rmw5763 : Thanks! im glad you liked the story
I actually don't get many flamers or haters, which I see as a good sign. This is not only my first work of fiction, it's also my first long piece of writing in almost 15 years, since they stopped making us do writing assignments every year when I was a freshman. I'm just incredibly self-conscious, as most newbies are, and I want people to enjoy my writing as much as I have enjoyed the writing of others.
This story is a love letter to every author I've followed and read on here, and I want it to be good.
Harry, Hermione, and Ron sat in a large conference room. Harry was sitting by himself—well, not really. He was actually seated between Mrs. Granger and Mrs. Weasley, but his friends sat between their parents. It was a shame, really. He could use Hermione's gentle comfort. His nerves were still shattered, and he couldn't control the shaking that racked his body or the paranoia that attacked his mind with each shadowed person that passed the frosted window of the conference room. They had been there for close to an hour, with only occasional people entering the room and murmuring quietly to the parents before leaving again. They sat in an uncomfortable silence, no one quite knowing what to say.
This carried on for about another half an hour before three Aurors entered the room and sat down. Then, one of them spoke up, introducing themselves to the group.
"Good afternoon. My name is Rufus Scrimgeour. This is Senior Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt, and the other is Lead Auror Gawain Robards. We appreciate the patience you have shown the Department today. As you can probably guess, the Department is in an uproar."
First things first, we will need to record your statements about the events of this morning, Mr. Potter. Let's start with you.
And with that, the interviews started. They went on for nearly two more hours, the three Aurors extracting every detail they could from their recollections as a group and independently. When Harry mentioned the DMLE letter, Scrimgeour, who was a very grizzled, lion-looking man, set his face in a very odd expression, inexpressibly sad and angry at the same time.
"Yes, we collected that letter already. Auror Tonks said that you mentioned it to her. That was Amelia's handwriting. What that man has done, I cannot comprehend. Dumbledore was the best of us. How he fell so quickly is disturbing."
Close to 5 in the afternoon, the trio was released from questioning, and no one other than the Minister of Magic approached the group.
"Mr. Potter, it's good to see you in good health, though it is a pity that it had to be under such horrible circumstances. Were you hurt at all?"
"No, sir," Harry replied dully. "Just a bit shaken, really."
"Yes, an understandable reaction. I am issuing you the use of my best warding team, Mr. Potter. You have been given the same protection status as myself. They are already reworking and adding to the Potter wards on your Diagon Alley flat. As well, they will come and review the wards on the ancestral Potter manor when you lift the war wards." He smiled jovially at Harry. "That should ease your mind a bit, young man. I am also putting you under the protection of the Venatori, the Minister's personal guards. You'll have one of three hit wizards following you at all times. Speaking of putting your mind at ease, it seems that Albus hasn't fallen quite so far into madness as we thought. The, the head that he displayed was a fake, a very well-done transfiguration. Still, I'm told that he would need access to the real deal to make such a copy, and Amelia is still missing, as is her niece. I'm sure that all this will die down, at least for now. Reports from the most hidden and backwater agents of our Ministry say Albus has fled to the continent and will most likely remain there for some time. That was no minor wound you dealt him, dear boy."
Harry looked down and shrugged. "I just wanted the fighting to stop."
"Sometimes, Harry, I can call you Harry, yes?" With Harry's nod, Fudge continued.
"Sometimes, Harry, it's difficult for us adults to remember just how young you are, despite how small you are, you give off an aura of more power and authority than most in the Ministry are capable of. Now, you should go home and have a lie-down. After the day you've had, you must be exhausted. Don't look for your guards; they are there but have been highly trained in stealth. You never see any guards around me, do you? But they are always there. I hope you kids have a better end to your day than the start."
And with that, the Minister walked off, shaking the adults' hands. Even the Grangers were given the Minister's hand. Harry wasn't sure why, but the move surprised him.
An hour later, and the trio and parents were back in Harry's flat, going over once again all that had happened. To the Grangers' shock, the kids seemed remarkably unaffected by watching three people die, which was explained away by Mr. Weasley.
"Magic, you see, is alive. It's inside all of us, but is most active in witches and wizards. It shapes us, guides us, and watches over us. The kids saw what they did today, but their magic is allowing them to process the events in a way no non-magical child would be able to."
We are able to accept the unacceptable far more readily than Muggle—than non-magical people. It's why psychiatric medicines are not practiced widely in the magical world. For the most part, they are simply not needed."
