Harry & Daphne: An Untold Destiny

Chapter 1: 1983 - 1993

October 31st, 1983

Euphemia smiled as she watched her husband cast a gentle Leviosa spell on their grandchild, tossing him in the air. Little Harry giggled madly, his black curls flapping all about and his green eyes shining brightly as he did tiny flips while floating in the air. Moments like this she truly cherished.

Her husband was still as handsome as when they met nearly sixty years ago. His dark hair speckled with grey cut short and coiffed to the side. She had made him shave off the wretched mustache he had when they had first started courting, now there was no distraction from his broad grin. He had a strong chin with broad cheekbones. Thick eyebrows sat like tiny caterpillars above his coffee brown eyes. He always insisted on wearing suspenders with his trousers instead of a nice belt. Thankfully he left the tweed jacket at home and was only wearing a nice white dress shirt.

She thought back to the day she first met her 'Monty. Fleamont Potter was a young potioneer from across the pond trying to convince her father to sell his concoctions in their family shop. Back then he was young with a full head of hair, tall and thin with gorgeous brown eyes and a ridiculous mustache. He had been intense but passionate, she couldn't help but be swept away by it all. The accent certainly didn't hurt either.

They had married within a year and then spent decades traveling the world inventing and selling potions. Before long, thirty years had passed, their wanderlust began to diminish, they set out to start a family. It took them longer than they had hoped before magic decided to bless them with their James. They felt like fools the moment they held their perfect little boy in their arms after wasting so many years without him.

Thankfully James had learned from their mistake, wasting no time before starting a family of his own. When he was thirteen he had written them a letter home with his intentions to marry a young witch named Lily Evans. At the time they had dismissed it as a flight of fancy and expected to hear about some new witch by the next letter. However each letter he sent he spent just as much time talking about Lily as he did himself. Still for years they stayed skeptical. It seemed just so strange for someone so young to be sure of what he wanted.

In James' sixth year Lily had finally relented to his advances, agreeing to a date during a visit to Hogsmeade in late November. A few weeks later while home for Yule James asked to borrow money to purchase Lily an engagement ring. Of course her and Fleamont counseled him not to get too far ahead of himself but they did not deny him the funds for the ring. Lily of course was wearing the ring when she exited the train at the end of the school year. When the two graduated the following year Lily was eight months pregnant with Harry.

The Daily Prophet had not been kind about that especially when their insidious insinuations were further fueled by a ministry investigation. A muggleborn girl marrying a pureblood heir to the Viscount of Tutshill, pregnant with his alleged child. It was everything blood supremacist mothers warned their young boys about when they left for Hogwarts.

Even worse than the papers were the laws. James could not inherit if he married Lily. The archaic laws dating back to the wizard council disallowed muggleborns to ever rise to nobility. They could tell their daughter in law felt betrayed when they had explained it to her. The hypocrisy of benefiting from a system that perpetuates discrimination when you know it's wrong but do nothing to change it. It was nothing short of cowardice.

She refused to live in Stinchcombe Hall so they gifted them an old family property in Godric's Hollow. The two bedroom cottage was a millennia old built during the roman occupation and made of stone and mortar. Magic kept it in good shape changing slightly as it molded with each occupant. In the hands of Lily and James the cottage was warm and inviting. Filled with photos of their tiny family and friends from school. Knick knacks occupied the tables and shelves while hand knitted cozies covered the furniture. Something one would call kitschy.

Harry started to look a little green from all the spinning so Fleamont gently lowered him to the ground with his wand. Her husband turned towards her. He gave her the same smile he had when they first met, his eyes full of light, his grin full of teeth. It was like she was nineteen again and she swore she swooned. She could feel her cheeks flush making her freckles more prominent.

Fleamont took a few steps until he was only a few inches from her face. His thick calloused fingers, with the tips burnt off from too much brewing, gently tucked one of her curls behind her ears. She wondered if the feeling in her stomach was still considered butterflies at her age. Perhaps a moth? It would be apt as they seemed to only dance in front of the light of her life.

She closed her eyes when he gently kissed her lips. Her hand grasped tightly at his shirt to keep herself from falling over. The other hand had enough sense to gently push him away. They were meant to be watching over their grandson not snogging like a couple of newlyweds.

"Sorry Effie but you know I need a little sugar in the evening." Fleamont smirked. He had been using the same line for half a century now. No matter how many times she rolled her eyes at it she couldn't stop herself from smiling.

Harry let out a small yawn. Euphemia looked at the clock on the wall, it was already shortly after eight and well past the young boy's usual bedtime. They had allowed him to stay up later as it was Samhain and his mother had also just gone into labour. It would be a fool's errand to try to put a toddler to sleep when he was so excited to meet his younger brother.

Though the last word from James was it would be a while yet, the healers estimated most likely the early hours of the morning. She felt awful for Lily labour was exhausting enough without having the child being too stubborn to come out in a reasonable amount of time.

Deciding there was no point in keeping the tired boy up any longer she picked up her grandson and started heading up the stairs.

Crack!

The distinct sound of apparition was like an automobile backfiring over a megaphone. The loudness meant they were just outside the wards. Euphemia hurried up the rest of the stairs but stopped when she heard a knock. To get through the wards without breaking them meant whoever it was at the door was considered a friend by her son.

