Year Five:

Chapter One: Muggles and Magic

Harry normally hated summer. In fact, he was happy to admit that it was the worst time of the year. Life at Privet Drive was tedious at best. Dudley was his normal bullying self, having garnered a reputation around the village for beating up twelve-year-olds, while Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were blissfully ignoring their son's violent tendencies.

Normally, Harry would've found himself roaming the empty streets, trying to avoid housework and Dudley in equal measure, clinging to the letters that his friends sent and counting down the days until he could visit The Burrow. But his normal had changed, for better and worse. His dreams were more lucid than ever, either of the graveyard or of Voldemort's obsession with a long corridor. Neither left him feeling rested.

But when he wasn't sleeping his summer was completely and entirely different. It hadn't started that way, for the first few weeks it had been the usual letters and lamenting, but that had all changed with a knock at the door.

"Door," Uncle Vernon said to the room at large when the knocker announced their arrival. When no-one moved and the knocker politely indicated their presence again, Uncle Vernon barked. "Boy! The door!"

Harry, who had been frying bacon, had to resist the urge to sigh and point out that Dudley - who was staring open-mouthed at whatever rubbish he was watching on TV - could go without risking the bacon. Instead of pointing this out, he lowered the heat as best he could and headed to see who was intruding on their Sunday. He really hoped it wasn't anyone talking about drills.

It wasn't.

"Good morning, Harry!" beamed a jubilant Mr Greengrass, his thinning hair hidden under a wide-brimmed hat and his smile brighter than the hot summer sun. He was wearing a sleek muggle suit, dark blue and pinstriped with polished black shoes. He looked like something out of the old detective films that Aunt Petunia secretly watched when Uncle Vernon wasn't home.

Beside him, her critical eye looking past Harry and into the stunningly clean house he refused to call home, was Daphne. It was strange, seeing her out of her robes, but he had to admit she suited the red and white floral summer dress she had no doubt gone and bought specially.

"Er," it wasn't the best opening line he had to admit, but he hadn't been expecting them at all.

"May we come in?" Mr Greengrass - Matthias, Harry mentally corrected - asked.

"I, erm, I don't know?" Harry answered, completely lost. The decision was made for him by Uncle Vernon, clearly wondering why Harry was still at the door, heaving a great sigh and appearing in the hallway.

He stopped dead at the sight of Mr. Greengrass, frowned, and barked, "whatever it is you're selling, we don't want it!"

Matthias, if possible, seemed even happier with this; while Daphne rolled her eyes. "Mr Dursley, I assure you we are not selling anything. In fact, I was rather hoping to speak to you and your wife about young Harry here," he clapped a hand on Harry's shoulder, Harry nearly buckling under the unexpected force.

"And you are?" growled Uncle Vernon warily.

"Yes, dreadfully sorry," he took off his hat and unbuttoned his suit jacket, revealing an exquisitely patterned tie and crisp white shirt. "My name is Matthias Greengrass and this is Daphne, my daughter," Daphne gave a half-hearted wave, clearly not on board with the charm offensive her father had planned.

"I'm his girlfriend," Daphne clarified when Uncle Vernon looked nonplussed. Harry closed his eyes, half-expecting his Uncle to erupt.

What he was actually greeted with was a strange sort of mewling sound and then a gruff "come in."

"Thank you," Matthias said graciously, and it was only when he stepped through the door and Harry saw the small collection of staring neighbours dotted across the street. Uncle Vernon simply wanted to explode without prying eyes.

"What is happening?" Harry whispered to Daphne while Matthias was shown into the living room by a grumbling Uncle Vernon.

"You said you hated it here," Daphne said, shooting him a sideways smile. While Harry couldn't argue, this wasn't how he'd envisaged tackling the problem. Uncle Vernon loudly summoned Aunt Petunia into the living room, while expelling Dudley to his friends' over the din of his son's wailing. Harry was sure that he saw Matthias's beard twitch as Dudley threw his metaphorical toys well and truly out of the pram.

What was left was an unsettled meeting of muggles and magic. On one side of the living room were Matthias and Daphne, taking up space on the cream sofa Aunt Petunia lovingly cleaned every evening - while in the armchairs across from them were Harry's aunt and uncle. Both muggles looked a combination of horrified, outraged and terrified all at once. Harry pulled out a small footstool from next to the sofa and sat between the two, as though he were the mediator for two great nations coming together after a war.

