you like to bond with Harry and me as family, like Dobby did?"
"Family bond?" she whispered, her eyes widening.
"That's right," Harry said. "Your name would then be Winky Potter."
"Then Winky no longer be's disgrace?"
"Far from it," Hermione reassured. "You'll be a valuable member of House Potter."
"Then Winky be's accepting!" she cried, holding out her hands.
Harry and Hermione took her proffered hands just as they had done with Dobby, and just as with him there was a flash of light as the little elf grew another foot in height. Her brunette tresses grew out another foot as well, spilling over her shoulders in a silken wave.
"Welcome to the family, Winky Potter," Harry said. "Someone may have seen the flash," he continued, quickly looking around, "so we really should be getting back to Nice. Dobby!"
***FTR***
The last couple of weeks of August were relaxing and largely uneventful. When she saw Dobby, Winky immediately adopted a similar appearance, except that she chose to wear a black skirt instead of trousers. Harry and Hermione both praised the elves' smart new look, proclaiming their certainty that the two would be the envy of all the other elves.
As they had discussed, the Potters asked Fleur if she could take them shopping at a local magical district. She enthusiastically agreed and took them to the Quartier Magique in Paris, the largest magical shopping district in the country. They were able to find a pensieve in a high-end specialty shop, and after making the purchase they took the opportunity to wander around the rest of the market as well, enjoying an excellent lunch while they were there.
That evening, back in their room, Harry pulled the memory of the ritual that brought Voldemort back to life and dropped it in the rune-carved bowl of the pensieve. Together, the Potters touched the strange, quicksilver-like substance of the memory and were pulled inside.
After studying the memory, they decided that the best opportunity to sabotage the ritual was the "bone of the father." "Flesh of the servant" was out of their control, and "blood of the enemy" did not have that much wiggle-room, unless there was some way substitute it at the last minute. After discussing it for a bit, they decided to take a trip to the overgrown cemetery at Little Hangleton, dig up and vanish the bones of Tom Riddle Senior, and replace them with large sponges soaked in Draught of Living Death and transfigured into the skeleton. It would take a few days to get everything together, including the collection of ingredients for the potion and finding an adequate location for brewing, but that part of their planned sabotage should be finished well before they returned to school.
Fleur was a valuable help once more. After receiving permission from her parents, she invited the Potters and the Grangers to spend the rest of the holiday at Château Delacour, a luxurious mansion on a high, wooded bluff on the western edge of the Yenne commune in the foothills of the French Alps, overlooking the Rhône River. It was quite the picturesque setting with amazing views from the balconies and towers of the château. The Rhône drifted in a southerly direction just to the west of the bluff through a green valley, while a tributary could be seen to the north, cutting through the ridge and emptying into the main body of the river. To the east, the ridgelines marched off into the distance, culminating in the snow-capped peaks of the Alpine mountains.
The château was surrounded by thick woods and protected from view by a series of notice-me-not wards keyed to nonmagicals. Behind the wards was a modest landscaped lawn, a smooth circular brick driveway, and a beautiful fountain in the middle of the circle, opposite the wide steps leading up to the main entrance. The marble sculpture in the centre of the fountain featured four lovely nude females carved in the classical High Renaissance style, each one facing one of the cardinal directions in a unique relaxed pose. It was obvious to the Potters that these flawless stone carvings were of veela.
The rear of the mansion featured two wings extending from the main part of the building, framing a large decorative garden and pool on three sides. Smooth stone walkways wound through lush foliage, all carefully maintained, and all surrounded the tiled pool in the centre. The pool bottom was covered in alternating black and light blue tiles, much like a chess board. The inside walls surrounding the garden featured a wide columned porch on the three sides with spacious balconies above the porch.
As Chateau Delacour was a magical household, Hermione was able to brew the Draught of Living Death with no issues once they collected the ingredients. Without Snape hovering around like a thirsty vampire, she was able to take her time and make it properly one evening. Though her husband and their friend Neville Longbottom were Snape's favourite targets, she too had needlessly suffered the vitriol of the greasy bastard, as had practically anyone else not associated with Slytherin. As her work was always exceptional or better, the arsehole had to make do with docking points from her for stupid bullshit such as "breathing too loudly," or "blinking too often," or for being "an insufferable know-it-all." In short, he made a complete mockery of the point system – not that Dumbledore was any better, what with his last-minute awarding of points in years past, ensuring that Gryffindor edged out Slytherin for the win of the House Cup. Frankly, between the shenanigans of Snape and Dumbledore, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw alike were repeatedly screwed out of the competition.
