Chapter 7 God Brothers
Harry's days settled into a flexible routine. Remus insisted on daily lessons to help him catch up with his peers. As the Boy Who Lived, he would be expected to know more simply by virtue of his name and reputation. It wouldn't matter to his classmates that he had been raised by Muggles—they wouldn't understand his ignorance of wizarding customs. Instead, they would greet him with suspicion and resentment over imagined slights.
And so, on top of everything else Remus planned to teach him, Harry endured etiquette lessons.
When he complained to the Marauders, only Padfoot offered him any sympathy.
"Don't worry, Harry," Prongs told him. "Most of it is common sense. You know the golden rule, right? Treat others the way you want to be treated. Do that, and you'll get along just fine."
Harry rolled his eyes. "I don't want anyone kissing the back of my hand! How does that apply?"
Padfoot folded his arms across his chest and nodded emphatically. "Yeah, Prongs. How does that apply?"
"Shut it, you mangy cur," Prongs growled.
"Not helping," Moony muttered.
Remus was adamant that wizards put a great deal of stock in appearances. They were a judgmental and fickle lot, but Harry had leverage—if he learned how to use it. As the head of an ancient and powerful family, the last of his line, he had privileges others could only dream of. He had access to vast wealth. His vault would always maintain a certain balance, refilling each year. And once he reached his majority—seventeen for most wizards, unless he petitioned the Wizengamot to be declared an adult sooner—he would gain full control of his inheritance, including all the Potter properties.
Harry spent most mornings with Remus, getting a crash course in all things wizarding. One of the trickiest lessons was navigating the variety of greetings between wizards.
"But how do I know if a wizard is my better or not?" Harry asked, frowning. He didn't think anyone was inherently better than anyone else.
Remus smiled. "Harry, you are the head of a powerful magical house. There are very few families that could claim a higher status than the Potters—perhaps the Blacks, but even then, your paternal grandmother was a Black. You have no betters, Harry. Except, perhaps, the Queen." He shrugged. "Mostly, just treat everyone with respect, and you'll be fine."
Then, more seriously, Remus added, "Blood status doesn't matter at Hogwarts. Well—it does, but officially, teachers condemn it, and the school itself doesn't discriminate. Unfortunately, getting the students to believe that is another story. Anyone who rejects blood purity nonsense is labeled a blood traitor. Even Professor Dumbledore is considered one."
Remus spoke often about blood status, knowing it would be a source of contention among Harry's peers. He wanted Harry to understand the issue before he had to face it firsthand.
Learning that he was technically a Lord came as a shock. The title wouldn't be used at Hogwarts, but anywhere business was conducted in his name—contract negotiations with goblins, Wizengamot proceedings, even meetings in the House of Commons or before the Queen of England—he would be addressed as Lord Potter, Head of the Ancient and Noble House of Potter.
Harry went into full-blown denial when Remus told him he held a seat on the Wizengamot.
"That's the wizarding governing body here in the UK," Remus explained. He reassured Harry that he wouldn't have to take his seat until he reached adulthood at seventeen. Until then, someone else sat in his place as a proxy.
"Who appointed them?" Harry asked. "And can I change who my proxy is?" The idea of someone he didn't even know making decisions for him made his skin crawl.
Remus hesitated. "I don't know, cub. Maybe, if you have a good reason."
On top of etiquette and politics, Remus gave Harry an overview of what to expect in each class. They skimmed through the highlights of every subject, covering a different one each day.
"You don't have to read every chapter in detail," Remus told him. "Just be familiar with the key concepts. And trust me, you'll save yourself a lot of headaches if you develop good study habits early. Read ahead, especially before class. If you're studying Chapter Five, read Chapter Five before you go to class. Write down any questions. Take good notes. Then, after class, review them and do your homework right away while it's still fresh. The moment you start procrastinating, it never ends."
Harry had to admit, it all made sense.
After an hour or two of bookwork, Remus let him do whatever he wanted—within reason. He could fly, as long as he stayed within sight of the cabin. He could visit the Marauders. He could read or study.
The freedom was almost overwhelming.
More than once, he asked if there were any chores to do, just to give himself some structure. He even offered to weed the flower garden.
Remus just held up his wand. "Weeds are no match for magic."
Remus knew that Harry had never really had a friend his own age. From what he'd gathered through stories of Harry Hunting and accidental escapes, his cousin had been a relentless bully. Now, after a week at the cabin, Harry sat by the window, staring out morosely.
"Why don't you go flying, Harry?" Remus suggested gently.
Harry shrugged.
"What's wrong, cub?" Remus asked, using the pet name that always seemed to lift Harry's spirits.
