Seeking to improve the quality of the story and its comprehension while maintaining consistency and accuracy, I will gradually replace the chapters with their edited versions. Since English is not my native language, you may have encountered many inconsistencies and errors, which is why I undertook the titanic task of thoroughly reviewing and editing.
Nothing in the story has been changed, only perhaps some names and details that do not affect the narrative.
Thank you for reading and for keeping this story among your favorites or alerts.
++CHAPTER EDITED++
Chapter II: What have I gotten myself into?
He felt foolish. Being in London had him feeling crazy in some way. Why was he at King's Cross Station if he didn't want to take a train? Well, confusing King's Cross with Charing Cross could pass as a rookie mistake. Now he needed to catch a cab again to go to the place he really needed to be.
"Sorry, lady, I'm first," he said to a blonde woman who tried to pass him and get into a cab that had just parked on the street.
"I was here first," she responded firmly, opening the cab's door.
"Oh no, I was here first," Harry said, stepping between the door and her.
"Move away," the woman snapped indignantly, pushing him.
"I need this cab, darling. Sorry," Harry said with a smooth maneuver, getting into the vehicle before her. He muttered a few words to the driver, and as he closed the door, he shot a mischievous smile at the now furious woman. The cab started to pull away.
The ride to his new destination was short, and just minutes later, Harry arrived at the place he needed to be—The Leaky Cauldron. Adjusting his coat, he surveyed the surroundings and began to mentally map the area. If the pub was the connection between the Muggle and magical worlds, its importance should be significant. The place was well camouflaged among the Muggle shops, but it struck Harry as odd that an abandoned, run-down pub would thrive in such a bustling shopping area. Wizards can be so illogical sometimes. He had to be thankful that Muggles were too busy and distracted to pay any attention to such inconsistencies.
Taking one last look at the surroundings, he entered the pub. Inside, the atmosphere was noticeably different—tense and silent. Some wizards were quietly conversing in the corners, trying to remain unnoticed, while others were simply passing the time.
"Hello," a chubby blonde woman greeted him at the bar.
"Oh, hello. Why is everything so calm for a pub?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow. The woman's smile faded, and she shrugged.
"What can I do for you?" she asked, her tone now more serious.
"Nothing much, really. I was thinking of visiting Gringotts, so I have some advice. I'm from Bulgaria, and it's my first time in London," Harry explained, mentally taking notes on everything around him. The woman introduced herself as Hannah Abbott and invited him to follow her.
"This is the entrance to Diagon Alley," she said, pointing to a spot. "You just need your wand," she added, showing hers. "Then you perform the necessary pattern." Harry studied the wand movements closely, committing them to memory.
"A piece of cake, then," Harry replied. Hannah nodded, a slight smile on her face.
"One last piece of advice," she said as she came closer. "Try to keep a low profile."
Hannah smiled one last time and stepped back into the pub. Harry, still mentally making notes, started walking toward the white building when he unexpectedly bumped into a woman. He looked up to find it was the same blonde woman from earlier.
"So, not content with making me apparate here, now you crash into me?" she said, a bit irritated. Harry remained calm, looking at her.
"When someone's busy looking at the floor instead of in front of them, things like that tend to happen," Harry responded, his tone dripping with sarcasm. The woman shot him an angry look.
"And being a jerk too," she snapped, gathering her things from the floor.
Harry ignored the woman and continued walking toward Gringotts, his pace steady and focused. To his surprise, the woman was taking the same path. They walked together in silence for a while, the tension between them palpable. The encounter was already unpleasant, but now it felt like a slow, unspoken competition. Harry, with his long strides, quickly outpaced her, turning the walk into a race. He reached the entrance to Gringotts first, his heart beating slightly faster—not out of exertion, but more from the sense of victory.
Once inside, he ignored the swearing blonde woman who had just arrived, continuing to move past her with a swift step toward the reception. Chivalry was out of the question—after all, she had been anything but pleasant.
"Hello there," Harry said, his voice smooth as he approached the goblin behind the counter. He knew exactly what to say in this setting. "My name is Fleamont Potter, and I need to speak with the goblin responsible for managing the Potter Family affairs," he continued, using Gobbledegook to catch the goblin's attention. The goblin blinked in surprise at Harry's fluent and confident use of the language, and the woman behind him, now second in line, shot him an irritated look.
