huddyleak613: 50 points for whatever your house is. Yes! The Inheritance Cycle is my second favorite, but the longest-read series. I picked up the first book when I was in the first grade, and Inheritance came out my senior year. I draw a lot of writing inspiration from him, and I tend to give less than a few subtle nods to it.
scyfly: I'm sorry? If you don't like it, sod off. I clearly labeled this story, especially in the early chapters you commented on, that I had never written before. Of course, this isn't going to be a masterpiece, but it's good enough to entertain a lot of other fine people on this site.
Also, to answer your question about the WCPO, in my world, the ministry doesn't work like that. Some levels are going to be corrupt shitholes, but the WCPO is run by a woman much like Bones. She won't put up with it. It's that simple.
A/N: Okay, so new discovery and complaint: it's really hard to keep everything you've written straight and easily referenced. With the length this story has taken on, I'm constantly going back and reading earlier chapters so I can make sure I get the details right. My disorganized brain was not meant for this.
It's still fun, though.
Harry stood at the center of a closed and sealed set of wrought iron gates. The bars, made to look like vines, were so twisted and convoluted that even Harry's eyes, trained as they were with the precision of a Seeker, had trouble following one vine through the gate. This gate was all that separated him from his ancestral home. The Tonkses, the Grangers, and Ron were there, just behind him, waiting patiently for him to open the gate.
All he needed to do was reach out and grab a leafy handle, according to the small book that Harry had received inside the folder that Bloodrock had given him. Yet he couldn't; his arms were weighed down by the enormity of his family legacy that was crushing his shoulders. His back unconsciously scrunched to better hold the weight that had now long held him in place.
The gate was out of place, a random centuries-old wall holding in a long-forgotten field. No house or hall was visible. If Andromeda hadn't told him about property privacy charms, he would have assumed that the hall had collapsed on itself.
He felt something grab his hand, and it jolted him from tracing the vines on the gate to stare at the pale skin and skinny hand gripping his own. He followed the arm up and up until he met the smiling face of Hermione. He breathed out—he hadn't realized he'd been holding his breath—and felt time and the world catch up to him. Meeting her eyes, he saw a silent assurance in them.
"Right then, here we go."
Harry reached out again and grabbed both handles of the gate.
It came to life. The dull wrought iron of the gate gained the bright, vibrant green of enameled porcelain. The detailed flowers became white roses and lilies, and the vines all came together, growing closer to each other and opening a path big enough for a large carriage to pass through unmolested.
Harry wondered what the vines would have done had someone else grabbed those handles. He looked back at Hermione and saw the same question in her eyes.
"Go on, Harry," Andromeda said.
"Once you're on the property, the wards should recognise you as a potter and give you clearance to allow us in. Then, just say you welcome us and call out our names, and that should do it. We can rearrange the ward books when we get in."
Harry, with Smara on his shoulder staring off in the direction from which they came, walked onto his property, the familiar bond recognizing Smara as one with him.
"I welcome Andromeda Tonks, Ted Tonks, Dora Tonks, Daniel Granger, Emma Granger, Hermione Granger, and Ronald Weasley."
One by one, they entered the grounds until Ron stopped mid-step.
"Harry, you forgot about Scabbers."
"Oh, right, and I welcome Scabbers the rat, so long as he doesn't chew my curtains," Harry said jovially, wiggling a finger at the rodent sitting on Ron's shoulder.
Smara flicked her tongue at the rodent, who had begun to shake in fear of the large snake staring at it.
As they all walked up the long drive, with still no house in sight, Smara got Harry's attention.
"Something is not right about that rat. I thought I smelled something off about him at Hogwarts, but that place is so stuffed full of unruly teenage hormones that it's hard to tell."
"What do you mean? Is something wrong with Scabbers?"
"I don't know, young one, but it's familiar. I shall watch it for a time. Never mind about it for now."
"Okay, why is there still no house?" Harry asked the group.
"I would suggest reading the book and seeing if there is an additional passphrase," said Ted Tonks helpfully.
Harry skimmed through a few pages before, "A-ha! All right, everyone, listen up.
"The ancestral seat of the Potters lies inside the Flower Gate and atop the Hill of the Black stone."
And with that, the hall came into view, like a great curtain made of sky lifting from the massive estate.
It sat at the top of a large, domed hill whose top had apparently been removed, as it was flat. The hall itself was massive, with four floors and glittering windows. It stood in a "U" shape, with large wings reaching out to form a large and ornate courtyard. A parapet lined the roof, and a person was obviously able to walk to the roof and defend against attacks, but that was the last reminder of the true medieval age of the building. The facade had been redone into a Renaissance mansion, with gleaming white stones, pale blue accents, columns, and pillars decorating the windows. A symmetrical design adorned both large wings, with huge glass panes to let in the most natural light possible.