Fleamont answered the door hesitantly at first before recognizing the guest and letting him in. She watched from the top of the stairs as Peter walked into the house dressed entirely in black robes. His hood was pulled back to reveal his pudgy face, the way his front teeth stuck out made him appear to be sneering.

"Peter? What brings you around here, did James not message you? Lily is having the baby." Fleamont rambled slightly flustered from having an unexpected guest.

"I'm very sorry about this Mr Potter, I had hoped it would be Sirius watching over Harry."

Euphemia wrinkled her nose. She never cared for James' friendship with Peter. Besides from the boy's propensity for whining and bouts of jealousy, there was just something off about him. She became especially wary when James had mentioned the boy was a rat animagus. It says something about a person if their soul connects with a rat.

"What do you need Sirius for? Is everything alright? You look like you're afraid, Peter." There was genuine concern in her husband's voice. He looked at all three of James' close friends like they were also his sons. If one of his boys were in trouble Fleamont would do what he could to help them.

Peter pulled out his wand from his robes and hit her husband with a silent stunning spell before he had time to even react. Fleamont fell to the ground with a look of surprise etched on his face. Euphemia quickly reached for her wand while turning Harry away from the door.

"That would not be wise Mrs Potter." A deep voice spoke and a cold shiver ran up her spine. Her eyes shifted slowly to the door. A handsome man walked through the door. He had thick black hair that parted neatly to the left. His skin ghostly pale with no marks or blemishes. His eyes were an unnatural black that looked red when the light hit them. He wore a four piece suit beneath his open robe; the whole ensemble was of the finest materials and craftsmanship. She recognized him instantly.

Asclepius Gaunt.

The man claimed to be an extant member of the Gaunt family who had died out decades prior. He had been traveling the world and had not heard of his uncle and grandfather's passing. The claim was not something that could be properly verified with no blood to test against. However the man was a parselmouth, a gift not seen outside of the Gaunt line in centuries.

Rumours spoke that he went by another name. One only whispered in the darkest of alleys. Lord Voldermort. A leader of a cult known as death eaters that terrorized the country in the name of blood supremacy. Of course there was no evidence actually linking the two but Euphemia had no doubt they were one in the same.

He smiled in a way that made her skin crawl from the unnaturalness of it. "Do not be afraid, Mrs Potter. No harm will come to you or your husband as long as you give me the child."

"You're insane if you think I'd let you touch my grandson, Gaunt." Her maternal instincts were conflicting with her desire to save her husband. She knew she should run but she couldn't bring herself to leave Fleamont behind.

At her words he let out a mocking chuckle. "Perhaps, I might be insane. If one were, would they even know it?" Shaking his head he pulled out a long thin white wand, holding it with the ends of his finger tips. "It matters not truly, I'll have the child even if it means disemboweling both you and your husband. Now hand the child over." The last words were said precisely like the threat they were.

She quickly fired off a stunning spell before turning and running. She did not make it even a step before she felt a force pull her backwards down the stairs. She wrapped herself around Harry to protect him as she rolled down the steps. Her head banged hard against one of the edges of a step making her dizzy. As she landed at the bottom Harry rolled out of her arms.

"Tsk. Tsk. I am very disappointed, Mrs Potter." Gaunt spun his wand deftly around his fingers. He turned towards Peter who was staring at the floor. "Wormtail, leave now and inform the others to prepare for Saturday."

Without a moment's hesitation Peter bowed before quickly fleeing from the cottage he no desire to see what was about to happen. Mr and Mrs Potter were like a second set of parents to Peter; this was the last thing he wanted. He would mourn them greatly.

Voldemort turned towards Euphemia. "I'll show you one last mercy Mrs Potter and I'll kill you first before I pull your husband a part limb from limb. Once you are both confetti the child will die and I will leave his body covered in your remains for your son and his mudblood wife to discover."

Euphemia could only whimper. She turned to look at her grandson. He sat on the floor crying, the tears bringing out the green in his eyes. She knew he was going to grow up to be a handsome man. He would grow up and be a good man. She would not get to see it unfortunately. All she could do now was beg the gods for the last favour. So she prayed.

"Close your eyes Harry. Just close your eyes."

Albus Dumbledor had seen much evil in his very long life but nothing had prepared him for the scene before him now. He had arrived at the tiny cottage in Godric's Hollow to see the door wide open swaying ever so slightly against the wind. As he got closer he was hit with the smell of copper and the stench of dark magic. Everything was silent. He would never forget that silence.

Harry Potter was sitting in a pool of what was once his grandparents, his eyes wide open but he was not making a sound. He had the look of a man who had nearly been kissed by a dementor. It was quite a haunting look to see on a boy who was only three years of age. The same look he'd seen on men who had fought in wars. Shell shocked he believed the muggles called it.

Lying on the floor in front of Harry was the lifeless body of Tom Riddle. The man was dressed in the finest of clothing almost as though he had the foresight to dress for his own funeral. It was quite queer to see such a powerful wizard now just an empty husk.

It was impossible to make any sense of what happened in this cottage. The only thing he could determine was it involved potent magics both ancient and dark. A ritual if not multiple had been attempted and things went horribly wrong in the most fortuitous of ways.

He stepped around the dark sorcerer's body and picked up the young boy into his arms. He inspected the child closely; most of the blood appeared to not be his own. For the most part Harry was unharmed except for a jagged scar on the boy's forehead that looked eerily like a lightning bolt.

