The Boy Who Lived

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. All recognisable characters, content, or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

Chapter Five:

It's a long, mentally draining discussion, but by the end of it, Harry's most important conditions have been accepted by his parents, the wording refined, and the list added to by both James and Lily, who have requirements of their own.

"You are aware that House Greengrass has the right to refuse?" James asks. "They may not agree with some of these requirements."

"I don't see why they would say no," Lily opines. She doesn't approve of betrothal contracts, but she hasn't protested Harry's decision. He imagines his parents have already argued about it, at length, but he doesn't ask, and he never will. "It's better than anything they'll receive elsewhere."

"It's not like we asked for a contract," Harry contributes, "If they refuse, then that's their choice. No skin off our nose, is it?"

James nods his acknowledgement or agreement - Harry's not sure which - and informs them, "I'll arrange a meeting with Lord Greengrass for as soon as possible. I would like you both to attend."

"Wednesday or Friday evening, then," Harry replies. His lessons with Sifu Qiang are rather important, and constantly rescheduling when his teacher has other students to teach would be rude and inconsiderate. "Neville's got his birthday luncheon on Saturday, as well, remember."

"I'll keep that in mind," James says, and sets down his fountain pen. He pulls off his glasses to rub at his eyes, and gives a long, drawn out sigh. "But I suppose we've done all we can do until we're able to meet with them."

"Which means it's time for me to head to work," Lily determines. She runs Iolanthe - the potions company Fleamont Potter built from the ground up - and has used her Mastery in Potions to expand it further. These days, not only does Iolanthe produce skincare, haircare, and cosmetic potions and lotions and such things, but medicinal, domestic, and agricultural products, as well. It's an extremely successful business throughout Britain and Europe, one Lily is immensely passionate about, and it demands a lot of her time. As such, Harry is not remotely surprised by his mother's statement.

Without ado, she rises from her seat, gathers up her robes, and presses a kiss to James' cheek before she leaves. She cards a hand through Harry's hair before she goes, and instructs, "Get some rest, Harry."

It's tempting. He's already missed most of his lesson on Estate Management with the portrait of his grandfather, Charles, and he's not required in his father's workshop until after lunch, but he hesitates. He still has holiday homework to complete, and he's barely begun the design portion of his Ancient Runes project, and of course, the portrait of Charles will expect him to catch up on the material he'd missed that morning.

"Go," James insists, a fond smile on his face, "Get a quick kip in, Harry. As much as I can appreciate your work ethic, a nap won't kill you. Besides, exhaustion breeds mistakes, and you don't want to make mistakes in an enchanter's workshop."

"I'm not enchanting anything though," Harry counters, mostly for argument's sake.

"No," James agrees, "But I have no interest in encouraging bad habits. Besides, the amount of effort you put into this list, you've earned a bit of a nap."

"Liam helped."

"And he's already had one, hasn't he?"

Harry's smile is mirthless. "One can only hope."

"Quite," James ruefully concedes.

As his father descends into a sad, thoughtful silence, Harry gathers up the notes he'd taken during the meeting - mostly regarding his parents contributions to the list of conditions - and readies himself to leave the study.

"I'll send someone up to wake you for lunch," James informs him.

Harry nods his acknowledgement. "All right, see you then."

After he deposits his notes on the desk in his own - significantly smaller, and far less used - study, Harry retreats into his bedroom, changes into something comfortable, and collapses into bed. A few moments later, he's out like a light, but he doesn't stay that way for long. His sleep is restless, fraught with inscrutable dreams and an inexplicable sense of panic, and Harry jolts awake with the unexplainable, unequivocal feeling that he's forgotten something extremely vital.

Harry rubs his eyes, tired and confused, but resigns himself to a day endured without sleep. It won't be the first time - it certainly won't be the last - and at least this way, he can catch up on his missed lesson with Charles without risk of falling behind on anything else.

With that in mind, Harry uses the loo, showers, and dresses comfortably, gathers up a self-inking quill and his Estate Management notebook, and wanders off in search of the portrait of his grandfather. He's pointed towards the library by a few paintings of his other - more helpful - ancestors, but before Harry can find Charles within one of the empty frames in the room in question, he finds Hermione instead.

"What are you doing?" Harry asks, though the answer seems obvious.

His family's house guest startles guiltily, and whirls on her feet, wand raised and pointed towards him. He looks back, unimpressed and irritated, because she's the one trying to break through the privacy ward he'd painstakingly crafted under Remus' watchful eye, and if anyone should be on the offence, it should certainly not be her.

