Six-year-old Harry Potter was gradually settling into the grandeur and mystery of Potter Hall, his ancestral home. Each morning brought new wonders, from the ghostly whispers of the hallways at dawn to the shadows that danced across the vast grounds in the moonlight. But what fascinated Harry the most was the magic that seemed to seep from every stone and whisper through the leaves of every ancient tree.
Harry spent countless hours in the company of his ancestors' portraits, especially those of his grandparents, Fleamont and Euphemia Potter. The portraits, with their endless tales and magical wisdom, had become his primary tutors in the arts of magic. "Magic, dear Harry, is not just about waving wands and chanting spells; it's about understanding the essence of the world around you," Euphemia's portrait would often say.
One brisk morning, Fleamont's portrait decided it was time to start Harry on basic magical concepts. "Let's begin with the four basic elements, Harry: fire, water, air, and earth. Wizards can influence these elements in many ways, which is the foundation of magical interaction with the world," Fleamont explained, his voice echoing slightly in the gilded frame.
As Harry listened intently, Mipsy, the ever-helpful house-elf, would often bring animated illustrations from old books to aid his learning. They fluttered around Harry like leaves caught in a gentle breeze, showing him moving images of wizards commanding the elements with grace and power.
His days were spent in the grand library, a vast room filled with books and the portraits of his ancestors, who were eager to introduce him to the wonders of the wizarding world. With no wand yet in his small hands, Harry's magical education began with the basics, explained in ways a young child could grasp.
Under the watchful eyes of Fleamont Potter's portrait, Harry's lesson on Charms began. "Charms are special spells that wizards use to make objects do things they normally wouldn't," Fleamont explained, his voice filled with enthusiasm. "Imagine being able to make a toy dance or a feather fly without touching them!"
Next, Euphemia Potter took over to introduce Transfiguration. "Transfiguration is about changing the appearance or nature of something," she said softly. "It's like turning a stone into a cup or a twig into a silver spoon. It's making one thing into another."
Fleamont talked to Harry about Potions. "Potions are magical mixtures that can heal, change, or protect us," he said as he gave Harry a few examples. "They're made by combining magical ingredients in just the right way. It can be like following a recipe to make a cake, but these recipes create magical effects, but it often requires deeply ingrained intuition for the different ingredients to master potion making. Our family, as we already told you has a long history with the art of potioneering starting with the founder of our house "
Euphemia interjects "Even your grandfather over here has contributed to the world of potions, The Sleakeazy hair potion might not be medical in nature, but the royalties from the invention still fill the coffers in the Potter vaults to this day" heaping praise on her husband.
Defence Against the Dark Arts was a topic introduced with care. Fleamont chose his words thoughtfully, aiming to teach without frightening his young listener. "This magic helps protect us from things that might try to harm us," he explained. "It's like knowing the right words to say to keep yourself safe during a scary dream."
Harry's fascination grew when Euphemia shared tales of magical creatures. "The wizarding world is home to many wonderful creatures, each with its own special magic," she narrated, her voice echoing around the library. "From tiny bowtruckles, who guard trees, to majestic phoenixes, who can carry heavy loads and have healing tears."
Each lesson was carefully crafted to suit Harry's young mind, filling him with knowledge and sparking his imagination. Though he was far from ready to practise magic himself, these theoretical lessons laid a strong foundation for his future studies and kindled a deep love for the magical world he was born into. In Potter Hall, surrounded by books and the wise eyes of portraits, Harry was not just living in a magical place—he was beginning to understand and cherish his magical heritage.
The library of Potter Hall became another of Harry's favourite haunts. It was not just a room but a labyrinth of knowledge, with towering shelves that reached the ceilings and hidden corners filled with ancient scrolls and powerful artefacts. Mipsy would guide him through the rows, teaching him how to handle the delicate books. "This one," she'd whisper, holding up a leather-bound tome with care, "contains the basic potions that healers first learn. Potions can be tricky, so we must treat them with respect."