As she was the better potion brewer of the two, she made the draught while Harry sat quietly in a chair nearby and studied the third-year Ancient Runes textbook he borrowed from her. It was more of a revision than anything else, given that both of them studied the subject extensively during their time with their reapers. Harry had no intention of suffering through another abysmal year of Divination, and based on what Hermione had told him both Runes and Arithmancy sounded infinitely more practical than wasting time learning the ways of the "inner eye" from a drunken fraud who predicted his gruesome death each class – especially since each "death" was different and worse than the ones before.
The couple did not speak to each other during those few hours, but they both were fully aware of the other's presence. Neither of them felt the need for incessant, irrelevant chatter but instead simply took comfort in the company of the other. For a time, the only sounds in the room were the sounds of potion ingredients being sliced or crushed, the plops as they were dropped into the liquid-filled cauldron, the clinking of the stirring rod against the sides of the cauldron, the crackling of the flames heating the cauldron, the slow bubbling of the concoction as it simmered, and the rustling of paper as Harry turned the pages of his book.
It was into this warm, comfortable silence that Fleur found herself entering. Her eyes widened in surprise as she figured out the potion Hermione was brewing, but knowing how unstable it could be in the brewing process she refrained from saying anything until she was certain the brunette witch was finished. Even then she deliberately pitched her voice low.
"That is an oddly specific potion to be brewing at random," she observed. "Why would you need such as this?" Her tone was not suspicious or accusatory, simply curious.
"We really can't say right this moment," Hermione apologised, glancing at her husband. "There will be a lot going on this year that we won't be able to talk about, but if all goes according to plan we'll be able to tell you the whole story next summer, okay?"
Fleur gave them each a long, calculating gaze before breaking into a warm smile. "Oui, I understand," she said. "Some secrets belong to someone else, oui? A true friend understands and does not make a friendship conditional upon revealing those secrets, and so I will not ask further."
Hermione closed the gap between them and threw her arms around the older witch. "Bless you, Fleur," she said, her voice choked with emotion.
Harry joined them and began rubbing his wife's shoulders. "Thank you, Fleur," he whispered. "The number of true friends we both have could be counted on one hand with fingers left over."
The blonde veela took his arm and pulled him into the embrace she shared with his wife. "It is the same with me," she said. "I believe, though, that it is better to have five friends who will always stand beside you than to have five hundred who will leave you when things get difficult."
***FTR***
With the assistance of Dobby and Winky, their planned sabotage of the ritual scheduled almost a year in the future took place without a single issue. Using elf magic undetectable to the Ministry, Dobby carefully exhumed the casket containing the bones of Tom Riddle Senior, the nonmagical father of the self-styled Lord Voldemort, and held it floating over the open grave.
Once the coffin was unearthed, they opened it so Winky could vanish every trace of the skeleton. Using long, thick rubber gloves, Hermione carefully removed the sponges that had been soaking in the Draught of Living Death carried in a twenty-litre bucket purchased at a Bricomarché in Aoste, a small town not far from Chateau Delacour. While Harry held the bucket close by the coffin hovering over the empty hole, Winky transfigured the potion-soaked sponges into bones that were an exact match for the ones just vanished. After the entire skeleton was reconstructed, Harry set the bucket on the ground and Winky vanished it with a snap of her fingers. Before closing the lid, she set up a stasis field on the bones that would end the moment the skeleton was disturbed in any way. Based on Harry's memory of the ritual, she also set up a contingency to end the transfiguration on the bones two minutes after they were disturbed, which would revert the chosen bone back to the potion-filled sponge after it was dropped into the ritual cauldron but before Riddle Junior was resurrected.
They would try to figure out a way to sabotage "blood of the enemy" as well, but they were satisfied with their work for now.
Dobby lowered the casket back into the grave and replaced the dirt exactly as it had been. When they returned to France there was no sign, physical or magical, that they had been to the Little Hangleton cemetery.
***FTR***
As the first of September drew closer, the Potters had only one thing left to do before school started. Knowing the classes they would be taking already, they arranged to purchase the appropriate textbooks through Gringotts Paris.
A week before the Hogwarts Express was scheduled to leave King's Cross Station, Minerva McGonagall entered her office and immediately noticed a sealed envelope on her desk. Frowning, she cast several detection charms on it, as it had obviously not come through standard owl post. Finding nothing of a harmful nature, she picked it up and smiled faintly as she recognised a familiar messy scrawl addressing the letter to herself. Opening it, she removed a folded sheet of paper and sat down as she started to read.
Dear Professor McGonagall,
We hope this letter finds you in good health.
