Lord Potter: Head of House

by Phoenix0Dark

HUGE AU. Gringotts Goblins uncover a fascinating secret about a young wizard with a lightning bolt scar. This secret opens the door to a world of possibilities and a world of...girls? Harry Potter/Harem, loving Dumbledore, living/freed Sirius, eventually nice Snape, powerful Harry, darkish Ron. Huge plot with lots of fluff and smut down the road. I own nothing. Beta: DEATH112233

4. Chapter 4: Of Wands and Dinners

Chapter 4

Of Wands and Dinners

Harry stumbled out of the wizarding bank, adrenaline pumping through his system, his face split in a wide grin. The ride up to the surface had been even more exhilarating, if possible, than the first two. Beside him Dumbledore was partially bent over, a hand on his stomach, his face tinged green.

"I hate those cart rides," the professor muttered, once again taking swallow from the small metal flask.

Harry laughed joyously and looked around the bustling alley. For the first time in his life he felt happy. While he was in public and did need to keep his front up, it wasn't as difficult as it normally was. He knew this was where he really belonged, among these people, he could feel it.

"Where to first, sir?" he asked when his companion had straightened.

"Since we left your relatives in such a hurry yesterday, we need to get you a complete wardrobe including your school robes," Albus said, pointing to a store, "Let's start at Madam Malkin's for your wizarding attire."

Harry nodded and took off towards the building, leaving the professor to hurry after him. A chime sounded as the boy opened the door.

"I'll be right with you!" a cheery voice called from the back of the store. Harry took the time to look around the cozy shop. Racks of robes of varying colors stood in a random fashion around the floor, signs floating above each stand declaring sales and used items. Harry stepped up to the closest rack and felt the fabric of a bright red robe. The cloth was soft and light, yet sturdy. He had never felt cloth quite like it before. Of course, the only clothing he had ever been allowed to really touch had been Dudley's old, crusty, shirts and jeans.

A squat, middle aged woman poked her head from around the corner, "Welcome dearie, Hogwarts?" she asked with a kind smile. Harry nodded as he released the robe he had been fingering. Madam Malkin took keen notice of the rings on Harrys fingers and her eyes widened minutely. The rumors she had heard were true. Lord Potter had returned and had come to Diagon Alley, which meant today was going to be a good day. Giving her usual friendly, helpful smile, she led Harry to a back room with a pedestal sitting in the middle. Along the wall sat bolts of cloth, spools of thread, and many different trimmings and garnishes. "Would you please hop up on that platform, honey? Raise your arms straight out and I'll get your measurements," the woman asked.

Harry nodded and took the requested position as Madam Malkin removed a textile tape measure from her robes and tossed it at him. Harry stood still as the measure started to dance around him, a parchment and a quill floating nearby noting measurements. The store matron, meanwhile, was flitting around the room, looking at different colors and cloths, sometimes just one, other times layering two or three together before holding them up in Harry's direction. "Tell me, sweetie, how would you like your robes? Standard or formal."

Harry blinked, "What's the difference?"

"Standard is, well the standard robe. It is the standard issue robe that we give to most customers. What you see most people wearing are the standard robes. The formal robe is the formal dress of the Wizarding World, much like a suit or a tuxedo in the muggle world. It uses some of the finest silks and is tailored to you individually. Charms are also weaved directly into the cloth itself. Spells like warming charms, cooling charms, self-adjusting charms, and so forth. Most often, you will find the nobles, such as yourself, wearing these constantly."

"Pardon?" Harry asked, a hint of panic seeping into his voice.

The shop matron released the cloth she was holding and approached the young man and bowed, "Milord, I know exactly who you are. Your mother was a dear friend of mine. I was in my 5thyear at Hogwarts when she started, and I have never seen anyone more studious then the Ravenclaw's. I was an ambitious Hufflepuff and, trying to prove myself to my pureblood father, had taken too many electives. I was struggling with my classes and desperate for any form of help. Even in first year, your mother was the most brilliant woman I have ever seen. Many times, she found me crying in the library as I tried to make sense of my classes and every time, she sat down, and helped me sort through every lesson and piece of homework. I owe her this store, quite literally, to her and your father. It is because of your family that I had the money to buy this store."

Tears welled up in the young man's eyes, "It's Harry, please, Madam Malkin. I didn't know… you were friends with my mom?"

With tears of her own, the middle-aged witch nodded, "I owe your family much. Because of that, your Hogwarts robes will be free of cost. I also received a note from the esteemed Headmaster that you require a full wizarding wardrobe. As co-owner of this establishment, any product you buy here will be discounted at seventy-five percent off, no arguments young man!"

Harry closed his mouth as his arguments died at the woman's playful glare. Madam Malkin nodded crisply in approval as she returned to the fabrics. Picking up several colors she draped them over his shoulders, "Now, let's see what colors we can use with you."

The next three hours were filled with material, colors, and robes. Madam Malkin had him try on many styles of robes ranging from ancient robes to new styles that could almost pass in the muggle world. Throughout the whole session, the friendly matron kept up a continuous conversation with her young customer. At Harry's request, Madam Malkin explained the symbolism behind the clothing used in the wizarding world. The quality, the fabric, the coloring and the placement of crests and coat of arms. The higher the quality the more distinguished the house, the fabric and crest placement represented rank, and coloring simply described mood or character. She unveiled examples of a houses robes, each position clearly labeled. The Lords Robes, made of fine silk, displayed proudly the house crest on the left shoulder over the heart, trimmed in gold. The lady robes were identical with the crest trimmed in silver. A consort's robe was made from lesser silks and had the crest trimmed in bronze. A vassal's robe had the house crest displayed on the right sleeve even with the shoulder on their own personal robes. The servant's robes were made from simpler material and displayed the crest on the right elbow. Concubine and Slave robes, if they were allowed any, were made with the cheapest material and displayed the crest on the back directly at the neckline below the collar of the garment.

Harry stood silent, allowing the older witch to do her work as his head spun with the new information. He vowed to find a book on clothing in the wizarding world for more research on the matter of clothing.

When Harry was finally released, he gave the friendly Madam Malkin a hug and, after paying for her services, met Dumbledore outside.

"Harry! Survived Madam Malkin, I see?" the professor grinned knowingly.

Harry nodded as he followed the headmaster down the crowded streets, "Yeah, it was fun, once she told me about my parents."

Albus smiled sadly, remembering the unlikely friendship between the spitfire and the seamstress. His reminiscing was interrupted when Harry pulled out his list and started to peruse the formidable looking items.

"All right sir, what's next? I still need to get my cauldron, books, telescope, vials…" Harry blew out a breath that ruffled his bangs, exposing his lightning bolt scar.

Dumbledore chuckled ruefully, scratching the back of his head, "I hope you don't mind Harry, but while you were in with Madam Malkin, I took care of most of your list. All you have left to get is your books and wand."

Harry's eyes shot up to meet the twinkling blue orbs, "Sir you didn't have to do that!"

The old man shrugged, "No, I didn't have to, but I wanted to. Consider it ten years' worth of birthday presents."

Harry worked his mouth for a minute, before he just shook his head in defeat. The two worked their way through the crowds towards the book store, acknowledging the many greetings that were thrown their way. Once, Harry was sure he saw a flash of pink hair but wasn't sure. It did remind him to speak to the professor about the most intriguing ability Nymphadora had displayed.

A quiet chime echoed through the hall as the door to Flourish and Blotts swung open, emitting two more people to the slightly crowded book store. Harry's eyes widened as he looked around the store. The space was cramped with bookshelves and the bookshelves were filled to overflowing with books. Albus led the distracted boy over to the front counter, where a slightly haggard looking keeper sat studying a huge leger, sets of books sitting on the desk behind him.

"Professor Dumbledore!" the man yelped when he looked up, "What can I do for you, sir?"

"A set of first year books would do nicely, Matthew," the professor answered with a kind twinkle, "I am escorting Mr. Potter today, and as he seems to be a bit distracted, I thought I would collect his books."

Matthew Browning turned to look at the lithe, black haired boy who had entered the shop with the aged mage, who now perused the shelves enthusiastically, a small pile of books growing on the floor beside him. His eyes widened, before turning the desk and removing one of the sets. He placed the small stack of books on the counter, while Dumbledore retrieved a piece of parchment, and the shrunken library trunk from his robe pockets. The second the trunk touched the floor, it sprang to full size, the lid snapping open. Withdrawing his wand, Dumbledore gave a flourish, enchanting the parchment as the stack of first year books floated into the trunk. As each book entered, the title and price were written on the parchment in neat, flowing handwriting.