"Please take a seat, Mr. Potter," the goblin replied, still astonished by his command of the language. "Someone will be with you shortly."
"Thank you," Harry replied, still in Gobbledegook, his words clipped and polite. He moved aside, leaving the blonde woman to handle her own business.
The woman, now visibly irritated, stepped up to the counter. "I have an appointment with the Greengrass Family account manager," she said, her voice harsh and demanding.
The goblin nodded. "In a moment, Heiress Greengrass," he replied, referring to her with respect, though Harry found it amusing that such an important-sounding title was attached to someone who seemed so unpleasant.
As the woman walked past, Harry couldn't help but notice how she seemed to gravitate toward the empty seats. She took a seat directly across from him, not even acknowledging the space between them.
"So, you're a Potter," she said, her voice now curious, but still carrying a hint of disdain.
"If you've been listening to my conversation, then yes, I am," Harry replied, his tone dry and sarcastic.
"I was behind you in line, and the conversation wasn't private," she retorted, defensive but still sharp.
"If you say so," Harry replied, nonchalantly. "But yes, I'm Fleamont Potter."
"I'm Daphne Greengrass, Heiress to the Greengrass Family," she said formally, her posture straightening as she said it, clearly aware of her status.
"Well, Daphne Greengrass, Heiress to the Greengrass Family, a pleasure," Harry said, his voice mocking. He leaned back in his seat, taking in her reaction.
"Are you always like this?" she asked, her expression turning serious. "A stupid jerk?"
"Sometimes," he replied casually, not fazed by her words. "Sometimes I'm a big asshole, and other times, a son of a bitch."
Daphne's frown deepened. She clearly didn't appreciate Harry's bluntness, but he wasn't about to play games.
"For someone from a sacred family like the Potters, you're a real gem," Daphne said sarcastically, her words dripping with contempt. She stood up as she saw her manager approaching her.
"A pleasure, indeed," Harry said, winking at her as she walked away with the goblin, her annoyance palpable.
As Daphne disappeared into the back with her account manager, Harry thought about her last name. He recognized the Greengrass family as having a strong presence in Europe, primarily in the potion ingredients business. They dealt in rare and sometimes forbidden substances, trading across borders with various dark and neutral factions. While their power didn't quite match the larger families in Britain, they were respected, particularly for their ability to maintain neutrality—at least on the surface.
Harry remembered the Greengrass family's patriarch, Cyrus Greengrass. The acting Lord of the House was a man with a reputation for cunning and ambition. He had a way of playing with both sides of the political spectrum, carefully navigating the magical world's murky waters. He had managed to maintain the family's neutrality while simultaneously gaining favors from the current Minister of Magic, all to further their business interests. But Harry knew the family's dealings were slowly taking a darker turn, and their involvement with the forbidden side of magic was only growing stronger.
As Harry sat back in his chair, he mulled over the information he'd collected. The Greengrass family might be neutral for now, but that neutrality wouldn't last forever.
"Mr. Potter, please follow me," an old goblin's voice interrupted Harry's thoughts, pulling him back to the task at hand. He followed the goblin down a narrow corridor and into a modest office located at the back of the reception area. The goblin settled into a chair behind a desk before speaking again. "When Bachok told me Fleamont Potter was here, I thought he was playing a cruel joke. Lord Fleamont died many years ago. But then I remembered Euphemia, and a little boy named Harry, the one who was his successor and grandson. So, tell me, why Fleamont?"
Harry took a seat in front of the goblin and replied calmly, "For security reasons."
"I see," the goblin muttered thoughtfully. "But... lying is unnecessary, Mr. Potter."
"I didn't lie," Harry replied, his voice steady. "A careful goblin like you knew my real name the moment I passed through the door and was scanned." He leaned back in the chair, now speaking in Gobbledegook with ease. The goblin was momentarily stunned.
"How do you—" the goblin started; his voice filled with curiosity.
"Goblin magic is aggressive and dark in essence," Harry said, his tone sharp and confident. "But when combined with runes, it can pass as a cold sensation—like goosebumps. A wizard who walks through the line of runes discreetly drawn under the door would only feel a vague discomfort, tied to the tension between our races. But I'm very perceptive when it comes to wards," he finished, his voice firm. The goblin nodded, clearly impressed.
