Three Takes on a Potter Reunion

A/N: this story was inspired by a conversation with Ellory. On the original Black family tree, there is an unknown son of Charlus and Dorea Potter who could conceivably be in the Marauder's generation. It isn't James since cannon has made his parents the elderly Fleamont and Euphemia Potter who died of dragon pox (the same epidemic which carried off Abarax Malofy? We can only wonder…) So who is this mysterious son and why did he never step forward to help his cousin? Nephew? Distant family relation? These are three reasons that I thought of off the top of my head.

"It sucks you live with the Muggles, mate." Ron Weasley clapped the back of his best friend's shoulder as they gazed down at his latest Christmas gift from his aunt and uncle: a wad of tissue. At least it wasn't used, but given the steady decline in quality of gifts, it wouldn't take long before Harry was left holding a box of air or an empty can.

"Yeah." Harry sighed as he shoved the box away, wondering what sort of thank you he would craft to the Dursleys. He had to write a thank you note or suffer blistering critique of his manners, mother, and wizarding world all summer. But what did you say about tissue?

"Seriously mate. Why are you living with them?" Ron plunked down to begin munching on some of the homemade fudge his mum had sent him, "You're a Potter."

"So?" Harry's voice came muffled as he pulled the Weasley sweater over his head. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"You're dad's a pureblood. Where's the rest of the family? Or aunts or uncles? Even grandparents?" Ron frowned at him, cheek bulging with delicious fudgy treats. But Harry just shrugged as he adjusted his glasses. "You don't know? You've never looked up your family tree?"

"You can look at family trees?" Harry asked. Ron sighed and reminded himself, once again, that Harry Potter no matter how famous was as clueless about the world as muggleborn.

"Yeah," He swallowed the fudge, "I bet Hermione would help with the research too."

0X0X0X0

"You want to research your family?" Hermione squealed, "That's a brilliant idea Harry. I've always wondered about the rest of the Potters. You know I did a bit of reading on wizarding genealogies when I first arrived. It's a very interesting though complicated branch of study. People say that your genealogy is like a family tree but really it's more like a bramble patch in the wizarding world. Cousins get married or children end up marrying parents friends. I guess when you live to be 200 years old age doesn't matter as much-"

"Hermione, breath." Harry cautioned and his friend took a deep breath. Then smiled.

"Ok, give me 20 minutes."

17 minutes and 43 seconds later, Hermione looked up from a nastily thick book and grinned.

"Ok," She announced. Ron and Harry stopped their game of trying to wandlessly levitate a crumpled bit of paper to the other's side of the table, "Harry. Your nearest living relative is Thomas Potter of Wiltershire. He's your second cousin."

"So that makes him-" Harry squinted as he tried to do the family math.

"Your grandfather's brother's son." Ron supplied helpfully. "Close enough that you're still considered true family. It's only after you get into third cousins or removed that blood magic stops working." Hermione gave him an approving look and handed Harry a piece of paper on which the name and address was written.

"Alright," Harry said after studying the name. Thomas Potter. It had a good sound to it, but Harry still felt uneasy. "Well, why hasn't he met me? Or anything?"

"Only one way to find out," Hermione said. Her eyes were shining in excitement, "You should write to him. Maybe he's an adventurer and has been exploring Antarctica. Or a secret agent in China. Or-"

"Barmy." Ron chimed in. "What? It's not like it has to be good." He added when Hermione glared at him.

"Ok. I'll write. What's the worst that could happen?" Harry wondered.

Still, it was with a beating heart that he tied the letter addressed to one Thomas Potter to Hedwig's leg and sent her off into the night.

I.

That evening Harry was distracted from his descent to dinner by a loud altercation in the Atrium of Hogwarts. Ron, Hermione and Harry exchanged concerned looks and hurried faster when they could make out the shouting.

"Mr. Potter, you are not supposed to be here." Professor McGonagall's voice echoed strictly. Harry hesitated, but didn't see her. Who was she talking to if not him?

"He sent a letter! In his own hand! The curse of the Reunion is broken." An unfamiliar man's voice raged. A knot tightened in Harry's chest as his jumped to a conclusion. Breaking away from his friends he ran down the stairs and stopped short in the Atrium. A small knot of students had already gathered, thronging around the two adults who stood arguing before the front doors. One was the familiar figure of Professor McGonagal whose spine was stiffer than Harry had ever seen.

The other was a dark, messy haired man who was brandishing a letter like a wand. The knot tightened further and Harry knew who he must be.

