Potter, A History

"Come here."

Little Harry was now three years old with messy, black hair and bright green eyes. As of his last birthday, he had begun shoving a pair of round, black glasses onto his button nose when he woke in the morning. Having spent the majority of the last year and half in the Mediterranean, his coloring was now on the olive side.

He had just entered the living room, which was in the Greek villa Charlus called home. In there the floor was beige stone and the walls were ivory. The sitting area had sofas that were button-tufted and dark teal and the armchairs were beige. In the center was a glass table with a golden rim.

With his book still in his hands, he walked over to the portrait that had called him. "Yes?"

"Grab a chair," Quintinus Potter said.

Quintinus had been a tall, well-built man. In the portrait, he wore midnight blue robes with gold stitching. At that moment, he sat in a white chair with a snifter in his hand. To his right, was a round table where a bottle of scotch stood. Underneath the golden frame of the portrait was an inscription that read 'Exitus Acta Probat.'

Harry shrugged. "Accio." A navy blue chair from the nearest corner moved over to stand behind him. He sat down. "Yes?"

Quintinus took a moment to answer for he looked from the space where the chair was to Harry three times. "That, boy, is impressive."

Harry puffed up his chest. "Thanks."

He was very good with the wandless magic he knew. Between Mrs. Bagshot and Charlus' friend, Mr. Crouch, Harry had a bunch of books, many on wandless magic. To his consternation, he had trouble saying a number of words, so he could only perform a few spells.

Quintinus poured more scotch into his snifter. "You're old enough to begin learning family history. Ad vitam aeternam. You know what that means?"

"To eternal life," Harry parroted.

"Correct, but did Charlus explain how my siblings and I interpreted that?"

Harry tilted his head and, again, Quintinus paused.

"Incredible." Quintinus cleared his throat. "Let me tell you about my father. Linfred of Stinchcombe, which is a small town in Gloucestershire in case you didn't know. Father was a successful brewer and an excellent hand at herbology. He was also fascinated with astronomy and an excellent hand with creatures, but I digress. He was a master brewer above all else."

Harry placed his book on the table and brought his knees to his chest.

"Father created a number of potions throughout his time on earth. I believe they're called the original recipes now. You will learn about potions like Skele-Gro and the Pepperup Potion in the next fifteen years or so. Many of your ancestors are in the books for an original recipe, but Linfred of Stinchcombe was the first amongst us."

Harry furrowed his brow.

"Father pottered about in his garden. He would weed and clip and till the soil and harvest. So the neighbors called him 'the potterer."

Harry sat up.

"People die and children are born. People move in and out of neighborhoods, but Mother and Father stayed where Father was born. Over time, Linfred of Stinchcombe became Linfred the Potterer. At some point, he became known as Linfred Potter, so, upon his birth, father named his firstborn, the man you are descended from, 'Hardwin Potter.' Thus the Potter family was born."

Harry smiled. "Brilliant. The first Potter."

Quintinus inclined his head. "The first of the seven. We were born to a renowned wizard and a witch, who could duel anyone under the table. People knew Linfred and they knew Adela. My father's name lives on in the books after almost eight hundred years. We wanted people to know Hardwin, Egberta, Alfred, Matilda, Quintinus, Harold, and Anne. We wanted people to know Potter. We wanted our legacies, names, and family name to live even when our bodies were finished."

"Oh, I get it," Harry said. "Eternal life."

Quintinus raised his glass. "Our children have done so, too. I believe your father is, inadvertently, continuing that legacy even as the family continues to fall apart."

"You want me to continue it, too?"

"Correct. We won't accept that we're done after such a short time here. Not as individuals and not as a unit."

Harry narrowed his eyes as he tried to recall the name. "Cepheus?"

"He's one, but you have a handful of cousins out there. You should get to know them when you're old enough."

"Do they have a mirror?" Harry summoned his. "Like this?"

