This is a fan work. I don't own the copyright to Harry Potter. She-Who-Should-Stop-Tweeting does, but I also don't spend millions trying to hurt trans folks, so...


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Week One


The Great Hall is quiet. Each drop of wax falling from the candles can be heard. The post owls have bitten through the rope suspending the bundle between them and flown off. Ron, Hermione and Ginny lean over to stare into the basket.

Even the teachers have shut up. Snape's smirk makes the room feel cold. Dumbledore is tapping his fingers together in front of his nose. McGonagall looks like she's ready to burst out of her seat. Umbridge is frozen in place like she had tried to get up and Dumbledore had spelled her back into her seat.

"Mate, why'd you order a baby? And why'd it come by owl?"

"I didn't, Ron!"

"She's..." Ginny hums, clearly trying to say something nice.

Harry can't imagine what it would be. The baby has jowls like one of aunt Marge's bulldogs and it looks like she'd fit entirely in his hand. They can't be that small at the start, can they?

"She has a fair complexion."

That's true. She's paler than Ginny. No freckles, though.

"She? What makes you assume she?" Hermione huffs.

Ginny points at an envelope tucked in the basket by the baby's feet.

"Gringotts seal, with the Gobbledegook runes they use for the announcements of births. They send out congratulations to all blood relatives whenever there's a pureblood birth. Mum kept all of our letters and the envelopes. She's had them framed. Mine's got different runes than the boys, and those match mine."

She reaches across and slaps Hermione's shoulder.

"And I really don't think a Muggle would be stupid enough to put a baby in the post! So she's not Muggle-born. Half-blood, maybe. There's a seal on her pajamas. Family seal, maybe?"

"Who puts a snake on a baby's clothes?" Ron huffs.

"Silver snake on a green background," Harry muses. "Don't you think, Hermione?"

She nods. "Slytherin. Different than what's on their robes. Not as flashy."

"Just a theme then," she adds. "Isn't like there are any actual Slytherins left running around."

Harry glances at Ginny, and wonders if he should tell Hermione what Riddle's diary told him.

"Bit young to be sorted, isn't she?" Ron jokes, sitting back and stuffing half a piece of toast into his mouth. "Isn't right to be cursing babies with Slytherin, anyway."

Ginny rolls her eyes.

"Well, all I know is I'm not going to pick her up. First person to touch her is going to undo the sleep-tight charm. She'll be cranky."

"Fine!" Hermione huffs, grabbing the envelope.

"Go on, then!" Ginny practically squeals. "Don't keep us waiting."

Hermione clears her throat, glances at the envelope, and scowls.

"It's addressed to 'Harry James Potter, Earl of Sorcerous Lands of Somerset, sired by James Charlus Potter, out of Lily Potter nee Evans.'"

She snarls, and her eyebrow twitches. "Out of! Like all the woman does-"

Earl? His mind is spinning so fast that Harry is dizzy. Too dizzy to follow, but now and then a word flies out and he can catch it.

He puts his hand on her arm. "It's all right, 'Mione. I don't think that's how my mom and dad were."

"Whoever wrote this is a chauvinist pig," she hisses.

"Goblins are matriarchal," Ginny says with a spoon halfway to her mouth. "That's legally required, that phrasing."

Harry, Ron and Hermione all turn to gawk at Ginny. A blush crawls from her cheeks to the tips of her ears.

"What? I got bored in the lobby, so I talked to a goblin! They actually talk to you if you're not an arse! Isn't like Weasley's have a lot of money to scam anyway," she mutters. "Mum always does the maths before we take anything out, and dad does the same thing when he drops off his paycheck. When I was little, mum wouldn't let me out of her sight. I went there a lot. Had the time."

Hermione clears her throat.

"All right. To the Right Honorable Harry James Potter, so on, so on, please find enclosed..."

She groans, hands Harry the letter, and drops her face into her hands.

To the Right Honorable Harry James Potter, Earl of the Sorcerous Lands of Somerset, sired by James Charlus Potter, out of Lily Potter née Evans.

Honorable Sir, please find enclosed one (female) infant, two sets of clothing, one blanket, two glass bottles (monogrammed, silver-framed), one vial of blood, and paperwork regarding the same.

