Two Daughters
A Harry Potter Fanfiction
Chapter Four
Potter didn't react to Narcissa Malfoy's observation, that perhaps he and Bella had been joined together by Blood and Magic. Nevertheless, he thought about her comment all the way back to Andromeda Tonks' place. He picked up Delphi and Ane and thought about it on their way home to Grimmauld Place.
By the following morning, Potter was convinced he had a solution to the question that had been gnawing at him for months—'Who was Delphini Black's biological father?'
If Tom Riddle had once been capable of leading an ordinary life, as a physical human, his transformation by the end called his fatherhood into question. The question was on his mind from the moment Bella had told him about the baby she'd borne, or thought she had borne, for Lord Voldemort, also known as Tom Marvolo Riddle.
Riddle had been badly damaged by the rebounding effects of the killing curse he'd cast on fifteen-month-old Harry Potter. No one knew what became of Riddle, or his body, as he had somehow disappeared from the Potter residence in Godric's Hollow. Voldemort haunted Potter's dreams over the years. What he had not done was put in a personal appearance. That is, until the night a body was somehow constructed, in the Little Hangleton graveyard, from bits and pieces of flesh and some magic.
Four people were present in the graveyard. Cedric Diggory, the Hufflepuff champion in the Triwizard Tournament, was killed shortly after arrival. Harry Potter was there. His blood was used in the restoration ritual. The others were Peter Pettigrew and Voldemort, or Tom Riddle. Only Harry Potter was still alive at the conclusion of the Second Wizarding War.
Potter's puzzlement sprang from his witness of the new body constructed for Voldemort. Potter saw his enemy stand up in the cauldron where his old form had been placed along with Pettigrew's hand, a bone from Tom Riddle, Sr. and some drops of Potter's blood. He was certain the new Voldemort-revived, restored, resurrected or whatever was the proper term-did not stand up in possession of a penis.
Thus, if the scene was as Potter remembered, how was Riddle capable of procreation? Even a willing, eager, magical lover such as Bellatrix Lestrange would not be able to conceive Riddle's child without a contribution from a male partner. If Riddle could not perform as a man, it might be possible to use other means to somehow collect the necessary male fluid and move it along to Bellatrix. This left open the question of who, of the four whose bone, blood, hand and wrecked body went into the cauldron, was the actual biological father of Delphi? Potter thought the question asked itself.
Potter was certain a purely physical examination of Delphini would prove fruitless. She and her younger sister were nearly identical and Potter had slept with Bella every night during the period just before Bella became pregnant with Anemone Black. Physically, for non-twins, the two could not look more alike.
Potter considered making an appointment with St. Mungo's Hospital and going in for an examination. He did not like the idea of exposing Delphi to possible discovery and exploitation by the tabloids. All the magical publications had their confidential sources, just like their muggle counterparts. On the other hand, he knew one authority that could guarantee confidentiality as well as accuracy.
"Mr. Potter."
Harry Potter was ushered into the office of Anvil, his goblin banker and account executive, trailing his daughters, Anemone and Delphini.
"And these are the Honorable Misses?" asked Anvil.
"They are," said Potter, "Anemone, who goes by Ane, and Delphini, who prefers Delphi."
He nodded at the two, who looked closely at the goblin, then curtsied.
'Never miss a beat,' thought Potter.
"Not to make this more mysterious than it is…" Potter began.
"So I brought their documentation along," he concluded as he handed over Ane's birth certificate from Trinidad, her passport and the written statement that turned Delphi over to Euphemia Rowle's care.
"And Ms. Rowle—Euphemia?" said Anvil. "She is no longer caring for Miss Delphi?"
"No longer able," said Potter. "Advanced age, you see."
"Ah," said Anvil, nodding. "I'm getting the picture. So, a standard inheritance test and a short visit from our goblin healer ought to clear things up. The young misses will need the same for Hogwarts in a few short years."
"That's what I thought. Now, this doesn't really hurt," Potter began as he turned toward the witches. "I'll be getting the same test as you. Something we can all do together today."
Neither witch seemed eager to get going.
Anvil kept the instruments for inheritance testing in his office. He was never surprised when some human presented a request because, it seemed, humans never got their fill of arguments over pedigrees, estates or the inheritance of the most ephemeral property, rights and perquisites.