"And how do you feel about this, Hermione? Be honest," asked Mrs. Granger.
"I feel off. I know I should be far more bothered by this than I am, and I am disturbed by it. But it seems like the more I replay it in my head, the less it's affecting me. It's in the past now, and I should take note of it and carry on." All the other children nodded in agreement.
"Alright, but if any of you feel the need to talk to a professional, I'll make the appointment and pay for it."
"I'll pay for it," Harry interrupted Daniel Granger quickly.
"It was because of me that it happened. If there are any adverse effects, I'll pay for the treatment."
"I'm sure that won't be necessary, Harry, but thank you for looking out for our son."
"Well, in light of everything, I think I'll be letting Ron off his punishment. Harry, why don't you come and spend a few days with us? At the very least, Hermione is more than welcome to come as well. I have a daughter about a year younger than these three, and I'm sure the girls will get along just swell," Mrs. Weasley proposed to the group in her usual bossy fashion.
"That sounds great, Mrs. Weasley, but I'll need to bring some paperwork along. I need to get it all signed and sent back before school starts. It'll be good to have someone other than Aldwin to ask questions of." Harry said
"Hermione can stay until Friday, but we're going on a weekend trip then. Harry, you're more than welcome to come along to that as well; I can't imagine you've gone on many vacations with those horrid Dursleys." Emma Granger said very businesslike until the end, where she began to bite her words.
"THE DURSLEYS!" Harry nearly shouted in realization, causing the people around him to jump in alarm.
"Tonks mentioned them. I mentioned their case. I hadn't heard anything about it. I guess I'll have to ask her or pop back into the Ministry records, I guess."
"I can do that, Harry. I work tomorrow," said Mr. Weasley. "No point in you going all the way up there, now, Dan? Would you mind lending me your house keys? I'll apparate Hermione to your house or to an apparition point near your house and allow her to collect a few things for her stay."
It was several hours later now, in the dead of night, at "The Burrow," as the Weasley home was called. The house swayed and creaked in the still summer air. Harry lay awake in the small camp bed on the floor of Ron's tiny quasi-attic room, listening to the sounds of a house filled with the memories and lives of a truly happy family. And despite the almost charmed air, the joy that seeped into your bones all around him, Harry was experiencing nothing but disturbing disquiet and a small breath of horror. He had woken up what was probably an hour ago from another dream, another memory. Unlike Hermione, Ron hadn't awoken to comfort him, and so he lay there, unwilling to risk waking anyone up just because he was reliving his horrific life. Realizing that now, with Ron's chainsaw snoring and the chills and shakes he was still suffering from his nightmares, he wouldn't be able to sleep again. So he got up and left not only Ron's room but the house, out into the orchard that surrounded the magically constructed home, where he sat in silence and watched the moon for hours until, off in the distance, Harry heard the howl of a wolf. Harry froze in shock, listening to the howling brocade of finely harmonized wolves that seemed to surround him, enveloping him in a warm song. The tune seemed familiar, like a song he had heard as a child but had long forgotten.
"Don't worry, they won't hurt you."
Harry jumped at the voice and turned to see a tall, slender young man with flaming red hair, probably about 20 years of age.
"How?" Harry asked, looking around.
The young man smiled. "Not many people know it in the Muggle world or magical world, but Ottery St Catchpole—specifically, the magical portion of the village that contains vast amounts of enchanted, expansive forests and orchards—is home to the last remaining population of native English wolves. They hide in the enchanted forests here. The only other population lives in the Black Forest around Hogwarts. And like I said, you don't need to fear them; they won't hurt you. They're teaching their young to hunt, and they know better than to hunt wizards."
Harry stared out, listening as the calls surrounded them once more. "It isn't." Harry paused and looked into his lap, searching for the right words.
"It's not the wolves out there that worry me." He waved into the shadow-veiled trees before tapping the side of his head. "It's the wolves in here."
"Ah, the monsters of our minds always seem a more pertinent threat, don't they? I know the feeling. I had the same reaction the first time I saw someone die. Of course, I wasn't twelve. The name's Bill Weasley. Mum told me about what happened today. I wondered if I'd catch any of you lot out here."
"What happened with your first, if you don't mind me asking?" Harry said quietly.
"I'm a curse-breaker for Gringotts. Last October was my first month as a fully-fledged curse-breaker. From 18 until 21, I was in the Gringotts apprenticeship. In October, I earned my full qualifications."