Per the results of the rituals, the child is of magical birth. Note that we do not offer guarantees or refunds in the case of squibs. According to our records, you are the closest living male relative. Her heritage is as follows. Numbers are approximate, as the ritual was unusually volatile. Life prices for three goblins killed were deducted from your vaults.

• 2/6th House of Potter - sire Harry James Potter

3/6th House of Black - dame Bellatrix Lestrange née Black

1/12th House of Gaunt - relation unknown

1/12th common line (magical) - relation unknown

As of your receipt and reading of this, the child is in your care and you are her legal guardian. If you wish to set up a trust fund for the infant, please contact your account overseer. If you wish to arrange a marriage contract, please visit us, but do so no earlier than her thirteenth month. If you do not wish to retain the child, auction services are available.

In gold and glory,

High Overseer Bentspear

'If you do not wish to retain' bounces around inside his head, chasing 'auction services' around like Dementors dancing a horrific sort of waltz. He can feel tears on his cheeks. His ribs ache. A hand lands on Harry's shoulder and squeezes softly. He looks up to find McGonagall and jams the note into his robes before she can read it over his shoulder.

"Potter, you are excused from the day's classes. Head directly to the common room, please. Be a good lad and take Miss Granger and Miss Weasley with you."

"Oi! What about me?"

"Mister Weasley, I think quidditch practice might be a better use of your time and the baby's safety."

"I looked after Ginny sometimes," he grumbles. "Not like I'm going to toss her around like a quaffle."

Ginny shoots the baby basket a glare that says 'you're making me miss quidditch practice' and jabs Ron with her elbow.

Harry glances from the basket, to the professor, to Hermione's scowl, to Ginny's tight-lipped, flushed face as she tries not to laugh.

"How..."

"She's a baby, Potter. Not a Hungarian Horntail. Perhaps you should carry her, hmm? I understand that that is the traditional way."

"Right. Sorry, Professor."

He reaches into the basket, puts his hand under her head-she's so tiny-and the instant his fingers brush the back of her tiny, fuzzy head all he can think about is not dropping her.

"I'll get the basket," Ginny offers with a smile.


"Potter, a mome-hey!"

He takes his foot off the bottom step of the staircase and turns around, slow, dragging his foot rather than lifting it-don't drop her!-to find Daphne Greengrass, Pansy Parkinson, Ernie MacMillian, and a Ravenclaw girl that he doesn't recognize, but looks like she's sixth or seventh year. Ginny and Hermione both have their wands up and somehow sparks are coming off Hermione's hair.

Parkinson has her wand up too. Her dark eyes flick from Ginny to Hermione before deciding that she's more worried about Hermione. Daphne pulls her wand out of her sleeve, walks over to the windowsill and sets it down.

"There. I just want to talk. House Potter's one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight and it's traditional to greet newborn members of other houses." She gestures to Pansy. "Especially the ladies and heiresses."

Pansy scoffs.

"Parkinson!"

Daphne plucks Pansy's wand out of her hand. "Behave like a lady."

Pansy stands there, mouth hanging open in shock and twitching like she's got her fingers in an electrical outlet. Daphne walks back over to the windowsill and puts Pansy's wand next to hers. She steps closer to the three and the baby, hands empty and upraised to calm Ginny and Hermione.

"My apologies for the behavior of my handmaiden, Heir Potter. It is Heir Potter, yes? You haven't taken up the title yet?"

"Uh, no? I don't think I have."

"A word of advice? You should check in on that with Gringotts and the Ministry. In that order. What's her mother's House? Or is she," Daphne's eyes flick to Hermione, and she pauses, then her tongue wets her lips. Like she's tasting the word before she speaks. "Unaffiliated?"

"Her...um..."

What am I going to say? Bellatrix Lestrange?

"I'd rather not say, just yet. Bit of a surprise to me, finding out this way."

Greengrass' crimson-glamoured lip curls up like a rose petal over a candle.

"Fair enough, Potter. No shortage of suspects who might have missed a step on the charm in a broom closet," she jokes, crooking her fingers around 'missed'. "Boy-Who-Lived, after all. You must need a house-elf just to keep track. I'm going to have to quiz my housemates about what you were up to last winter."