Harry was ecstatic, to think that he could buy any book he wanted and read them over and over without ever giving them back. He looked over the titles on the shelf calmly as he did a little happy dance in his head. He had already picked out a group of books on interesting topics, including his own copy of Spells and Magic for Dummies. As he perused the shelf, a medium sized tome caught his attention, Mind Arts Vol.1 Occlumency: Fortify Your Mind. Pulling the book from its place, Harry opened it and started to read the introduction. What he found within was a goldmine of information, but he could only understand half of it. It was not a little confusing, but hell, it was a book and apparently, a good one at that. He could ask the professor to help him when he needed it. Harry dropped it onto the pile and began searching for the rest of the series.

It took an extra fifteen minutes before Dumbledore could convince Harry that it was time to leave. He had to remind the young man several times that they would remain here for the next month, and Harry could come in on any day and continue his shopping. Harry finally added the book he had been reading to his collection before carefully balancing the precarious stack in his arms and carrying them over to the counter. Placing his purchases in front of the clerk, Harry took the book on occlumency out of the stack, and turned it to the astonished man.

"Sir, do you have the rest of the series for this book? I only read apart of it and it sounds fascinating," he asked politely. Matthew dumbly reached beneath the desk and retrieved two more matching books, his wide brown eyes never leaving Harry's green. Placing the additional books on the table, he stepped back as Dumbledore flicked his wand and the books danced their way into the library trunk. As the last book entered, the lid snapped shut. Taking the parchment with the list of books on them, Harry perused his new possessions. With a firm nod, he put the list on top of the trunk before he pressed his Potter Ring into the small depression in the old-fashioned register. A second later, the ring flashed green, the register drawer popped open with a ding, and the elderly professor was shrinking his trunk.

Thanking the still stunned man behind the desk, Harry followed the elderly professor out of the store. He hated leaving such a fine establishment, but he knew Dumbledore was right. He could come back anytime during the next month and buy as many books as he could carry.

"Well Harry, I'd say it is time for lunch a bit of a late lunch, wouldn't you say?" Dumbledore asked as he glanced at his watch.

Harry's mouth watered at the idea of food, so he nodded before following his nose. The headmaster chuckled before catching up to the boy, subtly leading him to Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor. A happy chime pealed, and shouts of greeting rose from the gathered patrons, most of them students, as the amiable and famous Headmaster of Hogwarts stepped through the door. The noise died suddenly when the people noticed who had entered with the mage. The sudden silence seemed loud to Harry's ears and his instant instinct was to find the fastest route of escape. But, Albus steered him to a booth near a window before waving over a tall, slightly dumpy man with short salt and pepper hair, and a pointed, curled beard.

"Albus! Good to see you. I'm assuming you'll be having your lunch time usual?" Florian Fortescue asked brightly.

"Indeed, Florian! You know me so well."

The owner snorted good naturedly, "I only know your taste buds. All that sugar is going to kill you one of these days, old man."

Dumbledore chuckled, as Florian then turned his kind black eyes on Harry, "How about you, young man, what'll it be? Say, I don't think I've seen you in here before. What's your name, son?"

Harry swallowed, "Uh… Harry, sir, Harry Potter."

Florian's eyes widened slightly, "Harry Potter, I take it back then. The last time you were in here was with your parents almost nine years ago. Now let's see," the man reared back, stroking his curled goatee, "Your father enjoyed a Rueben sub with a triple fudge sundae, while your mother preferred a grilled chicken sandwich on sourdough with no onions, and a strawberry shake. Anywho, what would you like, Harry?"

Harry stared at the man slightly before he started spluttering, "I…Is there a menu I could look at?"

Fortescue threw his head back and let loose a loud belly laugh, "Menu? Please. I can make anything you want. You tell me what you would like, and I'll make it. Anything at all."

Harry looked at him, blinking owlishly, before a small grin crossed his face, "Well then Mr. Fortescue, I'll have a beef sub sandwich with the works, do you have any mozzarella cheese to put on there? And a chocolate sundae."

"Coming right up," the man grinned, disappearing into the kitchen.

Albus chuckled after the man before turning to his current ward, "Well Harry, what do you think?"

Harry picked at the napkin he had just pulled from the dispenser, "Honestly Professor, it's a little mind blowing. I mean, I grew up with very little, and now I have millions. Billions if I convert it all over to pounds. I am a month from turning 11, and already I am married to four girls. I have multiple houses around the world and I am the heir to someone until yesterday, I believed was merely a legend."

Dumbledore's occlumency shields slammed into place to keep his face from showing any reaction other than his usual kind smile, "I understand how it is, Harry. Your reaction is very similar to how many muggle-born react. However, I do wish to clear one thing up with you. While yes, in the eyes of the goblins and magic, you are married to those four girls and though they will socially be recognized as such, you will need to go through a ceremony when you reach of age to be fully recognized with the Ministry. Only then may the ladies take on their full responsibility as your wives and legally take your names."

"Responsibility, sir?" Harry asked raising an eyebrow.

"Just a few that they cannot already do, for example, if you were incapacitated, they could sit on the Wizengamot for you and speak for you. Otherwise, they are yours. Unless you wish differently, they will live with you, advise you, serve you…"

Harry cut him off with a snort, "I mean no disrespect or offense, Professor, but this all sounds so wrong. I mean I grew up hearing about women who owned and directed huge corporations, hell, our monarch is a woman. Now, the world I am supposed to be apart of feels… I don't know… ancient, I guess? I mean, is the nature of magic that sexist?"

Dumbledore sighed as he tried to think of an answer, "To be honest Harry, I don't know. I understand how you feel. I am a half blood, as my mother was a muggle born. But I was also born during a time in which the rest of the muggle world was still mostly a patriarchal society. Also, you must understand, that it is only the bigoted lords who treat women as inferior. You remember Mr. Malfoy?" At Harry's nod, Albus' face grew grim, "It is the people like Lucius Malfoy who adhere staunchly to the customs. If you notice, Mrs. Malfoy never spoke a word in the bank today. The only place women can speak freely in families like that is the house, without the Head present. There are others however, such as the Greengrass and Li families who, while loving their family, train their daughters to be that kind of wife because of the strong possibility that their daughters would be married to one of those bigoted families."

Harry frowned, "While I guess I can understand the drive to bow to a more powerful person, I just don't like that women can be walked all over like that."

"I know Harry, I know, I don't like it either, but, as I have said, it is our culture. People are not going to change how they were raised to think just because some do not agree. But things are getting better, we have had several women Ministers of Magic in the past, and they are moving up in the world."

Harry nodded ruefully as Florian reappeared, two sets of dishes floating in front of him. Student and teacher fell to their light lunch with vigor. Harry was surprised to see that the gentle and poised headmaster could eat with the best of them. It was funny to watch as the old man wolfed down his turkey and ham sandwich, though his manners never wavered, no matter how ironic it looked. Harry finished his own sandwich as Albus turned his attention to the towering lemon sundae, complete with a candied lemon wedge, with an eager look in his eye. As the old man dug into the cold treat, the door chime tinkled, and a young, well-dressed couple walked in. The two were holding hands and were talking quietly, small, loving smiles adorning both faces. Harry noticed, however, that as they walked to a booth in the corner, the young woman trailed slightly. He watched surreptitiously as they sat and continued to talk quietly. When Fortescue made his way over, the young man placed the order for both, before turning his attention back to his date.

Albus watched quietly as Harry eyed the two. He knew the couple well as they had graduated from Hogwarts only two years previous. Mr. Samuel Croft had been a pureblood Ravenclaw while, Miss Abigail Swan had been a half-blood Hufflepuff. He leaned over to his student, "Those two are the perfect example of how most Noble couples act. There is no denying the two love each other, but you also can not who is in charge between the two. If you look, Miss Abigail follows his lead, but yet, he does not as you say, 'walk all over her.' However, we must consider that the two are well matched as far as abilities and power. In your case you are the most powerful wizard out of anyone here. That does mean the actions of your own ladies will be much more obvious."

Harry watched the young couple closely as he ate his own ice cream, deep in thought. Well, he didn't know what to think. Of course, there was the fact that women were being forced to bow to men, but there was so much evidence on both sides of the board, it wasn't worth considering at the moment, at least not until he had a chance to talk to his own four ladies. The thought still astounded him. He was 10 years old, a wizard, the heir to both first magic users, of noble blood, and married. That brought a question to him that he had pushed to the back of his mind.

"Professor? Nymphadora, what was with her hair?" Harry asked curiously.

"Ah," Dumbledore responded, quickly swallowing a mouthful of lemon ice-cream, "Young Consort Potter is a metamorphmagus or metamorph. A metamorph can change their appearance at will, like their hair color, the shape of their face, their height, the color of their eyes, etcetera."

