Seeker Harry found himself in the library alone. And that bothered him not at all.
Dumbledore set a trap for Voldemort, he thought, considering everything Spellforged had told them the previous week. Dumbledore set a trap that could be defeated by a lone first year.
None of them were sure what that meant, exactly. Had Dumbledore - any of them - planned to set the students against the obstacle course, to see how they did? Warning them about a painful death seemed to be a calculated move, in hindsight - for how else to draw students in than with the promise of danger?
Or was the test more specific? Spellforged seemed to think that the test had been built with them in mind. Dumbledore had seemed to expect that Harry would have brought a team of students to defeat the various obstacles, and had been surprised when he went it alone. But considering each room, Spellforged felt as if the course had been designed with a Gryffindor Harry in mind, rather than the Ravenclaw that showed up in September.
Seeker could see the thinking behind it, when he looked at it that way. The Devil's Snare screams Neville Longbottom, their year's herbology master. Flying keys and broomsticks? Simple work for Seeker or Chaser alike. The Logic Puzzle would be a simple one for Ron - it was even laid out on a chessboard. Pass that, and the troll would remain frozen, but they had already taken a troll down once this year anyway. Hermione could decipher any potions riddle. And Harry had already seen the Mirror. Between his experience with it and Spellforged's success at learning its secret, he anticipated no problems.
So. Why test them in such a way? And why use such a priceless treasure as the Philosopher's Stone to bait the trap? The risk of the stone falling into Voldemort's hands, however slight, was still there - and such a result would be utter disaster.
It was that risk that had Harry in the library. He wanted to know more about the stone, if possible. He couldn't wrap his brain around why. Why them? Why now? Why this trap, this year? Did Dumbledore know that Voldemort was already in the bloody castle?
A book landed on the table next to him, jolting Harry out of his thoughts. "I'm sorry, what?" He looked up and found a tall, blonde Slytherin girl staring back at him. Remembering himself, he stood.
She seemed to be fighting her own impulse to chuckle. Even with her tightly controlled expression of solemnity, he could see a bit of a twinkle in her blue eyes.
"I said, Heir Potter," she began, "May I sit down?"
Harry blinked at her, then slid his books to the end of the table. "Please do." He watched her set her bag down in a nearby chair. "I'm sorry, I don't believe we've met."
"No, no we have not." She held out her hand. "Daphne Greengrass."
He nodded, placing a kiss on her knuckles as he had been taught. Thanks, Rose. They took their seats, across the table from one another. "Heiress Greengrass, a pleasure. What can I do for you today?"
Daphne reached into her bag and retrieved a folded parchment. This, she slid across the table. Harry saw a green wax seal on the closure.
"My father thanks you for your letter, and asked me to deliver his response in person." She said, her formal tone giving the impression of a rehearsed speech.
Harry took the letter, setting it aside. "Thank you, Miss Greengrass. Your father did me a great service last month, and I - and my godfather - are in his debt."
Daphne nodded. "While my father had little to do with Lord Black during school, he does trust Madam Bones and Lord Hillyer. When your proxy's passion for the issue became clear, he could do little else than support the Potters." She tilted her head, considering the Gryffindor before her. "Though I have wondered how they were able to orchestrate Lord Black's release. It isn't easy to catch the Minister so unaware."
Harry chuckled at that. "You would be surprised how tenacious a Senior Accounts Manager at Gringott's can be, when they catch wind of something big. Something like, say, one of their major clients being held for a decade without trial." He shrugged. "I expected something to happen, but that wasn't it - however pleased I am with the result."
"What do you mean, you expected something?"
Harry smiled. "I was researching my godparents, and learned that Sirius had declared me his heir when I was born. So if he is the last Black, and young Mister Malfoy is not known to be the heir, could it be me? So I asked Steelclaw, the Black account manager, if I was listed as the Heir Black." He leaned back in his chair, grinning. "And then the Wizengamot exploded."
Daphne could not keep the shock off of her face. He brings the Wizengamot to a halt and frees one of the most hated men in Wizarding Britain, all with one letter? She couldn't help but be impressed by such a feat.