And with a resounding CRACK, four house elves popped into existence in front of them all, bowing to Harry before the oldest-looking elf stood to address the group, but more specifically, Harry.
"Welcome home, Lord Potter, Master. Welcome to Pottermore, or Blackstone Hall, named for the hill it was built on. We have been waiting for you to come here for a long time. What is it you need?"
"It's very good to meet you all. First order of business, I would like to know your names, and err what exactly are you."
" I be toppy, master, And we is the potter family house elfs" said the elf that had spoken for the group.
"This is Tappy, my mate," he said, indicating a skinny elf with a short nose but very long ears that stood nearly straight up and brilliant, fire-red eyes.
"This is Maud," Toppy said, pointing out an elf that appeared middle-aged, kind of grizzled and sunworn. He had short ears, so short they appeared docked, and a drooping, fat nose.
"And this is Tappy and I's son. He was born after Master James was killed, and thus he has no name, but we call him Tuppy in the meantime."
"You can't name your own children?" Harry said incredulously.
"Oh, no sir, no, no, we've had permission from Master Jamie, but after his death, all orders are rescinded, Master. New master, new orders. That is protocol. The master normally names or agrees with a proposed name from the house elves."
"Okay, well, I suppose if you like the name Tuppy, then he can be Tuppy. But you can all name yourselves whatever you like, all right? I've never had house-elves, so I'm not going to control every move you make. In fact, are there any books about house-elves here? I need to know the rules. And why are you calling me 'master'? Are you servants? Do you receive payment from my family?"
"There is a book in Lord Potter's office, 'House Elves, Rights, Culture, and Authority,' that will tell you all there is to know. We serve wizarding families, but we," he indicates the elves around him, "serve the Potter family. We do not get a paying master. We do not want a paying mistress; Lily tried and only stopped when Tappy had a breakdown. Paying is insulting. We receive magic in return for service. We are happy to serve."
Harry looked around. The other wizards were nodding at him, but like himself, the Grangers all looked appalled.
"Alright, I'll reserve judgment on that for now, but if you all are sick, tired, or just fancy a nap, I want you to take the day off. You don't need to work every second of the day. The house looks very well-kept, thank you for all your hard work. Is there a way I can, I don't know, tip you or give you extra magic?"
"Yes, sir, but I do not know how it would be in the book, sir. If you would like, sir, we can give you a tour now."
"Yes, please, Toppy. That would be great."
"This is Blackstone Hall, Pottermore, as Master Fleamont called it when I was a young elf of 38," Toppy said with a wide gesture. "The hall is, to date, 963 years old. It has been remodeled many times; the last major remodel was in 1495 during the period known as the Renaissance by Muggles and the Great Renewal by the magical world. The manor is built on a ley line and is situated on true north per the time of construction. The east wing is known as the Parliament. It is a speaking and teaching hall meant to hold gatherings and lectures. It is also the formal dining and dancing hall, depending on the layout you need."
The West Wing is known on the Occulary. It holds the Potter Family Library, a large astronomical telescope, and an exceptional Orrery and Lunarscope as well in the sub-floors.
"What's an Orrery?" started Harry, but was cut off by Hermione.
"An orrery is a room dedicated to modeling the solar system, if not an entire galaxy! I thought there were only two in all of the United Kingdom! The Ministry has one, obviously, but Hogwarts' astronomy tower is the first orrery ever built in the UK. That the Potter family has one for private use just shows how wealthy and old your family actually is!"
"True," said Toppy, "wizards and witches were coming over very frequently in the past to use the room, as Hogwarts isn't as good, and the Ministry doesn't let the public use theirs. But it was most likely forgotten when the war wards were put up and activated the Fidelius around the hall."
"How big is the library?" asked Hermione.
"Large by all measures, Mistress Herminy. The Potter family has been collecting books, tomes, and scrolls for the entire history of this hall, and before them, the Peverells did the same. The oldest scrolls in the collection date back to the Great Library of Alexandria." When Harry looked at her, he saw that Hermione was nearly drooling.
"Comes we can enter through the ballroom," said Muad in a gruff tone.
"I am the keeper of this wing and the gardens surrounding it, as well as the courtyard that I will show you later." The sour little elf snapped her fingers, and the double doors opened gently and silently. As they entered, they saw great, ornate walls two and a half stories tall, painted ivory with gold accents. The floor was a gleaming, polished wooden mosaic made of light and dark oak, the design too big for Harry to see from where he was standing. The few pieces of posh furniture were the same powder blue as the roof tiles and accents on the outside. Surrounding the great floor was a metal grating with holes leading down into a dark abyss.