"Oh. How many of these metamorphmagus are there and can you become one?" Harry asked, finishing the last of his ice cream.

Albus chuckled, "No, unlike animagi, you cannot become a metamorphmagus. You have to be born one. And there are only a couple hundred in the world."

"Wow, is it hereditary?"

Dumbledore nodded, "Yes it is. Somewhere along the Tonks genome, there was a magical who was a metamorph, and it is more than likely that at least one of your children will be as well."

Harry's mouth moved silently for a minute before clicking shut. Lowering his head to hide his blush, Harry pushed the now empty dish away as he stood to go. Albus followed, still savoring his last bite as he dropped a couple of Galleons onto the table to pay for the meal. Chuckling softly at the boy's obvious embarrassment, Dumbledore led the way back out into the crowded streets of Diagon Alley. There was only one thing left on the list, and there was only one wandmaker in Diagon Alley that Dumbledore trusted implicitly.

Harry squinted up at the peeling letters over the door of the shop that the Professor led him to. They read 'Olivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC' The shop itself was narrow and dingy, and seemed to be in rather poor keep. There was a single wand sitting on a dusty, faded purple cushion in the filthy display window. Harry was about to ask Dumbledore if he was sure they were at the right place, but held his tongue when Albus threw open the door and strode in, accompanied by a small bell. Shrugging his shoulders, Harry slipped into the gloomy and dark shop.

The inside seemed to be as drab as the outside. The entire shop was filled with dust, and Harry fought not to sneeze. The only light was from the windows at the front of the shop, though there was the glimmer of a light glowing from the back of the shop. There was a small counter directly in front of them; rows and rows of shelves filled the rest of the shop, each shelf held long narrow boxes, stacked together like Jenga Blocks. Harry's original hesitance was slowly slipping away, especially at the small amused smile playing on Dumbledore's face as the old man looked around slowly.

"Hello, Garrick!" the mage called into the gloom, "I have a rather interesting customer for you here!"

"Ah, Mister Potter," a voice answered, echoing around the room, "I was wondering when I would see you in my shop." Two spots of silver appeared deep into the shop. Harry jumped when he saw them, but paused when he saw just how far back the two spots seemed to be. From what he was judging, that distance should have been impossible in such a small store.

"Come now Garrick," Albus chuckled, "As much as I enjoy a good entrance, I think you will find Mr. Potter and his wand needs, very interesting."

A light shone from the bowels of the store, illuminating a fair face, with white hair dropping out of sight, and wide, silver eyes. Harry was now certain that the store was larger on the inside, as the man approached the counter.

"It seems only yesterday your mother and father were in here buying their first wands. Your mother preferred a… Oh my…" the old wand maker trailed off as he studied Harry closely, "There is something very different about you my boy. Power flows through you, like blood through a vein, waiting to be released. Yet, it calls out not just to a wand, nay, but to a staff as well. Fascinating." Grabbing Harry by the arm, Garrick pulled Harry into the recesses of the store, muttering, "Come, come, we must find you a wand first." Stopping partway back, Ollivander started to peruse the shelves. With a quiet 'Ah' he pulled a box from among the stacks and returned, removing a long elegant, stick. "Rosewood, 12 inches long, dragon heartstring core, nice and swishy" Ollivander said as he handed it to Harry. Harry gingerly took the wand and held it but it was immediately snatched back by the wand maker, "Apparently, not," Garrick muttered as he replaced the wand box. Moving down the shelves, another box was removed, and another wand was given to Harry, only to be once again snatched away, a gleam entering the old man's eyes as Dumbledore just stood by smiling.

As the trio moved further into the store, a quiet song whispered through the air, drawing Harry's attention away from the man who was about to hand him another wand. The sound was enchanting, the music haunting, speaking of betrayal, pain, but also of hope, of something better to come. Harry turned toward the sound, searching it out. Slowly he began to move in the direction he felt it coming from. Garrick turned to Dumbledore, his wide pale eyes, showing little surprise, "It seems his wand calls to him. Let us see how the two react when they finally meet." Nodding his assent, Albus followed his old classmate, as they trailed the now running raven-haired boy.

The music drew Harry to a set of shelves that seemed a little dustier then the rest. The song was getting intense as he continued to walk. He wanted to know the music, to hold it, to wield it. Putting his hand up, he trailed his fingers along the stacks of boxes that lined the shelves. His eyes were closed, his head moving slightly to the singing that filled his ears. Suddenly, something within him seemed to snap. The flute grew louder, and louder. His breathing quickened at the desperate notes that filled the air. His friends were calling to him, asking him to protect them. He needed to hold them in his hands, to shield them from the horrors of the world.

Suddenly it all stopped. Harry opened his eyes with a gasp as he looked around, frantic to find the haunting sounds. After a second, he relaxed slightly. The song wasn't gone, but it was quiet. The tune had changed from an intense, desperate song of impending danger, to a slow, contented lullaby, barely audible to his ears.

"Harry, look at your hand," the quiet voice of the headmaster said.

Flicking, his head to his right, Harry's eyes opened wide at the sight. His hand was held out flat, palm up, and above it, swirling in time to the song he could still hear, floated a wand. The box that had held the wand lay smoking at his feet, utterly useless. As he watched, the wand slowed it's dancing before settling into his hand. His fingers closed around the handle and a feeling of happiness and warmth surged through his arm and to his heart, the song increasing in volume and tempo briefly.

To the other two men, Harry was surrounded in a bright emerald green aura. It was obvious to them which wand the boy would be using.

Garrick stepped forward, a slight crease in his brow, "Curious, very curious. I remember every wand I ever sold, Mr. Potter. As it happens, the phoenix who gave the feather for this wands core, freely gave a feather of extraordinary length. Only part of the feather resides in this wand, the other half resides in the wand that gave you that scar. These wands were made in the same ritual, and are connected in ways only Magic herself can understand. The one you hold now, and the one that gave you that scar are the only two true brother wands ever created that I know of, and even on the table, they have fought one another. You are destined to do great things with that wand, Mr. Potter, fighting the owner of its brother who also did great things. Terrible, yes, but great."

Harry swallowed as he looked at the wand. He could feel the power thrumming through it, but somehow he knew that it was his own power that had filled the wand. He was about to pocket the wand when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Turning, he saw Ollivander holding out what appeared to be a leather bracer. As he took it the old man spoke again, "This wand holster, was made on the same day as that wand, Mr. Potter and the two seem to have a proclivity for each other. Keep this on your arm, and your wand will remain safe." With firm nod, Harry slipped the bracer onto his arm where it tightened itself, gripping his arm in a comfortable hug.

With his wand now only, a flick of the wrist away, the aged wand maker gave a secretive smile before drawing his own wand. A small light flickered to life illuminating the shadowed store, and Garrick motioned towards the back of the room, where a door creaked open. "Come Mr. Potter," he murmured, "Time for you to create your staff."

Harry followed the two old men into a room so dark, he wouldn't have been able to see his hand if he were to put it in front of his face if it were not for the dim light emanating from the wand. The door shut behind him with a soft click, a second later the light from the wand vanished, throwing the room into an oppressive blackness. The silence lasted barely a second before a loud ringing laugh filled the room. Torches immediately flared up revealing a non-descript room, the walls lined with cabinets, racks of wood and more shelves. Dumbledore was leaning on a large stone table, circles of runes inscribed upon it, holding his sides as he laughed.

"Come now, Albus," Ollivander huffed, "There is no need for theatrics."

His comment sent Dumbledore into another fit of laughter, his offhand coming around to hold his side. "Theatrics," he wheezed, "I am not the one who keeps a dingy old shop and puts on an act to scare people as they come in to shop for wands!"

"I do what I do to instill within all those searching for wands that what they wield is not a toy!" Garrick retorted, a hint of a smile curling the edges of his lips. Harry stood in the corner as he watched as the two bantered playfully. It was clear that the two knew each other, but he was anxious to continue. He cleared his throat quietly, hoping that it would help to bring the two men back into focus. He was awarded by two sheepish smiles as the two glanced at him from the table.

"Right," Ollivander said, a slight blush tinting his pale cheeks, "Mr. Potter, I need you to close your eyes and walk around the room with your hand extended towards my cabinets. Open yourself to connections and let them fill you. They should affect you much like your wand did, and react the same way. Once you feel no more connections, bring the items here to the table."