The best thing to do would be to take the child back to the castle. Harry would be safe at Hogwarts and Madam Pomfrey could make sure he is actually alright. He would then return to the cottage to investigate further before informing the Potter's and the Aurors of what happened. It was of paramount importance that he figures out precisely what occurred in that cottage.

November 5th, 1983

Seraphine glanced around the ballroom of Appleby Castle. It was a newer castle as castles go, built sometime in the 12th century; it lacked the character of the older castles like the one she grew up in Wales. The ballroom here has no arches or ornate carvings of dragons on the pillars; it was all just straight cut stone. The floor wasn't even proper, just limestone transfigured into marble. It was a castle designed to hold off sieges not host balls.

They had gathered under the guise of celebrating her nephew Dorian's tenth birthday. In reality it was just an excuse for adults to drink copious amounts of wine and devour hors d'oeuvres while debating taxes. Gifts and cake were brought simply to hold up the ruse.

The Davies, Patils and Changs even brought their children to play with the birthday boy. Unfortunately they were all much younger than her nephew, the oldest of them being six. As a result Dorian was doing little more than babysitting at his own party. Seraphine did what she could do to help when she wasn't stuck acting as host.

Dorian looked like his father, who was her husband's elder brother. The boy was tall for his age, with broad shoulders. Sensitive blue eyes with sharp facial features. Long light brown hair tied back in a low ponytail. When he was older he would earn his braids. He was dressed in his finest tunic and trousers, covered by an emerald green robe. On the back was the Greengrass family sigil, a golden apple tree.

"Aunty, may I be excused? I am feeling tired." He spoke clearly and properly with all the manors expected of an heir to the Earl of Appleby.

She doubted he was tired as the sun was still out. The boy was most likely bored out of his mind having nothing to do but entertain small children. She gave him a smile and a nod. "The children will all be put to bed shortly, perhaps you'll be more awake then." He smiled before quickly running off.

Seraphine scanned the room. Her husband was chatting away with a few business associates struggling to keep his eyes open. She could tell he was uncomfortable in the formal robes, he much preferred his muggle suits. These kinds of parties weren't much to either of their tastes.

Daedric was a kind husband and always sweet with her even when he often was fumbling with his words. He hadn't been what she had imagined for herself. At Hogwarts it was always the bulky quidditch players with all the bravado that caught her eye. The forbidden Gryffindor. She certainly wasn't interested in swotty ravenclaws. If left to her own devices she would have married Mcclaggen who liked to flirt with younger witches right in front of his wife.

No she was truly happy with her husband who looked at her like she was the most beautiful witch in the world. Her husband who was completely devoted to her and their two daughters. Who worked tirelessly at work all day to come home and still be present with them. It was everything she never knew she wanted.

Another glance at the clock and it was definitely time to put the children to bed. She spotted her daughter Daphne sitting quietly watching over her younger sister who was sleeping under the table.

Daphne looked almost exactly as Seraphine had when she was that age with sparkling blue eyes and honey blonde hair, though she had her fathers nose. Her daughter was wearing a green dress with gold flowers stitched on the skirt and sleeves. Her feet were dangling off the chair, her black slippers clinging to her white stockings.

Beneath the table little Dorthy looked like a ball of poofy frills as the toddler seemed to be drowning in her dress. She was barely two years old and yet to have her naming day. The girls were only fifteen months apart and in a few years they will probably pass as twins.

"Heh-eh-la-lo, ma-ma-ma-mother." Her daughter greeted her.

The stutter worried Seraphine. She knew her daughter was still young but if it were to persist. Well it was already hindering her daughter's ability to make friends. Children could be cruel and Daphne was shy enough as it was. It did not slip past Seraphine's notice that her daughter had spent the bulk of the evening at the table working on her embroidery.

"Daphne darling, it's time to get ready for bed, head to your room. I'll be there shortly." Daphne ran off eager to get away from all the people. Seraphine bent down and picked Dorothy up. The toddler only protested slightly before nuzzling into her shoulder and falling back asleep.

Seraphine gathered all the children up and led them to the girls room. They had prepared extra beds for the children. The parents all had their own rooms to retire to after the party. The ministry had set a curfew on floo travel so it would be easier for the families to leave in the morning.

It took nearly an hour to wrangle up the children and prepare them for bed. Getting them changed into pajamas, their faces washed and their teeth brushed. It felt like trying to hurdle kneazles. She was exhausted by the time the children were asleep and she had to return to the party.

She was amused to find that almost everyone had taken to dancing. Dorian, as she had predicted, was no longer tired and had taken to dancing with his mother's friends whose husbands couldn't be bothered. Her brother in law Dedalias danced with his wife Autumn probably a little closer than was proper for stuffy purebloods at the party.

Not wanting to miss the opportunity she quickly tracked down her husband. Daedric was a horrible dancer but he still humored her when she asked. As if sensing her he was already making his way towards her with a dorky grin on his face.

He took her hand in his own and brought the other to her waist while she placed one on his shoulder. They attempted a foxtrot hoping to fool a few of the guests.

"May I say you look absolutely gorgeous darling, that dress is stunning." She wondered where he stole the compliment from. His attempts were normally awkwardly worded, and strange but also endearing.

"I heard my brother say it to Autumn earlier." He answered before she got around to asking. "I was initially going to say you remind me of a Jobberknoll with no feet."

She laughed, barely holding in a snort. Now that sounded like her husband.