She brushes her long, slim fingers clean on a handkerchief and reaches for the baby, stroking her thumb down her sleeping chest. He's never realized how tall Daphne was until just now, when he has to tilt his head back a little so he's not staring right at her chest, or how blue her eyes are-silvery blue, the color of the sky behind a wispy cloud-until she looks at him.

She leans down and kisses the baby, and Harry gets a funny, fluttery feeling in his stomach.

"Well met, new blood. House Greengrass welcomes you, and gifts you with our magic," she whispers against the baby's skin. When she lifts her lips, a single rose petal flutters down from her mouth and into the baby's hands, making her giggle.

"Oh, you are a gem! I would not have given you back to him, little witch. I would have made him come to me."

Daphne nods to Hermione, who stays statue-stiff, and then curtsies to Ginny. He's not sure he's seen a Slytherin be polite to Hermione. Ever. If he hadn't gotten a baby at breakfast, this would still be the weirdest day of his life.

"No harm shall come to her through me, Heiress Weasley. So I swear, so shall it be. Fair travels." She turns to Hermione and nods, giving a tiny dip of the head. "Good day, Granger."

Ginny softens a little. She doesn't lower her wand, but she loosens her jaw and clears her throat.

"Fair travels, Heiress Greengrass."

Daphne goes back to Pansy, grabs her by the wrist and shoves her forward.

"Behave. You are not a brute."

Pansy goes through the same ritual, but rather than looking at Harry, she never takes her eyes off Hermione.


Harry can't let go. He just can't.

He doesn't know how this happened, or why. He doesn't know how he'll manage it.

But he knows what he has to do: Take care of her. Someone had put a baby in the post-like it was a newspaper or an advert-and sent it to him. She didn't have a year with her mum and dad in a little cottage. She didn't have her godfather and a photo album of the scoundrel being chased around by her mother brandishing towels and spoons. She didn't even get left on someone's doorstep in a basket with a fluffy blanket. She didn't come with a letter in the basket to explain how she had come to be there and who she was and who her family was rather than a bunch of rubbish about her lineage. She'd gotten boxed up and tied to some owls.

"Should you not wish to retain, auction services are available."

"Harry, my boy?"

For the first time he can remember, Dumbledore came to him. It probably doesn't count if Harry was in the hospital wing. The Headmaster points his wand at a stack of firewood and transfigures it into a wicker rocking chair, pulling it up close so that no one else can hear. Harry hands him the note from Gringotts, and Dumbledore's eyes go wide as he reads it.

"I imagine you have many questions, Harry. I do as well. First among them how the child came to be in your care rather than theirs. It could be a ruse, but I would prefer to think we have a new ally. She is safer here, I have no doubt of that."

"Why me, sir?"

Dumbledore chuckles. "If you wanted an unremarkable life filled with unremarkable things, Harry, I must disappoint you. An unremarkable baby wouldn't have survived that night, but you did. It seems part of the price you pay for your survival of that particular night is that the unlikely is likely."

"What am I going to do, Professor? I don't know how to raise a baby, but..."

He swallows past a lump in his throat that feels like a rock.

"But she can't go back. And I don't want her to be unwanted, like I was. I...I didn't want this, and I don't know how I would do it, but I would take care of her. I would want her."

He looks up into Dumbledore's eyes, which seem warmer than usual. His half-moon spectacles aren't twinkling, Harry notices.

"We didn't ask for you, boy! You stay here under our roof, eating our food, out of the goodness of our hearts!"

"Ah. Once again, Harry, we both find ourselves outwitted by the Dursleys."

Harry huffs. He looks down at the baby-'the baby' because he hasn't even had time to think about a name-and she looks back at him with blue eyes so dark they're practically purple, flecked with tiny slivers of blood-red. She's not crazy, or wearing filthy prisoner's robes from Azkaban, or torturing Neville's parents, or killing Harry with a curse. She's just a little warm lump in his arms.

"Where did she even come from? Just..." Harry shivers. "How?"