Harry nodded, and started to walk around the room, his hand raised and his eyes closed as he listened for the song to come alive, and come alive it did. The music danced in his ears and the wand on his arm grew warm, sending feelings of happiness shooting through his body. Harry kept walking, listening to the delightful waltz that seemed to swirl through the air. He was growing slightly concerned though, as he walked. There wasn't that pull Ollivander had spoken of. Outside of his little trance, Garrick and Albus stared in awe as items burst from the many cabinets lining the walls as Harry walked by, magical cores, gemstones, and woods all leapt out at him. In fact, by Ollivander's count, at least one of every wand making supply he had was orbiting the young lord. Finally, the boy stopped after completing a full circuit and the wand maker's eyes widened.

"That's impossible," he whispered.

"He's a Potter," Albus responded, "What did you expect?"

"Certainly not this."

Harry, unaware of what was happening around him, listened as the music quieted a little, but did not calm. There was …something… several somethings… brushing his mind, seeking entrance. Latching onto that feeling, Harry mentally pulled with all his strength.

A sudden clatter of noise forced his eyes open as the trance ended. He looked around in confusion at a large mess, and two awestruck men who were staring at him in a daze. The cupboards that had lined the walls were now standing wide open and their contents were scattered haphazardly. Immediately, Harry started to stutter out apologies, as he started to move forward to clean up the mess he had created. Before he could even move but a couple of steps however, Albus had whipped out his wand, and cast a mild sticking charm to the floor, keeping the young man in place as Garrick pulled his own wand and, with a series of flicks, sent everything flying back into their appropriate cabinets. Within seconds, the mess had vanished, save for the items that had landed in a perfect circle around him.

Albus chuckled at the sheepish look on the boy's face. "Gotta love magic," the old man quipped as he canceled the sticking charm. Harry smiled as he looked around at the circle of items surrounding him. There was a jar with what appeared to be some thick thread, a second jar that held a silvery liquid, a large, ebony feather and three gemstones the size of his palms, one was an emerald, another he believed to be a ruby, and the third was clearly obsidian. There was a fourth, a white-ish color, but Harry couldn't place it. Next to the stones sat two blocks of wood, one black, and the other almost white.

A wave of Ollivander's wand saw the supplies floating into the air and onto the rune covered table Dumbledore still leaned upon. Harry approached, deathly curious as to what would happen next. As he stood next to the table, he saw Garrick carefully looking over each item on the table.

"Fascinating," the old man whispered. Rounding on the young lord, the wand maker fixed Harry with an unnerving glare. Harry took an involuntary gulp and backed a step. "Lord Potter, I don't know if I should be unnerved or ecstatic," a manic gleam lit in the old mans silver eyes, "your magic has chosen some of the most powerful foci ingredients, both light and dark, that I have in my stocks. This," the old man continued holding up the black block of wood, "is wood from a rosewood tree that was planted in a blood-soaked battlefield over 50 years ago. It grew and absorbed the blood rich soil, turning the wood pitch black. The magic within it is as dark as the wood itself."

Harry's eyes opened wide. He glanced fearfully at the headmaster, who simply looked at the wood, his hand stroking his beard thoughtfully.

Ollivander continued, holding up the white block of wood, "This is wood from a milk fed maple tree, grown in my own backyard in a spot of tranquility and beauty. The magic within it as lighter than any you would find," placing the woods into one of the runic circles, the old man next picked up the jar full of threads, "This is the most surprising, these are the heartstrings of three dragons, before you arrived today, they were in separate jars. One heartstring is from a particularly vicious Hungarian Horntail. The beast would attack anything that came within a hundred yards and win. Another heartstring is from a Chinese Fireball. This dragon had a strange affinity for people and was the friendliest dragon I have ever seen. It protected his friends with his life, unfortunately literally. This last heartstring is from a Ukrainian Ironbelly. It was the old protector of it's pack. This dragon was exteremely powerful, and nothing could stop it, except for time itself."

The old man opened the jar, and poured out the contents into another circle, before picking up the jar of silver liquid, "Within this jar, is the freely given blood of a Unicorn patriarch. It is an even more powerful core than a unicorn hair."

Garrick opened the stopper and poured the blood into a small, rune filled depression in the table. Retrieving, the feather, the old man shook his head with a small, sad smile on his face, "I knew this feather would be used for something special," he said, "Harry, this is the feather of a Dark Phoenix. A phoenix goes through a burning day and is reborn once every year, and once every hundred years, the phoenix is reborn into a Dark Phoenix. Many consider this stage to be a rebirth of the rebirths. A phoenix is known to be a creature of light, its song bolster's the pure of heart and strikes fear into the soul of those with ill intention. But the song of a Dark Phoenix spreads doubt into the pure of heart, and bolsters those who find themselves corrupted even just a little. They are also attracted to dark magic."

Harry cocked his head, looking at the various items circling the table. It was rather plain to him that almost all the ingredients, except for the heartstrings, displayed an affinity for either dark or light. He didn't know what to think but hoped that it meant that he would be well balanced.

Ollivander picked up the gemstones and held them up after he had placed the feather in yet another rune circle, "Ruby, Emerald, Pearl, and Obsidian. Rubies represent vigor, willpower, rage, leadership, and courage. Emeralds represent growth, nature, fertility and safety. Obsidian represents power, elegance, formality, evil, unyielding and mystery. Pearls represent light, goodness, and purity."

Placing all four stones into their designated circle, the old wand maker turned to Harry, looked him in the eye, and said, "My Lord Potter, each and every one of these items prescribes to your character. It is clear to me that you will be the next Merlin. A wizard of great power, and great balance. You have seen and will see great evil in your life, Harry. You have been through and will be through a great deal. As much as you might deny it, it has tainted your soul. You know of the true evil people are capable of," the old man gestured to the darker artifacts on the table, "but you have grown into a wonderful young man who will do all he can to protect those he loves, to keep them from experiencing the same evil."

Harry swallowed, and looked at the silent Headmaster, who simply smiled softly and sadly at him. Nodding to himself, Harry looked back to the wand maker and said, "I understand, Mr. Ollivander. What do I do."

Garrick smiled and pulled a small silver knife in an ornate sheath from beneath the table, and held it out handle first. "In order to properly bind the staff to you, you need to freely give three drops of your own blood. Once you do that, I will start the ritual. I will repeat the phrases three times clearly, and then you must join me."

Harry nodded and, after taking a few seconds to steady his breathing, he took the knife and withdrew it. With a quick flick of his wrist, the palm of his left hand was sliced open, and blood dripped onto the table. As the crimson liquid touched the table, the runes came to life, glowing in a matching color. Slowly Garrick started to chant, the words filling the room. Harry joined in, repeating the words as he heard them, his eyes sliding shut and his hands hovering over the table. Albus stood back and watched as a strong wind started to ruffle hair and clothing. A pure, white light burst from the table and joined the wind, whipping around the two standing at either end of the table. Slowly, the items in the runic circles rose into the air, their surfaces morphing and rippling as they changed. The light grew brighter by the second, blinding the old headmaster. The chanting grew in volume before dying out.

Harry stood at the table panting slightly, his ears ringing. His music had grown to an almost unbearable level as he had been chanting with Ollivander, but it had died away the second Harry had stopped. Taking a gulp of air, he opened his eyes, and his jaw dropped. Upon the table sat a gleaming staff, magic thrumming out from it.

The two woods were entwined, black and white swirling around each other in an eternal dance. Down the center of the maple wood sat a stripe of gleaming obsidian, and running the length of the black rosewood was the pearl. The staff was topped with two animals. A large ruby dragon curled around the top of the wood, it's wings were folded in and it stood, propped up on it's two front legs. It's eyes glowed with two pieces of emerald. Along it's back, slivers of obsidian and pearl contrasted with it's red body. Perched on the dragon's head stood an emerald phoenix. The wings were outstretched speckled with black and white, and it's eyes gleamed red.

Swallowing, Harry picked the staff up. The song in his ears roared to life in a triumphant symphony as the dragon and phoenix started to glow with power. Elation swept through him, and he felt like he was floating on air. The feeling lasted for a few seconds, before it faded into a whisper. Turning, the boy looked at the two men standing behind him, but was confused to see Albus rubbing his eyes, while Garrick was blinking rapidly.

"What happened?" the young Lord asked.

"What happened, was the most powerful bonding I have ever seen," Ollivander responded, a hand coming up to wipe at his eyes, "Every time a magical focus accepts a witch or wizard, they conjure an aura. The aura that your staff just created was the most brilliant and longest lasting ever, to my knowledge."

Harry grinned as he brought the staff to the floor. The head stood at just over six feet and Harry had to crane his neck slightly to even see the creatures at the top. His musings were broken by a soft vibration on his arm. Raising an eyebrow, Harry flicked his wrist, his wand snapping into his hand. Raising the wand, the three watched as tendrils of golden light flowed from the phoenix through the wand, and back to the dragon.