They continued dancing as they discussed the party. He had apparently had some prospects for added revenue to the business. There was also talks of a proposed tax hike on imports. She told him about putting the children to bed and some banal gossip she had overheard.

Suddenly the dance floor felt crowded. Some of the dancers seemed to be wearing masks. Shrouds of black floated down from the ceiling. Then there was spell fire and screams followed closely by confusion and panic.

Daedric pulled her to the ground casting a shield around them he knelt over her body to protect it with his own. Almost all the guests were fleeing from the madness. At least half a dozen death eaters were attacking them.

Dedalias led Autumn over to them. She knelt behind Daedric and grabbed Seraphine's hand. With his wife now being protected by his brother Dedalias turned towards their attackers.

She had heard stories from her husband of his brother's skill with a wand but to see it was another thing.

Dedalias looked like a warrior with long hair and thick beard, his body hardened by years of training. He swung his wand around his head creating a whip made of fire. The cord of flames uncurled striking across the room and wrapping around a death eater's arm. Pulling back on the whip the arm was torn from the socket. The man screamed only to be silenced when the whip returned and wrapped around his neck to meet the same fate as his arm.

The remaining death eaters turned all their attention towards them casting a flurry of spells towards her family. Daedrics shield held true, absorbing any spells that made it past Dedalias.

A horrid green spell sailed towards them, Seraphine's instincts kicked in as she summoned a nearby table into the path of the killing curse. The table exploded on impact. The chunks of wood leaving cuts on her skin.

Several other men from the party became encouraged by Dedalias's efforts, joined him and started a vivacious counter assault on the death eaters. When she saw her nephew trying to join in by tossing plates across the room she cursed. Fortunately the fight was over before any harm came to Dorian.

Aurors arrived hours later. Attacks were made all over the four countries, primarily attacks against those of noble blood. Hundreds dead, even more injured. Before his death Voldermort had made plans to overthrow the country by killing any lord unfaithful to his cause. His devotees followed through with the assault certain their dark Lord would return. The prophet named it Black Saturday.

Seraphine spent the entire night after the battle just watching her daughters sleep with her wand clutched in her hand. She was grateful nothing happened to the children, they all slept soundly unaware of the carnage going on.

At some point her husband joined her and wrapped his arms around her. They didn't speak, just held each other as their daughter slept. Thankful that their family was still whole.

November 1st, 1986

When Linfred first settled in Stinchcombe he had built a single room home of logs and straw with his own hands. He had not needed much but a place to sleep and brew his potions. When he married Lord Agnar's daughter Elsa a stone keep was built so they could start a family. The keep was expanded over the decades as their family grew and by the time they had their seventh child they already had grandchildren.

At the start of the thirteenth century the manor was built when their eldest son Hardwin Potter returned from decades in Godric's Hollow. Over the centuries since, each new Lord would leave their mark by adding to the property. The result was a mixture of different styles of architecture and influences like an odd museum of buildings that scattered the vast property of Stinchcombe.

James had moved his family into the west wing of the main manor after his parents were murdered in front of his son. The cottage in Godric's Hollow was contaminated by dark magics forcing the home to be sealed by the ministry.

Lily had wanted to buy their own home in a town like Hogsmeade or perhaps farther away like Kenmare. However even if they could afford a home they could not afford to have it properly warded. James convinced her that they needed the safety of the wards that covered the ancestral Potter home. When the attacks on Dark Saturday happened she caved in.

There was always a bittersweetness to being back in the home he grew up in. Everywhere he looked was a memory of his parents, which was quickly replaced with the images of what happened at Godric's Hollow. It was like his heart was being prodded by a rod iron.

Most times he felt like the loss was just yesterday. Perhaps he had never given himself time to grieve. They had a newborn child and a traumatized three year old to look after. Not to mention he had taken over his parents potions business. It felt like he had been going non stop.

The hardest part was how much his Harry had changed after that night. His son never laughed, he rarely smiled, he liked to keep to himself either painting or reading. Harry wouldn't talk about it either. Not with James, Lily or any of the healers. They even took him to a squib psychiatrist that said it most likely that his son had repressed his memories of the events. The best thing they could do was be patient and be there when he was ready.

James shook his head. Today wasn't about the past. Today was a very special day. Today his youngest son will get his name. Montgomery. He wanted to honour his father but didn't want his son to be burdened by the name. His son would be his own man and deserved his own name.

Montgomery was the perfect mix of him and Lily. His hair brown with hints of copper. His eyes a hazel brown with flecks of green. Lily's softer facial features with his sharp nose. His attitude was all James but there's this sweetness to him that was so very Lily.

James watched as Sirius chased the boy around as a giant black dog. Montgomery was laughing as he fled from animagus. He could spot Lily smiling as she too watched on. Walking beside her was Harry who looked almost perplexed by what he was seeing.

They were walking to the elder tree that was in the small woods on their property. Every child born to the main branch of the family had been named in front of the tree. From Hardwin down to James and Harry all had their names spoken here.

The tree was two millennia old and nearly forty feet tall both unnatural feats for such a tree. Magic had seeped into its roots from the ley lines running through earth beneath its trunk. It was the tree that called to Linfred to settle in this land, its flowers and berries that lent its magic to his craft. The tree's long branches shot up like fingers grasping at the sky with its leaves long gone now that they were in late autumn.

When they arrived his aunt and uncle were already waiting. They all greeted each other though they had spoken just a few hours ago over breakfast.