The drawing of blood from Potter's palm and deposit of the same in a terra cotta bowl did not seem to reach the level of actual torture. Once the bleeding ended and the incision was healed, the witches were much more interested in watching Anvil perform the test.
The drops of blood swirled around on the enchanted parchment.
"How does it do that?" Delphi asked in a hoarse whisper.
"I don't know," answered Potter. "Magic."
"Care to look?" asked the goblin.
It did not occur to Potter until much later that his banker was offering the chance to keep the results from the young witches.
"You can read it," said Potter.
"Very well, Lord Potter, Lord Black, Heir of Peverell and…"
Potter snapped upright, anticipating and half-fearing what was coming.
"…Slytherin."
Potter took a deep breath and exhaled, slowly.
Anvil grinned, his mouthful of goblin teeth showing.
"Well," said Potter.
Anvil put the parchment aside and brought out a clean dagger.
"Do you wish to continue, Lord Potter-Black?" asked the goblin.
"Yes," said Potter. "Delphi. You saw everything. A little sting, then it's all over. Can you do that?"
"Dragons don't fuss, Harry!" she answered, jaw set.
Delphi flinched but she didn't fuss.
"Oh, my," said Anvil, looking at the parchment.
He didn't read the results aloud, merely turning the sheet around and handing it to Potter.
"I suspected…" said Potter as he turned toward Delphi.
"It's bad, isn't it?" she asked.
Potter shook his head.
"That would depend on what you think, in another ten years," he said, smiling.
"Will I come to a bad end? Is that what it says?"
"No," said Potter. "You're my daughter, with your mother Bella, same as Ane."
Anvil put the dagger aside and brought out a third, then took a few drops of blood from Ane. When the parchment settled he handed it to Potter.
"Right," said Potter. "Do we see the healer now?"
"I strongly recommend you do," replied Anvil. "Let me summon a messenger."
He picked up the silver bell sitting next to the desk blotter and gave it some vigorous shakes. A knock sounded on the door just before it opened. Another goblin wearing Gringotts livery stood on the threshold. Anvil said a few words in the goblin language, the messenger nodded and left. A very short time later another knock sounded. Anvil spoke and the door opened. A female goblin wearing a Navy dress with a white apron stepped inside.
Another exchange in goblin later, the healer asked for the parchments.
"Delphini?" said the healer.
Delphi raised her hand.
"Then you are Anemone, and of course, Mr. Potter," the healer announced.
The examination of the three took very little time. The healer read the examinees' names, inspected the incisions on their palms, then gave her findings.
"You are Harry James Potter, son and heir of James Potter and—heir of Sirius Black. Isn't that something? Well, and in addition to heirship of Peverell and Slytherin. My, my. Such distinguished bloodlines. You are a widower? There was a bond with the witch Bellatrix Black, also known as Lestrange. The things we learn in this job."
"You, Honorable Miss, are Delphini Black, daughter and heir of your father here and his bond-mate Bellatrix, deceased. Sorry dear, my job is to provide these details," said the healer. "I know it isn't pleasant."
She turned to Potter with a question.
"She won't inherit Black?" asked the healer.
"There is a cousin who's a few weeks older," said Potter.
Anvil knew but Potter didn't think the general goblin community needed to know he had designated Teddy the Heir of Black.
"And Miss Anemone, second in line of succession for Potter," said the healer.
"Yes, ma'am," said Ane which earned her a wide goblin-smile from the healer.
"All in order, in my professional opinion," said the healer.
Potter reached out to take the parchments.
"May I?" he asked Anvil.
"As you wish, Lord Harry," said his banker as he nodded to the healer. "Thank-you, that will be all."
The healer turned and left by the same door she'd entered.
"Keep them in a secure place, Lord Harry, those can be used to create some extraordinarily convincing documentation of inheritance."
"Understood, and thank-you," said Potter, tucking the sheets inside his cloak.
He pondered for a moment.
"Could you arrange a trip for us to our vault?" he asked. "The witches might as well see where we will be keeping their treasures."
"Of course," said Anvil, punctuating with a goblin grin.