"Well, would you look at that, your staff and your wand accept each other. This is good," Garrick chuckled as Harry slid his wand back into the holster.

"You mean there was a chance that they wouldn't?" the boy asked.

Albus nodded, "Indeed Harry. I myself have a staff. I don't use it much anymore, but I have one. But it and my wand don't get along. I must use one or the other. You however, are at a huge advantage. A staff is best used for magic on a large scale, while your wand is more suitable for more direct magic. For example, if one were to use privacy spells for a conversation with a friend, one would use their wand. However, if one wanted to cast wards over a building or property, and had the ability to use a staff, they would use one."

Harry cocked an eyebrow, as he looked at the two men, "You speak as if magic is sentient."

"It is Harry, to an extant," Dumbledore said, his brow scrunching together, "I thought that was clear?"

Harry shrugged, "I mean, I know we've talked along similar lines, but, how can magic be sentient?"

Albus tilted his head, his stare fixed on the ceiling, a look of consternation, plastered on his face.

Finally, the old mage sighed, "I honestly have no answer, Harry. The only thing I can say is that it's Magic. Sentience is the only way to explain many things."

"Like the feelings people get about things, or the music I've been hearing ever since I started looking for my wand," Harry said, understanding dawning on his face.

Albus nodded while Garrick stared at Harry with an unblinking silver gaze. "Music?" the old wand maker asked, quietly.

Harry nodded hesitantly, his face showing his concern.

"Than it seems," Ollivander said in a near whisper, "That you are truly Merlin's heir, as he is the only person ever recorded to be so connected to Magic that he could hear her song."

Harry paused as a thought crossed his mind, "What about Afton Black. Wasn't he Merlin's best friend and the second person to be granted magic?"

Albus nodded, "Yes he was. But according to the history books, Afton Black was not a war mage, like Merlin. While Lord Emrys was keener to the more physically offensive side of magic, Lord Black found his calling in the more defensive magics, such as healing, the mental arts, warding, and charms. As such, while he may have had a connection to Magic as deep as Merlin, he didn't have the same communication style with magic that Merlin had."

"How did Magic communicate with him?" Harry asked.

Dumbledore shrugged, "The only thing he ever mentions in any of the writings that have been preserved was later in his life, where he said, 'The Voices, they calleth me.'"

Harry cocked his head, before shrugging it off. Picking up his new staff, he followed the two older men out to the front of the store where he payed the required 20 galleons. With that, he shook the wandmakers hand before following Dumbledore back onto Diagon Alley Proper. The crowds were starting to thin out as the sun started to descend towards the horizon. The walk back to The Leaky Cauldron only took a few minutes but it gave Harry a chance to calm himself down. He had already embarrassed himself in front of the goblin elder and he was surprised that he didn't get yelled at. He had almost lost it again in front of the Ollivander when the silver blade had been revealed, but he had managed to catch himself just in time. But honestly, he couldn't see why everyone thought he was a big deal. He was a freak and not worth the attention, but everywhere he went, people were staring at him, some trying to approach but balking when they saw the old Headmasters reproving stare. Harry pretended not to notice. The grip on his staff slacked a little as his head drooped. These people would soon see just how unworthy he really was and would abandon him, just as everyone else had.

Dumbledore was ambling along, a joyful smile on his face and a friendly twinkle in his eye, greeting almost everyone he saw. But inside, he was wishing for a stiff drink, if anything to settle his roiling stomach. He could tell that Harry was hiding himself behind a damn good mask, but Albus wasn't completely sure how to go around breaking that wall down. The mental control that Harry had displayed astounded Dumbledore to no end though. It seemed that Harry only had a little way to go before he would master Occlumency.

The gate way to the alley melted into existence when Dumbledore and Harry approached, allowing them to step into the small courtyard behind the pub. From there they entered the bar, and, waving to Tom, the two made their way up to Harry's room where Dumbledore extracted three small parcels from his pocket and placed them on the floor. With a twist of his wand, the three packages snapped to full sized trunks. The first was the Library trunk that Harry had taken from his vault, the one in the middle appeared to be a classic treasure chest, while the one on the right looked like a military footlocker.

"Alright, Harry, there are your trunks," the old man said, "Now the one in the middle is a multi-compartment trunk for your school supplies. I think you will find it most interesting. The one on the right is your wardrobe trunk. I took the liberty to stop at Muggle Dan's Muggle World, a shop run by a muggleborn that sells magical muggle style items, and pick up some muggle clothing for you. Don't worry, they are self-sizing. You can add your Wizarding robes when they arrive."

Harry nodded, wide eyed as he stared at the trunks. He turned to protest only to see the professor's back as he headed to the door.

"We have about an hour and a half before we head to the Weasley's Harry, so relax for a little while. I'll come get you when it is time to go. And don't you even think of trying to persuade me that you don't need any of that stuff, because it won't work."

With that the door closed behind the old mage leaving a dumbfounded Harry Potter.

LP:HoH

"Well Monarch, is it as bad as we feared?"

"No. It is worse. Much worse."

"How does this affect our plans?"

"Extremely."

"So, what's next?"

"I don't know, Galahad, I don't know."

LP:HoH

Harry sat on the floor of his room, dressed in a new pair of jeans and tshirt, twirling his new wand between his fingers, books lying open around him, and his first-year charms school book on his lap . Within the past hour, he had gone through about a quarter of the book. He had even tried two of the spells. The lumos spell had been extremely successful. The tip of his wand had lit up so brightly, he had spent several seconds regaining his vision. But the levitation charm just did not seem to work. He wondered idly if he was saying the incantation wrong, or perhaps the wand motion. Truthfully, he wasn't too worried. He knew that he would learn. Turning the page, Harry continued to read. The next spell was a severing charm one that seemed a bit dangerous but certainly seemed to have it's purposes.

He had just started to read through the history of the charm when a knock sounded at his door. At his beckoning, the door swung open and the Professor strode in. Albus glanced at the scene before him and smiled. Harry was sitting at the foot of his bed, his staff laying next to him, and it seemed that half of the contents of his library trunk was scattered around him.

"Reading enough, Harry?" Dumbledore asked amusedly.

Harry glanced around and smiled bashfully. Standing, he closed the book in his lap and started to pick up the various books as he spoke. "Is this dinner going to be formal, sir?" he asked nervously, "I really don't want to be offensive, but I also don't want to be known as 'Lord,' especially to friends."

Albus blinked, before letting out a deep belly laugh. "I highly doubt you need to worry Harry. The Weasleys are a fun loving family who do not really care for the formality of the high noble class, even though the could easily qualify as such."

Harry blinked, before a smile crossed his face. Dropping all his books back into his trunk, he turned, grabbed his new jacket, and after slipping his wand back into his sheath, faced the professor. Taking a moment, the old mage studied Harry from head to toe. His black hair was touseled and messy, but the famous scar was covered by his bangs. He was dressed in a pair of well-fitting jeans, a dark blue T-shirt sporting 'Keep Calm, and cast a Charm' across the front, A plain, powder blue button-down shirt worn open with the sleeves rolled up, a new pair of Converse shoes, and a bombers leather jacket completed the outfit. Albus cocked his head at the jacket. "Harry, you do realize it is summer right, and that with the jacket you'll have too many layers on for this weather?" he asked.

Harry flushed a little, and put the jacket back on the coat rack next to his bed. "Yes sir," he said, a little embarrassed, "I didn't think about that. I just thought that the jacket would look cool."

Albus shook his head with a mischievous grin, "Well, it looks more… hot… than anything else."

Several emotions played across Harry's face, before finally settling on a nervous snigger, and a dark pink tinge to his cheeks. Taking a second to try and calm his mind, the young lord started to head to the door, ready to properly meet the friends of his parents when he heard a slight cough behind him. Turning, he saw the Headmaster holding out his staff.

"There is one thing you must remember, Harry, you must always keep your magical focus on you at all times. You never know when you might need it. Yes, you must take it everywhere. Even into your classes," Albus said, a kind twinkle in his eye though his tone was firm.

Harry nodded and took his staff in hand before turning a questioning eye on his companion. Albus gave a small smirk before sliding his hand within his robe. Pausing for just a splint second, his hand reappeared gripping the shaft of a tall, pure white staff, as he released his magical aura. The wood appeared to be the same maple that made up part of Harrys own staff and a majestic phoenix carved out of a diamond adorned the top.

Harry's eyes opened wide, as he stared at the powerful wizard, standing proud before him. It was clear why the people seemed to hold him in such high regard. The warlocks robes were whipping around him in an invisible wind, as was his beard. The air around him was electric with power.