"So," Uncle Vernon began, grinding out the word as though it gave him physical pain, glaring at Daphne as he spoke, "you're… one of those…"

"A witch?" Aunt Petunia flinched. "Yes. I go to Hogwarts, if that's what you mean?" Daphne's tone wasn't unpleasant, but there was a hard edge that had been missing in her father's voice. Hardly surprising, seeing as Daphne actually knew what Harry's family were like.

A vein in Uncle Vernon's head looked as though it wanted to explode.

"And what do you want?" It was as though he were trying to figure out exactly what to be outraged about, like a bomb with a timer slowly ticking down.

"What any parent wants," Matthias said, taking over from his daughter, "for my children to be happy. In Daphne's case, that means seeing Harry over the summer. In Astoria's, well I haven't a clue what she'd want if I'm -" he caught himself, "but you don't need to know about that."

"You want her under our roof?" The derision in Aunt Petunia's voice made Harry wish he'd not left his wand upstairs. Daphne, who Harry half-expected to shoot back a challenging barb, took the implied insult with little more than a small shake of the head. As if they were beneath her.

"Absolutely not!" Uncle Vernon roared. "I will not allow my house to become a circus for this," he gestured at Harry, "weirdness!"

"Oh, no," Matthias laughed, but his eyes had hardened, "No, not at all! I was thinking more along the lines of Harry visiting us."

"You?" The disgust was obvious, the judgement heavy-handed.

"Yes!" Matthias chose to ignore Uncle Vernon's outrage, "don't worry! We've plenty of space, far more than you have actually," Harry had to stop himself from laughing at Uncle Vernon's face, "and we could collect him using muggle… cars?" Matthias faltered, "you call them cars, right?"

"Yeah," Harry answered, before his aunt and uncle had a chance to insult the Greengrasses more than they already had.

"Excellent, so cars," Matthias continued, "we'd pick Harry up using one of those car things, and then he can spend the day with us, before returning here whenever he likes. And before you even think of offering, we wouldn't want any money for food. It'd be our pleasure to have him."

"All day?" Uncle Vernon asked.

"If he likes," Matthias nodded, "that's really up to Harry and Daphne."

"That'd be great," Harry interjected.

"I think I could put up with him," Daphne smirked.

"Ah, young love," her father, clearly used to his daughter's antics, grinned.

"And we wouldn't have to pay?" There it was. The gleam in his eyes was almost ravenous.

"Not a single galleon."

"A what?" Uncle Vernon looked appalled.

"It's their money, Vernon." Aunt Petunia, with a rare stroke of magical awareness, informed her husband.

"Oh, well, that goes without saying!" Uncle Vernon barked, trying to take charge of the conversation. "We wouldn't pay for the boy. If you want him," he cast a disgusted look at Harry, who was having a hard time believing his luck, "take him."

The conversation, or rather ambush, from Mad-Eye and the rest of the Order at the station was still clearly ringing in his uncle's head. Harry had been locked in his room for a week thanks to the cheek of wizards to 'threaten' him. Clearly, he was just as sick of having Harry around as Harry was being there. Matthias wasn't wrong, it benefited them both.

Matthias clapped his hands, springing to his feet, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia flinched. "Wonderful. Well then Harry, no time like the present. That's if you'd like to? You don't have to, of course."

"No," Harry was aware it probably came out a little too quickly, "no, that'd be great."

Not daring to believe his luck, Harry practically ran from the house before his aunt and uncle changed their mind. Matthias hung behind for a moment to say a final goodbye to the Dursleys, flashing them what Harry was coming to see as his trademark smile before donning his hat and joining Harry and Daphne by the road.

"Well," he said cheerfully, "I think that went well."

"They're awful," Daphne pointed out, glowering at Harry's aunt and uncle, who were already retreating back into the safety of their house.

"They're not nice," Matthias agreed, waving at one of the neighbours who was sending furtive glances his way. "But, that's their choice. We don't have to stoop to their level."

"After what she said about me?"

"That wasn't very kind," Matthias conceded, "but as they say, we should turn the other cheek. Ignorance must be met with patience."

"As who say?"

"I don't know," Daphne's father shrugged, "people who have to deal with ignorant people I suppose."

"I still think you should've hexed them," Daphne muttered, her hand finding Harry's and giving it a small squeeze.

"Pumpkin, if I hexed everyone I didn't like I'd be in Azkaban. Merlin's beard, the Malfoys alone would get me a one-way ticket and as for that undersecretary of Fudge's," he shuddered, "even Fudge himself. Not that we'll have to put up with him much longer."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, it was the first he had heard of rumours like that. The Prophet had done a great job of painting the Minister as the hero who had unmasked Crouch. All Harry got was a footnote, Daphne didn't even get a mention.