Several things happened over the summer which will be affecting us this upcoming and subsequent years. Hermione and I decided to begin dating this summer, and through several strange incidents we learned that not only are we soulmates, but we are in fact married in the eyes of Magic as well. We confirmed this fact with the Gringotts copy of the Book of Souls, and you should be able to confirm through the Ministry's copy if necessary. Due to our change in marital status, we will require married quarters upon our arrival to Hogwarts. Our marriage had the incidental effect of rendering the both of us "of age," as recognised by Magic, allowing me to claim the Lordship of the House of Potter. This is confirmed by the fact that I now wear the Lord's ring, just as Hermione wears the Lady's ring. This also means that we may be required to leave the school grounds from time to time to take care of House business. In case of such an event, you will, of course, be properly notified.
Next, I wish to inform you that I will no longer take Divination. The class is, frankly, an abysmal waste of time. In its place, I intend to join Hermione in Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. I am caught up with the course work, and to confirm my placement I would like to take the Third-Year exit exam at a time of your choosing during the weekend following our arrival, since classes will not be starting until the following Monday.
Finally, as per the protocol outlined in the Hogwarts Charter, we are arranging private tutelage for Potions and History of Magic. It is our firm belief that the House of Potter is just short of having to declare Blood Feud against the House of Snape. Given our current marital status, which we have no intent of hiding, we believe it will be impossible for Professor Snape to refrain from conduct requiring such a response. For the sake of the school, it will be best if we have no contact with him whatsoever. As for Professor Binns, continuing in his class is a waste of time and money. We learn nothing from him that is not found in the textbook. We expect the tuition for those two classes to be returned to us, from which we will pay our tutors. We have hired Andromeda Tonks for Potions and Remus Lupin for History. Please ensure that they receive copies of our schedules in a timely manner. Until we meet again, we remain
Yours Truly,
Harry and Hermione Potter
A tiny smirk tugged at the corner of McGonagall's mouth. She knew that Albus had an unnatural (and likely unhealthy) interest in Mr Potter, though he never explained why. She'd been unhappy with the headmaster's choice of guardians for the infant Mr Potter back in 1981, but there was just no reasoning with the man. Once his mind was set there was no changing it, and he was too influential to thwart his will. He'd effectively forced the Wizengamot to appoint himself as the boy's guardian, after sealing James' and Lily's wills. It was an absolute travesty to ignore their final wishes after the sacrifices they'd made, far less to keep their orphaned son in an abusive home. Albus was determined to keep the boy under his thumb, it seemed, even sending him back to those despicable people every summer. She had protested each year, of course, as had Poppy, but Albus each year overruled them, dismissed their concerns, and forbade them from speaking with anyone about it.
Forcing her to be complicit in the continuing abuse of a student she'd never admit aloud was one of her favourites slowly but surely eroded through all the respect and trust she'd once held for the man. Where he had once been a trusted friend and mentor, he was now just a mistrusted and somewhat disliked employer.
Now, it seemed, Mr Potter – correction, Lord Potter – had somehow achieved a measure of independence, and hopefully it would free him from the headmaster's machinations entirely. And she was determined to help him out as much as she could, in spite of how badly her hands were tied by her superior.
She immediately made arrangements with Bathsheda and Septima for Lord Potter to take the requested finals on Friday, the day after the Express arrived. Under the tutelage of the new Lady Potter, another of her unacknowledged favourites, she had no doubt whatsoever that he would pass both finals with "Exceeds Expectations" at the very least. Miss Gra– Lady Potter – would accept nothing less, she knew. The fact that he was dropping that Divination rubbish just made it all the better. She had actually felt physical pain watching the son of James and Lily waste his time and talents following the lead of the indolent, gluttonous Weasley boy. The new Lady Potter was an infinitely better influence, and McGonagall was excited to see how Lord Potter's performance would improve under the bushy-haired genius's guidance.
She would also ensure that married quarters would be prepared for them. There was no doubt in her mind that Albus would strenuously object and try to block the Potters from exercising their rights, but as far as she was concerned, if the headmaster didn't like the situation, he could choke on those infernal sherbet lemons he was so fond of.
Now that Mr Potter was married to his magically-recognised soulmate, the two of them were officially considered to be of age, and they had successfully claimed the Lord and Lady rings, he was better protected legally and magically than he'd ever been before. She was sure that their new marital status would throw a bludgeoning hex in the middle of most if not all of Albus's plans, and she for one was looking forward to watching the fallout. Yes, this year was certainly shaping up to be one for the record books, and it hadn't even yet begun!
***Author's Note***
Thank you all for the reviews! I'm thrilled that so many people are enjoying the story here! I would like to say at this time that I quite agree with a couple of reviews that indicated that cigarettes are quite disgusting. I'm not a smoker myself, nor do I condone underage smoking and drinking. Please understand that this is just the way the story has written itself - it wasn't to try to be cool or anything like that, just part of a reflection on how much the two have changed under the tutelage of their reapers (and Chopper!). Thank you for your understanding, and I'll see y'all next time!