Both of his fathers – and his sister – told him that life was often divided up into befores and afters, when life was changed forever in minor and major ways. Before walking, and after it. Before talking, and after it. Reading. Writing. School. Dating. Sex. Kids.
Murder.
Up until then, Harry had really only had one major before and after – before their family, and after. Even his magic hadn't seemed like so big of a deal in comparison.
At least, until The Letter came.
After that day it was always The Letter, not just a letter but The Letter, and not just for him but for all of them.
It came on a Saturday morning as they were all making breakfast. Will was near zombie-status, as usual, waiting for the coffee to brew. In direct contrast, Hannibal was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, in the process of toasting homemade crumpets for Eggs Benedict, while Abigail and Harry mixed up the sauce. They were giggling over the squelching noise it was making when they were interrupted by a muffled hoot.
There was an owl at the window, an envelope clasped in its beak.
They all stared at it, even Hannibal. The owl stared back.
Harry was the first one to approach it and see that the envelope was addressed to him, right down to "The Blue and White Bedroom." He opened the window, and the owl stepped inside to stand on the inner sill. It fluffed its feathers, then offered him the envelope.
"Thank you," he said automatically as he took it, and the owl rustled its feathers again.
Since blinking at it didn't change the fact that it was addressed to him, and his family could see it too which meant he wasn't hallucinating, he turned the envelope over. The flap had been stamped with an unfamiliar coat of arms, which he frowned at, before opening it.
Dear Mr Potter, the letter – The Letter – read, We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary equipment.
Term begins September 1, It continued, We await your owl by no later than July 31.
Yours sincerely, Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress.
Harry stared at The Letter, then read it aloud for the benefit of the others.
Abigail was the first to abandon what she was doing to read The Letter with her own eyes, followed by Will and then Hannibal, who actually stopped cooking (although he did turn off the heat). By the time he had finished, he looked just as bewildered as the rest of them for once.
"Um, we're going to need time to talk about this," Harry said to the owl, "Do you mind coming back later? Maybe after supper?"
The owl hooted what seemed to be an affirmative, and Harry gave it a long strip of bacon – pig bacon, not people bacon. It swallowed the meat, hooted its thanks, and then hopped back outside before taking flight. He shut the window behind it and turned back to his family.
"Making decisions on an empty stomach is never wise," Hannibal said, and resumed cooking.
The meal was delicious, as always, but they all ate in silence, all of them occasionally glancing at The Letter on the counter as if they expected it to burst into flames.
It did not.
Once breakfast was finished and the dishes cleared away, Harry retrieved The Letter, and they all retired to the drawing room to talk.
Will spoke first, much to everyone's surprise, even his own. "You want to go."
"Yes," Harry replied, equally straightforward, "I have questions, many questions. About my magic, about my parents and what happened to them. About why this is the first time I'm learning about a school for magic."
"The fact that there is a school implies that there are magic-users enough to warrant one," Hannibal said, setting his cup down on its saucer, "At least one. That also implies a government of some sort, if only to manage the school and police the magic-users."
Harry nodded. "And… about the rest of my family. My parents had to have come from somewhere. Why do I only know my aunt and uncle? If there are more, why haven't I heard from them? This," he held up The Letter, "might be my chance to get some answers."
The rest of the day was spent talking logistics and summer tutoring for continuing his non-magical education.
Of course, then Will started muttering about him and Hannibal "being empty-nesters before their time," since Abigail was going to start going away to college and Harry was going to be at a boarding school for most of the year. (Professor McGonagall had thoughtfully included a brief overview of the school and the curriculum, as well as directions to Diagon Alley, where he could purchase his supplies.) Both wendigo and wizard hastened to assure him that they would both come back for summer and winter breaks and offered their most solemn promises that they would keep in contact with them and each other, and write about everything that happened while they were away.
The owl returned after supper, and Harry sent it with his acceptance and a thick slice of ham as thanks for the bird's patience.
They planned their trip to Diagon Alley for Tuesday, hoping that the magical world would resemble the non-magical one in that it would be less busy and give them time to look around without there being a crush of people on every side. Abigail came, too, practically bouncing with excitement as they approached the Leaky Cauldron and all of them ignoring Hannibal's quite moue of distaste at the sight of the dingy pub.
"Hogwarts?" the barman called when they entered.
"Yes, sir," Will replied, "Would you mind opening the Alley for us? We can't…" He gestured to his ordinary clothes, contrasting obviously with everyone else's robes.
"Of course, of course! Right this way." The barman led the way out back and tapped the wall with his wand. As the wall folded away, he said, "You'll be wanting Gringotts first, the white building there. That's the bank, and then Ollivander's down that way for your wand."
They all thanked him and set off.