Quintinus raised his eyebrows. "I'll check later."

Harry sent the mirror to the sofa. "Can I ask a question?"

"Yes?"

"What did you do?"

Quintinus smirked at him. "I, too, have several original recipes attached to my name. Seventh year potions and above, I believe, and some of the nastiest things you'll learn about. I wasn't out to continue my father's legacy. I was out to punish fools and perpetrators. At the time, we were new money, so Hardwin, Bertie, and I needed to show them we were nothing to fuck with. As I understand it, Potter has outlasted most of them."

"Who?"

"Prince, Gaunt, Scrimgeour, and Greengrass. Later on it became Gamp when Bertie kept making it clear her name was 'Potter.' We were new money, so she should've been thankful for her new, illustrious relations." He scoffed. "We're back in that same space. Don't give in to that."

Harry nodded. "Yes, sir."

Quintinus told Harry a story just about everyday. Quintinus ceased to have to beckon or call him. As time went on, Harry just walked into the living room with a glass of soumada and pulled up a chair to the portrait for his daily story. Quintinus told him his favorite as autumn hit its stride. It concerned Egberta, the second of the seven and the sibling he was most eager to meet.

"Hardwin and Bertie were fantastic duelists. He was better with a wand and she was better with a sword, but only marginally so in both cases. All battles they partook in were hard-fought and their opponents usually lost. Hardwin was also very good at charms and metal-work. Our father's ability with his hands lived on in us and Anne."

Harry tilted his head. "What was she good with?"

"Creatures and plants. She did medicinal work for creatures." He cleared his throat. "For a couple years, Hardwin worked on this blade. I think he was determined to unearth goblin secrets, but ended up somewhere a little different. Anyway, the metal became a long sword, which he'd charmed to create the four elements and all its combinations. When Bertie got married, Hardwin gave her the sword."

Harry sat up. "Where is it now?"

"All over the place."

Harry frowned. "It broke?"

"Yes and no. The blade could come apart into seven pieces. You see, not only were there seven of us, but seven is also the most powerful number." Quintinus pointed at him. "Don't forget that."

Harry nodded.

"The sword was powerful. The magic in it was powerful. So much so Bertie called it 'Chaos.' Someone renamed it 'Vespera,' but that's beyond the point. When Bertie died, in order to prevent the Gamps from having it, she turned it into seven pieces. A piece was left to her own child she'd named Potter and to the oldest child of each of her siblings. They passed them down from Potter to Potter for centuries."

"Oh, so our great-grandparents and grandparents have them?"

Quintinus shook his head. "No, not exactly. I believe Charlus has the quillon dagger and the poignard is at the bottom of the lake at The Lighthouse in Whistler. It cannot be retrieved until the dead of winter as that asshole Edwin ensured it couldn't be."

"Whistler?"

"North America."

Harry nodded. "So you want me to find it and put it together?"

Quintinus opened his mouth, but closed it for a long moment. "I'm mostly just telling you a family story as retrieving the pieces is no easy task. I'm certain two or three pieces are in the possession of the wolf and the phoenix." He sighed and it had an air of disappointment. "No, I'm just telling you a story."

-3-

On the first Friday of December, Charlus bundled Harry up and took him away from Greece byway of a port-key. To his surprise, they landed outside a tall gate reminiscent of the one they'd walked through to leave. However, the one they'd walked through was white. The one they now stood in front of was stainless steel. Both had a stag head in the center of their gates and both had rosemary ornaments melted into their fences.

Harry looked behind him to find a tall, black iron fence across the street. He couldn't see much beyond that as snow covered vines and leaves stuck out from the gate. He suspected it was a house, though.

"Where are we?"

"Rickmansworth. A town in Hertfordshire, England. To be precise, we are at the old Fleamont house, the manor Henry's mother left to him upon her death. Given her family name is extinct, it was his to do as he pleased with."

Harry stood on his toes. "I can't see it."