Each book that Harry opened seemed to breathe with life, the pages sometimes whispering their contents to him, making the young boy's eyes widen in awe. The library was a treasure trove, and Harry was its eager explorer, slowly learning to read the runes and symbols with Mipsy's patient guidance.
Even the portraits seemed to watch over him with a protective gaze, their eyes following his small figure as he moved from one shelf to another, pulling down books that were nearly as big as he was.
As the days passed, Harry's understanding of magic grew, and so did his connection to his family's history. He was not just living in Potter Hall; he was becoming a part of its long, enchanting story. Each whispered secret from a book, each lesson from a portrait, wove deeper into his heart, filling him with a sense of belonging and an insatiable curiosity about the magical world that was now his to explore.
Ted Tonks, a tall and kind-looking wizard with light brown hair and a gentle demeanour, entered the imposing doors of Gringotts Wizarding Bank. The grand hall was bustling with goblins attending to various tasks, the clinking of coins and the rustling of parchment filling the air. Ted had been here many times before for his legal work, but today's visit felt different. He was here on a special invitation from Barchoke, the Potter Accounts Manager, regarding young Harry Potter.
After a brief exchange with a goblin teller, Ted was escorted down a series of winding corridors and through several doors until they reached a spacious and somewhat austere office. Barchoke, a stern but fair goblin with sharp features and keen eyes, rose from behind his desk as Ted entered.
"Mr. Tonks," Barchoke greeted, extending a clawed hand. "Thank you for coming on such short notice."
"Of course," Ted replied, shaking the goblin's hand. "It's not every day I get an invitation from Gringotts, especially regarding Harry Potter. What's this about?"
"Please, have a seat," Barchoke said, gesturing to a chair opposite his desk. Once they were both seated, Barchoke began. "As you know, Harry Potter is the heir to the Ancient and Noble House of Potter. However, due to the unfortunate circumstances following his parents' deaths, he has been living with his non-magical relatives, the Dursleys, who have not treated him well."
Ted's expression darkened. "I've tried to get custody of Harry many times, but I have been blocked at every turn"
Barchoke nodded. "We should look into who has been doing that. Harry has been kept ignorant of the magical world and his heritage. Recently, he displayed a significant case of accidental magic, after which he somehow was able to find his way to us. After having briefly explained his heritage to him, he was taken to our healers, who found him malnourished and suffering from untreated injuries."
Ted clenched his fists, struggling to keep his composure. "That's horrible. Where is he now? Is he safe?"
"Yes, he is safe," Barchoke assured him. "Harry is currently residing at Potter Hall, his family's ancestral home. He is beginning to learn about his heritage and the responsibilities that come with it. However, he needs more than just knowledge. He needs guidance and someone to help him navigate the complexities of our world."
Ted nodded, understanding the weight of the task ahead. "What do you need me to do?"
"Firstly," Barchoke began, "Harry's seventh birthday is approaching, and he must take up the heirship formally. This involves a ceremony that will bind him to his family's legacy and grant him access to certain magical abilities and protections. We need someone he can trust to explain this to him and guide him through the process."
"I can do that," Ted agreed. "I'll make sure he understands everything and feels comfortable with it."
"Secondly," Barchoke continued, "there are financial and legal matters to address. Harry's name and likeness have been used without proper compensation. We need to secure his rights and ensure he receives what is rightfully his. I believe your expertise in magical law will be invaluable in this regard."
Ted smiled, his determination evident. "I'll handle it. I'll make sure Harry gets every Knut he's owed."
"Finally," Barchoke said, leaning forward, "Harry needs someone to help him acclimate to the magical world. He has missed out on so much, and he needs a mentor who can teach him about our customs, our laws, and our way of life. I believe you and your family would be perfect for this role."
Ted's expression softened. "My wife, Andromeda, and I would be honoured to help Harry. We have a daughter, Nymphadora, who would love to have him around. We'll make sure he feels like part of our family while he learns about his own."