"Thomas?" He called out from the stairs. The man looked up and grey eyes met green. His cheek bones were a little higher. There was some silver starting at his temples. But he was unmistakably a Potter.

"Harry?" Thomas called out. He shoved past Mcgonagall and the students parted before him as he ran up the stairs to Harry. "Is it you? Is it really you?"

Harry could only bring himself to nod. This was his father's cousin. He had written to him half in hope- half in jest only a few hours ago. Never had he expected a meeting or so soon. "Yes, it's me."

"Oh, thank Merlin." Thomas swooped him up into a bone crushing hug, "After James died, I tried to find you Harry. James and I weren't close, but you're family. I tried so hard- until Dumbledore cast the curse of reunion as your guardian."

"Curse of reunion?" Harry asked- voice muffled by the tight press of Thomas's shoulder.

"It's a curse that was originally crafted to protect witches from unwanted suitors," Hermione answered as she and Ron hurried down the stairs. "Under the curse of the reunion, the recipient of the curse can make no attempt to contact, see or interact with the beneficiary of the curse until the beneficiary- that's you, Harry- reach out to them to make amends."

"In your own hand and of your own free will," Thomas gave an approving nod to Hermione. "I had tracked you down to a Muggle neighborhood of all places Harry when Dumbledore appeared to cast the curse. After that- no matter what I read in the papers or heard about from gossip- I couldn't reach out to you or help you."

The reality slowly sunk into Harry's mind. "And if Hermione hadn't happened to come across you name…" He whispered, "I had no idea you even existed until a few hours ago."

"I'm not surprised. Just as there are notice me not spells for people, there are think of me not spells for thoughts. I wonder how many others Dumbledore cast the Curse of Reunion on." Suddenly, Thomas stepped back and gazed critically at Harry. "Why are you so small? Potter men easily top six feet."

His wand was out in a second and waving in a complex pattern of spells, before Harry could react. Ron was faster- his own wand pointed at Thomas's face and expression steely.

"Calm yourself, Weasley." Thomas didn't even glance up from the flashes of light and colors his spell work produced, "These are basic diagnostic spells. I work as a local medi-wizard in a country clinic. For when- Harry. You are severely malnourished. You're lacking essential mineral and vitamin quantities. Why aren't you eating?"

As Thomas's magic washed over him as calming as a warm bath, the knot in his chest slowly loosened. This was what family felt like. Fierce- supportive- loving. Harry couldn't wait to see what his new Uncle would do when he learned about the Dursleys.

II.

The next morning, Harry received a letter from a dark brown ministry owl. The letter almost landed in his juice, but Harry's seeker reflexes came to his rescue. The in dark blue wax was the official ministry seal and Harry opened it, with a feeling of dread in his stomach.

Dear Mr. Potter,

The letter read.

We regret to inform you that one Mr. T. Potter is no longer among the living following order 72 article b section 3.4.

Have a good day.

Sincerely,

Harry didn't bother reading the signature. His stomach twisted and his head rebelled. It was like Malfoy had got a sucker punch to the gut. Despite Ron's warnings, he had fallen asleep to dreams of a mysterious and wonderful uncle who would swoop in and take him away. Thomas Potter was everything the Dursley's were not: kind, fun, caring, and happy to see Harry.

He was also apparently dead.

"Harry is everything alright?" Hermione asked as she looked up from her book. His friend loved to read while she ate- it was a hold over from her childhood apparently. Harry handed her the letter silently and pushed aside his plate.

"Oh Harry," She breathed after she read the short, blunt missive. Wrapping her arms around her friend she buried her face in his shoulder. "I know you were looking so forward to meeting your uncle. And then to have-"

"Wicked!" Ron whistled. An expression of delight crossed his face as he stared down at the letter. Hermione immediately straightened- spine stiff with righteous fury.

"Ronald! How dare you-"

"No, mate. Order 72." Ron waved the letter in his face. "They write books about this. Order 72 is the unspeakables. When a wizard or witch starts to do research on things that are so dangerous or so important to the wizarding world, they are declared dead so no one will try to steal their memories or imperious them. You know the series about the Secret Mage Flemming? He was part of the Order 72."

"So you're saying," Harry blinked at his friend, "You're saying that my uncle could be a secret agent?"

Ron nodded emphatically, a giant grin across his face. Harry knew his best friend wouldn't lie to him. "Wow."

"I know." Ron dug a quill out of his pocket and passed it to Harry, "Now, what you've got to do is write back 'By Blood and Magic, I refuse this order and demand to see the man bound by family.'"