Charlus was the head of the family and the Viscount of Tutshill. The man was in his seventies with streaks of white in his black hair. He had a thick mustache twisted upwards by the use of sleekeazy. He wore a blue vest over a white dress shirt beneath his matching blue robe. The man was kind but proper. He always walked and spoke like he had stick up his arse.

Dorea, his uncle's wife, was still in her sixties. She had long black hair that curled at the ends. Her eyes were a stormy grey that was prominent in the Black family. James always thought of her as beautiful despite her statue-like demeanor. She wore a blue dress decorated with white elderflowers stitched along the skirt.

Charlus took his position in front of the tree facing James, Lily and Montgomery. Dorea, Sirius and Harry stood off to the side watching on.

"We come here today to stand before magic and are ancestors." As Charlus began to speak a gust of wind started blowing disturbing the grass and flowers around the grotto. "When Myrddin bound law and magic all magic was given name. All magical beings are born of magic and therefore have names. We keep these names secret until the child is of age to know its own magic. Today we come to speak this child's name so it may know it's magic."

Bowtruckles started to appear on the trunk and branches of the elder tree. A family of nifflers popped their heads up from their burrow. In the neighbouring trees flocks of owls perched. A feeling of warmth passed over James as magic seemed to rise up from the ground below.

Montgomery stepped forward as his uncle stepped aside. His young son knelt at the tree placing his hand against its bark. A blue hue seemed to wrap around his body. A gust of wind whispered through his copper hair and his son smiled. "My name is Montgomery Sirius Potter."

The wind began to spiral, the blue hue traveled from his son to the elder tree and traveled up the trunk before shooting out the branches like fireworks. The bowtruckles all hummed a song in unison as they started to dance. The owls all took flight and began flying counter clockwise around the grotto. The eldest niffler ran up to Montgomery and presented him a stone of pewter.

James grinned and wrapped his arm around his wife's shoulder tucking her in close. She was smiling at the scene before them. He looked over and saw that Harry too was smiling, happy for his brother. It felt as though a weight had been lifted from James shoulders after three long years. He knew at that moment his family would be okay.

May 1st, 1987

Daphne dutifully ran the brush through her honey blonde golden locks. Her blue eyes focused on her image in the mirror. She had her fathers long nose, her mothers thin lips, the features of her face still softened by her remaining baby fat. Grandmum always called her pudgy when she would visit. Which thankfully wasn't often.

She wore a red dress the same color of the Braeburn apples that grew out in the orchard. She liked red even though her mother says it looks absolutely horrid with her complexion. Mother wouldn't like that was wearing her riding boots either. Still they had agreed she was old enough to dress herself so she happily wore the boots.

Today was her seventh birthday. It was an important birthday for a witch. Seven was the age that a child starts to take responsibility for themselves. It was also the age where you swore to uphold the family name and take the family vows.

Daphne was a Greengrass. She knew that her family was special. They lived in a large manor, they owned a castle, they owned horses with wings to pull their carriages and ponies she could ride around the estate. When she walked into town everyone knew her and her parents, they would even bow and curtsy to them.

Her father had sat her down a week ago and explained to her what that meant.

"Daphne you're a Greengrass and that is privilege. You'll be afforded many opportunities that other families do not have. It is also a responsibility. You can't squander those opportunities afforded to you. Mostly though it is a burden. There are many expectations placed upon you and you'll lose out on opportunities many others have." It felt like a lot.

Today her family had the responsibility of hosting the town for a festival instead of celebrating her birthday. Daphne had been born on Beltane one of the eight sacred days of the year. It was a celebration of the farmers finishing the planting of their crops and a plea to the goddesses to keep the land fertile to insure a strong harvest. On the grounds of their property they held the festival with feasting, music, dancing and a bonfire.

They did this every year much to Daphne's chagrin, she wished they could celebrate her birthday like they do with Astoria's. Not some giant festival with far too many people and far too much noise. This year though Daphne would light the bonfire to start the celebration. She had been looking forward to it for years. The bonfire was always her favourite part of her birthday.

When she finished brushing her hair she tied it back with a green ribbon. She stood up and took one last look in the mirror for good measure, not that it mattered she was getting too restless to bother anymore with her appearance. She spun around on the spot to give the dress a quick twirl before stomping down stairs.

Her family was waiting in the foyer. Her mother was fussing over her little sister Astoria as usual as her father rolled his eyes. Uncle Dedalias was standing beside aunt Autumn and cousin Dorian. Grandfather was checking his pocket watch. Luckily grandmother was in France she only ever came to England for Yule.

"You look beautiful daughter, happy birthday." Her father was the first to greet her as she reached the bottom of the steps. The rest of the family gave their birthday wishes before her grandfather hurried them out.

They walked towards Appleby castle, the old orchard was just past it. The orchard was twelve apple trees all with different apples circled around a large Braeburn tree. The legend said Bjorn Greengrass had ridden his boat down the river Eden from Solway Firth when he spotted the tree. He had been sick and nearly dying before being miraculously healed by the fruit. Though as far Daphne was aware they were just regular apples.

Her grandfather began his speech the second they arrived at the tree. "The Greengrass family has always upheld the eight pillars of blood. Life, knowledge, balance, family, self, love, honour and death. We must nurture each pillar or the roof will fall and the foundation will crumble."