Barchoke smiled, a rare but genuine expression. "Thank you, Mr. Tonks. Your assistance will make a significant difference in Harry's life. I will provide you with all the necessary documents and arrange for you to meet with Harry at Potter Hall. It's crucial that he feels supported and prepared for the responsibilities he will soon undertake."
Ted stood, extending his hand once more. "Thank you, Barchoke. I'll do everything in my power to help Harry."
Barchoke shook Ted's hand firmly. "I have no doubt that you will. Together, we can ensure that Harry grows into the wizard his parents would have been proud of."
Ted Tonks left Gringotts with a renewed sense of purpose. He was determined not only to help Harry navigate the complexities of the magical world but also to ensure he had a strong network of allies and friends. As he walked through Diagon Alley, Ted began to formulate a plan. He knew the importance of connecting Harry with other influential families in the magical community. His first thoughts were of House Longbottom and House Greengrass, both part of The Great Alliance, a coalition of old and powerful wizarding families who had once been a strong faction in the Wizengamot.
Ted decided to start with the Longbottoms. He had known Augusta Longbottom, the formidable matriarch of the family, for many years. Her grandson, Neville, was around Harry's age and had also lost his parents to the war. Ted believed that connecting Harry and Neville could provide both boys with a sense of camaraderie and understanding.
Ted sent a letter to Augusta Longbottom, explaining briefly about Harry's life so far and requesting a meeting to discuss how they could help Harry and the possibility of arranging a playdate for Harry and Neville. Within a day, he received a positive response, inviting him to tea at Longbottom Manor.
A few days later, Ted arrived at the grand entrance of Longbottom Manor, an imposing structure with sprawling gardens filled with magical flora. Augusta Longbottom, a stern yet kind-hearted witch, greeted him warmly.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Tonks. It's been too long," Augusta said, ushering him into a cozy sitting room where tea was already set out.
"Thank you for agreeing to meet with me on such short notice, Augusta," Ted replied, taking a seat. "I appreciate your willingness to help."
Augusta nodded, pouring tea for both of them. "I've read your letter regarding young Harry's plight. It's disgraceful how he was treated by those Muggles. What can I do to assist?"
Ted explained the situation in detail, including Harry's current residence at Potter Hall and his need for guidance and connections within the magical community. "I was hoping you could arrange for the alliance to support House Potter in some lawsuits that I will be filing against the people who have been profiting on Harry's name. Neville and Harry could also spend some time together. They have both suffered losses and could benefit from each other's company."
Augusta's stern expression softened. "Neville has been through a lot, but he's a good boy with a kind heart. I think it would do him good to have a friend who understands his struggles. I'll arrange for a visit to Potter Hall once you've spoken to Harry and things have settled down a bit."
Ted smiled, relieved. "Thank you, Augusta. Your support means a lot. There's one more family I was hoping to reach out to—House Greengrass."
Augusta raised an eyebrow. "The Greengrasses? They're known for their neutrality and focus on traditional values. What are you thinking, Ted?"
"I believe it's important for Harry to have allies from various backgrounds," Ted explained. "The Greengrasses have a strong reputation, and their daughters, Daphne and Astoria, could also be good friends to Harry. It could be beneficial for Harry to build relationships with peers who come from different perspectives."
Augusta nodded thoughtfully. "Very well. I'll have my house-elf deliver a message to Lord Greengrass to introduce you as Harry's representative. I'm sure he'll be interested in meeting you and discussing how our families can support young Harry."
A week later, Ted found himself in the elegant drawing room of Greengrass Manor. Lord Greengrass, a stern wizard with an air of quiet authority, welcomed him graciously.
"Mr. Tonks, it's a pleasure to meet you," he said, his voice calm and measured. "I've heard about your efforts on behalf of Harry Potter. How can House Greengrass assist?"