"I'm told," Harry continued. "That my family had allies, in and out of the Wizengamot. Madam Bones was certainly a help, as nothing would have happened if she had not kept an open mind. And there's Madam Longbottom, who took me to the trial. She and Neville have been coaching me a bit on how to handle all of this." he gestured at her. "And there's your father."
She nodded in acknowledgement. "The Potters have long been allied with the Houses of Bones and Longbottom. We, on the other hand, try very hard to remain neutral."
Harry nodded. "I can see the value of that. Especially when tossers in masks would show up at your home if you voted the wrong way. That's why we had a proxy all these years."
"We kept most of our wealth on the continent during the last war," Daphne said. "So here, it seemed as if we had had a few bad years. Not enough galleons to bother extorting." She shrugged. "We kept ourselves out of the public eye, as much as we could. My mother had friends in the light, including your mother, actually. And father was associated with several of his darker classmates from Slytherin. Both sides ignored us."
A smile played across Harry's features, puzzling Daphne. Spellforged mentioned something like this. I wonder… "Tell me, Miss Greengrass. How much do you know about the muggle Cold War?"
"A Cold War? Nothing." She replied. OK, we start at the beginning, then. Harry took out a blank sheet of parchment, writing two names on its surface.
Spellforged had told the tale to the five months ago, when talk of Quidditch strategy had turned to a discussion of how a goblin might do as chaser. That led to Spellforged talking about how Goblin children are trained, and how they fight - which, when he compared that training to muggle tactics, led to the Hiroshima talk, as Marigold phrased it later. Spellforged admitted, the next week, that he regretted the deep dive into history - but the others did not, eventually. At the time, Merlin.
Goblins almost always found themselves dwarfed by their opponents. They lacked a height advantage. They lacked a range advantage, even with blades. Goblin magic was not well suited for ranged combat. So Goblin tactics focused on speed - deadly, brutal, swift strikes that ended the fight quickly. Every dodge brought them closer to the target, not further. Every strike prepared the next. Wizarding Duelists had spell chains, where one wand motion flowed into another. Goblins had the same with their blades.
It was this context that led Ragnok, one day, to teach Spellforged about the muggle world war. And about Hiroshima. And, later, the Cold War. Spellforged had found it a fascinating discussion of very Goblin-like tactics. The other four, meanwhile, had found the concept horrifying.
"Shortly after the end of Grindelwald's war," Harry began, "The muggle side of it was ending as well. And to end the war, the muggles built what they called the nuclear bomb." He sighed heavily. "Take the biggest blasting curse you can think of. How big would the blast be?"
Daphne shrugged. "Fifteen, maybe twenty feet?"
Harry nodded. "Alright. The Americans decided to show their enemies, the Japanese, that they could attack their home islands without being attacked in turn. Essentially, that they could kill everyone on the islands, at will. They dropped a nuclear bomb on the city of Hiroshima."
Harry then crossed off the name of the city. "Everything within one mile of the blast was destroyed. Buildings turned to ash, forests were incinerated. And over one hundred and twenty thousand people died or were injured." He snapped his fingers. "Just like that." He ignored Daphne's look of horror and crossed Nagasaki off as well. "Three days later, they dropped another bomb on the city of Nagasaki. Another eighty thousand people died, either from the blast or from their injuries. One week later, Japan surrendered."
"Merlin." whispered Daphne. That muggles could do this? Nothing short of madness.
"As with all muggles, of course, they continued to build bigger bombs. And no one wanted the Americans to have all the fun." He turned over the parchment, then drew two big circles. One was marked USA and the other was marked Russia. "The Americans didn't like the Russians, and the Russians didn't like the Americans. So both countries started building bigger and bigger bombs." He drew a line between them. "But they never fought directly. They could have, and they almost did a few times, but they mostly just fought with words. Thus, a cold war."
"Eventually, it got to the point where each country could see when the bombs were launched, and could bomb the other country before the cursed things landed. So if one country attacked,"
Daphne kept her eyes on the paper. "Both would die."