"I'm surprised," the goblin admitted, his voice laced with respect. "You're the first wizard in years to identify our magic on that door. But yes, the reception acts like a scanning area for us. When a wizard passes through, the runes corrupt the magic a little, revealing who is coming and their intentions."
Harry nodded in acknowledgment, but then added with caution, "The dwarves..."
The goblin stiffened at the mention of the dwarves. "What about them?"
"They have a similar security system at their banks in Norway and Sweden," Harry explained, choosing his words carefully. "But their measures are far more aggressive. They don't use wizard runes to soften the experience. Instead, they rely on a blood sacrifice to placate the magic. The sensation is dreadful for all who pass through, but especially for witches."
The goblin snorted, clearly amused. "Those brutes... always so harsh," he laughed. "So, you're in contact with the dwarves' banks?"
"Yes, I have some independent accounts there, under an alias," Harry said with honesty. "I'm a cautious individual. My work can be complicated, and sometimes transactions for my services require discretion. While Gringotts is perfect for managing my finances with its superior security, I've learned to not put all my gold in one chest. There are pirates everywhere in this world."
"A wise decision, Mr. Potter. A wise decision indeed," the goblin said with satisfaction, clearly approving of Harry's approach. "But time is gold. What can Gringotts do for you?"
Harry leaned forward slightly, his voice steady. "I want to ascend as Lord Potter and take full control of my family's affairs from now on. I know Gringotts has the best financial systems in the magical world, but I have a degree in finance, and I think I can manage things very well on my own," he said swiftly. "My intention is to establish my residence in England and oversee the family's business, obviously considering the wise advice of my goblin manager and the Gringotts financial charter."
Internally, Harry smiled. He knew how to navigate dealings with goblins. Flattery was always the safest route. Goblins were incredibly proud and vain, and complimenting their systems made for a smooth conversation.
The goblin smiled, clearly pleased. "We accept your decisions, Mr. Potter. Gringotts is ready to assist you in everything."
With that, a small basin and a little box appeared in front of the goblin. "But first, we need to verify your identity through a simple blood ritual. Please, cut your finger and drop a few drops of blood into the basin," the goblin instructed.
Harry hesitated for only a moment, then complied. He made a small cut on his finger and let a few drops fall into the basin. After a moment, the goblin nodded and took a parchment from the basin.
"So?" Harry asked, his voice calm but with a hint of impatience.
"You are indeed Harry Fleamont Ignotus Potter," the goblin confirmed. "Son of James Henry Potter and Lily Marie Evans. You are the legitimate heir to both the Potter and the Peverell families." The goblin paused before continuing. "There are no registered wills for either family, or no blood heirs ranking higher than you. So, under the Universal Heir decree, signed by the Ministry of Magic and our esteemed Lord Ranko the First centuries ago, you are now eligible to ascend as Lord Potter and Lord Peverell."
The goblin opened the box, revealing two rings—each a symbol of his new titles.
After signing numerous papers in his new capacity as Lord Potter and assuming full control over his family's wealth and assets, Harry was making his way toward the exit when a sudden commotion at the end of the hallway caught his attention. He stopped abruptly.
At the end of the corridor, blocking the exit, was Daphne Greengrass, in a heated argument with a grey-haired man dressed in black robes. They were so engrossed in their discussion that they failed to notice their surroundings.
"You're an asshole, Theodore," Daphne said angrily. "Why did you tell my father that I accepted your courtship contract? Now I have…"
"To fulfill, Daphne," he answered. "I told you before, I'm tired of being patient with our relationship, so involving the goblins was my best chance."
"We don't have anything, Theodore," she interrupted him. "And don't be so cocky. My manager said the contract was only verbal between you and my father, not with me, so I'm not compelled to…"
"Daphne, Daphne," he said, interrupting her. "I'm tired. I need a lady to appease my mother's wishes and my father's clauses to ascend as Lord Nott, and I want you to be my Lady," he said in a demanding tone.
"I told you before, and I'll tell you now," Daphne said, furious. "I'm not an object to anyone, nor to my father. I have some responsibilities as the Greengrass Heiress, but I'm not currency to be used for my family's or anyone else's gain."