As is, the only reason why Harry hasn't outwardly lost his temper is because he's spent most of his life learning to contain his emotions, to hide them from the world behind a facade of cool indifference. With the knowledge that his family's political rivals - not to mention the Press - would use any indication of weakness against him, he only ever allows himself to be vulnerable around friends and family, and as things stand, and despite her relationship with Liam, Hermione Granger is neither.

"I thought you were sleeping?"

"I woke up," Harry replies, "So, is there a reason why you're trying to break through my privacy ward?"

"I-I-"

"Because privacy wards exist for a reason, and I didn't build it for laughs."

"I was curious," she explains.

"That is abundantly obvious, but that still does not explain why you were trying to access my research. Did no one ever teach you to mind your own business, or to mind your manners in other peoples' houses?"

Hermione flinches, and avoids his gaze.

"You are a guest in my family's home, Granger. Next time you feel the need to go poking around private spaces, perhaps you should remember that. To invade - or to have the intent to invade - someone else's privacy is the height of ill manners, and family alliances have fallen apart for less."

Harry doesn't wait around to hear what else she has to say. He strides away, still irritated, still outraged by Granger's audacity, and the affront broils beneath his skin. His magic stirs restlessly with his temper, and so distracted by the girl's actions, Harry doesn't notice that he's found Charles until his grandfather addresses him.

"You look rather disgruntled, Henry," Charles observes, "Is there something the matter?"

"I just found Granger trying to break through my privacy ward," Harry explains.

"Quite rude of her," Charles remarks. "What do you intend to do about it?"

"Nothing for now, except maybe ask Liam to keep a better eye on his friend," Harry replies, sweeps his hand through his hair, and paces a circle in front of his grandfather's portrait, "If I catch her again, though, I'll inform my mother. She's responsible for any female wards our family takes in, and it'll be up to her to decide what to do about Granger."

Charles hums his acknowledgement. "If that is what you think is best."

"You don't agree?"

"She is a muggle-born, is she not?" Charles asks. Harry nods his confirmation, and the portrait of his grandfather continues, "Likely, she doesn't understand the insult she has just committed. Perhaps some education in the matter is required?"

"Hogwarts has a mandatory Wizarding Culture class for all incoming muggle-borns."

"And I highly doubt an entire culture can be taught through lectures and a textbook," Charles counters, dismissive, "Some things will have surely been overlooked."

"That may be so, but privacy wards are self-explanatory, aren't they?"

"Even the cleverest of people may sometimes overlook the obvious," Charles reasons, "I do recall that your mother had much to learn, as well. She was a very diligent student."

Harry sighs, inexplicably weary. "Then I'll be sure to let Mum know when she gets home. Let her sort things out." Charles nods his acknowledgement, and Harry informs him, "Before I found Granger, I was actually looking for you. Are you free to catch me up on today's lesson?"

"I am," Charles confirms, "But in exchange, perhaps you can tell me how your meeting with James and Lily went?"

"I can do that," Harry acquiesces. He's not thrilled to - he'd rather forget about it altogether, actually - but in his lifetime, Charles had been betrothed to Dorea, and despite the arranged nature of their union, they'd been quite happy together. As such, he'd probably be able to offer Harry an insight he won't receive from anyone else aware of the situation. "Maybe you can point out some things I've overlooked. Can you meet me in my study?"

Suddenly, he's rather uncomfortable with the thought of such matters discussed in such a public space, family library or no.

The portrait of Charles rises from the wing-backed chair he'd been lounged in, and wanders out of the portrait. Harry, similarly, wanders out of the library, returns to his bedroom suite, and finds Charles already inside his study, settled comfortably in the empty frame over Harry's fireplace.

"Shall we begin?"

Harry drops into the seat behind his desk, opens his journal to a blank page, and replies, "Let's."

-!- -#-

When Harry shuffles into the kitchen, James glances up from his meal, expression deadpan. "I see your nap went well."

Harry is unapologetic. "I tried."

James hums his acknowledgement, and he replies blandly, "I'm sure."

"I probably wouldn't be able to sleep if I was him, either," Liam opines. "A lot to think about, I imagine."

"You're not sleeping anyway," Harry reminds him. He doesn't disagree, though.

As he crosses the room, careful to stay out of the way of the elves cheerfully hard at work, Hermione watches their exchange in silence, curious and confused. Liam hasn't told her what's going on - it's family business, and he knows better - but their house guest doesn't ask, and Harry makes no move to enlighten her. In some ways, the Ravenclaw does so out of spite, but also, it's none of her concern, and neither does he have any interest in hearing her opinion regarding the matter.

"Not relevant," Liam counters.