"Correct. This is scary as hell!" Harry pointed at the paper. "Who in their right bloody mind would think this is a good idea?" He looked at her again, and she once more met his eyes. "It would almost be like setting three fourths of a school against the remaining fourth."
Daphne said nothing, but now began to understand where he was going with this.
"There were a few Russians and a few Americans who understood what was happening. Quietly, so very quietly, they reached out to each other. They talked, when they could. They kept lines of communication open." His eyes held hers, as he spoke. "They hoped, against hope, to stave off disaster."
A quiet voice. "Did they?"
Harry rolled the parchment up, placing it back in his bag. "We're still here, aren't we? But yes, generally it worked. And I hope something similar might work here, as well."
Daphne eyed him with curiosity. "What do you have in mind, Mister Potter? I don't know that my father will agree to anything official."
Harry shook his head. "No, I think he might. Eventually. But I'm eleven - I don't need to be orchestrating alliances and dashing through the halls of the Wizengamot brokering deals." They chuckled at the mental image. "But I'm referring to you, Miss Greengrass."
Me? "Go on," Daphne said, cautiously.
"Well, look at Hogwarts. Gryffindors are almost required to hate Slytherins, and placing our houses in the same classes just makes it worse. Snape's class alone does more to tear down the peace between the houses than any other."
"Professor Snape," she said, automatically. He was her head of house, after all.
"As you say," he replied. "Do you know, Hagrid took me to get my supplies at Diagon Alley?" her look of surprised drew another chuckle. "Want to know how many times he talked down about Slytherin? Want to guess how many times he talked about how wonderful Gryffindor was?"
"Quite a bit, I imagine." She replied.
"Yup." He sighed. "And when I learned that Draco Malfoy was going to be in Slytherin, all I could think of was that I couldn't stand the little git." He grinned when that comment got a snort of laughter from Daphne - and a dirty look from Madam Pince.
"So, the hat?" she asked.
"Yes. It almost put me in Slytherin." He got a bit of a faraway look that she could not interpret. "And I know for a fact that I could have done well in the house of snakes." He leaned forward. "The houses are useful. But they divide us. And I think it's garbage."
Daphne nodded, almost without thinking - a rare slip. She looked at him. "So, you have a plan."
He nodded. "I would like to be friends with you, Miss Greengrass." He raised a hand. "Not publicly, because I know that creates a risk for you. Perhaps someday. But for now, all I would ask is that we speak on occasion. That we build a bridge across the house divide."
She got it now. "That we keep an open line of communication."
"In hopes of staving off disaster." he agreed. "You get a source of information in Gryffindor. And I, hopefully, get a friend who doesn't wear red and gold." Her grin at that last matched his own.
Daphne looked at the Gryffindor, considering her options. She knew her parents would want her to say yes, of course. And introducing the boy-who-lived to her sister had its own appeal, at least to her. But the reality was that she enjoyed their conversation. She liked that he knew something about strategy and politics, even if it was muggle. And his maneuvering around the Wizengamot last month had been nothing less than brilliant, from her father's telling.
Harry Potter was someone she wanted to get to know.
"Do you realize, I wonder, that I would be getting the better end of this deal?" She asked, almost without thinking. To her surprise, he nodded.
"Yeah, I kinda do." He grinned again, holding out his hand. "I consider it a long-term investment."
Finally, after all that, she actually laughed. Then she shook his hand.
"Thank you, Miss Greengrass." He said, as they both stood and gathered their books.
"Please," she said in a whisper, having caught the look Madam Pince was giving them. "Call me Daphne."
He nodded, matching his whisper to her own. "Only if you call me Harry."
oOoOoOoOo
"I told you!" Rose crowed, triumphantly. She had not coached Seeker on how to win Daphne's confidence, but had told him to be honest with her - a tactic that clearly worked.
"Yes, yes you did." Agreed Seeker. "When I figure out how to do it, I'll send you your ten galleons." He could hear her chuckle over the link.
More and more, they got snippets of emotion alongside their thoughts. Was the link growing stronger, they wondered? Spellforged offered that as a project for the summer, to which they all agreed. But that raised another topic.