This room was my lady Doreas's first child. She lavished her attention on it, rebuilding it from the ground up. The hanging art pieces and portraits are of historical or significant figures in your family's history. The sitting chairs and tables she designed herself. The metal grates along the edge I've seen you looking into, Master Potter, lead down to a small subfloor where lies an entire enchanted orchestra as well as lighting that fills the chamber after the sun sets with a warm glow bright enough to dance to and to "set the mood," as she said. My lady was fond of dancing and did it frequently until her passing. The group was floored by the wonder and magisterial beauty on display in this room alone. Even Andromeda, who had remembered the various events she had attended here in her youth, was awestruck. Harry understood why the elves started the tour here. It definitely set a tone.
"Who cares for and tunes the instruments? And how do humans get down there?" asked Harry and Hermione together. Ron could be seen touching the gold inlaid into the wooden decoration of the walls with a slack jaw.
"In the past, my lord hired a wizard to come and tune the orchestra. But for the last two decades, it has been my responsibility, master."
"Mistress Herminy, there is a door at the end of a hall in the sub-basement. We will need to hire wizards for that, as there are some pests down there that we elves are not capable of dealing with. If the wards restarting, don't fry the foul beasties." Muad directed the end of her sentence to Harry.
"I'll add it to the list. Thank you."
As they carried on, they were shown the base of the hall. The first floor was comprised of a large kitchen, a large formal dining area, and a small and cozy family dining area, a small gallery full of both Muggle and magical paintings and portraits, all of which woke up and greeted Harry as he approached them but swiftly went back to sleep when he backed away from them, a choice by the portraits themselves as one, Lilith Potter, said, "It is dreadfully dull being a portrait in an empty house, and the older portraits don't have nearly the same level of brains as we more modern ones do." To finish off the first floor was an actual armory full of swords, shields, suits of armor, and loose bits of equipment like a single vambrace that had a wand holster attached and when worn could conjure an iron shield, at least according to the tag. It was also broken; a large round chunk had been taken out of it at the Battle of Waterloo. All weapons, armor, and equipment had a tag or even some, a book detailing the abilities and history of the piece.
The second floor was reserved for bedrooms of extended or non-family members. The third floor was for bedrooms of family members. There were four large bedrooms on the floor separated by a hallway and door. To Harry's great surprise, there were two rooms finished with more personal touches. One was obviously his father's room. Family photos were scattered hither and thither on the walls, love notes and poems scattered on the desk. The room itself was done up with warm browns and cool blues. There were plenty of advanced Transfiguration books on the shelves and a large, half-finished map of Hogwarts pinned to the wall. The map itself was odd; footsteps kept disappearing and reappearing with jumbled-up name tags labeled nonsense like "migceter mstoginal" or "eepsv." The map had a simple title of "MMV2" written on an unused corner. Harry spent a long time here going through things with his friends. Hermione found the love notes to Harry's mother sweet. Ron found them disgusting but was distracted immediately by the presence of a seemingly brand-new Comet 150, which was summarily gifted to Ron. Harry was certain his father would like to see the broom be used more so than as a museum piece.
The other bedroom mystery was cleared up by Andromeda.
"This must have been Sirius' room after he ran off from Aunt Walburga. He stayed with the Potters after that."
The room itself seemed purpose-built to display his differences from his birth family. The reds and golds of Gryffindor, Andromeda pointed out, were a stark contrast to the Slytherin-only family and the posters of scantily clad Muggle women riding motorcycles plastered on every available surface.
"I say! This is hardly appropriate for children our age to be seeing." Ron was drooling and radish-red faced. Harry, agreeing with Hermione, fled the room almost as soon as he entered it. The door then closed and locked.
"One day, Andromeda, you're going to have to tell me more about this Sirius Black. He comes up a lot when people talk about my dad." She nods silently in return, and on they went to the fourth floor, which housed the master suite. It was arranged east to west, with a large, decadent bathroom/sauna with a magical variation of a whirlpool tub, if not a full-on magical hot tub with jets and seats. There was also a walk-in shower with a large, spacious bench built into it. The tiles of the shower were noted to have sticky charms built in to prevent slips and falls. Just on the other side of the wall lay the master bedroom, with a truly enormous mattress ensconced in a resplendent four-poster bed with royal purple hangings. The entire room was decorated in gold and purples ranging from lush to lavender. Outside of that was an informal sitting area with a small, stocked bar. The elves all snapped at once, and the bottles and decanters disappeared. "Until Master is older." On the far end were two separate offices that didn't hold much meaning or use for Harry at the moment.