Gringotts was more Hannibal's style than the pub or even the rest of the Alley, all white marble, dark wood, and low lighting. Goblins sat in teller booths along one wall, writing in ledgers and weighing gold bars and examining precious jewels. They approached one booth and waited.
The goblin finished writing and then peered down at them through his spectacles. "Name?"
"Harry Potter, sir," said the boy.
The goblin quirked an eyebrow and said in a much more respectful tone, "Do you have your vault key, Mr Potter?"
"No, sir. I'm sorry, I was unaware I had a vault here."
That made the goblin blink sharply. "Do you have a photo ID, or some other means of proving your identity?"
He handed over his student ID from school and The Letter. The goblin looked them over, frowning, then handed them back and hopped down from his station. "Come with me, please."
They followed the goblin deeper into the bank, and waited outside an office while the goblin spoke to someone within. When the goblin returned, there was a second, older-looking one with him. "I am Barlus," he said, "Please come in and have a seat."
Initially, there were only two chairs in front of the desk, but two more appeared as they approached. "Now," said Barlus, "Nurrod tells me that not only do you not have your key, but you didn't know your family has a vault with Gringotts?"
"That's correct."
"Is that a problem?" Hannibal asked.
"Not for you, Mr…?"
"Doctor Hannibal Lecter. This is my husband, Will, and our daughter, Abigail. We're Harry's family."
"Of course. And it's not a problem for you, Doctor," said Barlus with a slight grin, "but it is for the person who was supposed to be looking after him.
"I assume that since you didn't know your family had a vault with us, you also didn't know that you have a magical guardian who is supposed to be looking after your interests?"
"Correct."
"Interesting." The goblin opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a piece of parchment and a small knife. "We'll need three drops of blood on this for an inheritance test and to confirm your identity."
"Does it matter where from?" When the goblin shook his head, Harry let Hannibal make a careful incision in the skin of his forearm, and then let three drops fall onto the parchment before willing the cut to close.
"Interesting choice," the goblin observed, "Most people go for somewhere on the hand."
"That hurts more, even if it is easier to heal," said Harry.
His blood dissolved into the parchment. Then writing appeared, fanning out across the page. The goblin took it and read it intently, frowning. "Albus Dumbledore, of course," he growled.
"Isn't he the headmaster of Hogwarts?" Will asked, "I remember his name from The Letter."
"He is indeed. And you've never met him before? Old man, tall, long white hair and a beard down to here on him, usually wears annoyingly brightly-colored robes?" When all of them shook their heads, he grinned again. "Interesting."
"How so?"
"As your magical guardian, Dumbledore is supposed to be looking after you, which includes at least twice-yearly inspections of your home if not living with him and regular correspondence at least once a month."
"Harry receiving his Hogwarts Letter was the very first contact any of us had received from anyone in the magical community," said Hannibal.
"Nothing at all? Not even from us?"
"Nothing.
That made Barlus frown sharply. "You are listed here as Mr Potter's non-magical guardians. You should have been receiving copies of monthly statements once you took over guardianship from – Vernon and Petunia Dursley?"
"My aunt and uncle," said Harry, "They're dead, along with my cousin, Dudley. Animal attack, when I was six."
"When you were six?!" the goblin repeated incredulously, looking increasingly incensed, "Gringotts should have been alerted within a month of it happening!"
After that, there was a flurry of more goblins and more paperwork. Hannibal stayed back to talk legalese and investments with the goblins while Will, Harry, and Abigail went down to the Potter trust vault to get money for his school supplies. When they returned, the goblins were ready to do a blood adoption for both Harry and Abigail, so that Will and Hannibal would legally be their parents, meaning Dumbledore and the government – the Ministry of Magic – couldn't take them away.
The goblins were all grinning, eager to cause problems for the wizards who caused problems for them. "Before we begin," said Barlus, "do any of you have any physical conditions that we need to know about that could affect the adoption?"
They all exchanged glances. Then Hannibal said, "Will, Abigail, and I are wendigo."
That made all the goblins stare, and Barlus's eyebrows climbed toward his hairline. "Would you be so kind as to show us?"
All three of them changed at once, becoming tall and thin, black-skinned and white-eyed, their sharp antlers curving up towards the ceiling.
"High Wendigo," the goblin grinned as they changed back, "There hasn't been one confirmed High Wendigo in all of Europe in more than five hundred years, much less three."
"What's the difference?" Will asked.
"Base wendigo are beasts," the goblin answered, "animals, slaves to their hunger. Whoever and whatever they were before becoming a wendigo is lost forever with the change.
"High Wendigo, however, feel the same craving for flesh but are not lost to it. They are immortal, can change form freely, from human to wendigo and back again, and are impervious to most spells and means of detection. High Wendigo can also call and command base wendigo if they are within their range."