"We need to start thinking about summer." said Marigold.
"If we don't want you three to go back to the Dursleys, we'll need to have an alternative in place." replied Spellforged. "Sirius is probably going to be recovering for a while, so he is out - at least for this summer."
"What I want to know is why you were placed there at all." said Chaser. "Madam Bones, Madam Longbottom, either one would have taken us in. Sirius hadn't even been arrested when you were delivered to Surrey. So why there?"
"I think the Greengrasses could have been convinced to take us, as well." Rose said. "Daphne's mother was a bridesmaid at our parents' wedding."
"I have another worry. If we get someone to agree to take us for the summer, would the Dursleys have to agree?" Marigold asked. She doubted they would agree to anything, whether due to spite or out of fear of the freaks. "Madam Bones agreed to look into my custody after Christmas, so maybe she can find something we can use."
Rose wondered about her own options. Lady Greengrass had almost stated outright that she planned to try to get custody of her for good. Her husband had assumed, when they med for the trial, that Rose would be visiting over the summer. But one does not just ask her friend's parents to take her in for an indefinite period. Hermione might take her in, but again - that wasn't something you asked.
Seeker's options were thinner still. His contacts were mostly students - outside of Gryffindor, he was friends with Susan Bones and, now, Daphne Greengrass. Neither were at the "can I live with you?" stage. Nor had Madam Longbottom hinted at anything along those lines, even though Neville's mother was his godmother.
So while the five discussed the topic for a while longer, all knew that they would need more information. And a little bit of luck.
oOoOoOoOo
Petunia Dursley heard the doorbell ring the following Monday morning. Straightening her dress, she wondered who it could be.
The door opened on three workmen, flanking a man in an expensive suit.
"Good morning, Missus…" The man in the suit looked down at a clipboard. "Dursley, ah, there we go. My name is Robert Fitzpatrick, and I'm a solicitor representing the Peregrine Trust. May we come in?"
The name of the firm sounded vaguely familiar, but Petunia couldn't place it. She did know, however, that she didn't want these people on her front step. "Of course," she said, stepping side.
"Brilliant, thank you." The four men entered the home, walking quietly into the living room.
Once they were seated, and Petunia had served tea, Fitzpatrick handed her a card. She looked at it closely, but it seemed to be a perfectly ordinary card.
The Peregrine Trust
Investments - Development
Robert Fitzpatrick, Executive Director
Edinburgh, Scotland, UK
"As I'm sure you know," he began, "Your home was built as a wedding present by a, um," Fitzpatrick consulted his paperwork again. "Ah, yes, a James and Lily Potter."
Petunia nodded. "Yes. Though they still charged us rent." She didn't want to discuss her sister, even as they sat in a house she had purchased as an olive branch, so long ago. However misguided that attempt at peace had ultimately been.
"True. After their unfortunate passing, ownership devolved to the Peregrine Trust, as per the instructions in the will of Lily Potter. After twenty years of tenancy, and with continued lease payments, the home will be transferred to your name, free of any liens or mortgages." he looked up from his notes. "And since that time, your cost has remained fixed at the original 1979 lease rates." He nodded. "Quite a savings, I would think."
Petunia nodded, sipping her tea.
"Unfortunately, that lease is part of why I'm here today. See, we remain the owners of record. Our firm manages dozens of homes in Surrey alone. Though, I have to say," he waved his hand, indicating the room. "This is certainly one of the nicer ones."
"Thank you," Petunia said. She still didn't like where this was going.
"But even so, we are required by law to certify that each house we own is safe and up to code." Fitzpatrick looked at her apologetically. "These gentlemen are here to evaluate the home. It should take no more than five minutes, and they just have to check a few things. Since you are home, we'd like your permission to do so."
Fitzpatrick did not miss the sudden tension in the woman, nor did he miss her blink-and-you-miss-it glance at the cupboard.
"If it's that brief, you have my permission." She said, haughtily.
"Excellent!" Fitzpatrick said, standing up. "This gentleman here is Mister Davison, he'll want to have a look at your backyard, if you can show him around. We can do the rest from in this room." As he spoke, one of the men took out a small handheld device, almost like a calculator.