Daphne's mother had taught her the pillars many times. They were like the alphabet to her at this point. Everyday she was asked to focus on a different pillar to ensure her foundation. It all sounded mostly silly to her but it was important to her parents so she took it seriously.

"We stand here before this tree and through it all our ancestors. We honour our past and endeavor to build a stronger future. We act knowing we represent all those that come before and all those that come after. We will put the good of the family before the good of the person."

From his robes her grandfather pulled out an ornate knife presenting it to her. She took it with trepidation. The ritual was explained to her the night before. She slowly cut across her left palm wincing at the sharp burning pain. She took a deep breath to steady herself, the site of blood making her a bit nauseous. She stepped forward raising her hand pressing her bloody palm against the bark of the ancient tree.

Instantly she felt a connection to everything around her, the tree, the orchard, her parents, her sister, her cousin, even her grandfather. She sensed every living thing on her family's estate, the grass, the flowers, the horses and the house elves. She was connected to it all.

"Your blood given freely joins the blood of all those that have come before. Through your blood, may our blood grow strong and continue on for eternity."

The flowers in the orchard all began to bloom at that moment. An apple sprouted on the nearest branch glowing softly. Instinctively she walked over and plucked the apple. She brought it to her lips taking the largest bite she could. It tasted oddly like cinnamon and caramel. It felt like eating magic. Her palm had healed and she was vibrating with energy. She now was truly a Greengrass.

December 12th, 1989

Harry couldn't help but think how tiny his sister was in his arms, just a tiny bundle of pudgy limbs. Her currently blue eyes were blinking at him as she fought off sleep. He brought his nose to the tiny wisps of auburn hair atop her head. All the adults seemed to like smelling her in the brief moments between soiling her nappies. He didn't quite understand it but he figured he would mimic their behaviour.

They borrowed her his grandmother's name. Euphemia, thankfully though they shortened it to Mia. It was hard on him to hear their names; it always called up the memories to the front of his mind. He was also glad she had Euphemia's name protecting her, because he knew his sister would be safe. His grandmother would protect his sister the same she had protected him.

"I don't see what everyone is fussing over. She looks like a raisin and doesn't do anything." Monty was pouting again. He wasn't thrilled about a little sister and having his parents pay him less attention.

His mother looked exhausted but happy with her eyes half closed and lips slightly upturned. She was bound to pass out at any moment. His father sat beside her bed, one hand gently running his mother's dark red hair the other gently squeezing her hand. His attention was entirely on his wife, trusting his daughter was safe in her brother's hands.

Uncle Charlus entered the nursery followed closely by Aunt Dorea. They were dressed casually in loosely fitted navy trousers and plain white buttoned blouses. The couple had welcomed their grand-niece to the family hours earlier. Dorea was smiling, still excited to have another child around the home. Charlus was more reserved.

"We should let your wife get some more sleep James, Dorea will look after your daughter. You can get a shower, perhaps get a bit of rest yourself." James blinked. His uncle's words were clearly more orders than suggestions

Dorea carefully took Mia from Harry's arms. Harry was slightly saddened to let go of his sister. He looked over at his father for direction.

James sighed. "Harry take your brother and go with Uncle Charlus, your mum needs some rest."

Harry nodded, quickly grabbing Monty and leading him out the room much to his brother's protest. The younger boy didn't like being bossed around. The boys were followed a moment after by the older men.

The two glared at each other like they were having a disagreement but no words were spoken out loud. It was clear something was going on that Harry wasn't privy to, something that they obviously discussed previously as his father relented without voicing his objections.

Harry and Monty followed their Uncle as their father sulked off to shower. They made their way through the manor leaving the wing where their family lived and down the stairs to the main foyer. They passed the ballroom and the library heading down a long hallway lined with portraits of prominent Potter ancestors with messy hair and thick mustaches.

Eventually they ended up outside large oak french doors with brass fixtures. The door opened on its own revealing what looked like a smaller library with a giant desk centered at the back, a single portrait sat behind the desk that appeared to just be of the room they were now entering. The doors closed behind as they entered, Charlus made his way over and sat behind the big desk. He gestured to the two boys to sit on the empty chairs in front.

Uncle Charlus chewed his mustache as he tapped his index finger rhythmically on the desk seemingly thinking over his words.

The lack of talking agitated Monty who began to fidget in the chair beside him. Harry was discreetly tugging at his sleeves trying to hold off the compulsion to run his hand through his hair like he did every time he was nervous. An old grandfather clock off to the side filled the silence with an incessant ticking that seemed to slow down time.

"Your parents have done you both a great disservice keeping you away from your ancestry. Though their attentions were admirable they are misguided and dangerous. For these reasons I have found it necessary to step in as the head of this family to correct these wrongs."

Harry focused on his grandfather's mustache as the older man spoke, watching the fuzzy bug dance atop his lip. He felt uncomfortable looking people in their eyes but he knew better than to make it obvious. His parents had scolded him often about his bad habit.

"Now this mostly applies to Harry as the heir but I wanted to extend the opportunity to you as well Monty." His grandfather paused for a moment to make sure his younger brother was paying attention. Monty wasn't known to listen about things that didn't interest him. Which was mostly just quidditch and insects.

"I will be pulling Harry out of Tutshill Preparatory school. Going forward your Aunt Dorea will oversee the bulk of your education except on Thursday where Harry will shadow me for the entire day. If you decide to join Harry you would spend Thursdays with your father. Is that all understood?"