Curse-breaking is dangerous, Harry, one of the most dangerous jobs in the wizarding world. One of the curse-breakers that started that job with me did something foolish. He broke the order of operations because he was sure that the tomb we were in was an easy win. It wasn't. He activated a trap, and—" Bill clapped his hands together. "We were given administrative leave for a week and sent back for a month of safety courses.
"Sometimes, Harry, it's easiest to bottle up your thoughts and emotions, but it's never healthy to do so, even for wizards.
You know what else isn't healthy for me, by the way, is you mentioning this little conversation to my mum."
Harry sat contemplating Bill's story and chose to change the topic.
"How does one become a Cursebreaker?"
"Same route as an Auror, really. NEWTs in DADA, Potions, Transfiguration, and Charms, only you've got to tack on Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. I hold a mastery in four subjects, which is four more than most wizards and three more than some.
The Cursebreaker apprenticeship is one of the only programs in the wizarding world that will give you multiple masteries."
"Do you like it even though—?"
"I love my job, Harry. It's good work, with great people, and even better money. It's safe enough if you follow safety procedures. Accidents happen everywhere, Harry, even at Hogwarts. Just ask Professor Kettleburn next term."
"I've heard of him, not much left but a bit of torso and arm. Fred says he refers to him as Professor Kettlebell."
"I wouldn't emulate my little brother, Harry. They may be fun, but they'll get you into more trouble than the fun is worth."
"I'll keep that in mind. Thank you, Bill. I feel a lot better now. Only if I can get to sleep—Ron snores like a machine gun."
Well, why don't you come and stay with me? You can have Charlie's bed. Mom probably thought it was inappropriate since I'm an adult, but honestly, if she's going to put anyone in with Ron, she should cast a Silencing Charm on him first. It's just basic courtesy.
Harry followed Bill to his room and collapsed on Charlie Weasley's bed, falling asleep faster than he thought possible.
Bill, on the other hand, was stowing his wand back on his nightstand next to his bed after hitting Harry with a drowsiness charm.
The next few days were filled with laughter, paperwork, and a lot of fun. Harry also learned that following his own hearing, the Dursleys were also tried, and in light of the ex-headmaster's mental manipulations, they were ordered to stay well clear of Harry, and they wouldn't suffer any jail time.
That Friday morning, Hermione disappeared after a strong hug to Harry and a quick goodbye to everyone else. Harry returned to his flat for the first time in days, no longer burdened by the massive stack of papers Percy, Hermione, and Mr. Weasley had helped comb through and organize. With the help of some Gringotts-certified signature stamps, he was able to go through all three massive piles of parchment and authorize business deals, tax filings, and investment opportunities, including buying out the potions shop and apothecary in Diagon Alley and rebranding them to Potter's Pot Herb and Potter's Potions. The businesses were still run and operated by the same people, but now Harry owned them and thus received kickbacks from the profits.
As Harry stepped out of the fire and approached his kitchen table, he found a small stack of letters, already opened. Harry figured that it must have been his bodyguards, whom he had yet to meet, and Smara was there as well, glaring at him.
" and just where have you been, youngling!"
harry cringed he had left smara here alone without a second thought."SMARA! i am so, so sorry !"amd harry recounted the events of the attack and just being so distracted eith ron and hermione at the burrow that he hadnt though about anything other than his friends and the paperwork he had brought eith him.
" see that it doesn't happen again youngling or I will grow to my full size and lay on you"
"Yes, Smaragain."
"It is good that you are unhurt. I would hate to have to find another small, toothpick of a child to keep as a pet. The actions of the bearded one confuse me. From what I have observed through the years, the old headmaster was never vicious nor cruel. He is the master of a phoenix. They do not bind themselves easily."
"He's been that way for my entire life, I think, at least as long as I've been with my aunt and uncle. There have been times that after my uncle would hurt me, he would show up. I think he would heal me so I wouldn't die, but I can't remember the memories that are too hazy to distinguish. The scans and magical releases they did on me at the hospital let me remember, but it seems most of the memories are too damaged."
"So, it's something to do with you then, youngling. Might you want to go and see what official records there are of you? Some secrets will only be found if you go and find them."
"Speaking of secrets, I think it's time you go to the Potter Manor in Somerset. The last time I was there, your ancestors were digging the foundations."
""You've been there?"