"The usual methods, one assumes. After all, the Azkaban breakout was nearly a year ago. Perhaps it was a reward for Bellatrix, or some plot which required a child. After the graveyard, Harry, I'm sure you realize that there are powerful magics that rely on sacrifice. Some require the loss of an innocent life."

Harry clutches the baby all the tighter.

"Although," Dumbledore chuckles. "I'd rather not dwell too much on the specifics of how she was created. Wouldn't you agree?"

Harry's stomach turns sour.

"Right. Sorry, sir."

Dumbledore claps him on the shoulder.

"Ah, but such is the life of a hero, my boy! We think about sights too strange or terrible for others to see."

"How do I keep her safe, sir?"

Dumbledore draws his wand.

"May I?"

Harry nods and the headmaster weaves a complicated pattern of swoops in the air over the baby's head.

"Sangre revelio."

A ball of silver light appears in mid-air between them, with threads of pulsing crimson reaching from Harry's heart to hers. Dozens of threads lead away. One is thick as twine and leads out the window, two thinner strands splitting off and tracing up the stairs to the girl's and boy's dormitories. Most are as thin as spider's silk, and dim, vanishing into the walls.

Harry whips his head around like he's chasing a snitch, trying to figure out each thread.

Dumbledore tut-tuts and raises a fluffy white eyebrow. "The Black's blood is spread far and wide, Harry. Never forget that not all that is great is good."

"Yes, sir."

"The goblin's skill with blood magic is almost unparalleled, but I had to see it with my own eyes. She shares your blood, Harry. Which means she shares your mother's blood."

"And her protection," Harry realizes. "My mum's protection of me carries over to her?"

"Perhaps. I cannot be sure, especially after Voldemort's ritual. I suspect one reason he chose that method of restoring himself was so that he could touch you. But I hope so, yes. Blood wards or not, she is only safe-if she can be safe while Voldemort lives-in your care."

He takes Harry's free hand in both of his.

"I've asked a great deal of you in the past, dear boy. I've stood in your way when you've wanted me not to, and at other times, I've stood aside and let you go places that a better man would have stopped you from going. I cannot promise you I'll never ask for something again, but I promise I will never ask you to do something to her. That, I can promise you."


Ron hands the Gringotts paper back to Harry. "I still don't get it, mate. Says you're her father and the goblins usually aren't wrong about that."

"Failure to record and manage bloodlines would violate the treaty," Hermione tells them without looking up.

She has the baby tucked in her arms, a copy of Beedle and the Bard open on her lap, and a dog-eared Bedtime Stories for Brilliant Babies age 12 weeks to 24 weeks set aside on the coffee table. Her parent's copy, no doubt. Explains a lot about his friend. "Wizards are obligated to invade. It starts another Goblin Rebellion. Huge mess."

She snorts.

"Explains why they correctly recorded all those people marrying their cousins and sisters. Charming, that."

"But it says you're her father!" Ron whines. What? He's mad because he thinks I lost my virginity first?

"Too much firewhiskey?" Ginny teases. She's kept more distance from the baby, often muttering things like 'Don't care what mum says' and 'After I give up quidditch' under her breath.

"I think I'd remember shagging Bellatrix Lestrange, Gin. Remember it long enough to fling myself off a cliff in shame."


The floo in the common room spits out a figure who trips and goes spinning across the floor face-first, right into the legs of a small table.

"Wotcher, Harry!" Tonks groans, shooting a thumbs up.

Ron snickers to himself and Tonks mutters a quick episkey and terego before standing, blinking tears out of her eyes and wiggling her just-fixed nose. She grabs the bottom of her jacket and tugs, straightening it out. Hermione bumps her hip into Harry, scooting all three of them to the side to clear space for Tonks to join them on the couch.

She makes a grabby motion and Harry hands the baby over to her. Tonks immediately switches her hair to match the frightfully pale blonde of the wispy fluff on the child's head. The studs on her motorcycle jacket sparkle, the baby giggles and reaches tiny fingers up towards her.

The floo flares again.