Ane and Delphi were positively impressed by the underground trolley. The Thief's Downfall was a pleasurable treat in an otherwise dull and boring day in the company of goblins and grownups. Potter asked the Blacks to lay their hands on the door to the Black vault, alongside his. When there was no objection from the vault, Potter took that as proof positive that the witches were Blacks and satisfied the criteria of the family magic. The door opened to the wonders of centuries of Black records and collections.
"Is this all yours?" asked Delphi when she and Ane finished going 'Ahhhh…'
"Most of it belongs to the Black family," said Potter. "I have the responsibility, during my lifetime, for taking care of it, protecting it from thieves and turning it over to my heirs in good condition."
"Why would you turn it over?" asked Ane.
"I would be done with it," Potter explained.
"'Cause you're…dead?" asked Delphi.
"Yes, but that will be a long, long time from now," Potter assured her. "So, is there anything you see that you need, for your room, maybe?"
Potter had to create a rule that the witches could take from the vault only as much as they could carry, leaving the vast trove of silver and home furnishings for another day. Delphi chose a censer, a sculpture of a fearsome bronze dragon.
"Do we have incense at home?" asked Potter.
Neither witch claimed to know although the consensus seemed to be that Kreacher could find any commodity under the sun if they asked him nicely and gave him easy-to-follow instructions so he did not become confused.
Ane found a very old miniature portrait of a witch, a painting in a gilt frame. The subject had mounds of black hair and an admirable bosom accented by a red rose peeking up from her cleavage.
"Um…okay," said Potter. "Any particular reason?"
"She talks to me," said Ane.
Potter didn't want an argument there in the vault. He acceded to Ane's wishes and put the little portrait in the pocket of his robe, resolving to research the picture as soon as he had the time. It didn't give off any cursed emanations but if the woman pictured had actually spoken to Ane the possibility of a wandering soul could not be discounted. Those could be brought to heel, usually, but often after great trouble and expense.
"Enough for one visit? We'll be back, of course," said Potter. "Next time we'll go to Potter."
"You have another one?" asked Delphi.
"Mm-hmm," said Potter. "A lot like this one."
The Black witches seemed satisfied with their little hauls so the group returned to the trolley and on back to the surface. The Potter-Blacks did not have further business with Gringotts. Potter thought it might be a good time to visit the Leaky Cauldron, since the lunch rush was nearly an hour away. The witches smelled the pub cuisine before Potter opened the door.
"Scorpius!"
Delphi dashed inside and over to the table where Narcissa, Astoria and Scorpius Malfoy sat. Potter's initial scan indicated they were snacking on pommes frites and soft drinks. An elf server stood nearby.
"Two apple ciders?" said Potter as the elf popped away.
Greetings went around the table. Narcissa and Astoria both stood leading to Ane and Delphi dispensing brief, bobbing curtsies to the senior witches. Potter thought Narcissa looked very pleased and perhaps a bit emotional, seeing the Blacks laying on the old courtesies. He speculated that was due to the current Black Sisters' strong resemblance to their mother, Bella. Of course Narcissa would melt over her nieces, the daughters of her beloved sister.
"How are you all?" asked Potter.
"Please sit down," said Astoria, returning to her seat.
Scorpius looked from face to face, wondering what he was supposed to do.
"What are you eating?" Delphi asked Scorpius, then reached for a fry without being invited.
"Delphi?" inquired Potter.
"It's okay. Here," said Scorpius as he pushed the plate toward Delphini.
The two groups were still getting settled when the door to Diagon Alley opened and a tall blond woman entered, wearing a robe that was fairly formal, for the season.
"Oh, crap," thought Potter.
He still didn't understand why Daphne Greengrass, a year-mate from Hogwarts, gave him disapproving looks on the few occasions they'd crossed paths since leaving school. It was only a theory, but Potter assumed it was a case of a pureblood witch and scholar viewing him as a half-blood upstart and slacker who nevertheless led a charmed life into which he put no effort. As she saw it, that was. Of course, Greengrass crossed from the door straight to their table, where she stood, her face set in a look of mild distaste. Standing up again, Potter inclined his head in Greengrass' direction.
"Counselor," he said, hoping that was an appropriate greeting, for surely Greengrass had finished her legal studies.
"Lord—Potter-Black?" said Greengrass, making it a question.
"Wow," said Potter.
"What?" Greengrass semi-flared.
"You're well-informed," Potter answered.