"I've been very patient and passive with you and your stupid father—and your mother, Merlin, she was an insufferable harpy," he said, changing his tone to one more aggressive, violently pressing her against the wall. "But not anymore. I'm a fucking Death Eater, Daphne. If you know what's good for you and your family, you should fulfill the contract in full. I don't want more excuses, no more discussions. I want you to be my lady." Daphne was now frozen in fear while Nott started to harass her sexually with his wand, laughing maliciously.
"Is there a problem?" Harry said, deciding to intervene. Nott stopped harassing her and, even with her subdued, turned his gaze angrily toward the intruder and pointed his wand at him.
"The only problem is your fucking interruption," he said menacingly. Daphne moaned but remained frozen and subdued.
"Well, you see," Harry said, showing his wand too, "on my land, when a man assaults a woman like you're doing to the Heiress Greengrass, the situation is now our problem."
Nott tilted his head, analyzing Harry, then allowed Daphne a moment of freedom.
"Do you know who I am?" he said harshly, now ready to start a duel.
"A woman abuser?" Harry said calmly but ready to defend himself. "A bully, a pig, a coward?"
"Do you think this is funny, huh?" Nott was furious and advanced toward him. Daphne was now free, but she looked surprised and remained in shock.
"Well, abusing a woman isn't funny," Harry said still calmly but silently creating a simple shield between the two. "But watching a fucking coward being berated by a woman he can't possess is priceless and very funny indeed." Nott exploded in fury and shot a purple beam, which was easily dissipated by Harry's shield.
"Lord Potter, Heir Nott, Heiress Greengrass," a harsh voice resounded in the hallway. A visibly angry goblin, followed by three guards with axes, appeared. "I think it's unnecessary to remind you that using wands or fighting in Gringotts is forbidden."
"You don't know where you've stuck your nose, idiot," Nott said, pocketing his wand and leaving the place. He didn't leave without pushing Harry hard into the wall, but Harry remained calm.
"I greatly apologize for causing such a scene in your sacred halls and facilities," Harry said in Goblin language. "Heiress Greengrass here was assaulted by Lord Nott, and I can't let such a severe aggression pass."
"I understand, Lord Potter, we accept your apologies," the goblin said, still angry. "But we must ask both of you to leave Gringotts if your business here is finished." The goblin and his guards left the hallway after that.
Harry now looked at Daphne, who remained surprised and astonished at everything that had happened. "I think we need to move aside and leave the place, Heiress Greengrass," Harry said. Daphne looked at him and nodded. "The warning from a goblin in his facilities is law. Failing to comply with it would bring a big headache for us."
Both started to walk in silence. Gringotts was empty; few wizards visited the bank at night. When they reached the entrance, Harry invited her to share a drink at the Cauldron. Daphne nodded.
"I know I called you many names before, but thank you for everything you did for me in that hallway," she said once they were seated in the pub. "The Greengrass family…"
"I told you before, I am many things," he interrupted and winked at her, then ordered a beer for Hannah.
"Only water," Daphne said calmly.
"You see, in my land, we have a saying too: 'A dog that barks don't bite.' That guy, Theodore, is one of those dogs—barking and no bite. The spell he cast on me was a funny one."
"Theodore was dangerous," Daphne said, mortified. "I wouldn't call a curse meant to make your blood boil funny."
"If I had been him, I would have added a dehydration spell to speed up the process of death," Harry said thoughtfully. "Those curses in a combo—fuck, that attack would be hard to stop with a simple shield, and I'd have a lot of problems."
"This is serious," Daphne said, scandalized. "But he is dangerous not because of his spells, but for what he is…"
"What? A Death Eater?" Harry said, smiling. "What is that—a bully gang, a group of hooligans, a funny criminal clown troupe?" Harry scanned the surroundings, noticing reactions to his words. Hannah almost spilled their drinks when she heard him.
"You're not from here, correct?" Daphne said, ignoring his sarcasm and irony. Harry nodded. "Well, you need to refrain from making comments like those," she added, looking at their surroundings too.
"Oh, don't worry. I was joking. I know exactly who those clowns are," Harry said, gaining a gasp from Daphne. "But mark my words, that guy Theodore was just bark."
"He never attacked me like that or threatened my family the way he did," Daphne said, worried, ignoring the scandal he was causing with his sharp comments.
