CHAPTER 8: A BOND FORMED

Dumbledore presided over the bustling Wizengamot meeting, his presence commanding the room as Chief Warlock. Among the gathered were notable figures like Greengrass, Longbottom, Bones, and the Minister of Magic, alongside a few others, each with their own agenda and concerns.

"I hereby declare the commencement of today's session of the Wizengamot," announced Dumbledore, his voice resonating with authority. "Is there any pressing matter that requires our attention before we proceed with the agenda?"

Augusta Longbottom, a venerable figure within the wizarding community, raised her hand, drawing Dumbledore's attention.

"Yes, Lady Longbottom?" Dumbledore acknowledged her with a nod.

"Thank you, Chief Warlock," Augusta Longbottom rose from her seat, her presence dignified and commanding. "I have a young Lord in need of assistance, who seeks to address this esteemed assembly."

As the doors swung open, all eyes turned to Harry Potter as he entered the chamber. Despite his youth, there was an air of maturity about him, evident in the way he carried himself and the determined set of his jaw. Clad in robes adorned with intricate red detailing, he exuded an aura of authority, though his perpetually unruly hair betrayed a touch of rebellion.

"Mr. Potter," Dumbledore addressed him, his tone a blend of curiosity and concern, "What brings you to this august gathering? Shouldn't you be attending to your studies at Hogwarts?"

Harry met Dumbledore's gaze with unwavering determination, a spark of defiance igniting in his emerald eyes.

"I realized I had to be here," Harry replied, his voice steady despite the weight of his words. "My mother and father lie in comas, unable to fulfill their duties, and it falls upon me to act in their stead. I seek to appoint a proxy to represent the Potter family in their absence."

Dumbledore, with his grandfatherly demeanor, addressed Harry with understanding. "Mr. Potter, while I empathize with your situation, I assure you, there is no necessity for such measures..."

"I must respectfully disagree," Harry interjected firmly, his resolve unwavering. "It has come to my attention that the Potter votes have been utilized without the explicit consent of myself or my parents," murmurs rippled through the assembled crowd, amplifying the tension in the chamber.

"Hadrian," Dumbledore began, attempting to diffuse the escalating tension, "your parents entrusted me with the authority to cast your votes on their behalf."

"Verbal consent?" Harry's inquiry held a hint of skepticism.

"Yes," Dumbledore affirmed with a nod.

"Unfortunately, sir, verbal assurances do not suffice for me. I insist upon written documentation," Harry asserted, his tone resolute.

"Is my word not sufficient?" Dumbledore's pained expression masked a hint of deception, attempting to sway Harry with false sympathy.

"I don't possess enough certainty in your assurances to place full trust in your word," Harry retorted, his words cutting through the murmurs that had grown louder with disbelief. The audacity of his confrontation with Albus Dumbledore, a revered figure, left many in the chamber astounded.

"I also seek to designate a proxy for the Peverell family, for which I stand as the head, as well as another family," Harry continued, his gaze unwavering even as Dumbledore's complexion paled. How had Harry come to possess knowledge of the Peverell family, a revelation that threatened the very foundation of Dumbledore's plans? Yet, before Dumbledore could collect his thoughts, Harry pressed on.

"In addition," Harry announced, his voice carrying a note of authority, "I've noted your use of the Black family's votes. I hereby declare my intent to assign a proxy for that esteemed lineage as well."

"Mr. Potter," Dumbledore interjected, his attempt to regain control of the situation met with Harry's unwavering determination.

"Heir Potter," Harry corrected him firmly. "I am Heir Potter."

Dumbledore faltered momentarily, his composure shaken by Harry's assertiveness.

"Heir Potter," Dumbledore addressed him once more, attempting to assert his authority, "you do not possess the authority to appoint a proxy for the Black family."

"I assure you, I do," Harry countered, his confidence unshaken. "As you are aware, the current Lord Black is Sirius Orion Black," Dumbledore's expression grew increasingly pale, betraying his unease. "Regrettably, he is unable to fulfill his obligations, being incarcerated in Azkaban. However, I am his godson," Harry declared, the revelation causing a ripple of shock through the chamber. "Furthermore, it is my belief that I have been named his heir. Therefore, I possess the rightful authority to designate a proxy for the Black family."

"Heir Potter," Dumbledore began, his tone measured as he grappled with the realization that Harry held the leverage he so desperately sought to retain. "I must express my reservations about allowing such appointments based solely on claims..."

Harry's smile remained unwavering as he produced three meticulously crafted documents, each bearing the official seal of Gringotts. "Allow me to present official confirmation from Gringotts," Harry announced, his voice carrying a hint of satisfaction, "establishing my rightful status as the heir to all three families."