"Because it's locked. Try as we might, for almost forty years, no one has been able to enter this property since I closed it. Now you are old enough to speak well enough, so I can put my theory to the test."

Harry looked up at Charlus with a frown. "Huh?"

Charlus stepped forward. "Place your bare hand on the keyhole."

Harry took off his glove, which Charlus pocketed immediately. "I wasn't going to lose it," Harry said with a grin.

"You say that all the time yet there are hundreds of things Euphemia and I have purchased that are now singles where there the should be doubles or don't work because a part is missing."

"Hundreds?" Harry said with a scoff. His smile then slipped into a grimace when his hand touched the cold gate.

"Say 'Ad vitam aerternam' as clearly as you can. Slowly if you must."

Harry did as he was told. Almost immediately, he felt a tingling sensation in his fingers at the same time the gate clicked. The gate creaked open and Harry looked behind him.

"Is that good?"

"You have no idea." Charlus pushed it open a little further. "Go on."

Harry entered and Charlus followed. Harry then watched as he tapped the gate with his wand and mouthed, what was probably an incantation, silently. Charlus tugged on the gate when he finished. It didn't budge.

He beamed at Harry. "Fantastic and congratulations."

"For what?"

"Let's get inside so that I can explain."

Charlus picked Harry up and walked forward. Harry swiveled his head around to get a good look at everything. Charlus walked down a pathway covered in a light dusting of snow. The grass on both sides had a much thicker coating.

When the house came into view, Harry forgot all about the snow. It was a red-brick, Jacobean mansion with turrets and a white, stone balustrade.

"Whoa."

Charlus nodded. "Smaller than what Dawn Park was, but you'll be happy regardless. Anyway, like I said, this is the house Henry's mother left him. When he was able to become master of it, he renamed it Buckley House. For the deer. We are harts; bucks; stags."

"Why?"

"Because we don't fight unless provoked. Fitting that the one time we fight without direct provocation, we lose," Charlus said.

He stopped at a white door and tapped the knob with his wand. It clicked open and they stepped inside.

With a wave of his wand a few candles, which were in golden sconces, came to life along the light blue walls. These candles smelled of rosewood.

The entrance hall was huge with a white, stone floor and a ceiling that was a pastel mural of deer and children and elves in a forest. The white stone staircase was grand and had a silver and gold rug coming down its center.

"Whoa."

Charlus nodded. "Indeed." He tickled Harry's cheek. "I want to show you something."

Charlus carried him through dark wood, double doors, which were opposite the front doors. With another wave of his wand, the candles and fireplace came to life.

Now they were in an enormous living room with ivory walls and a dark wood floor. A huge, golden chandelier hung from the ceiling, making the gold of the window frames and the frames of seven portraits glitter and shine.

Seven portraits.

One of the portraits, the fifth in the row, was of Quintinus. In this portrait, he stood in front of a table, which extended from edge to edge. The table had a bubbling cauldron on it. He must have favored the midnight version of blue for he was, once again, dressed in that color.

"Well, well, well," Quintinus said in Latin.

The man, dressed in true blue robes, in the first portrait got to his feet to press himself against the forefront of his portrait. This man was lean and tall with messy, salt-and-pepper hair and oval, black glasses on his thin nose. In his hand was his wand and the background was a black and green study. The inscription on the frame of his portrait read 'Non Ducor, Duco.'

Harry's eyes widened and he pointed. "Hardwin."

Which meant…

He turned to the next portrait and the occupant was delighted his face lit up. She had been a tall woman, but shorter than her tallest brothers. Egberta stood with her chin in the air. Regal, she was adorned in royal blue tubes with a golden pattern woven into her cloak. In her hand was a longsword, which had a golden, bejeweled hilt. Her inscription read 'Oderint Dum Metuant.'

"Hardly so impressive that you must gape," Hardwin said. "Good to see you doing the thing right this time, Charlus. At least someone learned a lesson. Thank you."