"For a woman who showed a fearsome character and determination like no other in that hallway, your words sound absurd now," Harry said, earning a hard look from her. "I heard everything you and he said. Well, your figure was blocking the hallway and my exit, so listening was the best option. Honestly, look—I'm a womanizer, and I've met many women around the world. Rarely do you come across a woman as interesting as you. And don't get me wrong, I'm not trying to get you into my bed. I'm just saying it like it is."
"Thank you," she said, embarrassed.
"In the end, what was the problem?" Harry asked.
"Theodore formalized a courtship contract with the intention of marrying me," Daphne said sadly. "Because I am the heiress of the Greengrass family, and due to the customs, traditions, and laws of pureblood society, I must fulfill the terms of that contract until both parties are satisfied and the clauses are fulfilled."
"Is magic involved in that contract?" Harry asked, intrigued.
"Gringotts confirmed that it's not. The contract was just a verbal agreement between Lord Greengrass and Heir Nott," Daphne explained, confused. "But the word of a Lord is sacred in our society, and my father accepted Nott's proposal, so…"
"Well, I'm new here, and I don't know how pureblood society works in Britain, but I do know something thanks to my travels. And forgive my modesty, but I have enough knowledge about magic to say that without force or magic compelling the wording of a contract, it's not enforceable—even if it's verbal. All agreements, business, or affairs will be null by default. "And although this may seem unbelievable to you, the magic inside your body creates protection like no other, which means no one can force you to comply with something that was said or written without magical compulsion," Harry explained.
"Really?" Daphne asked, surprised and relieved.
"Yes, Miss Greengrass," Harry said. "For that reason, the wording in magical contracts must be exact, precise, and without any legal loopholes. All over the world, the most cunning and successful magical lawyers spend hours crafting the wording for that reason. In simple terms," he continued, seeing Daphne intently listening, "if someone compels you to be their wife but doesn't use magic to do it, your own magic can create a shield to block that specific instruction. It's called free will. For us wizards who can do many unconventional things with magic—like read minds, control them, or make someone do something using curses, potions, or spells—our free will is not so free. If someone says something and doesn't imbue power behind it, our mind and magic use that to create a shield to protect our free will from it."
"Is that a theory or a fact?" a witch at the table behind them asked, intrigued.
"Well, it's like a golden opportunity in front of you. If you don't take it, someone else will. Our free will as wizards works like that. If a wizard doesn't compel us, our free will creates that opportunity for another person," Harry replied.
"That's bullshit!" another wizard in the pub said, with others nodding in agreement.
"The original theory was published by Marco Di Antonio, an Italian wizard who, incredibly, was a Catholic and a Muggle psychologist. He was trying to find a connection between magic, his Muggle profession, and the religion he followed. He discovered this amazing fact and published his work and methods in a book called Free Will and Magic in 1823," Harry said firmly. "You can consult the text at any library. I don't think it would hurt you to read a little, buddy."
"But we're talking about contracts and wording, right?" Hannah asked. Harry nodded.
"Of course. Imagine if something like this happened every time we spoke. It would be a disaster. So, magic is wonderful in that way too," Harry said, smiling.
Daphne looked at the man in front of her, truly surprised. Their previous encounters had been disasters, and he had been a pig in both. But the fact that their two subsequent encounters were so different left her in shock. First, he defended her from Nott in Gringotts, and then he alleviated her troubles with his words. This man was really a mystery. "So, you're a smart man too," Daphne said, breaking the silence. Hannah returned to her duties, and the other wizards went back to their business.
"When you travel the world from here to there, well, something must stick with you," Harry said.
"I'm Daphne Greengrass," she extended her hand to him.
"Enchante, Mademoiselle Greengrass," he kissed her knuckles. "I'm Harry Potter."
"Ah, that's your real name," she said, smiling.
"Well, Fleamont is my middle name," he answered.
After some time, the usual topics ran out, and an uncomfortable silence fell between them, so it seemed best to end the impromptu evening. Harry, equally polite, bid Daphne farewell and stepped outside. After waiting a while, Harry finally took a cab and headed to his destination, the Muggle hotel called The Peninsula. Although the goblin named Hick had mentioned how to access the Peverell Mansion in Wales or the Potter Mansion in Yorkshire, Harry preferred the Muggle world. Among Muggles, slipping by unnoticed was incredibly easy.