A member of the assembly swiftly retrieved the documents from Harry's outstretched hand, passing them along until they reached Dumbledore. Reluctantly, the venerable wizard perused the contents, his heart sinking as he begrudgingly acknowledged their authenticity. Harry's claim to the titles and responsibilities of the Potter, Peverell, and Black legacies was irrefutable—a bitter truth that left Dumbledore with little recourse but to acquiesce.

"Very well, Heir Potter," Dumbledore conceded, his voice betraying a hint of resignation, "to whom do you wish to entrust these proxies?"

"For the Potter and Peverell families," Harry declared with unwavering resolve, "I nominate Lady Longbottom as the designated proxy." Dumbledore cursed inwardly, recognizing the formidable resolve of Augusta Longbottom; attempting to manipulate her would prove a futile endeavor.

"Lady Longbottom," Dumbledore turned to her, his expression neutral, "do you accept this responsibility?"

"I do," Augusta affirmed, her gaze unwavering as she met Dumbledore's eyes with a steely resolve.

"Very well," Dumbledore acquiesced with a resigned tone, acknowledging the shifting tides of power within the chamber. "You are now the designated proxy for both the Potter and Peverell families."

Harry pressed on, his determination unwavering. "And for the Black family," he continued, "I nominate Andromeda Tonks."

Dumbledore's mental groan echoed his apprehension; Andromeda Tonks represented yet another formidable force beyond his sphere of influence. He knew all too well the futility of attempting to sway her to his will. Before he could voice his reservations, the chamber doors swung open once more, admitting Andromeda with an air of poise befitting her pure-blood lineage.

"Very well," Dumbledore sighed inwardly, resigning himself to the reality of the situation. "Andromeda Tonks, do you accept this responsibility?"

Andromeda nodded firmly. "Yes, I accept."

"Then, Andromeda Tonks, you are now the designated proxy for the Black family," Dumbledore announced, a trace of weariness creeping into his voice.

"Thank you, Chief Warlock," Andromeda responded gracefully, her demeanor poised and dignified.

"With your permission, sir," Harry interjected respectfully, "I would like to take my leave now as I have classes to attend."

Dumbledore's reply came with a dry edge. "Yes, I'm certain you do. Very well, you may go."

"Thank you," Harry bowed courteously before swiftly departing, leaving behind a lingering sense of unease among the assembled pure-bloods, who couldn't help but feel a twinge of shame at his effortless display of both speed and grace.

Harry, having returned to school and resumed his regular attire, reflected on his recent decisions regarding the appointment of his proxies. He felt confident in his choices; the Longbottoms and Potters had long been allies, their bonds stretching back through centuries of shared history. Lady Longbottom, in particular, commanded respect as a formidable figure whom few dared to cross. Moreover, her son and daughter-in-law held personal connections to Harry's family, further solidifying their alliance.

As for his selection of Andromeda Tonks for the Black family, Harry found reassurance in her familial ties as his godmother. With his godfather imprisoned, Andromeda seemed a fitting choice to fill the role, possessing both kindness and a fierce determination that he admired. Additionally, entrusting her with the responsibility of representing the Black family served as a means of strengthening their connection.

"Harry!" The urgent tone of Daphne Greengrass' voice interrupted his thoughts, prompting him to turn and face her as she approached, her expression fraught with anger.

"Hello, Daphne. What seems to be the matter?" Harry greeted her politely, but her silence and forceful grip on his arm indicated that words alone wouldn't suffice. He allowed her to lead him away, observing the redness of her cheeks and the hint of moisture in her eyes, signs of recent tears.

As they reached the secluded spot by the lake, Daphne finally spoke, her voice lowered to ensure their privacy. "Okay, Harry. Did you know about it?"

Harry furrowed his brow, puzzled by her cryptic question. "Could you clarify what you're referring to?"

"The contract!" Daphne's frustration was palpable.

Harry's confusion deepened. "What contract?"

"The marriage contract!" Daphne's tone was sharp with accusation.

Harry recoiled slightly, caught off guard by the intensity of her accusation. "I've disclosed everything I'm aware of regarding any contracts. What more should I know?"

"We are both bound by this contract!" Daphne's voice reverberated with raw emotion, leaving Harry momentarily speechless. He felt as though he must have resembled a gaping fish, utterly stunned by the revelation.

"W-wait a second," Harry managed to collect himself, his mind racing to comprehend the gravity of Daphne's words. "You're saying... you're the girl from my marriage contract?"

"Yes!" Daphne affirmed, her voice strained with anguish as tears continued to streak down her cheeks. "My father informed me of it in a letter. We're both bound by the terms of the contract!"