Something in that response must have struck a sympathetic chord as Daphne Greengrass smiled, then pulled a chair from a neighboring table and sat down. None of the adults seemed to know what to do so Scorpius stepped in.
"Auntie Daphne," he said, "These are Anemone and Delphini Black. We went to dinner at their house. They have an elf who is very old."
Potter smiled at Scorpius. He reflected on his first encounters with Scorpius' father and was glad his daughters were getting off to a better start with their cousin.
"Indeed," said Greengrass. "My lord, what brings you to our neighborhood today?"
'Titles?' wondered Potter, even as he prepared to respond. Perhaps it was payback for 'Counselor.'
"Gringotts," said Potter. "Short trip to the vault."
He stopped there because he really didn't want to get started talking about inheritance tests in the middle of what would soon be the lunch rush at the Leaky Cauldron. Potter noticed Delphi had her bronze dragon out and was elbowing Scorpius Malfoy. Scorpius' eyes widened. He held out his hands, eyebrows raised in a silent question. Delphi squinted but handed the dragon over.
"So, young witches, Ms. Greengrass is from my year at school, and she is a distinguished attorney here in London. Maybe, if you're polite and respectful, you could learn a bit about the law from her. In what area are you working, if I may?" asked Potter.
Greengrass looked at him.
"Family law," said Greengrass. "Inheritance and estate planning. I'm just getting started on trusts, under a very distinguished expert who's a senior partner with our firm."
Potter looked at Greengrass, who held his gaze in a vise, it seemed. The thought of snakes, the totem animal of Hogwarts' Slytherin House crashed into Potter's consciousness.
'You have designs on us,' thought Potter, even as the corners of his mouth curled up.
"Of course," said Greengrass.
Potter had heard it but he hadn't actually heard. Nor had her lips moved.
He found that disturbing.
"Young witches," said Potter as he slid his chair back from the table. "Shall we be going? These nice people didn't come to the Leaky Cauldron to see us. I expect Ms. Greengrass wants to chat with Scorpius here over lunch and find out what he's been up to."
Potter didn't wait for an answer but stepped closer to Narcissa Malfoy and extended his two hands. Narcissa gave him one of hers. Potter bent close before moving directly to Astoria and repeating his obeisance.
"Best to Draco," he muttered.
He wasn't anything like a friend or familiar of Daphne Greengrass' so Potter put his heels together and inclined toward her, bending at his waist.
"Honored," he said, then gathered in his young witches and shepherded them to the big fireplace.
The floo system allowed Harry Potter, Lord Potter-Black, to pass through the wards that protected Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, straight into the front salon.
"Kreacher!" called Potter.
The Black family elf popped into the salon.
"Lord Harry?"
"Do you see Miss Black's bronze dragon censer? It needs some incense. Do we have any?" asked Potter.
Kreacher popped back out of the salon, already muttering about 'incense…smoke…ash…'
"And Ane's portrait," said Potter. "Did you say she spoke to you?"
"Yes, Da-da," said Ane. "Not with actual words, though. I heard her in here."
Ane tapped her temple with two fingers.
"That's different," said Potter, turning the portrait over to look at the back while he wrestled with Ane's revelation that the picture communicated telepathically.
The back of the picture was not very enlightening, three slim wooden rectangles that fit into a slot cut into the frame. Potter put his thumbnail between two of the panels and pushed. The one on the end moved a bit but didn't come out.
"We'll come back to that," he said, turning the frame over to look at the overdressed lady on the other side.
"Maybe she's enchanted, Ane," said Potter. "Don't start a conversation with her, even in your head, until I have time to do a thorough examination, okay?"
Ane looked at the lady with the big pile of curls.
"Okay?" she asked.
"Okay," said Potter.
"No, she says 'o-KAY,' Da-da," said Ane.
The witch in the portrait wore something that resembled an elaborate dress that would have been unremarkable in the portraits of eighteenth-century nobility that afflicted formal rooms everywhere one went in Britain. Muggle or magical, one was obliged to hang portraits of men wearing high heels and curly wigs alongside women in similar wigs and plunging necklines above voluminous, full-length skirts. Potter thought it all a bit much although he could see how the little portrait he held could have made a connection with Ane. Especially if they could carry on secret conversations.
Kreacher returned from his errand with several lumps of brownish-black incense in his hand.
"Lord Harry, Kreacher found this," he said, holding out the incense.
Potter picked up a lump and gave it a sniff.
"Mmm…cedar, I think," he said.
Potter returned the portrait to Ane and held out his hand. Delphi removed the cover from the censer so Potter could drop the incense inside. He nodded to Kreacher who lit the incense with a snap of his fingers.
Delphi replaced the cover, which formed the head of the dragon. The nostrils were the opening into the hollow bronze where the incense burned. In a minute or two, the smoke began to appear, puffing out of the dragon's nostrils, sometimes as little smoke rings. Delphi squealed when the dragon started blowing smoke out of its nose, which Potter interpreted as an indication she was delighted with her choice from the vault.
Potter had thought, when they encountered the Malfoys in the Leaky Cauldron that they might end up lunching on pub grub. Something about the arrival of Daphne Greengrass chilled his enthusiasm. When that was followed by the information that she was working in family law, at one of the classier Magical London law firms, Potter's hackles rose the length of his spine. The more he thought about those few seconds, the surer he was that Greengrass saw the Potter-Blacks as a business opportunity. The whole episode needed more pondering. Potter knew, somehow, that his unvoiced thoughts would be returning to the Leaky Cauldron, a snake-like gaze and the current professional practice of Daphne Greengrass, whether or not that was something on which he wanted to waste his time.
Potter came to several conclusions fairly quickly after the encounter with Greengrass. One, he was the beneficiary of some free counseling, courtesy of Daphne Greengrass, although not from Daphne Greengrass. Two, if Greengrass somehow signaled she had designs on the Potter-Blacks, others would as well. Three, Potter needed to return to the disciplined study of magic, with an emphasis on anything he could find that would support a robust defense of the Black sisters with whose welfare he had been entrusted.
A few days later, Potter initiated a program of fun activities a family could do together. He gave the witches an outline one morning as they sat around the table
"How's your breakfast?" Potter asked.
The witches nodded, "Yes!" Potter adjudged that to be a positive response.
They'd learned not to speak with full mouths, a social graces milestone of which Potter was very proud. Potter finished up his porridge, handing his bowl to Kreacher for washing before turning to his coffee mug.
"Good," he said. "Please go ahead and finish eating. We're going to do something different today. First, we will go outside for some exercise. I need to stretch my legs and we haven't been doing nearly enough physical stuff."
Delphi seemed skeptical while Ane nodded, twice.
Potter thought the nods signaled, 'Yeah, sure.'
"We'll take a walk together," said Potter. "Then back here. Some other exercises. Nothing too hard. Then we'll read."
The Black sisters liked it when Potter read to them. They didn't know he had acquired some books that magical parents could read to their children to begin preparing them to understand basic theories behind the study and use of magic. He simply read stories to them. Not handled with finesse, that could begin to sound like school.
Potter had also ordered two sets of the magical children's home study course. The primary school curriculum was designed to educate young witches and wizards so that they entered their magical school at eleven with a grasp of basic history, arithmetic, literature, language skills and social studies. Those would be the rough equivalent of the corresponding courses taught in formal primary schools to both muggles and young magicals.
Naturally, beginning with the first year at Hogwarts or one of the other schools of witchcraft and wizardry, the curriculum diverted and coursework grew further and further distant from the muggle counterparts. Magical educational theory held that the child with a solid base in the mundane subjects would add to those skills naturally as they worked through magical courses. Some parents went along while others maintained that magical educational theory was a contradiction in terms.
Breakfast concluded and teeth brushed, Potter called the Black sisters to order just inside the front door to Number Twelve Grimmauld Place.
"Right, here's what we're doing," he began. "No one needs to know we are out exercising so I'll do an occlusion spell, remember those? And, there we are. Let's go!"
Potter opened the door and stepped outside first. A quick visual scan of the block did not turn up any direct or immediate threats. Potter stepped aside and let the witches pass by. They descended the front stairs and turned right.
The group returned to Number Twelve around thirty minutes later. Potter and Delphi could have kept going but Ane, with her much shorter legs, was done.
"How's everyone feel?" asked Potter.
"Good," said Ane.
"Great!" added Delphi.
"Okay. Get a glass of water and meet me in the drawing room," said Potter.
The magical home study curriculum guide recommended parents read some simple classical stories to beginning students. Potter thought he knew what that meant: he went to the bookcase and selected The Iliad.
"Where Western Civilization began," he said to himself, quoting someone who he thought might have been an obscure politician or somesuch.
The Iliad—well, it does get off to a very bad start, if your purpose is getting children some grounding in civilized behavior. Back on the shelf and look for something else.
"So, who was faster, the tortoise or the hare?" asked Potter.
"The HARE, of course, Harry," said Delphi.
"No, the tortoise won! The tortoise won! The tortoise was fastest," said Ane.
"Okay, we have to think about this," said Potter. "Obviously, the hare was fastest, if we look at speed. It could outrun the tortoise anytime."
Ane looked frustrated, besides being on the verge of tears. Potter theorized it was the agony of the younger child, who will be behind the elder sibling forever, no matter how long they live or how hard they work.
"BUT, the tortoise crossed the finish line first. So, the tortoise won the race. Let's think about that," said Potter. "To win the race, the runner has to finish, because they have to cross the line, right? So this particular race wasn't about who could run the fastest, it was about who could finish. In this race, the tortoise had it right—'Slow and steady.'"
"But…but…" Delphi sputtered.
"Do you get it? To win, the hare would have had to keep going. Instead, it got tired and stopped to rest. That's when the tortoise got out in front."
The witches worked their faces, scrunching up, scowling, blinking.
"I get it," said Delphi. "We can't just run out ahead and quit and expect everyone else to say we won."
"Right. Do you know what a story like this is called? It's a fable. Our ancestors invented them to teach lessons in a fun way. Everyone likes a good story. Learning something from the story is a bonus," said Potter as he closed the book.
"You know, I think I need some cider," said Potter. "All that reading made me thirsty."
So it went.
Every day, Potter organized a little outdoor exercise, read and discussed something from the canonical myths and fables, then sat down with the witches to practice something they'd need when they started at Hogwarts. Delphi showed a natural affinity for calligraphy originating in both the standard and runic alphabets, causing Potter to wonder what, if anything, that foreshadowed.
In a week, or two, or three—looking back on it Potter was never sure-he experienced a kind of epiphany. He sensed, in something like visions or a revelation, a series of possible futures wherein he would be called upon to protect his Black witches. They, in turn, would need ordinary educations along with magical skills, including how to defend themselves. Potter sat up straight in the chair he occupied when the realization hit him. It dropped on him like a weight, all at once, the fine details teasing him from just outside the margins of his consciousness.
Potter settled on two new disciplines for himself. One was mind arts. He'd done a bit of basic reading while sailing. Bella approved. He remembered her giving him a kiss whenever she walked by and saw him buried in one of the texts or an autobiography of one of the renowned practitioners. Maybe it was true, maybe it wasn't. That was how he remembered it.
The second was alchemy. Potions, as taught at Hogwarts, was a bit mystical. Professor Slughorn once admitted, in a one-on-one conversation with Harry, that clockwise versus counterclockwise stirring was about economy of movement at the potioneer's preparation table more than it was a requirement for an efficacious potion.
"But my boy, never forget there are people who believe the opposite. If you prepare a potion for one of them and they see stirring that appears to be going the opposite direction it should be going, that could affect their attitude toward the potion, the condition the potion should bring about, as well as their view of you as a potioneer," said Slughorn. "Mental attitude is a huge factor, especially if you are treating an illness."
Alchemy, on the other hand, was an exacting discipline. Potter had just enough contact with Nicolas Flamel's work to understand that alchemy was a powerful and challenging art. It had expanded, since its founding around the winding down of Rome in the west, to touch chemistry and physics, philosophy and magic. Only serious students needed to apply. Potter thought alchemy and mind arts ought to be useful areas in which to spend some time.
Everyone at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, London, soon settled into a schedule of exercise, books and free time. The Black witches worked on their preparation courses for an hour in the morning and another hour in the afternoon. Saturday was less demanding although Potter asked the witches to read for an hour, at least, before they conscripted him to lead an outing of some sort.
Independent study turned out to be a revelation for Lord Potter. Finding some old texts and references in the house, Potter began to practice basic mind arts during the family excursions. A room in the cellar was converted into a bare-bones laboratory for alchemical work.
Everyone was making progress. Even Walburga Black's portrait took note and approved.