The night had been a significant source of information, and while he appeared disinterested, Harry was focused on his mission. The reconnaissance was a fundamental part of it. For example, the encounter with Daphne Greengrass had given him insight into how magical society operated, particularly among the purebloods. They lived in a Victorian-era bubble, and Harry highly doubted they had evolved beyond that point. Arranged marriages, dowries, formal verbal exchanges, duels, highly structured greetings, decorum, and discrimination toward lower social classes—British pureblood society was completely outdated. On the flip side, the Leaky Cauldron's atmosphere was quite different. Lord Voldemort was working in the shadows, but the wizarding community was acutely aware of who held the power. They were terrified of him and his followers, more than anything. Harry found that reaction incredibly foolish. After all, they were wizards too, capable of defending themselves with dignity and magic. Yet, he understood their fear. Dark magic practitioners were fearsome, aggressive, and wouldn't hesitate to use dark curses to resolve trivial differences or eliminate those who got in their way. Harry understood this, for he was technically one of them. He didn't hesitate to use dark arts and sometimes necromancy when faced with particularly difficult cases.
The terror, though, was understandable. Lord Voldemort knew this all too well, and like any villain in a story, dominating others' minds and emotions was the most effective path to total control. If Harry wanted to resolve his mission, he knew he would have to fight fire with fire. Changing ideologies would be his first step. He had to show others that not everything was about fear and terror—that freedom could also be attained by fighting for what you wanted, not what others dictated. He hoped his brief but informative conversation with Daphne about free will, contracts, and wording would leave some impression in a society that was both frightened and suppressed.
It was strange to think that, to Harry—a wizard who had spent much of his life surrounded by darkness, death, and magic—it seemed almost impossible to undertake such a noble mission. But as Canek had said during their last meeting, when a god or deity gave you a task and asked you to fulfill it, you had no choice but to comply. Years of experience with forces beyond human understanding—paranormal and supernatural—had taught him that saying no was suicidal. So, here he was, ready to change everything and save the world. Ironic and bizarre, yes, but that was the reality.
The morning came faster than he expected, and he was due to visit the Ministry of Magic.
"I see you didn't waste any time," a darker voice interrupted his routine as he shaved with Muggle methods. "But your ability to amuse me never ceases to surprise me—was it a date, a battle, or an academic class? Incredible."
"I was doing research, and one thing led to another," Harry replied without flinching as he shaved his mustache with a razor.
"Beautiful, indeed," the voice said sarcastically. "But be careful—my sister is now aware of our situation, and she's furious. That blonde woman, for example, well—she was part of her plan. Your encounter was no coincidence, and her role was bait."
"She won't be a problem for my mission. It was a chance meeting, nothing more. Don't worry. While Daphne Greengrass might have been your sister's attempt to distract me, we must be smarter. Greengrass could be a valuable access point to pureblood society, which would make my mission easier. So, leave it to me," Harry said, wiping his face with water and then a towel. "But you immortals need to understand something: not every success will come quickly. We need to take things slow and build momentum, acting when the situation demands it—such as with Miss Daphne and other spontaneous encounters."
"We don't have a deadline for you to complete the mission I gave you," the voice said, irritated. "But you need to understand that our time to resolve this isn't infinite."
"I'll do everything I can," Harry said, finally leaving the bathroom and the room.
The voice conveyed two things: first, that deities like Death or Fate were watching him closely, and second, that he needed to be more careful with his actions. When Fate was involved, everything became difficult. Harry tried to make sense of the situation with Hannah, Daphne, and Theodore, looking for something unusual, but nothing seemed off. All the encounters appeared natural, except for his first meeting with Daphne, which had been highly suspicious. A witch taking a cab at the same time as him, at a Muggle station, had to be more than coincidence. Fate was an illogical, incoherent force, but Harry knew better than to underestimate it. Sometimes, the simplest things were the most dangerous.
He took another cab and, within minutes, arrived at the Leaky Cauldron, where he greeted Hannah and asked to use the Floo Network. Moments later, he appeared in the atrium.
"Hello, I'm Harry Potter, and I need to go to the Magical Records department," he said to a short wizard dressed in gray robes.