"What?" Hermione glance back and forth between Harry who was scribbling the note down on the back of the letter and Ron who was watching him eagerly, "You've got to be kidding me. That can't possibly be how you respond to the letter."

"Oh no," Ron protested, "I've seen it all the times in the books. That's how the hero always does it."

0X0X0X0X

Deep underground- deeper than gringotts and deeper than muggles had dug- a tall, dark haired man raised a single eyebrow as he read the messy scrawl on the back of a ministry form.

"By blood and magic, then?" Turning his head slightly to see the shadowy form waiting just outside the pool of candle light, he said, "Put the experiments on hold, Peircon. It appears I will be returning back to England sooner than expected.

The shadowy figure bowed, "As you wish, my lord."

III.

The next day after transfiguration, Professor McGonagall called Harry over after class. Hermione and Ron hesitated at the door, but continued on to lunch when Harry waved them on. To his memory, he hadn't thought he had done anything to get in trouble. Maybe the strict head of Gryffindor just wanted to discuss his latest transfiguration paper.

"Mr. Potter, please sit." She pointed to the small stool next to her desk and Harry took an awkward perch. "I understand that you sent a letter out yesterday to a Mr. Thomas Potter?"

"Uh. Yeah." Harry blinked at her, "Is that ok?"

"Of course." McGonagall seemed to hesitate for a moment, "Would you like me to arrange a meeting with him?"

"Yeah! Would you?" Harry leaned forward so fast he almost toppled off his stool, "He's my only living relative on my dad's side. I've always wanted to meet more of my family. That would be great Professor!"

"As you wish, Mr. Potter." McGonagall nodded once and seemed to come back to herself, "Come to my office this Saturday at 1. We will depart from there."

0X0X0X0

That Saturday at 12:58, Harry knocked on Professor McGonagall's door. He had spent ages trying to get his unruly hair to lay flat and had chosen his best robes. He'd even tried a cleaning charm on his shoes that almost melted off the toe before Hermione was able to fix it.

When McGonagall opened the door, Harry was surprised to see that two other people were sitting by a blazing fire and nibbling on biscuits. One was an older Hufflepuff he didn't know, but the other-

"Neville?" Harry stopped short, "What are you doing here?"

"Hello Harry," Neville said shyly, "Professor McGonagall said you might be joining us from now on." The girl in yellow robes gave him a small, sad smile.

"Uh…" He glanced at the stern professor for an answer but she simply swept to the fireplace without explanation.

"Come along children, we don't have time waste." Casting a handful of floo powder onto the flames, she enunciated clearly, "St. Mungo's- Visitor Room." Stepping into the flames she disappeared. Harry grabbed a handful of floo powder and fell into line behind Neville. St. Mungo's? Wasn't that the wizarding hospital? Was his uncle a medi-wizard then? When his turn came, he carefully repeated the destination and stepped into the flames.

Floo travel was a nightmare. But at least when he tumbled out of the fireplace there was a kind eyed nurse waiting with a towel to scrub the ash and soot off.

"Harry, you're new. This your first time at St. Mungo's?" She asked cheerfully. Harry could only nod in response. "Wonderful! I'm sure Mr. Potter will be thrilled to see you! Now Martha you know where Healer Bloom's station is, right? Excellent! Then you two boys follow me." The girl gave Neville a little wave and headed off down the right hallway while they followed the Medi-witch down the left one.

The witch kept up a steady stream of cheerful chatter as they walked. She and Neville seemed to be good friends as she asked after Trevor, his potions homework, and if he was eating enough for breakfast. Finally, they came to a double set of doors which the witch unlocked with a wave of her wand.

"There you are Neville. Remember, the floo opens again in an hour but you're welcome to wait in the visitor room for as long as you like. This way, Harry." With a quick squeeze to his shoulder, Neville parted and disappeared between the doors. The witch led Harry further into the rats nest of the hospital and finally paused before a door. She cast a quick spell on Harry and he shivered from the not unpleasant feeling of being scrubbed from head to foot with a gentle bristle brush.

"Sterilization spell," The witch explained kindly, "Can't have you bringing in any unwanted spells or germs. Anyways, Mr. Potter is just inside. Feel free to stay as long as you like, but return back to the visitor room in an hour. If you get lost, just put your hand on one of these," She pointed to a white panel set in the wall, "Say where you want to go and the floor will light up along your path. Any questions?"

Tonnes, but none came to mind so Harry just shook his head. She reached forward and adjusted his collar. "Mr. Potter will be so pleased to see you. He hasn't had any visitors in nearly thirteen years."