The group then made its way down, down, down into the West Wing to the glory that was the Potter Family Library.
Books.
So many books and scrolls that Harry very quickly realized that he could read a book every day for the rest of his life and never finish reading all of them.
Books on charms, transfiguration, tomes of defensive magic, scrolls detailing alchemical processes, arithmetical equations, books on every creature known and theorized to exist, both now and in the past, both living and extinct. Books upon books upon scrolls upon pages of plants and fungi, both magical and mundane. So many books that the first thing you see when you enter is an index, a massive magical book that can display the location of every book in any number of topics. The book itself was nearly a foot thick.
This room sent Hermione into a state of euphoric shock so strong she had to sit down. The library was the sole domain of Tappy. She gave the whole group of them a stern talking-to about the rules of her library.
"There must be no mistreating Tappy's books! When you are done reading, place the book on the center table, and I will replace it. If a book is damaged beyond repair in your hands, then you will replace it, or Tappy shall take your fingers! There will be no eating and only water allowed in my library. Some books are ancient. If a book is in need of repair, you must call Tappy for repair. No magic is allowed in my library, not even a repair charm! If you disobey, you will be gone and never come back!"
Harry understood that Tappy was the master here, the chief, the great warrior goddess of her domain. He would make it a point never to anger her. They stayed there in the library while the elves disappeared for a time to prepare lunch for their master and his guests.
Everyone was perusing the shelves. Dan and Emma were reading journals on healing. Hermione had a thick tome that appeared to be several hundred years old. As it was in French, Harry couldn't read it, but it was apparently a "cookbook" for alchemical formulations written by Nicolas Flamel himself. Andromeda was going through the stacks and perusing seemingly random books for a chapter or two before moving on. Ted had found a trove of old scrolls from the formation of the Wizards' Council that he said he would need to read more closely, as they could have wide-reaching effects forgotten by today's laws. Even Ron couldn't resist. He had gone to the index and found an entire section on basic room enchanting: "How to Make and Improve Your Own Flying Broomstick" by Albie Weekes. According to the portrait of Cuthbert Potter, he attended Hogwarts with Albie Weekes, who was apparently an errant nut job who had been arrested after bribing a student to test illegal broom modifications. The book was good and helpful, though, by all accounts.
"Mate, we've got to try this stuff out one day. We could make a killing selling a broom personally designed by the Boy Who Lived, youngest Seeker in a century, and all that." Harry stared awkwardly; he was uncomfortable merchandising his celebrity even more than he was uncomfortable being a celebrity. "I'll think about it, Ron, but we won't be doing stuff like enchantments for a long time."
A short time later, the elves came back and escorted the group to the east wing and up a flight of steps that led into a dark oak lounge. A long bar, now barren of liquor, and a few dozen small tables and chairs were quickly transfigured by Ted and Andromeda to become one large round table that they all sat around. The same metal grating was around the edge of this floor, and for the first time, Harry heard the music. It was soft and quiet, just right for you to hear it but not get in the way of conversation where they were, but Harry assumed it was at a comfortable volume below them to dance to. The house elves popped out with garden-fresh salads, warm toasted club sandwiches, and tea. Of course, three tea services were scattered about the table.
Toppy was explaining this room as if he had explained all the others. "This lounge was a favorite spot of your grandfather, Master Charlus, much like the room below was your grandmother's favorite. This was where he stayed and worked out many a business deal—a departure from the tradition that most private business deals were negotiated in the master suite. My father used to tend to the bar in this room, but he passed on not three years after Lord Jamie and Mistress Lilly, so it is my duty now."
"I'm sorry to hear about your loss. I'm sure he was as good an elf as you are," said Harry.
"Oh, thank you, sir, thank you!" cried Toppy.
Then, Tuppy spoke up for the group for the first time. "Would you care to see the groundsmaster?"
"Hmm, unless there is something you want me to see, you can just tell me about them."
"Yes, sir! I think you would do well to see the courtyard gardens and the rear gardens.I help missy muadcare for thems.
At the rear of the main house, opposite the main entry, are two grow houses. They have sat empty for years. Towards the rear of the grounds is a full-sized Quidditch pitch that was built for your father. Surrounding the hall on three sides are just over sixteen square kilometers of verdant fields used for growing food, herbs, and most of all, potion ingredients. These fields have grown wild, and many magical plants have overgrown. To the west, there is an entire colony of mandrakes that have grown so large and old that their cries can be heard even here. We have the area under a silencing spell.
"Sixteen kilometres! That's enormous!" exclaimed Harry, astounded.