"Wand, please," he said automatically. Harry handed over his wand, and after a moment, he received it back along with a pin bearing his name.
Walking through the atrium felt strange and uncomfortable. Voldemort's presence seemed to linger in every corner, even without his physical presence. After taking the elevator and walking for a while, a dirty-blonde witch greeted him at a colorful reception.
"Hello, Mr. Potter. I'm Amanda Blond. How can I help you?" she asked.
"Well, Miss Blond, I recently emigrated to Britain after many years in Bulgaria. I understand I have some records to present and forms to sign, is that correct?" he asked, using a charming tone. The witch smiled warmly and nodded.
"You're very polite to someone from abroad," she said. "My boss is available now. Just give me a moment." She disappeared behind her desk and quickly reappeared. "Miss Umbridge will see you now. Please, go ahead," she gestured toward the door next to her desk.
"Caution and measure," Death's voice echoed suddenly, and Harry understood the message.
"Good morning, Mr. Potter," a woman in pink greeted him warmly. "Mandy, my assistant, tells me you're here from Bulgaria with plans to settle in Britain."
"That's correct," Harry replied as he took a seat. "I was born here, but after my parents died, my grandmother Euphemia Potter raised me in Sofia from a young age." The witch's eyes widened slightly. The bait had been set.
"A Potter, huh?" she said cautiously. "It's been many years since a Potter has been involved with the Wizengamot or the British wizarding community. What's changed?" she asked, and Harry understood the underlying meaning of her question.
"My grandmother's last wish was for me to fulfill the wishes of my parents, James and Lily. They wanted me to be a part of the society they grew to love before they passed," Harry said calmly. Dolores seemed moved, and he could tell she had bitten the bait.
"Their deaths were a tragedy for everyone," she said. "James Potter was an extraordinary Auror in the Department of Magical Security, the best candidate to replace Alastor Moody, but then he died in that terrible explosion caused by a mishap from his Muggle-born wife." The sarcasm and hypocrisy in her tone were unmistakable. But on the other hand, she had taken the bait fully now.
"So, after settling my affairs in Bulgaria and Paris, where I've lived for the past five years, I decided it was time to settle down here," he continued. Dolores nodded.
"Wonderful," she said. "The process is simple. You'll need to take some forms, read them, sign them, and return them within a week with the required documents. If I recall, your father was heir to the Potter Lordship, so you will need—"
"I assumed the mantle of Lord Potter yesterday," Harry interrupted. Dolores frowned, and her demeanor shifted.
"Taking your Lordship before informing us of your immigration status was a terrible mistake, Mr. Potter," she said seriously. "We are your first point of contact, not the goblins."
"If I recall, the family affairs and Gringotts business are independent of immigration status, Miss Umbridge," Harry replied calmly.
"Not at all, Mr. Potter," she insisted.
"Oh, yes, Miss Umbridge," he said, maintaining his composure. "I can take the mantle of Lord Potter and leave Britain to live in France, settle my family affairs in Gringotts, and leave. The fact that I'm here is merely a courtesy. International laws are very clear regarding inheritances, lordships, and finances."
"Perhaps things work that way in France or Bulgaria, but not here," she said. "In Britain, we are everything, and if we say it doesn't work that way—"
"Pardon me, what do you mean?" Harry interjected. "You're saying you can violate international laws to force wizards to follow your rules? Sorry, Miss Umbridge, but that's not how things work. You can't override laws just because it suits you," he said firmly. Dolores looked scandalized.
"I can have you arrested right now for being a foreigner and deny you the right to live here. So, what will you do?" she said, standing her ground.
"You can't touch me without facing serious legal consequences, I'm Lord Potter, you foolish witch," Harry retorted harshly. "I'm here to fill out the forms and inform the Ministry that I intend to live here out of courtesy. As an English Lord, I can live here without informing anyone."
Dolores studied him carefully, recognizing that he was right in everything he had said. "Well, we shall see," she finally said. "The next Wizengamot session is approaching. Maybe there, we can show you some British manners, my Lord."
Harry was out of the office in an instant, a mysterious smile on his face as he discreetly moved his wand. A swarm of bees appeared from the shadows and quickly tucked themselves into his coat. The bees were just one of his many techniques for gathering information quickly and efficiently. Occasionally, he used other insects, but a place as colorful as the reception area and Umbridge's office provided the perfect camouflage for them.