"Equally concerning, however," James interjects. He helps himself to a second falafel wrap, and looks over his glasses at both of his sons.

As they endure their father's scrutiny,Liam smiles wanly, and he doesn't argue.

Harry doesn't either. He drops into his usual seat instead, and helps himself to the lunch provided by Dancer. It's toasted wraps this time, accompanied by a garden salad, sliced fruits, and fruit-infused water, and a famished Harry eats his meal with relish. All the while, Hermione avoids his gaze, instead quizzes Liam about his art, and Harry tunes out the conversation, instead makes his way through his lunch on autopilot, and once more dwells on the looming, unpleasant prospect of a betrothal contract between Houses Greengrass and Potter.

As can be expected, Harry isn't remotely thrilled about it, but despite his parents liberal ideologies, a betrothal contract has never been completely out of the realm of possibility for himself or for Liam. In that regard, Harry has more or less resigned himself to the situation, unpleasant as it is.

With that in mind, he tries not to resent the parties involved. It could be far worse, after all, and at the end of the day, holding on to his bitterness won't be good for anyone.

Wryly, Harry considers the fact that he should probably offer Hermione Granger the same consideration, but Harry's not that magnanimous. Moreover, it's not like he'll have to marry her.

"Sirius and Remus are coming over this evening," James informs him, "Are you feeling up to a training session with them?"

"Sure," Harry acquiesces. He still aches from his ill-advised climbing session the evening prior, and his fatigue will do him no favours, but he and Liam need the practice. His parents have continued the training sessions despite Granger's presence in their home, and also despite Sirius' and Remus' absence, but variety in trainers, in forms of magical combat and such things can only serve Harry and Liam well in the future.

With a war against Voldemort imminent, he hopes as much, anyway.

"I haven't seen them in a while. Is everything all right?"

"They've been busy," James explains, "Dumbledore's got us doing some work for the Order."

Harry tries not to panic at the thought, but he's mostly unsuccessful. The reality that his loved ones may be hurt - or worse - during whatever they're doing is terrifyingly real, a led weight against his chest Harry can't shake for the life of him, and not even Occluamency can hide his dread. "Are you safe? What kind of work?"

In the name of discretion, his father replies in Welsh. Harry's not sure why he bothers - Liam will just tell Hermione what he learns later - but he isn't interested enough in the answer to ask. "Remus has been visiting the packs unaffiliated with Fenrir Greyback. Sirius and I have been doing what we can to minimise Death Eater influence in the Wizengamot. We've not had as much success as we'd like, with Malfoy in Fudge's pockets, but we're as safe as we can be, I suppose."

Harry's not reassured. Fenrir Greyback's reputation precedes him, but even some of the packs unaffiliated with Greyback are known to be vicious. Moreover, Death Eaters are dangerous - even in the Wizengamot Chambers - and although the Marauders are each excellent in their own ways, they are not invulnerable.

"What's he got Mum doing?"

"Brewing, mostly. Some research. Nothing that you need to worry about."

Harry's smile is wry, but he can't deny that it's something of a relief to hear. "Thank Merlin for small favours, I suppose."

James hums his agreement, and they speak no more regarding the Order.

It's something of a contentious issue between the family - Liam wants to be involved, Harry's dubious of their methods, James and Lily are adamant that Harry and Liam can't join until they leave Hogwarts - and for the sake of peaceful coexistence, it's safer if it isn't addressed at all. There are other issues, too, surrounding Dumbledore, his actions and his allies, and both James and Lily are unapologetically vocal regarding their criticisms of the Hogwarts Headmaster. It makes Harry rather cynical in turn, and the only reason they are active, participating members of the Order of the Phoenix at all is because without creating one, there are no other alternatives for countering Voldemort, his Death Eaters, their ideologies, and their inevitable reign of terror.

Not until the Ministry of Magic gets its act together, in any case, and even then, that's debatable.

"What time will they get here?"

"I told them to get here around five," James answers. Harry nods his acknowledgement, returns his attention to his meal, and attempts to muster up a sense of enthusiasm for their arrival.

With the knowledge that he'll soon have his arse kicked six ways to Sunday, however, Harry fails spectacularly.

-!- -#-

AUthor's Note: The reason for the delay is because I'm stuck 2/3 of the way through Chapter 8. It's an expositional scene, and Harry doesn't want to expose (exposition?) but whatever, I'm in lockdown for the foreseeable future, so I can probably carve time out of my exceedingly busy schedule to work on it. Take care of yourselves, be kind to others. The world's gone kind of crazy, and My mum's stockpiled a four month supply of toilet paper (I'm embarrassed on her behalf) but we (the world) will get through this. Until next time, -t.