Harry sighed. "I'm worried about Hedwig. She only took a day to find you. And she was back right away." He shook his head. "Maybe she can't find me because I left."
It was clear to Remus that Harry was genuinely anxious about his owl. Smiling reassuringly, he said, "Don't worry, Harry. Owls are incredibly resilient. I'm sure she's having more trouble delivering the letter than finding you. Owls always know where their owners are—unless they're behind powerful wards. I don't have any owl wards here, so Hedwig will be able to find you just fine."
Harry nodded but frowned. "What do you mean she might have trouble finding Padfoot?"
Remus hesitated, then sighed. "Padfoot is in wizarding jail, Harry. There's probably an owl ward on the prison. She'll have a hard time locating him where he is."
Harry's expression darkened. "He's in jail? What did he do?"
Remus shook his head. "I'm not going to tell you that, Harry. Maybe one day. But not now."
For a moment, Harry looked furious—maybe on Padfoot's behalf, maybe at the secrecy. Remus could see him wrestling with his emotions, the anger, the frustration, the desperate need to know more. He could also see the flicker of reckless determination—the urge to do something.
Then, slowly, Harry sighed and nodded. He was respecting the boundary Remus had set. For now.
But Remus had no doubt—Harry would ask again.
Remus gazed out the window, an idea forming in his mind. A slow, mischievous grin spread across his face as he turned toward the fireplace.
Harry watched curiously as Remus strode over to the mantle, where a small box of Floo powder sat. With a practiced motion, he grabbed a handful and tossed it into the fireplace. The flames flared green.
"Longbottom Manor," Remus called, before kneeling down and sticking his head into the fire.
Harry's breath caught. He knew how Floo travel worked—he'd read about it in his school books—but seeing Remus vanish into the flames still sent a jolt of unease through him. He strained his ears, catching muffled words from the other side.
Through the flickering green glow, he glimpsed an elderly woman standing in a grand, well-appointed room. He caught snippets of conversation, the name Neville repeated a few times, before Remus finally withdrew his head. The flames sputtered out, leaving only the crackling embers behind.
Turning back to Harry, Remus gave him a once-over before smiling.
"We're going to visit a neighbor," he announced. "Lady Longbottom is an older witch, very traditional, and she's raising her grandson, Neville. He's your age and will be starting at Hogwarts this year as well."
Harry perked up slightly.
"Your mum and Neville's mum, Alice, were very close. Alice was named your godmother, and your mum was Neville's godmother," Remus continued.
Harry's eyes widened. I have a godbrother?
A thrill shot through him—excitement, but also fear. What if Neville was like Dudley? Another bully? He could do without that kind of disappointment. But there was hope too. Maybe Neville would be to him what the Marauders were to each other.
Remus watched the emotions flicker across Harry's face and gave him a reassuring smile.
"Yes, you do. Now, I should tell you—Neville's parents were badly injured during the war. They can't take care of him, which is why his grandmother is raising him. He's a bit shy, from what I hear."
He said it gently, knowing exactly what Harry was afraid of.
"So," he added, "you shouldn't mention his parents unless he brings them up first."
Harry nodded. He wouldn't have mentioned them even without the warning—he knew too well what it was like to have people prod at wounds they didn't understand.
Remus sighed as he took in the state of Harry's hair, then inspected his clothes. Given what he knew of Augusta Longbottom, Harry would be better off wearing wizarding robes.
"Go put on your green day robes," he instructed.
Harry obeyed without question, disappearing into his room.
Remus exhaled, lost in thought. Augusta had a reputation—proud, exacting, sharp-tongued—but once upon a time, she had been kind. What happened to Frank and Alice hadn't just broken their minds. It had broken Augusta too.
Before Harry changed into his robes, Remus flicked his wand and muttered a quiet incantation. A gentle breeze ruffled Harry's already messy hair as the charm trimmed and tidied it. The back still stuck up stubbornly—some things even magic couldn't fix—but overall, the effect was a vast improvement.
Something told Remus that Lady Longbottom would have had plenty to say about Harry's hair if he hadn't done something. He wasn't under any illusion that he'd escape her sharp tongue entirely, but if he could remove most of her ammunition, all the better.
When Harry emerged dressed in his dark green robes, Remus had to smile. The deep color made his green eyes stand out even more. He wore a button-down shirt beneath the robes, paired with slacks, striking the right balance between casual and presentable.
"You look quite smart, Harry," Remus said approvingly, adjusting his own newly purchased robes.
Harry ducked his head at the compliment but looked pleased.