With a chuckle and a shake of his head, a well-dressed man in a Muggle suit steps out of the flames, followed by a stately witch. She has pale skin and a thin frame and is tall enough to stand eye-to-eye with her lanky husband. Her sharply boned face and high cheekbones draw him to her eyes. Amethysts set in porcelain. Her sternness is offset by smile lines. Her forest green blazer-Muggle styled but not Muggle-covers the black satin of her blouse. Rather than the suit's skirt, layers upon layers of rippling black silk hang from her hips.

Her husband strokes a hand through waves of coffee-brown hair, ignoring the way that she stiffens beside him like a cat getting ready to pounce. He plucks out a bit of wood and tosses it back into the flames. She rolls her eyes, softens, and kisses his cheek.

"Thank you, dear."

He hums. "It was my privilege."

"Flatterer. It's nice to meet you, Harry. Nympha-"

"MUM!" Tonks splutters.

Harry chuckles. It's like watching Ginny flip her lid when Molly babies her.

"My daughter has told us so much."

"All good, I hope."

"Terrible, actually."

The man thrusts his big hand out for Harry to shake. "Ted Tonks."

"Uh, Harry Potter."

Ted looks around the common room before he walks over to the bookshelves and starts walking his fingers down the spines.

"Only one I've never been in," he explains. "I'm a Hufflepuff and Andromeda was a Slytherin...and I lost a bet with a Ravenclaw, once. Don't ask."

Hermione's furrowed brow and the tilt of her head-what she does when she's really curious-suggests that she will be asking, thank you very much.

Whatever stupid thing Ron was about to say about Slytherin ends in a pained whine and a 'that's my foot, crazy witch!' before he can get it out. Hermione's eyes go from person to person.

"Morgana's breath," Hermione murmurs. "The eyes. The skin. The hair. You're a Black."

Andromeda sniffs and her husband summons a hanky from his pocket. "Thanks, love. Don't worry, Hermione. You're fine. Just haven't had to think about them in a while."

"Sorry," Hermione mumbles. "It's a legendary family. All over the magical history books. You remember Draco's mum, right Harry?"

"Sure."

"She's the youngest, Mrs. Tonks is the middle sister, and Bellatrix is the oldest."

Bellatrix was the big sister playing pranks on her. Bellatrix was her Fred and George, and she's still alive. I am never pissing her off.

"Oh," he mumbles. "Right. You do look alike. Wait."

Andromeda cocks a single glossy eyebrow.

"I think Bellatrix would look like you if she was happy."

"Ooh, he's a charmer! Did you hear that, Nym-"

"Mum! I swear on my Magic, I will apparate out of here, grow a beard and become a fisherman in Alaska if you don't stop calling me that."

Andromeda waves her complaint away. "That's a terrible bluff. You never liked cross-gender morphing, darling."

"Some things are worth the trouble," Tonks grumbles.

Andromeda curtsies and holds out her hand. "Been a while since I've seen her do that," Ted mutters.

"Heir Potter."

Hermione jerks her head towards Tonk's mum and makes a kissy face to prompt him. Harry shrugs, leans forward, and kisses the back of Andromeda's hand.

"Heiress Black?"

She chortles.

"Poor dear. It would be Countess Black, but I'm not a Black any longer. Disowned for marrying this Muggle-born scoundrel. Which I'm regretting, since he's fiddling with the wireless!"

"Sorry," Ted half-whispers, half-squeaks. "Hoped they had that samba station up here."

"Was that a test?" Harry asks.

"Yes. Given what I know of Dumbledore, I wasn't sure how well he'd tutored you on etiquette. Not at all, apparently. You have a long way to go, but never fear. I'll help you every step of the way."

"Er, right."

"Can I see her?" Andromeda asks.

"Sure, she's your niece."

"Circe's tits. My niece. That's a weird thought."

Tonks hands her mother the baby. Usually, she'd fuss when she was passed around, but Tonks and Andromeda must pass the test because she goes quiet.

"Gods below and above, she really is hers. Bella's eyes. Ted, remember how I told you about Cissy when she was this age?"

"Yes, dear?"

"Same pout. Same exact pout."

He whistles.

"You're in trouble, mister. I remember meeting the sisters, and Cissy had both of them wrapped around her finger."

Andromeda scoffs. "She did not. That's just your Hufflepuff gullibility talking, dear."

"Tell yourself whatever you want."

