Harry yawned as he took in the familiar old kitchen of Grimmauld Place, drinking his last cup of tea, as he'd promised himself, before retiring for the night.
He'd stayed at the Potter Manor for two whole days, enjoying spending time with his family, having Charms and Potions lessons with his Mum and Transfiguration and Runes lessons with his Dad. It was mind boggling how brilliant they both were, and every time he realized how lucky he was, he felt a deep sense of gratitude fill him.
He'd been extremely fortunate to go from being fate's plaything in his old world to being in control of his life in this new, better one. He'd been give a chance to live a life of his dreams, and he didn't think it had been a coincidence.
Whenever he learnt a little tidbit of what was happening around him, both in his country and the world, he felt as he was here to play a role that he didn't know yet.
So he did the only thing he could, which is prepare. He had to prepare for the worst to make sure his family survived anything that was coming.
He had to admit though, his mind had been occupied with more pleasant things ever since he'd come here. Doom and gloom were inevitable but still, inspite of everything, his family gave him strength. Even the combined effects of the strange behaviour of Daphne Greengrass two weeks ago, his character being called into question in the Daily Prophet and the upcoming World Cup, didn't put a damper on his mood.
Speaking of the World Cup.
"Kreacher!" he called, finishing his tea.
The old elf appeared with his head bowed subserviently. It was a most welcoming and yet a spooky sight.
"Have any letters arrived for me?"
Kreacher nodded slowly. "The Mistress has all the letters, Master Potter."
Harry smiled. "Thank you, Kreacher," he said, getting up to look for Bella.
He found her in her sitting room, sitting in front of the mirror, waving her wand over her hair. He knocked and entered and then immediately halted in his approach.
"Bella, have you seen a letter for me?" he asked, trying his best to sound nonchalant, considering he was talking to her through the mirror while she sat turned away from him, clad in only a black bra and circle skirt.
His godmother hummed. "Yes, you'll find one on the desk," she signalled to the desk by the window. "It's from Claire Gauthier, I believe."
Harry heard a question in her tone but ignored it, stepping to collect the letter he'd been expecting. He saw what looked like her formal robes laying draped over the back of the chair.
But Bella didn't leave the subject alone. "I didn't know you were friends with her."
He looked at her eyes in the mirror, although it was a difficult task. "Yes, we talked after the award ceremony. She is a nice witch."
"Clearly," she said. "After all, you crushed her in the finals."
Harry shrugged. "Maybe she didn't care about that."
Bella looked like she was trying to hide a smile. "And here I thought you were growing up so fast. You clearly lack experience in witches if you think she didn't care about you defeating her as if she was nothing."
Harry was inwardly amused but he had to keep up appearances. So he glared at her. "You're telling me she likedlosing the duel so badly?"
Bella grinned. "I'm saying that she liked losing the duel to you."
Harry raised an eyebrow, leaning against the desk. "And why, exactly, would she like that? Is there some secret witchy logic I'm missing?"
Bella smirked, still gazing at him through the mirror as she adjusted her hair. "Oh, it's no secret. Witches love a bit of power. You practically handed her a story to tell her friends—how she stood across from _the_ Harry Potter and put up a valiant fight before being bested by the great hero himself."
He chuckled, crossing his arms. "You make me sound like some sort of romanticized villain in her story."
Bella finally turned her head slightly, glancing at him directly. "Not a villain. More like... the dashing rival who humiliated her just enough to make her intrigued. And excited."
Harry shook his head, smiling despite himself. "That's ridiculous."
"Is it?" Bella tilted her head, studying him as if he were an amusing puzzle. "Tell me, when she was talking to you, how close did she stand?"
He frowned, thinking back and trying his best school his expression to a neutral one as he didn't want to remember how close Claire had been with him, right then in front of Bella. "I don't know. Normal close?"
Bella snorted. "There's no such thing as 'normal close' when a witch is talking to a wizard like you. Tell me, did she touch your arm? Brush her fingers against yours?"
Harry blinked. Claire had brushed a lot of things against him to keep track of. "What? No—well... maybe. I wasn't paying attention!"
Bella let out a soft laugh, standing and turning to face him fully now. "Oh, Harry. You really are hopeless."
"Hopeless?" he repeated, incredulous. "Because I didn't overanalyze a perfectly innocent exchange of words?"
He tried not to remember how innocent she had seemed when she had her mouth parted open and her eyes lidded in ecstasy as he ravaged her.
"Innocent?" Bella echoed, raising a delicate brow as she reached him. "Someone like Claire Gauthier doesn't send innocent letters to handsome duelists who humiliate her in front of an international crowd."
He felt his cheeks flush, but he refused to back down. "Maybe she just wants talk about duelling techniques. Ever think of that?"
Bella placed a hand on his chest, her grin growing. "Oh, I'm sure she does. I'm also sure she'd like you to demonstrate those techniques somewhere... private."
Harry groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. What he'd feared had happened. "You're impossible."
"Am I?" she said sweetly, stepping around him and plucking the letter from his hand. She turned it over in her fingers, her voice casual yet teasing. "Let's see what she has to say, then, shall we?"
Harry made a grab for it, but Bella was quicker, holding it just out of his reach. "Bella, give it back."
"Not until I confirm my theory," she said, laughing as she danced a step away from him.
He lunged again, and this time, he caught her wrist. She gasped lightly, her laughter halting as their eyes locked.