Harry was conflicted. He liked the idea of no longer attending school in town any longer, the work was all boring and repetitive and the other children were all tiresome. On the other hand he doubted what his Aunt and Uncle would be teaching would be very interesting as they were very boring people. However it wasn't a choice so he just nodded his head in agreement. "Understood Uncle Charlus."

August 3rd, 1992

Daphne struggled into her riding breeches. The only part of her that seemed to want to grow anymore was her hips. That and acne that liked to break out all across her face anytime she had to be seen in public. She had yet to experience the joys of becoming a woman that her mother kept telling her about.

Flopping back on the bed she was able to get the button of her trousers to clasp by doing a handless crabwalk. Standing up she was dismayed to see the tiny bulge of her belly puffing over the waistband of the breeches in a very unflattering way. To cover up her muffin top she grabbed her largest jumper from her closet. She wore only her riding bra underneath so her mother wouldn't make her take off the oversized jumper.

She applied the concealing potion to hide her blemishes. Daphne didn't like wearing makeup but preteen girls weren't known to be very nice. Quickly she threw on her riding boots before making her way to the kitchen.

It was Astoria's eleventh birthday and they were hosting a party for her. All her fathers business partners would be bringing over their daughters. Parvati, Padma, Cho, Pansy, Romilda, Gemma, Hanna and Tracy. The Carrow twins who took dance lessons with Astoria would also be there.

Why her parents thought putting a dozen young witches altogether in one room was a good idea was beyond her. The only thing certain was that there would be tears and they would most likely be hers.

It was only her father and cousin in the kitchen when she arrived. Her mother and aunt were most likely helping Astoria prepare for the party. In years past they wrangled Daphne into their elaborate beauty rituals. They eventually got tired of her resisting them at every turn and left her to her own devices. There were some rude comments about putting lipstick on a pig that seemed pretty silly to Daphne.

"I didn't realize you girls would be riding this afternoon. I was hoping to get some practice in." Dorian participated in muggle equestrian competitions called dressage which was just being fancy on a horse. He traveled all over the country competing at various showings. He did quite well for his age group.

"They're not. It's meant to be an elegant tea party but Queenie hates wearing dresses." Her father gave her a wink, so she knew he was just ruffling her feathers.

The truth was Daphne loved skirts and dresses, they were cute and fun. She didn't like the whispers or the giggles behind her back because her shoes didn't match or the color wasn't in season. Even when she tried she wouldn't get it quite right and so why even bother.

The party was in the small ballroom of the manor. Tables were set in groups of three, everyone had an assigned seat with a name card. Daphne thankfully was at a table with Tracy and Hannah who were very chatty but were never mean. Astoria sat with the Carrows who Daphne hadn't learned their names. Slightly suspect but the three girls of Asian heritage all sat together. Leaving an odd grouping of Pansy, Romilda and Gemma none the same age.

The afternoon was more pleasant than she had been expecting. She ate cucumber sandwiches, drank ice tea and listened to the other two girls gossip incessantly.

Apparently the Parkinsons were hoping the Malfoys would agree to a marriage contract between Pansy and Draco. The Malfoys however weren't taking offers until their son was sixteen. The Knott's had apparently made a reasonable offer that the Parkinson's rejected.

Now the talk around town was that Pansy's prospects would be bleak if the Malfoy's reject her.

After lunch the tables were moved off to the side and they played music quietly on the gramophone. The girls huddled up Daphne making sure she was off to the back. Out of site, out of mind as everyone fought for her sister's attention.

Astoria was eating up the attention. She looked gorgeous in her lavender cocktail dress. Daphne was always jealous that her sister inherited their mothers much more delicate nose and petite frame. Even though she was a year younger she was already Daphne's height and held herself with much more confidence. She had no trouble making friends wherever she went people were just drawn to her. Most mistook Astoria as the older sister.

Shortly after, they watched Astoria open her presents as she sat on a large throne-like chair in the center of the room. She was gifted mostly with jewelry and fabrics for making dresses. The odd book thrown in for good measure. Daphne didn't give her gift in front of everyone else.

Eventually they ended with a big dinner of roasted pig and a large strawberry buttercream cake for dessert. Astoria wished every guest a goodbye with a kiss on the cheek. Daphne snuck off after the cake.

She washed her face, brushed her teeth before changing into shorts and an oversized shirt. She crawled into bed burying herself beneath her comforter. From her bedside table she pulled out a muggle comic about a man who dressed like a bat to solve crimes.

An hour later Astoria entered the room already in her pajamas, without saying a word she slithered her way onto the bed, under the covers, nestling herself under Daphne's arm, her head resting against Daphne's breast.

"Ugh, I thought today would never end, Queenie." Astoria and her father both liked to call her by dreaded middle name. She allowed it because it was always said in an affectionate way. She tended to use Astoria's middle name as well.

"It was your party Dorothy." She looked down at her very drained little sister. "Isn't this what you wanted to do?"

Astoria blew a raspberry that tickled Daphne's armpit. "This was what Mother and Aunty Autumn wanted to do. I wanted to see a quidditch game, the Arrows were playing today and I was stuck in a room with Pansy Parkinson."

"I probably should have realized it was their idea, you just play the princess so well I sometimes forget you're basically a bloke." Daphne teased.

"I'm a well rounded lady with a diverse set of interests. Stop trying to pigeon hole me."