"Now," Remus continued, "Longbottom Manor isn't far from here. In fact, this land actually belongs to them—I just lease it from the Longbottoms. We could fly there, but it's faster to Floo, and Lady Longbottom is expecting us."
Harry nodded, absorbing the information, but his brow furrowed at the mention of Floo travel.
Remus, anticipating his hesitation, launched into a patient explanation. He walked Harry through the process, emphasizing that the powder rendered the flames harmless.
"It's a lot safer than Apparition," he assured.
Harry frowned. "What's Apparition?"
"Another way to travel," Remus said with a slight smile. "One that feels a bit like being squeezed through a rubber tube. But that's for another day."
Harry wasn't sure how he felt about traveling through fire, but if Remus said it was safe… still, it sounded dodgy.
"I'll go first so you can see how it's done," Remus said. "Wait about thirty seconds, then follow me."
Harry swallowed and nodded, watching intently as Remus grabbed a pinch of Floo powder, stepped into the fireplace, and tossed the shimmering dust at his feet. The flames roared green.
"Longbottom Manor," Remus said, clearly and firmly.
Then, in a swirl of green fire, he was gone.
Harry took a deep breath.
Here goes nothing…
Summoning his courage, Harry mimicked Remus's actions, stepping into the fireplace with a fistful of Floo powder. He took a steadying breath and tossed the shimmering dust at his feet.
"Longbottom Manor," he said loudly and clearly.
The world exploded into a blur of green flames. It was like being yanked into a whirlwind—his stomach lurched, and the spinning seemed endless. Just as suddenly as it began, it ended.
The Floo Network spat him out violently. He stumbled forward, barely catching himself, and would have landed in an undignified heap if not for Remus's steady hands.
Harry straightened, shaking off the dizzying sensation, and took his first look around. His eyes widened. Merlin, this place looks like a castle.
The room was grand, with towering bookshelves, ornately carved wooden paneling, and a ceiling so high it seemed to disappear into the shadows. Elegant yet imposing, it was the kind of room that carried expectations.
And at the heart of it stood her.
An elderly woman, dressed in rich, well-tailored robes, scrutinized him with a gaze sharp enough to cut glass. Her silver hair was styled in a pristine bun, and she regarded him with the kind of commanding presence that suggested she expected deference.
Harry swallowed and straightened his posture, willing himself to remember Remus's lessons.
Remus, as composed as ever, took a step forward. "Lady Longbottom, may I present Lord Harry Potter. Lord Potter, Lady Augusta Longbottom."
Harry inclined his head in a precise bow, just as they had practiced. He reached for her hand, steady despite the weight of her gaze, and pressed a quick, polite kiss to the back of it.
"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Longbottom," he said, his voice even and respectful.
For a fraction of a second, there was silence. Then, the dowager gave a small, approving nod.
Harry resisted the urge to glance at Remus, but he could feel his guardian's gaze on him. Did I do it right? When he dared a quick peek, Remus merely winked.
Encouraged, Harry finally turned his attention to the young boy standing slightly behind Lady Longbottom.
Neville Longbottom.
The boy was round-faced, with sandy brown hair and an air of quiet hesitance. He was dressed neatly but fidgeted slightly, his fingers clasping the hem of his robes. His expression was uncertain—curious, but wary.
Harry suddenly understood. He's just as nervous as I am.
This wasn't like meeting Dudley. Neville wasn't sizing him up to decide if he was worth tormenting. He was just… waiting.
Taking a breath, Harry offered him a small, friendly smile.
"And this is Lord Neville Longbottom," Remus said, completing the introductions.
Both boys hesitated for a beat before offering stiff, awkward bows, their expressions nearly identical in their embarrassment at the formalities.
Harry, desperate to cut through the tension, quickly straightened and blurted, "Just Harry, please."
Neville gave him a relieved look. "Only if you call me Neville."
A small smile ghosted across Augusta Longbottom's lips. "Very well, Lord Potter—"
"Harry," he corrected, a touch of nervous insistence in his voice.
Her sharp gaze lingered on him for a moment before she gave a single approving nod. "Then you may call me Lady Longbottom."
With that settled, the air in the room lightened ever so slightly.
"Neville," Augusta continued, "why don't you show Harry the gardens? I'm sure you boys can find something to occupy yourselves with until lunch."
Neville looked visibly relieved. "Yes, Gran."
With a small, shy smile, he turned to Harry and gestured for him to follow. Grateful for the escape, Harry fell into step beside him as they made their way out of the grand room and into the sprawling estate beyond.
AN: Edited as of 2/13/25 Hope you enjoy the changes to this chapter.