Inside, the young man cringed. How was he supposed to measure up, let alone surpass the man in front of him. Albus, seeing a glimpse of Harry's internal struggle, put the staff away, sliding it back into its extended pocket. With a small smile, the old man clapped a encouraging hand on his wards shoulder before leading the way out of the room and through the floo.

Harry rolled out of a fireplace and into a comfortable living room, amidst shouts and the pounding of feet. Standing quickly Harry, leapt to the side as a door burst open and two, stocky red headed boys appeared, both wearing extremely smug looks upon their faces. No sooner had they appeared, the two took off again, leaping behind another door. The fire flared green again and Albus stepped out just as the door burst open again, revealing a tall, skinny boy maybe four years older than Harry. The young man's green and silver hair was standing on end while hair sprouted from his ears and nose.

"Fred! George! Get over here and undo this, NOW!" the newcomer screamed, while Harry tried to stifle his snickering. Unfortunately, the older boy heard and whirled to find the source of the noise. Instead, his eyes found the amused form of the headmaster, and his brown orbs went wide. Straightening and plastering a formal smile on his face, the boy extended a hand and opened his mouth.

"HEE-HAW!"

Harry's eyes bulged, and he had to clamp a hand over his mouth to keep from exploding with laughter. Albus meanwhile just shook the young man's hand, who had clamped his free hand over his own mouth, in abject horror. With his usual kind twinkle, the old man asked, "Hello Percy. Are you getting enough water? it sounds as if you have a frog in your throat."

The newly identified Percy, turned red, and nodded his head as two sets of identical snickers sounded from behind him. The green haired young man turned back to face the original two who were obviously twins and snarled. "Get over hear you two," he hissed before his hand came to his throat. Turning back to Dumbledore, Percy opened his mouth, and again brayed like a donkey.

Albus nodded as if he had just made a grand discovery. "Ah, I see. Your brothers have decided to play another prank on you, haven't they?"

Percy nodded sullenly as Harry buried a hand in his mouth. If this was the sort of results a magical prank could create, he was going to have a lot of fun. He just hoped that Dumbledore was at least as ok with some harmless pranking as he seemed to be. He watched closely, as the professor pulled out his wand, and waved it in a complicated pattern over Percy's head. Slowly, the green and silver melted away leaving a bright shock of red hair, though it did stay standing on end, and the hair hanging from his nose and ears receded.

"There, my boy," the old man said genially, "I do believe I have dispelled the prank. Though I can do nothing more about your hair, it is not caused by any spell."

"Thank, you Headmaster," Percy said, his voice pompous, "It is good to see you again sir."

Dumbledore smile as the young man stalked away towards the door the twins had last been seen in. As soon as the door had closed behind the irate redhead, two sets of giggles rang out into the room. Turning the old man saw, Harry on the floor a hand over his mouth, and Ginny leaning against the door post from whence the first three redheads had emerged, giggling unabashedly.

"Honestly Miss Weasley, those twin brothers of yours are geniuses. They managed to set a tripwire spell on a series of charms that would only activate at my magical signature," Albus said, smiling.

Ginny grinned before moving to stand in front of Harry, who was picking himself off the floor. Dipping into a deep curtsy, the girl spoke, "Welcome to the home of the Head of the Ancient House Weasley, Milord Potter-Black."

Harry sputtered indignantly at the young girl while she giggled. "I thought I told you, no titles! Please?" His voice dropped to a meek tone as he threw a glance at the headmaster, who felt his heart break even more at the intense fear hidden in those large green eyes. Both were distracted from the pain filled moment though, when an exasperated sigh was heard.

"Ginny, don't tease Harry," Mrs. Weasley said as she stepped into the room. The portly woman gave the old headmaster a firm hug, before scooping up Harry and squeezing him, ignoring how the boy stiffened when she touched him.

When he was released, Harry found another pair of arms, wrapped around his neck.

"I'm sorry," Ginny whispered into his ear, "I just could not resist."

Harry grinned at her as she let him go. She blushed slightly before grabbing his hand and taking off, babbling about how she wanted to show him the house. Harry laughed and let himself get dragged along, noticing that a trio of red headed boys followed.

Molly Weasley watched the children as they disappeared through the door that lead to the stairs. She fondly shook her head at her daughter's enthusiasm, though amazed she had gotten over her shyness so quickly. But her smiled disappeared as soon as the door clicked behind her youngest son. Rounding on the headmaster, the woman growled, "What happened to that poor boy."

Albus sat heavily in a chair, "Molly, I made a terrible mistake."

LP:HoH

Harry gaped as Ginny led him back down the stairs of the rather large house. While there didn't seem to be much room on each, the house had many stories that compensated for the lack of floor space. The bedrooms were homely and well decorated, and the living spaces were comfortable. In short, Harry loved it. The house felt like it had the love of a family saturated into the very walls.

The three young men who had followed them had turned out to be Ginny's older brothers. The two older ones had been the twins that had blown past Harry when he had arrived and were named Fred and George. The third was Ron. He seemed to be a quiet young man, but Harry got the distinct feeling that he should be wary around him. He didn't know why, the redhead seemed friendly enough, but occasionally, Harry would catch a look in his brown eyes, that sent shivers down his spine.

His attention was brought back to the pretty young girl in front of him as she led the way back down the stairs. There seemed to be something about her that … drew him to her. He wasn't sure what it was, but he new that when ever she was near, the music in his ears, which he now knew to be his magic, sang with joy much like it had earlier when he had spoken with his betrothed, now that he thought about it. Harry couldn't explain it, but he knew that something important was going to happen that would include Ginny Weasley, sometime in somewhat near the future.

Unbeknownst to him, Ginny was having very similar thoughts as she led the way back into the living room. Her life had been almost consumed with the great Boy-Who-Lived. She had listened intently every night as her parents read to her from the Boy-Who-Lived books, and every night, she had imagined it was her that he had been rescuing. And when she had met him for the first time earlier, she had panicked. This was her hero! The man, boy, that she had been dreaming about! But then, after she had gotten her nerves back under control and had really paid attention to him, she found herself wanting to go give him a hug, to try and put a smile on his tired face. She had gotten her chance, briefly when he had talked to her right before she had to leave, but she felt like dancing for joy just from the barest touch he gave her. When her mother had led her away, Ginny was half expecting an explosion about her behavior, but Molly had simply smiled. And when Harry had arrived… Ginny flushed as she remembered how she had greeted him. She had been able to play it off as a joke, but she had told him the truth. She couldn't help herself, her body, or maybe her magic, had acted all on its own. It felt so right though, submitting to him. Maybe she wasn't supposed to be like her mother. Maybe she didn't want to be. That though scared her.

The group entered the parlor as Albus and Molly finished their conversation. The kids were curious as to why Molly looked so angry, but the woman simply smiled, and ushered them onto the various couches, and seats around the room, making sure to tell Harry to feel right at home, before heading to the kitchen. She shot the old man still wilting on the couch a glare when Ginny had to pull the raven-haired boy down into a seat at the wizards-chess table with Ron after he had tried to follow. After making sure that Harry and Ron were engrossed in a game, the ginger haired girl ran after her mother.

"Mum! What's going on! Why did I greet him like that, why do I feel like his happiness is the a high priority for me? Why am I so scared to have him be disappointed?" the girl babbled as she burst through the kitchen door and proceeded to pace the floor.

Molly sighed as she wiped her hands on a towel. She had sensed the something similar from the young man but clearly not as strongly as her daughter. The Weasleys had sworn a fealty oath to the House Potter generations ago, which meant the loss of their seat on the Wizengemot, but significantly added to their clout as a pureblood family. But this was something new, and as angry Molly was at a certain wizard who now graced her sofa, she needed his advice.

"I don't know Ginny," the woman answered, "I have to ask Albus. Wait here."

Returning to the sitting room, the woman tapped the old man on the shoulder, and motioned for him to follow. The two adults left the room, paying little attention to the rest of the occupants. The twins sat in a corner, discussing something in undertones, whilst throwing furtive glances in the direction of their older brother, who sat by himself his nose buried deep into a book. Ron and Harry sat at their chess game, seemingly completely oblivious to anything else.

Harry watched surreptitiously as the headmaster followed his host into the kitchen and had to fight to keep from following them. It had been made clear that he was expected to stay put, and besides, the song in his ears flared discordant whenever he made a move to help. The music he kept hearing intrigued him. At times, it would swell loudly, either a happy jig like when either the professor or Ginny were nearby, or painfully sour, like now, but it seemed most of the time, at least when he was in his room, it remained so quiet, he had to focus just to catch a few notes.