She pulled out an envelope from her side table and handed it to her sister. "The arrows play again in two weeks. They're front row behind the visitors goal posts so we can rag on the keeper."

Astoria ripped open the envelope pulling out the tickets. Confirming they are what she said they were. She carefully placed them down on the far table on the other side of the bed. Turning back around she tackled Daphne with a tight hug. "You are the absolute best big sister."

July 29th, 1993

Harry couldn't help but feel that Thursdays were the worst days of the week. Uncle Charlus was a very dull man, who liked to have meetings with other surprisingly duller men. Between the Wizengamot, Tutshill town council and the bank there were always non stop meetings. Being a Viscount was a very boring business.

The rest of his studies he enjoyed for the most part. Aunt Dorea was lenient as long as he did the lessons she prepared each day he could study whatever he wanted for the rest of the day. The family library was quite vast. He stuck primarily with history. Magical theory was more interesting but it was hard to properly understand without ever having casted any magic before.

Dorea taught him all the stuffy pureblood crap his father hated. It was almost all built around the eight pillars of blood that seemed to be connected in some way to muggle paganism. Each day would focus on a different pillar that they continuously cycled through. Sometimes though the lesson was just on forks.

The dance lessons were the worst. Harry wasn't very coordinated on his feet. Hopefully it wasn't something he would have to do very often. His Aunt seemed to believe he'd be dancing quite often in the future as the lessons were three times a week in the afternoons.

With Uncle Charlus he learned politics were stupid. The Magical United Kingdoms seemed to function primarily as some strange democratic oligarchy. The Minister was elected by the people to handle the administrative part of the government. The Wizengamot controlled the judicial part of the government and was composed of the richest families that held hereditary seats in parliament. Like all political systems it was ineffective and designed to keep power with the wealthy upper class.

His mother described the Ministry as a group of wrinkly old men who spent all day debating the thickness of cauldron bottoms opposed to dealing with the systematic discrimination of muggleborns. After attending sessions every week the last few years it was hard to argue with his mother. He also couldn't find it in himself to rage against the system. Apathy truly was the killer of progress.

Today he sat next to his Uncle in the Wizengamot chambers. Old men in hideous purple robes were going over the finalized quarterly budget. The Wizengamot would close down for six weeks allowing the ministry to focus on the added administrative work that occurred before the start of each school year.

After what felt like a century Albus Dumbledore the chief warlock slammed down his gavel ending the session. They quickly made their way from the chambers to his Uncle's office so he could get out his robe and grab his briefcase. From there they floo'd over to Tutshill.

Tutshill was located to the west of the center of England near the border of Wales. It was a modest town with a population of a little over two thousand. It was sandwiched between the River Wye and the River Severn. Nearby was the forest of Dean. Most of the buildings were built of stone and gothic in style. To the north was the Quidditch pitch where the Tornadoes play and to the south was Stinchcombe Hall.

The town council consisted of his grandfather, Bertram Clopton, Ned Brattleby and the mayor Cooper Fudge. They sat at a long table on a raised platform in the town auditorium. About two hundred chairs filled the room but less than a third were filled and this was a large turn out for the town.

Representatives for Tutshill Preparatory school as well Tutshill Academy of Magic were present. Today would be the last day to finalize any changes for the upcoming school year. Both schools would make presentations and go over their budget proposals. There would be a small period of time where the public can address their opinions or concerns about the budgets. The council would then privately deliberate before voting on the final proposal that would be handed back to the school representatives to implement. Time would then be allotted for the public to petition the council before wrapping everything up. Thankfully the meeting went without a hitch and Harry was soon following his Uncle home.

When Harry stepped out the floo his little sister was waiting and tackled him into a hug. It was hard to believe she was already three years old. Orchid Euphemia Potter looked much like their mother except for the hair that was auburn opposed to dark red. Harry mostly liked that he and his sister had the same eyes but hers were always so bright and full of cheer.

"You smell like moth balls but I still missed you." Harry squeezed her slightly tighter before letting her go. "I missed you too little flower."

She gave him a toothy smile and scrunched up her face. "Mum says we're having fish and rice for dinner. Monty was upset 'cause he wanted bangers and mash."

"Monty only ever wants bangers and mash or beans on toast." Harry commented as they made their way over to their wing of the house.

"That's not true. I also like a full English breakfast or fish and chippies." Monty appeared from behind them. It was clear he had been outside all afternoon flying his broom, his clothes were all tousled and his hair was wind swept. Harry couldn't help but feel jealous of his younger brother who had his entire summer free from studies.

"Mum says you have a peasants palette." Orchid teased.

Monty retorted with. "Yeah well da' says you three are a bunch of yuppies."

"I also said not to repeat that in front of your mother." James Potter was lazing on the couch of the living room with a copy of Quidditch Weekly in his hands as they walked in.

"Mum didn't hear nothing." Monty assured their father.

Their father rolled his eyes. "Yes but your sister heard everything which is as good as saying it to your mum."

"Na-uh, Harry's the tattler not me." Orchid defended herself as she jumped onto their father's gut. James let out a "Oomph." As a tiny knee was jammed into his ribs.

At the moment their mother walked in. "Your father is the real tattler. The man's never been able to keep a secret from me."

Harry smiled as he slid into the armchair listening to his family banter. While he always struggled to join in on the chaos he loved to bask in it. There was no place like home.

AUTHOR NOTES

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