Tonks slaps Harry's knee.

"You dog. You could've asked me before..." She glances at the baby and decides not to say 'shagging', so she lifts her chin and sniffs. "I would've expected you to ask my blessing before you courted Bellatrix."

Harry swallows a rock that somehow ended up in his throat.

"I think it was the ritual," he tells them. "When Voldemort came back, the potion used his dad's bones, Peter Pettigrew's hand, and my blood."

"Of course!" Hermione exclaims. "His original body was destroyed! Whatever he's using for a body isn't a body. It's some sort of construct! Why didn't I think of that? I need to get to the library! Maybe there's some sort of blocking incan-"

"Silencio. Petrificus totalus."

Hermione tips backward onto the couch, stiff and glaring. Andromeda tucks her wand back into her sleeve. She nods to Ted, who sets something on his watch.

"I'll let you out in a minute, dear. After you cool off. You're just like Bella was at your age." She snaps her fingers. "Lightning-quick mind, couldn't let a thing go. Never stopped talking. I think she's right, Harry, and the family trees and detection rituals, whether wizard or goblin, all focus on blood. Arithmancy of some sort, I'm told. Compares the sample with the archived vials. I've even read of people tricking them by stitching a pouch full of someone else's blood into their finger."

"That's why the goblins thought she was yours. If the potion used your blood, it makes sense they'd see you as the father."

"But it wasn't. It was...just Voldemort, using parts of my body...to...ugh."

Tonks makes a gagging sound, and her hair turns acid green.

"Don't make me think about Aunt Bella and him."

"I hadn't thought of a name," Harry admits. "You're her family too. If...if things were still all right, with Bellatrix and Narcissa, and the Blacks, what would they have named her?"

"A constellation. Most of the family is. Both boys and girls. Cygnus, Orion, Andromeda, Pollux, Cassiopeia, and so on. Narcissa's the only living family member I can think of who's named after a flower, and my dad just decided that Bellatrix was the firstborn son he wanted, so he named her 'warrior'."

With a soft 'ding', Ted's watch ends Hermione's sentence and Andromeda lifts the spell. Hermione works her jaw back and forth, eyes narrow, hair curling at the tips and dripping sparks.

"It's also a star in the Orion constellation," she grinds out before grabbing her Arithmancy essay and plunking it in her lap.

Andromeda tilts her head in thought, then favors Hermione with a smile. "Interesting tidbit. Dad probably lost a bet with my uncle, then."

Harry glances at the baby, then the pop-up book open next to Hermione. D for Dolphin.

"Hermione, is there a constellation about dolphins?" he whispers.

"Delphinus," she answers without stopping her quill's mad dash across her Arithmancy homework.

Andromeda grins.

"Delphini, I think. You look like a slippery little thing. Don't you? Yes, you do!"

Draco Malfoy's mum's sister—Bellatrix's sister—is making silly faces at a baby. Now he's seen everything.

"Ted, can you use your pocket knife and do the honors?"

She holds her left hand out, and he pricks her finger. A single drop falls and then bursts into flame. Every hair on Harry's body stands on end and something heavy presses down on him, like bags of invisible sand. He smells saltwater. He tastes blood. Purple fire flashes in Andromeda's eyes.

"Delphini Lilium Black, I name thee. By blood we share, I bless thee. By magic we share, I bind thee. You are of blood of my blood, bone of my bone, breath of my breath. You are a witch of my line, and I claim you as kin. So mote it be."

"So mote it be," Ted murmurs, squeezing his wife's shoulder.

He nods to Harry.

"So mote it be?" He squeaks.

Harry can't help but feel that Hagrid's going to knock the door down any moment, holding a birthday cake and telling him he's gone mad, or that he's a Blast-Ended Skrewt in disguise.

"Right!" Tonks exclaims, rubbing her hands on her trousers. "I'll go report the technically illegal blood magic to Dumbledore, being an Auror and all. Back in a twinkle."

"Lilium?" Harry asks.

"Latin. Scientific name for a genus of flowers," Hermione immediately fills in. "Lily flowers."

Andromeda hands the baby to her husband and hugs Harry close.

"She needs something of yours, too. Welcome to the family, Harry."