Petunia rose as well, nodding. She suddenly wanted them the hell out of her house, and if walking out back will make that quicker, she was all for it. "Very well. Come along, then." The two walked to the back of the house. Once the rear door slid shut, Fitzpatrick looked over at the other workers and nodded. Both pulled out wands and began performing diagnostic charms.
Fitzpatrick, meanwhile, looked intently at the cupboard. He did not open the door. He didn't need to.
Three minutes later, both men nodded to him - just in time, as the back door was opening again. "You do keep a lovely home, ma'am." Davison was saying, in his most soothing tone.
"Thank you," she replied, frostily.
"Well, madam, we don't want to take any more of your time. I expect it'll be awhile before we need to return - though we do have to visit the property at least once every few years, you understand."
She nodded. "I understand, Mister Fitzpatrick. Thank you for your time." She opened the front door and waited.
"Indeed," he replied. "Call me if you or your husband have any questions, ma'am. Good day." They walked out, and the door slammed behind them.
The four walked to their work van, finding a fifth wizard in the driver's seat. "You were right, Bob, there were blood wards." He handed over a parchment, the results of the diagnostics his fellows had performed inside.
Fitzpatrick reviewed the list of wards. "Am I reading this correctly?"
He got a nod in return. The workman, Mister Christopher, pointed at the line showing the targeted wards. "Whoever set this up tried to get clever. This confirms what you told us at the office."
Fitzpatrick sighed. He hated being right. "OK, lads, let's head back and write this up. The client will want to see this." The van started up, and took the group away from Privet Drive.
Hopefully, for good, thought Fitzpatrick. He pulled out a parchment and a dictaquill. He had a letter to write.
A/N: The idea of keeping the back channels open is a real one, but might best be articulated by the late Tom Clancy in The Sum of All Fears. I got a bit further into the weeds than planned when Hiroshima came up, but realized that no, Daphne would have no idea how "disaster" a disaster might get between two nuclear powers. And geopolitics is politics, even if muggle. It's a bit heavy for openers, but I presume Rose tipped him off that the politics angle might hold her interest. And it worked, so yay?
Mind, this is a Canon Harry who has Spellforged as a tutor, who has Rose and Chaser Potter as coaches in Wizarding culture, supported by his own Neville and that of Marigold, who has almost learned more from him than Rose learned from Daphne. In short, he has more knowledge at hand, and more confidence. He hears that precise voice of command from Spellforged - that "Leader of men" voice - and realizes that that could be him. The success of the trial brought him to the realization that he might actually be able to pull off this "Lord Potter" nonsense. So if he seems a bit more mature than canon, he's had some good influences. But he's still, mostly, our boy - as we'll see.
One review asked about the lack of Hufflepuff members of the five. I agree! It would have been nice to fit one in. But I came at it from the angle of the characters - for each of them, with their histories, which house made sense?
-Canon Harry goes to the Lions, of course. He's the baseline, at least initially.
-Heir Potter, raised by his Gryffindor father and uncles? No chance he lands anywhere else.
-Marigold Potter? Wracked by guilt over a brother she never knew? Gryffindor would honor him, whereas Hufflepuff would feel (to her) like turning her back on her parents and brother. (Remember, she grew up thinking the Harry she heard in her head was her dead brother. Honoring him would not be alien to her.)
-Rose Potter? There's backstory here we haven't gotten into, yet, but a girl with trust issues and a knife in her boot? Canon Harry was close to Slytherin, and her issues tip the balance toward the house of the snakes.
-Spellforged? I will admit, Harry Crow put the idea of a Ravenclaw Harry in my head. But when it came down to it, this Harry is much more of a scholar than any of the others. This version of Ragnok would make sure of it. He still has a lot of Gryffindor in him, as we've seen, but I think it's a good fit. (Also, Flitwick)
So that's a bit of a look at how the sausage was made. Other sortings have a lot of thought behind them as well (Looking at you, Lord Hillyer from Horned Serpent), but we'll get into all that as we go.
Feedback, as always, is welcome.