The young man rolled his neck as a particularly sharp note sent his ears ringing most unpleasantly as his table partner moved a rook.

"So, Lord Potter-Black, huh?" the red head asked coolly.

Harry nodded, moving a pawn, "Yeah, let me tell you it was really surprising."

Ron snorted, "Oh, I'm sure it was a huge surprise."

Harry's eyes narrowed slightly, "It was. Given that I had never heard of the magic until yesterday."

Disbelief shone in the redhead's eyes as he captured the pawn, "Right, and I'm the minister."

The table lapsed into silence again, but Harry kept his eyes on the boy across from him. A nerve had been struck, and try as he might, Harry could not keep the anger that was bubbling up inside away.

Meanwhile, Dumbledore and Ginny were standing at a counter, a pile of vegetables in front of them, while Molly flitted about, finishing the large dinner she had prepared, explaining the feelings Ginny had been feeling. Dumbledore listened silently, using his wand to quickly slice and levitate the vegetables into a nearby bowl while Ginny just watched on, grinning like a mad woman, the kitchen knife in her hand all but forgotten.

"… and we're not sure what could be causing these feelings," Molly finished, pulling a beautiful roast from the oven.

Dumbledore hesitated in his cutting, several thoughts running through his head.

"There are several reasons why she could be reacting this way," he said, resuming his task, "one could be that their magic finds that the two are a good match for each other, and with Harry being significantly stronger then even myself, it is producing these feelings in your daughter, or there may be some unknown debt between the Weasley line and the Potter line that has fallen to your daughter."

Molly froze in mid stride, almost losing her grip on the bowl she held. A secong passed, then two without anyone saying a word. Ginny stood at the counter, her eyes wide and her hands trembling. Is it possible her dream, her lifelong wish, could come true? Dumbledore, however, took that moment of silence to throw up a localized silencing ward around the kitchen. Both waited in suspense for the start of a famous Molly Weasley rant.

"Are you sure of that, Professor?" the matriarch stated quietly.

"Well, no. As I said it could be any number of things. I will do some checking and let you know?" the old wizard responded, throwing an askance glance at the younger red head.

"That would be appreciated," and with that the woman walked out the kitchen door.

Dumbledore canceled the silencing ward, stared at the door for a second, then turned to Ginny, opened his mouth before shutting it. The girl simply shrugged, picked up the salad bowl and followed her mother out the door. Albus waved his wand over the remaining vegetables, slicing them instantly, before taking the bowl out of the kitchen and into the dining room.

The atmosphere in the room was tense. Ginny was standing in a corner, tapping her foot nervously, staring at the chess table. The twins were huddled together, nervous looks on their faces as they threw furtive glances at the two players. The only two who did not seem bothered were Percy, sitting in his corner, his nose stuck in a book, and Molly, who was levitating silverware and water glasses onto the table, a thoughtful look on her face.

Albus set his bowl of vegetables on the table, and swiftly resumed his spot on the couch. Closing his eyes, the old man centered himself, focusing on his occlumency. Once he had cleared his mind of errant thoughts, he focused his magic into his eyes.

When he opened them, the world was awash with color. Everything had a color surrounding it. Smiling the professor examined the room. There were the twins, both surrounded in an identical shade of dark purple streaked with brown, Percy, surrounded with a dark yellow, Molly, a blindingly garish orange, Ginny, a dark pinkish red with a slight golden thread attaching her to Harry who was surrounded in a bright silver light, though a spot of pitch black hovered over his scar. Dumbledore sighed, just another reminder of his mistakes. Around the edges of Harry's aura though, Dumbledore noticed bits of scarlet. He would have to worry about that later. Closing his eyes momentarily to re-center his focus, Albus turned his attention to the golden thread.

It looked much like a debt connection, but it was not nearly bright enough to be considered one. However, it did give him a place to start. He glanced between the two once more, before turning his attention to the last person in the room. Ronald. Albus almost rubbed his eyes in exasperation but stopped himself in time. The youngest male Weasley was glowing a dark brown, the edges rippling with lime and scarlet. How such a bitter young man could be brought up in such a loving family astounded the wizard.

"Now, that you've got all that money, I bet your gonna go out to Diagon alley tomorrow and buy yourself the best robes offered. Wear them every day, strutting around like some pompous arse. You're not even a full pureblood!"

Albus winced as he heard the scathing words flow from, the young red head. That would explain the emotion colors in the two boys' auras, and the tense atmosphere. His focus broken, the colors faded from view. In the corner, Ginny stood up straight, her eyes turning flinty, the twins glared from their sofa. Molly whirled around her eyes narrowed and flashing.

Dumbledore noticed Harry flinch slightly when he caught sight of the rapidly reddening woman. "Well actually, I already have the clothes I need, and I haven't yet worn any robes, so I'm not sure how they will feel. I mean, they look a mite hot," the black haired young man responded.

"Oh, so now your too good for…"

"Ronald Bilius Weasley!" Molly's sharp voice interrupted, "upstairs to your room now! I will not have you speaking in that manner to any guest of ours! Your father will be hearing of this!"

Ron glared belligerently at his mother. He opened his mouth to retort when the front door burst open and Mr. Weasley walked in with Remus.

"Good Evening All! What a… I say, what is going on?" the patriarch exclaimed, looking around at the angry faces of his family and the careful masks of his two guests.

Ginny instantly sprung into action. Running to her father and throwing her arms around him, she cried, "Daddy! Ron insulted Harry! He called him a pompous arse!"

Arthur looked to his wife, "Is that correct dear?"

Molly jerked her head. "I have already told him to go to his room. You can deal with him after supper."

Ron's eyes bulged, "After supper, but…"

"You heard your mother," Mr. Weasley interrupted, his face impassive.

Ron stood from the table a nasty scowl creasing his brow. Without a word the boy stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Harry swallowed nervously as the thundering footsteps disappeared up the stairs, following another slam.

"Oi! Quiet!" Percy yelled, glaring at the ceiling before returning to his book. Another slam was the only response, but Harry swore he saw Ginny smirk against her father's torso.

Molly sighed sadly, before gathering Harry up in another hug. "I'm so sorry for what he said, Harry," the woman whispered, "I don't know what came over him."

Harry smiled, desperately keeping his panicked mind in check, "It's alright, Mrs. Weasley. I learned a long time ago to ignore insults."

Molly shook her head, "It's not alright, sweetie. But thank you for the thought."

Harry smiled at the woman as she released him.

"Well, now that we are all here, let's sit and eat, shall we?" Arthur said, a tired smile spreading across his face.

The group moved as one to the dining room table. Arthur sat at the head, Molly at the other end. Harry sat between Ginny and Remus, while Albus took the chair directly across from him, sitting between Percy, and the twins. As soon as the last person had sat, one of the twins grabbed a serving spoon and helped himself to a large helping of mashed potatoes. The other twin followed his example, as did Arthur and Ginny. Harry looked down the table to see Remus, Molly, and Albus doing the same. Swallowing, Harry grasped the spoon of the nearest dish, a wonderful looking casserole, and served himself a healthy portion. He replaced the spoon, only to have it snatched away by the girl to his right, while a masculine pair of hands placed another dish placed in front of him. Taking another portion, he passed the food on. Soon his plate was filled, and he started to eat with a relish.

"So, Harry," Arthur started, swallowing the bit of food in his mouth, "You grew up with Muggles, right?"

"Um, yes sir," the boy responded, an audible hesitation in his voice.

"Than could you perhaps tell me, what is the function of a rubber duck?" the red-headed man asked curiously.

All movement at the table paused for a second, all eyes either on Harry or Arthur. Harry for his part froze, all the attention sending unpleasant tingles running up and down his skin.

"Come again?" he croaked, stunned.

"Well, I have several in my workshop, much like this one here, and I have yet to figure out their use, other than looking rather cute," Mr. Weasley responded withdrawing a yellow rubber duck from his robes.

Harry swallowed his food rapidly, "Well, they are usually used as a bath toy."

Arthur's eyebrows rose, "A bath toy?"

"Yup," Harry affirmed, "It's usually given to a young child to distract them while their mother washes them."

His host stared at him for a minute, then stared at the duck. "It floats?" Mr. Weasley asked faintly.

Harry nodded, his mouth full of a delicious beef roast.

Arthur immediately withdrew his wand, and waved it in an intricate pattern. A bucket appeared next to his plate, and a single word later, was filled with water. The man placed his duck into the bucket and stared as the toy bobbed about.

"I can not believe I never thought to try that," he whispered while his wife pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Arthur, how many times have I said, no magic at the dinner table?" the woman said, exasperation coloring her voice.