"Oh," Suddenly, Harry felt a great rush of empathy. He, in a way, hadn't had any visitors in the 11 years he was at the Dursleys. "Thanks for your help ma'am."

"Such a sweet boy," She stepped back and nodded in approval. "I hope we'll be seeing you again." With a wave, she turned on her heel and disappeared down the hallway. Harry turned to the door, took a deep breath, and opened the door.

There was only one bed in the room. It was large and set in a complicate rune carved into the ground that pulsed gently with low grade magic. A table was set near by with a complex collection of potion bottles. Some, Harry recognized from his own times in the Infirmary, but most were a mystery. Except for the man laying in the bed, there was no one else in the room, so Harry approached the bed cautiously.

The man in the bed had once been handsome, but years confined to a hospital bed had sunken his cheeks and hollowed out his eyes. His skin was pale and so thin Harry could see the beat of the arteries at his neck and the delicate tracings of veins around his eyes. His hair had grown long and despite being clean and brushed looked unruly and windswept. Harry's breath caught in his throat.

Like mine, he thought. This really is Thomas Potter.

There was a chair by the bed and Harry took a shaking seat, glancing around to see if there was anything else that could tell him more about the man on the bed. On the table with the potions was a thick file. When Harry picked it up, magic swirled around his hands and the subsided. The folder fell open by itself.

Logs of potion usage. Diagnostic spell results recorded. Vital signs taken. Harry flipped through page after page of medical jargon until he reached the back of the folder. A photograph fell out and Harry bent to pick it up.

Three young faces stared up at him, smiling and laughing. Harry realized with a shock that the one of the left must have been Thomas from his younger days. He had been a handsome boy and the Potter influence was even clearer. Harry flipped the picture over on the back and saw the names written in a scrawled handwriting

Thomas Potter. Asher Perslaine. Valentine Perslaine. Summer 1962.

The girl, Valentine, made a rude face at him as he stared down at him, but laughed as her brother shoved her. Thomas was also laughing, but Harry didn't miss the longing look he gave her that disappeared as soon as Asher turned back to him. The three teenagers, long since past, continued to laugh and joke- caught forever in a moment that would never end.

Had they become friends in school? Or before? Did Thomas ever confess his feelings to Valentine? Did she return them? Harry suddenly realized that he would never know.

He went to slip the photograph back into the folder, but a report at the back of the file caught his eye. It was a medical report unlike any he had seen on the tele or heard about in real life. Half medical jargon, half gossip- Harry bent down to read carefully.

February 14th 1981

Patient T. Potter was brought in at 3:51 am today.

A V. Perslaine apparated into the room holding the unconscious potter. Her report was rushed but apparently he had been tortured by the Death Eaters to reveal the location of a J. Potter. Before further information could be extracted, V. Perslaine apparated away swearing oaths of vengeance against Death Eaters for death of A. Perslaine and T. Potter. *

There was an asterisk next to that sentence and Harry glanced down at the bottom of the report to read:

* A V. Perslaine was found dead in the streets of Diagone Alley today. There was evidence of many dark curses and her wand was found broken beside her body. With her death, the Purslaine family has ended.

Tears filled Harry's eyes and he had to blink them away quickly or else worry about blotching the parchment.

We were able to stabilize T. Potter but were unable to reach V. Perslaine to inform her of this fact. T. Potter has not yet woken, but appears to be in good health.

Recommendation: keep in stasis until a Mind healer can be spared.

Harry quickly rifled through the pages of follow up procedures and treatments. A mind healer had been found but had been unable to either access Thomas's mind or wake him from the coma. Various other treatments had been tried over the years, but all had failed to revive the man. Harry learned that the variety of healing spells were not as vast as he had imagined and that there was a standing order to keep any Pureblood alive no matter their mental state.

Eventually, a small chime rang out above the door and a soft voice announced, "The visitor hour is over. Please return to the visitor room."

Harry slowly closed the folder and replaced it on the table. The hour had flown by in the time he had spent reading about his uncle. As he glanced down at the man, he couldn't stop the surge of sadness and pity that ran through him. It was because of him, that Thomas, Asher and Valentine had lost their lives. If Voldemort hadn't been looking for him- hadn't thought that the other Potter might know where his cousin was, then they could have all be alive.

"I'll make this better," He promised, reaching down to take his uncle's cold hand. It might be his imagination, but he could almost feel a flicker of magic in response.

A/N: Each of these might be fun to expand into a longer story at some point. Let me know what you think!