"Oh my, I don't know anything about business or negotiating, let alone have the expertise to arrange huge clean-up jobs like this, Ted. Could I hire you to sort this stuff out for me?"
"You could, but I'm a criminal lawyer. But you have another who was raised in this stuff their whole life," said Ted Tonks.
"What, really—who?" asked Harry.
"Me," replied Andromeda coolly. "I was raised to be the perfect pureblood wife from the time I could walk. That includes negotiating on my future husband's behalf. You could hire me as your house steward."
Hermione was once again staring at Andromeda with glaring admiration, soaking in her words and bearing. As the conversation continued, the older woman was everything her friend had wanted to be when she was an adult.
"Well, you've got the job, then, if you want it. But won't that take you away from your healing?"
"It would in the future, but not right away. By then, we can most likely find a worthy candidate for a permanent posting. Although I understand you already have a meeting between yourself, Madam Longbottom, and Lord Malfoy, I ask that you attend. I will send you letters while you are at school to ask your opinion on anything that comes up."
"And what about the salary? What would be fair compensation for your time?" asked Harry.
"Ten galleons a day should suffice—half my salary as a Healer."
"Deal!" Harry said with a bright smile. "As long as I don't have to worry about too many details, I'm fine."
As everyone finished eating and their group lunch drew to a close, they walked around more to the rear greenhouses, the beautifully maintained courtyard garden, and strolled on the parapet on the roof, where they could see a good portion of the surrounding grounds, including the distant Quidditch pitch. The elves showed them hidden passages, little nooks made for hiding away and relaxing—like a tiny reading room built under the third-floor stairwell with an enchanted window that held a beautiful beach scene glowing in a midday sun to ease your reading in the single, solitary, puffy armchair. And then the tour ended abruptly in the center of the solid stone floor of the basement dueling room as Toppy spoke up.
"I do not wish to be rude to my masters' guests, but the master must attend to the wards, and for you all to be safe from any unintentional harm, you must all leave."
"But what—" began Hermione before the elf cut her off.
"Fret not, Mistress Herminy, we will care for master in your stead. We will not let him come to harm, or we would not be good house elves, but this is something the master must do alone. He can not enter the sanctuary while you are on the grounds.
And so, Harry found himself, two hours later, reading a book for Lord Potter with simple instructions to take over full control of the wards' blood wards—actual blood wards, not just wards that respond to the genealogy of the owner. These wards are made of, powered by, and controlled from the blood of the master of the ward stone. Only the oldest families with the oldest dwelling places have these wards, as they are now illegal to place due to the invaluable sacrifice given to fire them for the first time.
A willing human sacrifice—in this case, the great-grandchild of Linfred of Stinchcombe, the first potter—Garland Potter gave what was left of his life on his deathbed after a rival house raided the land and mortally wounded him to first fuel and fire the wards.
Harry approached the hidden gate to the sanctuary, his skyclad form shivering in response to his nerves as he called out, "Permitte mihi novum magistrum huius aulae introitum hoc sacrarium." The wall opened, and hidden steps descended deep into the ground—a narrow spiral staircase that felt like it went on for miles, lit only by magical torches that shone with a ghostly, pale blue light. The blue light continued until the staircase ended and the light became purple, infected with the horrible ethereal red glow emanating from a large grapefruit-sized stone that spun around in mid-air, surrounded by a spiraling confluence of red and black energy. On the floor under the stone was a dagger made of what Harry knew to be human bone. Not wanting to extend his time there, he collected the bone dagger, cut his right palm, and with a second of trepidation because the book did not describe what happened after this part, placed his bleeding palm on the rotating stone.
He could feel everything, sense everything, see everything within his domain, this long-held fiefdom of his blood. All the Lord Potters that had been screamed out through the past and greeted him as a pulse of pure magic shot out in all directions, a wall of blood fire that burned away anything that was not of the Potters.
He was everything. He was nothing. He was the Potters. Harry James Potter turned; his hand healed, he walked unseeing, unknowing, back up the passage from whence he had come. As he exited the sanctuary with blank, sightless eyes, he collapsed to the ground. His house-elves came to him, bowing deeply, all with sad and forlorn expressions, and teleported their master to his new bed, where he would remain sleeping in a once-again locked-down house for five days, dreaming of his family, his friends, and his enemies. He walked through the fields under the care of a mother goddess, speaking unheard words to his mother, who laughed, soaring through the unending skies with his father and Ron, and delving into unknowable knowledge with Hermione. And, as it seemed after an eternity of sleep, he simply floated through a field of empty, black stars, humming a forgotten tune into the void.