"Yes, dear," Arthur sighed, retrieving the rubber duck and with a flick of his wand, the bucket vanished.

Harry just stared at the blatant display of magic, his fork dangling uselessly from his fingers. It was almost too much to think that he would be able to produce such feats.

The meal finished quite quickly after that. Remus proved to have a very dry sense of humor, and his quick and witty comebacks quickly had the table rolling with laughter. Dumbledore continually picked on the scarred man, allowing himself to be the butt of many jokes.

Finally, when all the plates were empty, and no one was taking any more food, Molly stood and waved her wand about, levitating the plates off the table. Ginny jumped to her feet and walked with her mother into the kitchen. The table sat quiet for a second before Harry turned to Remus.

"Mr. Lupin, how exactly did you know my father?"

Remus hesitated, swirling the water around his glass. The silence stretched on for several seconds, leaving Harry to wonder if he had done something wrong.

"Your father, myself, and Sirius Black were best friends when we were in school," the man finally whispered, emotion choking his voice. He said nothing more, and Harry didn't push. The pain in the mans eyes was all too apparent.

The room sank into uncomfortable silence. No one made eye contact with another as they waited.

The tension only lasted a moment and was broken when the door to the kitchen burst open, and Mrs. Weasley strode through, levitating trays and pans ahead of her. Ginny followed, a pitcher in each hand. The aroma followed only a fraction of a second later, and it set Harry's mouth to watering. The twins cheered as various deserts arranged themselves on the table. Dumbledore looked especially pleased as a small yellow colored pie centered itself in front of him.

Harry smiled at Ginny as she poured him a glass of a bright red liquid, and then another glass of a light orange color. She blushed cutely before pouring herself a glass of each.

Once everyone was seated, Arthur reached for a pudding, and everyone fell to the deserts with a hearty eagerness. Harry immediately spotted his favorite, a treacle tart, and served himself a large portion. A couple of cookies found themselves on his plate together with a small piece of chocolate cake. Grinning, Harry picked up his fork, stabbed at the cake, and brought the piece to his mouth.

An abrupt 'THOING' followed immediately by a loud 'splat' sounded from across the table. All movement stopped, and Harry looked up to see Albus sitting as still as a statue, his pie now dripping down his long beard.

Dumbledore, for his part, slowly brought a finger to his cheek, swiped at the mess, then stuck his finger in his mouth. His head rolled in obvious pleasure, and his eyes slid closed.

"Lemon Meringue," he whispered, "My favorite."

The tension vanished immediately, and the group burst out laughing, the twins subtly high-fiving each other under the table.

Through the noise, one could hear Arthur, "Isn't that my spring?"

LP:HoH

The time was late, and the sun had disappeared behind the hills. Harry sat on the couch in the Weasley's living room, his eyes heavy. Ginny was asleep, her head lolling on Harry's shoulder. The twins had vanished into their room almost an hour before, and Percy still had his nose in his book, though Harry was certain the older redhead was dozing. The adults were still sitting around the dinner table, finishing their last cups of tea.

Albus swallowed the rest of his lemon green tea with a pleased sigh. "It really is a good day when I spend a day at The Burrow," the old man said, keeping his voice low, "I just hope Harry will learn to like it hear as much as I do."

Molly smiled, her eyes scanning over the occupants of her living room. "I think he is already learning, Albus," she whispered, "The Potters have always been considered friends and allies of House Weasley, even before the vow."

A small chime from the wall had everyone glancing at the small clock sitting below the Great Weasley Family Clock. Albus's eyes widened slightly at the displayed time. It was getting very late, and Harry had an early morning date, with four girls. A small smile played across the professor's face. Harry had gotten the dream of almost every male in the planet, and the boy had almost blown a gasket. It spoke to his character, but the young man certainly had much to learn.

Standing, Albus smiled at the couple before walking to the living room. He looked down at Harry who met his gaze with his own. No word was spoken but Harry nodded and gently lifted Ginny off of his shoulder, softly laying her down onto the couch. Walking over to the table, Harry held out his hand to Arthur. "Thankyou for having me, Mr., Mrs. Weasley. I thoroughly enjoyed myself," he said.

Molly pulled him into a hug. "You have three months until you go to school. Come by anytime you want, Harry. Our house is always open to you," the woman said, releasing him. "And so," she continued, touching his face and locking his eyes with hers, "I expect you to come by at least three times between now and the first of September. You are family to us. The Potters have always been family to us."

Harry looked into the warm brown eyes of the woman. He saw nothing but sincerity and something he couldn't identify but it made him feel safe. Fighting an unsuccessful battle with the tears pooling in his eyes, Harry threw himself back into the woman's arms.

"Thank you," the boy whispered fervently, "thank you, thank you, thank you." Then Harry bolted, almost forgetting to grab his staff in his rush to get to the fireplace.

"Harry!" Albus called after him.

Harry ignored him, grabbing at the pot of floo powder and hurling some into the embers.

"Leaky Cauldron," he choked, stepping into the now roaring green flames and with a flash, he was gone.

Albus hurried to the fireplace and grabbed a handful of the pale green powder. Right before he could toss the powder in, a strong hand grabbed his arm and shoved him bodily against the wall. Burning brown eyes glared into his concerned cerulean.

"Albus, what the bloody hell were you thinking!"

LP:HoH

Tom, the friendly owner of the Leaky Cauldron, was closing down for the day when his floo erupted in a blaze of emerald. The barkeeps wand was in his hand as a black-haired figure was spat out of the fireplace. The figure staggered to its feet, and headed to the stairs, a staff hanging from limp fingers.

"Lord Potter?" Tom asked as the boy blew past him, literally. Magic swirled in the wind, blowing loose papers and napkins around the pub.

Harry took the stairs two at a time. He needed to get to his room, he couldn't let the emotion show. He could not be weak. He pushed open the door of Room 10 and collapsed just inside tears streaming down his face. How could he have been so stupid. Now the Weasleys would see just how weak he was and would turn their backs, just like everybody else. He sniffled. But they had called him family, and family didn't do that to each other, did they? His short stint on the streets had shown that his relatives were horrible examples of what a true family was. But was what he had seen really a true family?

He hauled himself to his feet and crossed the room to the full-length mirror in the corner. His reflection stared back at him, looking scared and broken. His cheeks were tear stained, and his eyes red, but as he stared at his image, his green orbs seemed to flash with light. Memories surged to the forefront of his mind:

A staircase faded in and out of focus in front of him. His hands were tied to the bannister, but that was no surprise. His shirt lay where it had been thrown, baring his torso for the world to see. A searing pain ripped itself from his right shoulder down to his left hip. Harry flinched but made no sound. He was used to the pain of metal on skin.

"Turn your teachers hair different colors, will you," Vernon hissed, belt held tightly in his hand.

"Uncle Vernon, please, I didn't do it," the boy whispered.

The buckle of the belt rose and fell again, leaving another gash across the scarred back. Harry winced, but not a sound escaped.

"Shut up, freak! You and your evil, unnatural powers have embarrassed me and my family!"

Meaty hands grabbed Harry's bonds and tore them apart. Grabbing the unruly black hair, Vernon dragged the brat to the door and threw the boy out.

"Don't ever let us see your face again, freak," the fat man growled, "Your unnatural and you don't belong anywhere. It would be better if you simply died like you worthless parents." The door slammed shut leaving the hunched figure of a boy on the front step.

Harry stood shakily, using a hand on the step railing to steady himself. Pausing only a second to pull on the t-shirt he had snagged off the floor, the 8 year old walked down the road.

A tear slipped down the boy's cheek. He stared into His reflection's eyes, but they looked broken. Fractals seemed to spiral out from his pupils, shattering the green irises.

'Now do you see,' a musical voice whispered in his ear, the lullaby playing in the distance increasing, 'You have found a place where you belong and can be yourself. Now, just prove the fat one wrong.'

Harry spun around looking for the one who had spoken.

'I am not there, son.'

"Who are you," Harry asked.

'I am everyone, but no one, I see, a speak, but I am not. Do not worry, little one, I will not harm you. Now, sleep.'

LP:HoH

In a large manor, just north of Wiltshire, a man wiped his brow with a pristine handkerchief. Walking to the near by cabinet, he placed the neatly coiled whip in its designated location, before closing and locking the door. Turning to the blonde figure of a female, chained to a post, he surmised his handywork. Bloody streaks criss-crossed the woman's back, the whip strokes clear against the alabaster skin. Bruises were forming across her ribs, and her wrists were rubbed raw. With a small smile he turned away, leaving five words hanging ominously in the air.

"Never forget, who owns you."