"People aren't very happy with how he's dragging his feet on this You-Know-Who stuff," Matthias explained, "myself included. Absolute bilge, getting the Auror office to interview anyone who was there. It's just a delaying tactic and not a very good one. He always was a bit of a flounderer."

"But at least they're investigating," Harry tried.

"They'd have ignored it if they could," Matthias said a little sadly, "he still wants to. Like we can."

There was an awkward pause as a man in a passing Toyota stared at Matthias. Silently, Harry felt Daphne squeeze his hand again. They'd not really talked about Cedric in any of their letters, but he was there in spaces between reassurances and frustration.

"At least he's not as bad as those muggles," Daphne interjected, steering the conversation away from talk of Voldemort. "You weren't joking, Harry, they really are dreadful. I don't know how you put up with them."

"I don't," Harry admitted, relieved to finally be out of the house and not worrying about whether or not Dudley was waiting around the next corner. "And you didn't have to do this, Mr Gr - Matthias. Really."

Matthias waved a hand, as though he were swatting away a particularly annoying fly. "Nonsense, it's the least we can do after everything you've been through, well, like I say, it's our pleasure. Besides, it'd be nice to see someone get some use out of the pitch that isn't just a bunch of investors who've not seen a quaffle since they were at Hogwarts."

And that was that. For the next few weeks, Harry spent his days waking up in Privet Drive and disappearing to Greengrass Manor. The difference was incredible. It wasn't just the house, although it was beautiful, it was how they treated each other. Whereas Mrs Weasley was fussy, or Aunt Petunia was overbearing and cold, Aurora Greengrass took a far more relaxed approach, letting her daughters do what they wanted - within reason. For Astoria, that was disappearing to her friends' houses, or having a variety of different girls over. Daphne, when she wasn't relaxing with Harry, teaching him wizarding pastimes, could be found swimming in the pool her parents had installed or working in her sketchbook.

The first few days Harry felt like a guest, but after a week or so he was just treated like he was part of the fabric of the place. Quite often Matthias would insist on a game of pickup Quidditch when it wasn't his turn to do the cooking, or else would try and persuade Harry jokingly to sign up to the Puddlemere United youth team. Aurora would enlist his help in the kitchen, if her husband hadn't got to Harry first, and often remarked on how impressed she was by his technique. As he couldn't legally do magic, she would cook with him as her grandmother (who Harry learned had been a squib) had taught her.

Some days Harry didn't leave Privet Drive, not wanting to overstay his welcome, and on those days would write to Ron and Hermione. Although, he wasn't getting a lot out of them - just cryptic messages about promising to tell him what they were doing soon. Sirius was no better, although Harry was at least used to infrequent letters from his godfather. Instead of wandering the streets, Harry instead caught up on his reading. Not schoolwork, which would annoy Hermione, but rather books from the Greengrass library. As Daphne had promised him, they had worked together to help Harry learn more about the Potters and the results had been enlightening to say the least.

Apparently, he was related to one of the oldest families of wizards in Britain, the Peverells, three brothers that had become part of folklore. Daphne had dismissed the tale as nonsense at first, but after Harry had shown her the cloak the pair began to wonder if the rest of the story could be true.

Then there was Harold Potter, his grandfather who it turned out he'd been named after, who had been heavily involved in the establishment of Nimbus brooms - one of the many companies that the Potters had invested in over the years. It also turned out he was related to Sirius more closely than he'd realised, thanks to his great-grandfather marrying Dorea Black. He wondered if Sirius knew they were really, really distant cousins or uncle and nephew or something. It was a lot to get his head around.

He was also, thanks to some kind of twice removed something or other, related to the Longbottoms, and rather disturbingly the Malfoys.

"Everyone's got some kind of weird relation they hate," Daphne had told him when he'd shared that news, "technically I'm related to Goyle."

"He got the looks," Harry had teased, earning himself a thwack from a particularly heavy tome on the lineage of great Ministers. "Ow!"

"Awh. Did I hurt you, Potter?"

"I mean, a bit, you can make up for it though."

"Oh, can I?"

They didn't do much speaking for a while after that, not until Daphne's mother called them downstairs for lunch. They were welcomed by Aurora and Matthias, who was hurriedly chewing a sandwich and summoning different pieces of paperwork to his briefcase - causing the kitchen to look like it was under siege from Ministry documents. Aurora motioned for them to move to the table, where a host of different sandwiches and a large chocolate cake could be found.