"Yes, as I've told you, your ancestors were cousins to my father—not that they got along very well, mind you. I think they called him to erect a static blood ward on something hidden in the foundations, but it was so long ago that I can hardly remember the details.
Letters arrived for you while you were gone. The Hidden Ones examined them, but two of them looked important, and three were taken. You pulled had to ask them why.
"I would if I could, but they don't show themselves just because I ask. It's been four days now, and I haven't even seen them so far."
"Hmph, I can see them just fine. They heat the air just over there, outside the foyer window."
"Well, I'll ask them later. The letters I have are more important right now."
And Harry turned his attention back to the letters on his kitchen table: two letters from Gringotts, thanking him for taking care of the paperwork so quickly and marking the receipt of it for his own record; the other from Bloodrock detailing a notable increase in investment profits, his astonishment in the Muggle technologies sector, and a report that all assets from the Dumbledore family had been seized to recover lost, stolen, or defaulted item loans, and all necessary interest—a house in Godric's Hollow, a sum total of 256,000 galleons, and a small number of personal and private artifacts of the Dumbledore family, and the deed to one "Hog's Head," which nearly sent Harry into a conniption fit until he read that it was a bar in Hogsmeade, the village outside of Hogwarts Castle. Bloodrock wanted to know if Harry wanted to start eviction proceedings against Dumbledore's younger brother, Aberforth.
Harry quickly penned a reply stating that he did not want to evict anyone at this time.
And another one to the DMLE giving permission to search the house and property for any clues that Dumbledore might have left behind. As soon as he sealed that letter, it disappeared, and he heard a quiet, "Mr. Potter." A crack of apparition sounded next to him, and then sounded again outside his home.
The next letter was a request from the Longbottoms to resume their previous contract on his family's land to grow potion ingredients.
The one below that was a request from the Malfoy family for a similar reason to the Longbottoms.
He responded to both, setting up a date all three could meet and try to come to an agreement, but set it off for the last week of August as he had more things to do.
For now, Harry wanted to do a bit of shopping. The apothecary was having a sale, he knew from a comment Mrs. Weasley had made, and he needed new clothes. He was growing again, and the only clothes he owned that fit him properly now were his school robes.
Later that night, Harry lay in his huge bed in his big, empty apartment, wearing his brand-new pajamas. After the Weasleys left, the silence didn't seem so welcoming anymore. Not to mention, there was a slight niggle in the back of his mind, like a sneeze that wouldn't come, and it was grating on his nerves and preventing him from sleeping.
"Err... guard? I don't know if it's allowed, but you can come out. I can feel you somewhere around me, and I can't sleep."
A black form shifted out of nothing, a mask covering its face and a robe concealing any details of its body. Its voice was also modified, neither masculine nor feminine, not even what you could call a voice, just noise that formed words.
"I apologize, Lord Potter. I was doing the required sweep. I was unaware that you could sense magic. The ability is quite rare."
"Yes, it's getting stronger as I grow. Anyway, I know you're not supposed to speak to me or reveal yourself, but I won't tell if you don't. What's your name? Are you always with me or just around this time?"
"I am number 47. Hitwizard 47, and I am only beside you from 8 p.m. till 3 a.m."
"What do you know of me? you're a hitwizard. You know things even the minister doesn't."
"Hmm, it is not my place, Lord Potter, but if it were, I'd say that the Department of Mysteries has something that would interest you. And only you can get to it." And the Hit-Wizard dissolved back into shadow.
"Hmmph," Harry thought, but the mage must have backed away from Harry as the sensation of being watched receded and ceased after a few seconds. Harry was asleep, dreaming of a sunny field, a black lake, and Hermione. They sat together, talking of things he couldn't understand. He could see as if he were walking around his own dreamscape while his body sat talking to Hermione. They were older, taller, and something must have happened to dream Harry. He had a cut down the left side of his face, over his eye that was closed. But Harry moved his focus into the burning green of his own other iris and plunged into the deep black mass at its center. On and on he flew through the pitch darkness, and in the back of his mind, in the deepest recesses of his consciousness, he heard once again a haunting tune, a lilting cadence, half-heard, half-forgotten, that filled his heart with joy and love.
a tune he knew he had heard before but had forgotten.
a lullaby
a cradle song.
And the gentle voice hummed him through the void and into a soothing oblivion.
there is a particular book series that im ripping inspiration from when it comes to smara. I'll give you fifty points for your house if you can guess what it is