"Fine," Harry said, his voice low, a teasing edge in his tone. "You've got my attention. What's your theory?"
Her grin faltered for just a second, her breath catching before she recovered. "My theory is that you're utterly oblivious to when a witch is interested in you."
"Or," he countered, tugging her slightly closer, "maybe I'm just not interested in Claire Gauthier."
Bella raised an eyebrow, trying to mask the flicker of curiosity in her expression. "No? And why's that?"
Harry leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a playful murmur. "Because I've already got someone else keeping me thoroughly entertained."
"And does this someone have a name?" she asked.
He leaned in closer, now brushing his lips against her dark locks. "Hermione Granger."
She jerked away, her gaze growing exasperated and she whacked his chest. "Hmphh!"
Harry grinned, releasing her wrist and stepping back. "What?"
Bella chuckled and went to sit at her vanity again, tossing the letter back to him. "You'd better read that quickly. Claire might be easier competition than you think. Isn't Hermione John's brilliant know-it-all friend?"
He caught the letter, his smile widening. "Got it in one."
She met his eyes from the mirror, her gaze meaningful. "You want her for yourself." It was a statement and not a question.
Harry said nothing and without breaking her gaze, went to stand behind her, loosely hugging her from behind. His chin now rested gently on her head and his arms hung down her front.
"I do," he answered, his eyes drifting lower than her eyes, to her heavy breasts that somehow obeyed the laws of physics with that lacy bra, though not so easily because every breath that she took in made them seem larger and fuller.
"Why?" she asked, her voice unwavering.
He met her eyes again, not even trying to hide the fact that he was ogling her half-naked self. It didn't seem like she minded anyway.
"Because I like her very much," he said honestly. "Why? Does John like her too?"
"I've heard from your parents before that John is expected to ask her out soon."
This was news to him. Bella sensed his surprise.
"You didn't know?"
He shook his head. "Not that it'll change anything. Hermione will be mine."
Bella's eyes sparkled with amusement as she watched Harry's reflection in the mirror. She seemed to be enjoying the possessive tone in his voice, and her gaze drifted down to where his arms were wrapped around her, inches from her forbidden flesh.
"I'm not sure that's up to you, Harry," she said, her voice husky. "Hermione seems like a smart girl. She might have her own ideas about who she wants to be with."
Harry's chin nudged against her head, and he leaned in closer, his breath whispering against her ear. "I'll convince her," he whispered, his eyes never leaving hers in the mirror.
Bella gulped, and he felt her her skin prickle against him with awareness.
"I'm sure you will," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "If you put your mind to it."
He boldly placed a kiss on her neck. She gasped but her smile grew.
"Look at you, attempting to seduce not one but two witches. I'm sure your father and your godfather will be proud of you."
"And you?" She arched her back and he pulled his arms closer, enveloping her breasts completely, feeling the heat of her skin on his biceps. "Are you proud of me?"
He saw the heated gleam in her eye and he felt rewarded for his bravery. "I'm very proud of you, Harry," she said, angling her head to place a kiss on his shirt clad arm.
He gave her one last smouldering look before he withdrew, placing one last kiss on her cheek and one on her delicious neck. "Thank you, Bella."
He heard a goodnight through the door and smiled to himself. "This is fun," he murmured to himself. It was quickly becoming a game between him and Bella.
Who was gonna break and make a move first?
-_- .
James Potter didn't like the appearance of theThe Poisoned Chalice.
He was standing in the Alley, looking around at the various dingy shops that invited all kinds of good and bad people. He saw two witches fighting over what looked like a small vial of potion and the others giving her a wide berth. He saw the vial break open and spill on a passerby who screamed in agony and dropped to a knee while the passing wizards went about their business, as if this was too normal to care. He saw a child shout from a window opposite the pub and a wizard on the street start running in the opposite direction.
James exhaled a puff of smoke from his burning cigar and shook his head. No, he didn't like this at all. But it had to be done.
He still didn't understand why a pureblood will ever step foot inside this pub but then, he realized that was one of the reasons he'd never fit in with the crowd. Even at Hogwarts, apart from his group of pranksters and some other Gryffindor friends, he had never branched out. It wasn't for lack of trying, no, but because he'd never understood most of his peers.
As he pushed open the creaking door, the stale air of the pub hit him, thick with the smell of stale beer and cigarette smoke. The dim light cast long shadows across the worn wooden bar, where a motley crew of regulars were nursing their drinks. The walls were adorned with faded Playwizard posters and peeling wallpaper, and the couple of wizards in the corner played a mournful tune.
He found an empty stool at the end of the bar and slid onto it, feeling the worn leather beneath him. The bartender, a grizzled man with a scowl, glanced at him without enthusiasm. He ordered a pint of bitter and took a sip, savouring the bitter taste.
The regulars at the bar were a colourful Knockturn bunch. There was a group of aging wizards in faded robes, nursing their drinks and arguing. A few older gentlemen in expensive looking robes sat in a corner, sipping whisky and discussing the day's news. And at the far end of the bar, a lone woman sat nursing a glass of wine, her gaze fixed on the wireless above the bar, her lips moving silently to the music.
The atmosphere in the pub was thick with the smoke of cigarettes and the clinking of glasses. The conversation was loud and boisterous, punctuated by bursts of laughter and the occasional argument. James sat back and took in the scene, hoping his target was due to arrive.
He'd been meaning to catch him for more than a week now and couldn't help his impatience. