This was much easier to write, I swear the last chapter had been fighting me while this one just flowed into existence. Let's hope it continues that way.
November 9th, 1988
Harry is on the edge of his seat, almost vibrating out of his skin in excitement as Mr Wright tells Mr and Mrs Granger about magic. They had come over for lunch after school, the couple picking him and Hermione up while Mr Wright got everything ready at the house once he came back from work, and had lunch with Marie while Hermione talked about the work they'd done in class that day. Then they'd gone to the office – it wasn't drowning in books since Ms Chang gave Mr Wright that cool bag that never got full so they had chairs for everyone this time – and Mr Wright had started telling them that magic existed using moving drawings and flying toys just like Harry had done with Hermione.
Mr and Mrs Granger are shocked, but it isn't like they can explain away the magic so they have to believe it. They ask why Mr Wright is telling them this and Harry can't help but blurt out that it's because Hermione is magical like him – she's a witch! – and then his best friend takes over, telling them all the magic she's done before and how everyone who saw it happen forgot about it.
"It's called being obliviated," Mr Wright explains when they ask about it, "They make non-magical people," Harry notices Mr Wright doesn't call them muggles like he's heard wizards do before but he doesn't mind, he doesn't like the word much either. Just like squib, it sounds like a bad word, something Dudley and his friends might have called him, "forget about these incidents to preserve the Statute of Secrecy. I've been studying their laws-"
"Of course you have," Mr Granger sounds like he thinks it's funny and Hermione sits up straight the way Harry's seen her do in class every time they start on a new subject, and he just knows she'll be making him read the magic law books with her and tell her anything Mr Wright explained to him already.
The adults keep talking some more but Harry keeps looking at Hermione, who's shifting on her feet and looking excited and nervous at the same time. He holds his breath when she asks her parents if they hate her now that she's a witch, but they only hug her and tell her they love her. They don't call her a freak, or a burden, or say she should have died – like your drunkard parents- no, they're happy for her.
They hug her like Mr Wright hugs him when he's scared he's done something wrong and he'll realize Harry's not worth it and send him back.
The Dursleys were never normal, were they?
November 13th, 1988
"I'll have full control over the appointment of a magical guardian, then?" Michael asks for clarification as they sit in Chang's office.
They had scheduled the blood adoption for that Sunday afternoon and decided to spend the morning at the Chang household, especially since it would be providing him with three of his five witnesses. Lunch had been a quiet affair, especially with Chris locked in his studio apparently working on a piece none of them were allowed to see, and they'd let the children have fun in the flying room while retiring to Chang's office to discuss what would happen after the adoption.
"Yes," she replies while leafing through some files, "as a squib, you won't have most of the benefits a wix would receive in your position, which honestly makes it look better from the outside. As Harry's father, you'll be able to appoint and appeal any magical guardian of your choosing, as well as have access to most assets in his name and the power to manage them accordingly. You won't be able to claim his Wizengamot seat, but it will be your duty to appoint a proxy and set them in a general voting direction if you don't plan to take a more hands-on approach to their policies." Her tone makes it clear that the latter is the more advisable option.
"We'll be able to look into his owned properties then," he realizes, remembering his talks at the bank when he'd taken Harry to reclaim his keys. They had only been able to see the available information because Harry was with him, clearly of his own free will, but had no access to anything on the list and wasn't about to let Harry visit any vaults or properties on his own. "And his parents' vaults," because surely one of those had to belong to the late Potter couple.
"You'll also be able to organize the reading of his parents' wills," she reminds him since it was filed with Gringotts and only available to Harry's appointed guardian, the intended executor. Unlike outside of the magical world, where everyone is served with a copy of the will to read on their own time and will readings have no legal authority, most wixes seem to insist on in-person will readings often executed by a member of the family, even if a distant one.
Chang had explained it before as mostly a custom of old houses to prevent misappropriation of their seats and property – forgeries are a much bigger issue in the magical community than one would imagine – since once heard for the first time by the beneficiaries, certain parts of the will – only those applicable – become magically binding.
"Right," he nods to himself. The upcoming ritual would definitely settle many issues, but just as well fill up his schedule with other matters to take care of. He was in for a busy end of the year.
Chris emerges from his studio almost an hour later, with paint on his hands, cheek, and robes colourful enough that it was hard to tell whether or not they had been touched by stray colours as well. By the time they round up the children to leave, the man looks more presentable and they step through the floo into the Gringotts bank to meet with Healer Dahlia.
A goblin leads them through the white-marbled and gold corridors to the rented ritual room, hidden behind one of the large wooden doors. Michael doesn't exactly know what to expect from the space, but what they step into feels like the inside of a sphere, with tall walls that converge seamlessly into a rounded ceiling. They look like solid stone, in bluish tones as well as brown and grey, but almost iridescent under the bright enchanted lights lining the bottom of the walls and keeping the room from plunging into complete darkness.
"It's labradorite," Dahlia's voice pulls his eyes from the wall and into the centre of the circular room where she's kneeling on the floor, chalk in hand as she slides it over the contrastingly light stone floor leaving precise black lines in its wake. "Come in, careful with the circles," she invites as they walk closer, the wooden door snapping shut at their back.
"Cool," he hears Harry whisper as he steps over to the drawn-up runes at the edges of the circle.
Stepping closer, Michael does a short inspection of his own, lacking the knowledge to discern whether or not it had been done right – though he trusts Dahlia not to jeopardize her license – but having grown slightly more familiar with runes through his recent readings, enough to be able to identify a couple of the ones used to form the inner of the two concentric circles, mainly othala, inguz and gebo. Outside of the circle drawn from runes was a larger one only delimited by a line linking five large runic arrays that he couldn't hope to interpret but seemed to be placed in what would be the five points of a star if one had been drawn instead of the spiralling lines linking the outer circle into the central one.
"Aren't we missing one?" Chris points out, having posted himself by the wall near the door to watch the kids explore the room from afar.
As if on cue, the large wooden doors swung open once again – and had they vanished after closing? –, allowing inside the last witness for the proceedings.
"Well met," she greets the occupants of the room as the door comes to a final close behind her.
"Hi Mrs Malfoy," Harry is the first to reply from a spot behind him, stepping over to Michael's side to sketch a small rehearsed bow.
"You can call me Cissa, dear," She offers with a smile that has Harry hiding behind him once again.
"Thank you for coming, Narcissa," Michael pulls the attention away from his ward, "are you acquainted with everyone else?"
"Some more than others," she replies and turns her attention toward the couple by the door, engaging in some small talk as Dahlia finishes positioning the last items on the floor.
There is one candle to each of the five spots of the outer circle and what looks like a spiral of chalk at the centre of the inner one, with a crystal-clear vial and a dark stone goblet sitting right at its side and a silver blade glinting from its place balanced on top of it. They've been through the motions with the healer before – at least Harry and him –, rehearsing their actions and lines, so he knows right then that all is in place for them to begin.
Dahlia still sends him a pointed look, discretely wiping away the chalk staining her fingertips.
Michael audibly clears his throat, easily gaining everyone's attention, "Thank you for joining us for this joyous occasion," he recites with honesty, incredibly glad for the continued support of the people in the room. "If everyone could take their places?"
Harry is quick to grab onto his hand and Michael leads him toward the inner circle, crouching to uncork the vial containing a silvery-looking potion and pouring it into the goblet before pocketing the vial, placing the goblet at the centre of the spiral, and taking up the silver dagger as he kneels more comfortably. They'd positioned themselves behind the spiral, facing the array he remembers being told was placed towards the south, the only one properly pointed toward a cardinal direction. Their five witnesses step over once they've found their place, each picking up a white candle and standing at the centre of one of the five runic arrays of the outer circle with it in their right hand.
Dahlia, the witness facing them at the south array, takes their placement as her cue to begin, "As I have been called, I stand as magic's witness to the birth of a family," she closes both her hands around the candle, "should your intentions be true, be blessed with stability to weather oncoming changes."
The candle wick lights up as soon as she stops speaking, recognizing her place as a witness. They go through the circle in a clockwise motion, stating their role as witnesses and each presenting a different blessing: creativity, strength of spirit, mastery of their emotions and protection.
Michael watches entranced as every candle lights up, not sure if the heaviness in the air is a product of his imagination or a tangible thing. Once the last candle is lit, he speaks, "I willingly take Harry James Potter to become blood of my blood, a son of my house with all that entails, to cherish and protect to the best of my ability," he pricks his finger with the tip of the dagger and lets three drops of blood fall into the goblet on the ground. By some miracle – or work of magic – they fall directly into it without missing their mark, slowly changing the silvery potion into a copper tone. "With magic as my witness, this is my wish."
The words feel incredibly familiar, as he figures they should after rehearsing as many times as he had.
He offers Harry the dagger and an encouraging smile as his ward – soon to be magically recognised son – starts on his part, a little wobbly but thankfully well-rehearsed. "I willingly take Michael Morgan-Wright to become blood of my blood, my father to guide me, protect and provide," he keeps an eye on the dagger, but Harry works it just fine and soon enough three more drops of blood hit the surface of the potion, giving the coppery liquid a slightly golden hue. "With magic as my witness, this is my wish."
As soon as Michael picks up the goblet, something like static makes every hair in his body stand on end, a fleeting feeling of deja vu making itself present for a moment as he takes a sip of the potion, grimacing slightly at the taste before holding out the goblet.
Harry's hands close around the cup and, unbidden, the word cnēorisspills from Michael's mouth in a low whisper just as he releases it, eliciting a curious look from the boy that goes unanswered. Another sip is taken, Harry's distaste of the potion much more visible, and the goblet is returned to the centre of the spiral.
They take each other's hands over the cup, leaving a wide space between them and speaking in unison as soon as Michael gives a slight nod as a cue, "Sanguis meus per magica."
There's something warm under his skin, but unlike the last time, it feels comfortable and mild like sitting by the fireplace on a cold night.
"So mote it be," he distractedly hears the witnesses chant and observes, from the corner of his eyes, as they simultaneously lower the lit candle wicks into the chalk line closest to them and light them up, the fire – which burns a bright ember but doesn't seem to grow in size or strength from the moment it leaves the candle – consumes every rune and line laid out on the floor, following the five individual streaks into the central circle around them and slowly devouring it as well before making its way to the centre, burning up the spiral until only the goblet remains, its contents lighting up in red-white fire under their hands right as a breeze seems to blow the warmth from his body like it was never there.
"Did it work?" little Cho Chang is the first to ask as she leaves her now unmarked position. The others walk over with interest in their gazes as Michael lets go of one of Harry's hands and stands up, pulling the boy with him.
Harry looks up at him with the same question clear in his expression.
"I believe so," Dahlia is the one to reply with an undertone of surprise that makes him wonder whether she'd been prepared for it not to, "regardless, it's quite easy to verify," she adds with a glance toward the goblet, where the flames had finished consuming the remaining potion and extinguished themselves, leaving the goblet empty just as it had been before the ritual.
She picks it up off the floor, along with the dagger, placing it into one of the pockets of her robes, returning the room to the state it probably had been before they'd entered it.
Rituals that clean themselves up, how convenient.
"Here," she continues, muttering something under her breath and pulling a different potion from her pocket – it looks to be extended like the bag Chang had given him and the idea of going around with unlimited pocket space is especially tempting – and pouring it into the now empty goblet. "Just a hair from each of you should be enough," she holds it out expectantly.
Michael raises one brow – she did come prepared for all possibilities didn't she – but nods, ruffling Harry's hair with a smile at the small chuckle and whine of complaint it elicits on the child as he plucks a strand from it before pulling one from his own head and holding them over the potion, dropping them into it at the healer's nod.
She swirls it a couple of times – anti-clockwise, is that relevant? The entire affair has left him curious about potions – and they watch as the liquid, previously a light yellow colour, turns into a deep blood-red. "Congratulations," she wishes them with a small smile, "it's a boy."
The sudden stutter of his heartbeat leaves him ill-prepared for the collision that happens as Harry launches himself into him, but doesn't stop him from hugging the child as tight as he can.
I'm a father, the slightly hysterical thought makes itself known as if he hasn't watched it happen in real-time. A smaller, more hesitant thought follows it, Mum would have loved to be here.
The rest of the evening passes in a blur, with Michael and Harry receiving what he assumes are the usual formal congratulations from every one of their witnesses as well as a reminder to keep in contact with Healer Dahlia in the case of any – entirely unexpected but possible nonetheless – side-effects of the ritual. They floo straight out of Gringotts, with Michael not willing to brave the masses and risk Harry being recognized, and end up having dinner at a wixen restaurant Chang had secretly reserved to commemorate the occasion.
Harry refuses to eat something they tell him is a stuffed Niffler nose, and Michael can't quite blame him for it.
By the end of the night, Michael resigns himself to carrying a nearly asleep Harry through the floo back home, not willing to risk the boy mispronouncing 'The Tree House' and ending up somewhere else entirely. He shuffles up the stairs carefully, still not secure in climbing them with a child in his arms but unwilling to break the tight grip his ward – his son – has around his shoulders. It doesn't take long to coach Harry into some sleep-appropriate clothes and tuck him into bed, sitting by his side over the covers as he burrows into them.
"What's that you said?" He hears the boy mumble and hums in question, not sure what he's talking about. "At the ritual? Y' said a word…"
Michael only blinks in puzzlement, casting his mind back into the ritual and remembering nothing out of what they had already rehearsed beforehand, "I don't know what you're talking about," he admits truthfully.
"Hm, 'kay," Harry shuffles until he's lying on his side, "g'night Dad."
No magic is necessary for his chest to fill with warmth at those words, and he runs a hand over Harry's hair before placing a kiss over the side of the sleepy child's head, "Goodnight."
He gets himself to bed nearly half an hour later, after making sure there's no pending work due the next day, his swirling thoughts attempting to keep him awake against the tiredness brought on by the hectic and emotional day. In the end, the need for a good night's sleep triumphs over his tendency to overthink the future.
"He's like a father to you, isn't he?"
"The only father I ever really had"
"You're lucky... I wish I had somebody like him."
"...We need to keep going."
"Yeah."
... these dreams are getting more frequent, huh? What a pity he doesn't quite remember them when he wakes up.
It needs to be said that Narcissa keeps inserting herself into these situations to my complete exasperation. THE FIFTH WITNESS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A GOBLIN, WHY ARE MY CHARACTERS SO STUBBORN?
Some notes from my Google doc that didn't get worked into the story but I wanted to mention:
• if the adoptee is not the first child, "birth of a family" changes to "growth"
• Each of the five rune arrays on the outer circle stands for an element and their wishes for the family are associated with it. The witnesses were positioned as follows, clockwise: Earth (Dahlia), Air (Christopher), Spirit (Lei), Water (Narcissa) and Fire (Cho).
• cnēoris (Old English) 1. a generation 2. posterity 3. race; tribe; family
I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, I took some inspiration from The Benefits of Old Laws on AO3 for a small portion of the ritual but other than that it was all me and kinda fun to come up with.