Ted outlined Harry's situation and his plans for integrating Harry into the magical community. "I also believe that having friends like Daphne and Astoria would provide Harry with a well-rounded view of our world and help him feel more at ease."
Lord Greengrass nodded thoughtfully. "Daphne and Astoria have been raised with a strong sense of tradition and respect for all magical beings. We can arrange for them to visit Potter Hall once Heir Potter has a better understanding of the wizarding world."
Ted expressed his gratitude. "Thank you, Lord Greengrass. Your support is invaluable. With the help of families like yours and the Longbottoms, I believe we can give Harry the foundation he needs to thrive."
With arrangements made for him to get the required votes to force the companies using Harry's likeness without permission to pay House Potter for their infringement and for Harry to meet Neville Longbottom and the Greengrass sisters, Ted felt a sense of accomplishment. He knew these connections would be instrumental in helping Harry build a strong support network. As he prepared to meet Harry at Gringotts on his seventh birthday, Ted felt confident that with the help of The Great Alliance, Harry would be well-equipped to embrace his heritage and forge his own path in the magical world.
The next step was to personally speak to Harry and discuss these plans with him, ensuring he felt supported and understood. Ted knew this journey wouldn't be easy, but he was determined to help Harry every step of the way.
(While Harry was in Gringotts a few days ago)
In the dim light of his office, lined with ancient texts and powerful artefacts, Albus Dumbledore sat behind his cluttered desk, the only sounds were the soft ticking of an ornate clock and the distant calls of a phoenix. His eyes, usually twinkling with warmth and mischief, now flickered with calculations as he contemplated his next move.
The fireplace crackled suddenly, and Arabella Figg's face appeared amidst the flames, her expression fraught with urgency. "Albus," she said, her voice tense, "Harry has vanished. I've looked everywhere, but he's not in the house, and none of the neighbours have seen him since yesterday."
Dumbledore's heart skipped, not out of fear for Harry's safety, but for the precarious balance of his meticulously laid plans. "Are you certain, Arabella?" he asked, his voice steady despite the storm of thoughts raging in his mind.
"Yes, completely certain," she replied, her eyes wide with concern. "I fear he may have stumbled upon some old magical artefact or book and triggered something... magical."
Dumbledore stroked his beard, his mind racing through scenarios. If the Ministry got wind of Harry's disappearance, it would not only jeopardise his position but could also bring to light the uncomfortable details of Harry's upbringing under his watch. The abuse, the neglect he had wilfully overlooked for the 'greater good'—it would all come under scrutiny, and the consequences would be disastrous.
"Listen carefully, Arabella," Dumbledore began, his voice low and commanding. "We must handle this discreetly. You must continue to search, and I shall see what can be done from my end. Under no circumstances is this matter to be brought to the Ministry's attention—not yet."
"But Albus, what if he's in danger?" Arabella's voice cracked with panic.
Dumbledore's gaze hardened, though his voice remained calm. "I will call on the Order to help search for the boy. Our primary concern must be to keep this quiet. He has enemies who would exploit this situation to their advantage."
As he spoke, Dumbledore couldn't help but think of the greater war at play, the delicate threads he was pulling to shape the future. Harry was central to everything—his survival crucial. Yet, in this moment, Dumbledore felt the old, familiar sting of guilt. He was, once again, choosing the many over the one.
He closed his eyes briefly, wrestling with the Machiavellian calculus that had defined much of his life. When he opened them again, they were resolute. "I will look into a few... unconventional methods to locate him. Perhaps a few discreet inquiries to those who operate in the shadows of our world. Pay attention to any signs or omens. Harry is tied to deeper magics, and they may give us clues to his whereabouts."
Arabella nodded, her face still etched with worry. "Very well, Albus. I trust your judgement."
As the flames died down, leaving Dumbledore alone with his thoughts, he leaned back in his chair, the weight of his decisions pressing down upon him. He had walked this fine line many times before—balancing the greater good against the individual costs. Each decision, each sacrifice, was a mark upon his soul, a ledger book he feared to one day reckon.