The bees had a simple purpose. Although they appeared harmless, the magic imbued in them was dark by nature. They could release a small toxin that caused the person they targeted to tell the truth unknowingly by placing them into a momentary trance. The bees recorded everything they heard, and once the trance ended, the victims would be freed from their stupor. For assassination missions, he had also imbued the bees' stingers with a real poison, making them capable of delivering a fatal sting if needed. However, this time, their task was not deadly. Their purpose was to gather useful data and take pictures of the documents on the desks. It was an incredible display of magic using insects, but its usefulness was undeniable.
Satisfied with his objective, Harry headed to the floor where the Wizengamot Chief Warlock office was located. After waiting for some time, a wizard named Cornelius Fudge received him.
"Lord Potter," Cornelius said, sitting down without even looking at Harry or offering him a seat, as if it were a given.
"Thank you for having the courtesy to make space in your busy schedule to meet me without an appointment, Lord Fudge," Harry said formally, ignoring Cornelius' bad manners. Fudge seemed embarrassed by the greeting and shook his head.
"Call me Mr. Fudge, or Cornelius if you prefer," he said nervously, finally looking Harry in the eye.
For Harry, the situation was predictable within seconds. An untitled wizard, with extremely poor manners, disheveled, trembling, and pompous—yet the highest representative of the Wizengamot. It was clear he was merely a puppet without real power. While Fudge might not influence votes or decisions much, he controlled the agenda and moderated the trials or topics discussed in regular and extraordinary sessions. There was no doubt that Voldemort, despite his impulsive nature and impatience as some records described, was an extremely intelligent politician and bureaucrat—remarkable for a half-blood.
"Oh no, that would be a blatant insult to your status, my Lord," Harry said firmly. "Lord Fudge it is."
"I'm not a Lord," Fudge replied, completely embarrassed.
"Excuse me manners then. I understood that certain requirements were necessary to hold your position," Harry said, his tone biting. "But I've been away from Britain for so long, perhaps the regulations have softened over time."
"What do you want?" Fudge asked irritably.
"I recently assumed the mantle of Lord Potter, and I understand I must inform you that, in the next session, I will take my seat and actively participate from now on," Harry replied. Fudge's expression mirrored that of Umbridge's—he understood immediately. "As Lord, it is my right to inform you of this, not to seek your permission. I'm simply being polite and following the necessary protocol, which is informing you first rather than appearing without having done so. Honestly, I find not following this procedure to be extremely rude."
Fudge turned purple, just like Dolores Umbridge. The wizard had fallen for Harry's game, and now Harry understood perfectly how everything functioned within the Ministry, without even needing to meet the Minister for Magic.
Lord Voldemort, Harry admitted, was undoubtedly a worthy representative of Slytherin. He had been guided by wiser wizards, particularly in the political realm and regarding the Wizengamot. But by keeping someone as racist and controlling as Dolores in charge of the Ministry's magical records, and someone so explosive and foolish in charge of the Wizengamot, Voldemort controlled the flow of all magical information coming in and out of the Ministry. Dolores' department covered everything—permits, registrations, inheritances, births, deaths—and Fudge decided what issues would appear on the Wizengamot agenda, which laws to add to his cause, and which to veto, including manipulating the trials and verdicts by directing votes his way. It was a masterstroke by Voldemort: controlling the flow of magical information in Britain and manipulating the judicial system to his whim.
How had Albus Dumbledore and the other Lords allowed such a thing? Now Harry understood what a mess Fate had woven thirty years ago, and why Death and the other deities were so desperate to fix the problem.
"The next session is scheduled for two days from now at 10 in the morning," Fudge said abruptly, standing up and signaling the end of their meeting. "I just remembered I have a very complicated agenda. Thank you and have a good day." As Harry left, Fudge slammed the door behind him.
Back in the comfort of his room hours later, Harry carefully analyzed the information collected by his bees and reflected on his experience with the Ministry officials. He understood that the magical world of Great Britain was deeply screwed up, and his mission was going to be a titanic task. After ordering a bottle of whiskey from room service, he looked over the enormous stack of paperwork before him as he hung up the phone. All he could think was: What have I gotten myself into?