"Will this affect the adoption?"
"Not in the slightest," said Barlus, "But just know that while you may eventually acquire a taste for human flesh, you won't ever become a wendigo, base or High. Your native magic won't allow it."
"Bummer," Abigail and Harry said together.
The adoption went off without a hitch, and gave them the added benefit of being able to distantly sense each other's emotions. They all left Gringotts in a state of contentment, with promises from the goblins that Dumbledore would no longer have access to Harry's accounts, and all keys and artifacts would be retrieved and returned, although they couldn't do anything about any money that had been taken without an order from the Wizengamot, the Wizard's Court. However, an full audit would be done and sent to them to see what transactions, if any, had been taking place.
Ollivander's was occupied by a small family – father, mother, and son – and an older gentleman who was probably Ollivander himself. "Ah, Mr Potter," the man sighed, "I wondered when I would be seeing you. Step up over here so we can get you measured while Mr Malfoy finds his wand."
Harry did so and nodded to the other boy, who returned the gesture, eyes wide. At a nudge from his father, he flicked the wand in his hand – and the vase of flowers on the counter exploded in a shower of glass, startling all of them. He quickly put the wand back in its box while his mother repaired the vase and replaced the flowers, then offered his hand. "Draco Malfoy."
"Harry Potter." He shook as best he could given that a magical tape measure was measuring the length of each of his fingers.
"Do you know what house you're going to be in?" the blond boy asked, picking up another wand.
"House?"
"At Hogwarts." Draco dropped the wand when it let out a gout of flame, then scooped it back into its box without touching it.
"Oh. Um, no. To be honest, we all just found out about this-" He gestured to the store and the Alley beyond. "-on Saturday."
At that, even Draco's parents stared. Then his father stepped forward, offering his hand. "Lucius Malfoy."
Introductions went all around, Abigail taking great pride in introducing herself as "Abigail Lecter" for the first time.
"You – all of you – just found out about our world four days ago?" Lucius was absolutely aghast. "I'm assuming that's when you received your Hogwarts letter?"
"Yes, sir. I mean, we knew magic existed – I was able to do little things that couldn't be explained…"
"Accidental magic," Narcissa nodded approvingly.
"But – nothing about all of this. Before they died, my aunt and uncle always told me that my parents were drunks who died in a car crash, when they talked about them at all."
Lucius drew himself up. "Lily and James Potter, killed in a car crash?! Lily may have been a – muggleborn – but both of them were far too skilled to die by so mundane a means! Saying so would be an insult to their memory!"
"Then how did they die?" Harry asked, even as Draco's latest attempt shredded all the advertisements pinned to a board on one wall.
Lucius paused, only noticeable to them because they all knew how to look for tells like it, and then said, "They were murdered, by the Dark Lord."
"Do you know why?"
"I'm unsure. All I know is that we were at war, and they went into hiding and were betrayed to their deaths. But the Dark Lord tried to kill you, too, and failed and was destroyed. And no one knows why or how.
"But that seems a bit heavy a topic for now. Getting your wand is supposed to be a time of celebration. Perhaps we all could discuss it further over lunch?" He smiled charmingly at them.
They all gratefully accepted, right before Draco's wand let out a shower of silver and gold sparks and a series of bell-like chimes.
Harry's own wand was almost as hard to find. He went through almost all of the ones Draco left on the counter before Ollivander emerged from the back of the store with a single dusty box. "I wonder," he said, before unwrapping the wand and offering it to the boy handle-first.
When he took it, a rush of warmth flowed from the wood into his hand, spreading out to fill his whole body. When he twirled it, a blood red ribbon rippled out from the tip before dissolving into motes of red light that hung in the air until Ollivander banished them. "Curious," said the man, "Very curious…"
"I'm sorry, sir – what's curious?"
"I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr Potter," said the wandmaker, taking it back and almost reverently putting it in its box, "It just so happens that the phoenix who gave the feather for your wand core, gave another feather – just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand, when its brother took your parents – and gave you that scar."
Harry reached up to touch it. Before today, it had been just another mark, one he'd believed had come from the Dursleys when he was too young to remember. But now…
"Yes. Yew, thirteen-and-a-half inches. Curious how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember. I think we all should expect great things from you, Mr Potter. After all, the Dark Lord Voldemort did great things too – terrible, but great."
A/N: Every time I try to type "Lucius" I wind up typing Luscious instead. Luscious Lucius Malfoy. Also, just an FYI, this fic isn't going to be really heavy on bashing anyone (I hope). It's more an exploration of what would happen in this situation. That said, I'm not going to resist the urge to throw a few punches where I think it's warranted.