With a weary sigh, he reached for a small, silver instrument on his desk, its purpose known only to him. As he set it into motion, its gentle chimes filled the room, weaving a spell of seeking looking for Harry's location, only for it to turn up blank, implying he was behind powerful wards. Dumbledore watched it for a moment, his mind far away, before turning to pen a letter to an old contact in Knockturn Alley.
As he sat in his office, the light from the setting sun cast long shadows across the stone floor, illuminating the troubled lines that marked his aged face. The news of Harry's disappearance had come at the most inopportune time, complicating the delicate web of plans he had so carefully constructed. His mind raced through the various implications and necessary adjustments, his thoughts a whirlwind of strategy and concern.
He stood and paced before the large windows, hands clasped behind his back, gaze distant. Dumbledore was fully aware of the deep injustice he had allowed to fester—a decision that haunted him more than he cared to admit. Sirius Black, the rightful guardian of Harry Potter, languished in Azkaban, convicted without a trial, based largely on circumstantial evidence and Dumbledore's calculated inaction.
As he pondered his next steps, Dumbledore's thoughts were interrupted by the sudden appearance of Fawkes, his phoenix, who fluttered to his desk, a silent witness to his inner turmoil. Dumbledore paused, the sight of the phoenix reminding him of the capacity for renewal and change. Yet, the path he had chosen was a dark and solitary one.
Dumbledore moved to his desk and pulled out a hidden drawer, revealing a series of complex documents and notes—plans within plans, all centred around the boy who lived. With a heavy sigh, he reviewed the information on Sirius once more, his actions—or lack thereof—weighing heavily on him. He had known, even then, that Sirius had been more scapegoat than perpetrator, yet he had allowed fear and the public's clamour for vengeance to dictate the course of justice. Sirius was impulsive, certainly, but not a traitor. Dumbledore had seen it in his eyes, the shock and horror, not the coldness of a murderer.
"The greater good," he muttered to himself, the phrase tasting bitter on his tongue. It was a rationale that had justified many decisions, some dark, some light, and it was the bedrock of his plan to protect Harry from the far-reaching shadows of Voldemort. But at what cost? Now, with Harry missing, the fabric of his carefully laid plans was unravelling.
Dumbledore sat down and penned a note with a steady hand. It was not to the Ministry—no, he could not trust them not to blunder through this with their usual lack of finesse, nor could he draw their attention to the fact that he had been the one the one to take charge of young Harry's safety. Instead, he wrote to Remus Lupin, an old member of the Order of the Phoenix, whose loyalty and discretion were beyond reproach. Remus could initiate a search without attracting undue attention, navigating the shadows of the magical world more adeptly than most.
As he sealed the letter with a dab of wax, Dumbledore allowed himself a moment of regret. Sirius should have been here, looking after his godson, protecting him as James and Lily would have wanted. But Dumbledore had seen too many pieces moving on the board; he had made a choice to control the game from behind the scenes, to keep Harry safely hidden until he was ready to face his destiny. Sirius, with his reckless bravery and fierce loyalty, was too much of a wildcard.
Fawkes let out a soft, melodic trill, a sound that seemed to carry both comfort and a reminder of the burdens of those who lead. Dumbledore looked at the phoenix, his eyes tired yet resolute.
"We must do what we can to mend the threads we've broken, my old friend," he whispered.
With the letter in hand, Dumbledore strode from his office, his robes swirling around him. The corridors of Hogwarts felt especially empty this evening, echoing with the weight of coming decisions. Dumbledore knew that his actions would be judged in time, and he could only hope that history would understand the necessity behind the sacrifices made.
As the last light of day faded from the sky, Dumbledore dispatched the letter with a sense of urgency. The game was changing, and he had to adapt. For Harry's sake, for the sake of all they had fought to protect, he would have to face the consequences of his decisions—sooner or later.