"Daph, I swear to you, I had no idea," Harry spoke earnestly, his heart sinking at the distress evident in her eyes. "If I had known, I would have told you."

"Okay, so you didn't know," Daphne retorted bitterly, her anger palpable. "But I bet you're satisfied now, aren't you? Delighted to have your wish fulfilled, forcing me into a contract! You've been incessantly flirting with me, and now you'll get your way! I'll be nothing more than a trophy housewife for you to parade around in front of your friends! I can't believe this!"

"DAPHNE!" Harry's voice rose sharply, his hands reaching out to steady her. "Take a breath, please." Daphne met his gaze, her tear-streaked face softened by his imploring tone. She complied, her breath shuddering as she struggled to regain her composure, wiping her eyes dry in the process.

"Do you have anything to say?" she asked, her voice tinged with a mixture of vulnerability and defiance.

Harry drew in a deep breath, steadying himself before responding. "Firstly, I truly had no knowledge of the contract," he reiterated. "And as for the flirting, it was all in good fun. You seemed to enjoy it, so I continued. But now, I want to remind you that once I turn fourteen, I have the power to dissolve the contract."

"Why would you do that?!" Daphne interjected, her voice laced with incredulity.

"Because I don't want to force you!" Harry snapped, frustration evident in his tone. "Is that really so hard to believe?! I'm not Malfoy! I didn't orchestrate this deliberately! Yes, I have feelings for you, but I would never coerce you into a relationship with me!"

Daphne recoiled slightly at the intensity of Harry's response, sensing a flicker of something in his eyes that gave her pause. A weighty silence settled between them, neither willing to break it, yet both feeling the need to address the tension hanging in the air.

"I'm sorry," Daphne spoke softly after several minutes had passed. "I shouldn't have lashed out like that."

"It's okay," Harry sighed, his expression softening with understanding. "You were understandably emotional. I understand."

"Thank you," Daphne replied gratefully, a sense of relief washing over her.

"Truly, it's okay," Harry reassured her. "But as I said, Daphne, I won't force you into anything. If it makes you uncomfortable, I'll dissolve the contract as soon as I'm able. And for the record, I would never expect you to conform to some outdated stereotype of a housewife."

"Really?" Daphne's disbelief colored her tone.

"Yes, really," Harry affirmed earnestly. "If we were to be married and you wanted to pursue a career, I would support you. I would never compel you to be someone you're not."

"Thank you," Daphne responded sincerely, feeling a glimmer of hope amidst the uncertainty.

"It's really no problem. We still have some time, but our next class starts in ten minutes. Shall we head back up?" Harry suggested gently.

"Yes," Daphne replied softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Okay, then let's go, Daph," Harry agreed, taken aback when Daphne suddenly enveloped him in a tight hug. "Daph?"

Caught off guard by the unexpected display of affection, Harry hesitated for a moment before tentatively returning the embrace, his arms encircling Daphne's slender frame. He couldn't help but feel a slight tension in his muscles, uncertain of how to navigate the intimacy of the moment. Yet, as Daphne rested her head against his shoulder, Harry found himself relaxing into the embrace, his cheek coming to rest against hers. Despite his lack of experience with hugs, he found solace in the warmth of Daphne's presence, a feeling he hadn't expected to encounter.

As they lingered in the embrace, Harry's thoughts drifted momentarily to the absurd notion of Dumbledore attempting to embrace him—a scenario that elicited a mental scoff from Harry. He had little patience for such displays of affection, particularly from those who held ulterior motives.

Eventually, Daphne released him from the embrace, offering him a shy smile that Harry couldn't help but return. His surprise only grew when she reached out and took his hand in hers, a gesture that left him feeling both touched and slightly bewildered. Sensing her embarrassment, Harry decided to simply enjoy the moment without comment, allowing their clasped hands to serve as a silent reassurance of their newfound connection.

Together, they made their way back up towards the castle, their hands still intertwined. Harry couldn't help but feel a sense of warmth and comfort in Daphne's presence, a stark contrast to the tumultuous emotions that had gripped them just moments ago.

As they approached the entrance to the castle, Daphne finally broke the silence. "Thank you, Harry," she said softly, her eyes meeting his with a sincerity that resonated within him.

"For what?" Harry asked, genuinely puzzled by her gratitude.

"For understanding," Daphne replied, her voice tinged with a mixture of relief and gratitude. "For not judging me, for... for everything."

Harry offered her a reassuring smile. "You don't need to thank me, Daph. We're in this together, right?"

Daphne nodded, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of her lips. "Right."

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