Charlus snorted. "Did that pain you?"

Hardwin then said something in English, which made Charlus laugh.

"Welcome home, Harry," Quintinus said.

Harry waved. "Hi, Seven."

Charlus, after allowing Harry a short conversation with the portraits, took Harry around the house. He saw a bunch of rooms and even introduced Harry to other portraits.

"We won't be here that often, but we will visit during Christmas and maybe a few days during the summer. Maybe a handful of weekends, too, so that you can meet the children Barty wants you to know."

"Why?" Harry asked.

Charlus pushed open a door to a green bedroom. The walls were dark green with golden images of a family of deer in a forest, a roaring tiger, and snow-capped mountains along the walls. A quidditch game was being played on the ceiling. A thick, emerald carpet covered the floor, which a short toddler bed was close to.

"Green! Thank you, Uncle Charlie."

Charlus took off both his and Harry's shoes then let him scamper over to the bed, which he jumped onto. Charlus then conjured a large chair to sit in as the ones in the room were all toddler size.

"You may call Sport to attend you here. This house's house-elf is Komet."

Harry nodded.

"So, listen to me…"

Harry sat up and stared at him. Charlus' lips twitched in turn.

"When I was a little boy, my parents died unexpectedly. Like my mother had demanded of my father, I went to her family: the Selwyns. I remember my time there. I hated it, but I wasn't there for very long," Charlus said. "Henry was a powerful, high-handed man with a lot of money. Once he dangled all he had to offer – and I agreed I would prefer to live with him – he took me and I never looked back."

Harry tilted his head. "You don't know them at all?"

"No."

"Do you want to?"

Charlus shook his head. "No. There was a time when I was desperate enough for family to try, but I've learned to love my own company." He rubbed his cheek. "The Selwyns aren't important to this conversation. That Henry took me in is because it pissed Fleamont and Euphemia off."

Harry frowned. "Grandmother? Why?"

"Because they were old and without children. They were bitter and it seemed Henry was moving to protect his fortune just in case. He wasn't, but they didn't believe that. Eventually, he put them out of his house and they haven't spoken to each other since."

"That's sad."

Charlus nodded. "Yes, it is and I think even Euphemia feels remorse over it, but, again, that's not the point. Fleamont is. He's been mean and possessive all his life. He coveted his father's possessions and didn't want to share with his cousins. Now we're at our destination."

"Where?"

"Your house."

Harry frowned. "I have a house?"

"This one and a handful of others on the day Henry Potter closes his eyes for good." Charlus looked at him now. "It seems Henry didn't trust Fleamont to be any kinder to a second son than he was to me and our cousins."

"So he gave me a house?"

Charlus inclined his head. "Well, he gave it to his second grandson. I imagine the second grandchild in the event there wasn't a second child. However, Fleamont has one child. James, on the other hand, has two. How fortuitous it is that you were born into the circumstances you were."

"What's that mean?"

"A lucky chance."

Harry made a face. "Why is it lucky?"

"Because your parents are two young, impoverished fools. They may attempt to take you back when they have the money, but, by then, the damage should be done."

"Damage?"

Charlus smiled. "In their eyes, yes. At present, you're a spoiled, only child with the undivided attention of…your single father and grandmother, who have spent the majority of their lives in leisure. By the time they have money, you won't appreciate living with siblings or with a working parent and 'earning' things we – the portraits, Effie, and I – taught you, you ought to have by some right."

"What if I want a sibling? Quintinus keeps saying he's going to get you take me in and give me a brother."

Charlus leaned back. "Would you like to stay with me?"

Harry frowned. "I don't want to leave Grandmother by herself."

Charlus touched his head. "You're a sweet, little boy. If I say Euphemia won't be alone in your absence, would you stay with me?"

Harry nodded.

"I'll see what I can do then."

Thanks for reading!