"We expecting someone?" Daphne asked, pointing to the giant spread as she helped herself to a generous chicken and bacon sandwich. Harry took the turkey one.

"No," Aurora admitted, shooting her husband a sideways glance. Matthias, who was far too busy trying to wrestle a six-foot-long scroll of parchment out of the sink and into his briefcase, didn't seem to notice. "I thought it might be good to talk."

At this her husband seemed to catch up with what was happening and let the scroll fall back into the sink.

"What?" Daphne asked, looking from one serious face to the other, "you're not getting divorced, are you?"

"Good lord, no," Matthias laughed, but it was a little harsher and louder than normal. He ran a hand through his beard and then said, "your mother." Aurora glared at him. "I mean, we thought… that is to say…"

"The world is changing," Aurora said simply, cutting off her husband's attempts at diplomacy. "The Minister is a little slow on the uptake, but eventually he'll realise. At least I hope he will."

"Like that man'd do anything useful," Matthias grumbled, before catching his wife's eye again, "right, sorry, not the point."

"Then what is?" Daphne asked impatiently.

"We're getting to that," Aurora's calmness was slightly unnerving. She pursed her lips, smoothed out the magenta robes she was wearing and then looked at Harry. "People are going to want to know what happened. What really happened." His heart sank. This was about Cedric. "As you probably already know, Harry, I have a background in this sort of thing. The Prophet still hires freelancers and so, if you are willing, I wanted to suggest that you give your side of the story."

"Why?" He was sick of people feeling like they had to pry into his life, like they had any right. He just wanted to be left alone. He thought they knew that, thought they understood. No longer hungry, he threw down his sandwich, crumbs spilling out from it as it hit the china plate.

"Have you read it recently?"

"Not cover to cover," Harry admitted, if there was news about Voldemort it'd be all over the front page.

"There is nothing," Aurora told him, "not a word about that night. The Prophet, thanks to the Minister, has been shut out. They're told not to publish rumours, for fear of it damaging the ongoing investigation," Matthias snorted bad-temperedly at this. "You, of course, cannot speak about Barty Crouch Junior, but there is nothing stopping you from talking about that night."

"They never launched an investigation into Cedric's death," Matthias continued, "Barty's son, sure. Even Barty's disappearance, but Fudge isn't going near that poor boy unless he absolutely has to."

"Which gives you a chance to set the record straight," Aurora added. "To force their hand, before they tell a different story." Harry didn't need to ask why they would, he'd seen it the night he'd told the Minister what had happened. He'd never loved Fudge, but he'd hoped the Minister would see reason, would listen. It had taken Dumbledore basically chaining him to the bed to get him to hear Harry out and even then, had it really mattered?

"We don't want to burden you with this, son," the older man's tone was gentle, as were the eyes that were fixed to Harry's. "But you're going to be involved sooner or later. People are scared, Fudge's losing his grip and he's going to start making the stupid choices. If you're going to get dragged into it, isn't it better to make sure it's on your terms?"

He had a point, but that didn't make the idea any easier to swallow. "What would I even say?"

"The truth," Aurora said, as if it were that simple. "Whenever you're ready. If that's never, that's fine by us, we just want to give you the option."

They ate in relative silence after that, Matthias disappearing to Games and Sports and Aurora claiming that she had friends to go and see. That left Daphne and Harry alone in Greengrass Manor.

"What do you think?" He didn't need to say what about.

"You should do it," Daphne answered, she never was one for beating around the bush. "Mum's right, things are changing. This is just the start. And it's not like it's with Skeeter or any other of those vile hacks. Mum'd never put in anything you don't want her to and, for what it's worth, I'll be here."

"Thanks, really." And he meant it. He really did. There weren't enough words in the world to show her how grateful he was. After weeks of being sequestered away in Greengrass Manor he'd almost forgotten that there was a life waiting for him outside their walls. But he knew, when he was ready to return to it, when he was ready for the worry and speculation and whatever came next, that she would be there for him. That they all would in their own way.

He thought about the eyes that had been on him after Cedric's death, the galleons Amos Diggory had refused to accept from him. What right did he have to feel sorry for himself, to withdraw from it all, when their entire world had been turned upside down?

"Okay," he nodded, "I'll do it."

The result, he had to admit, wasn't what he'd expected.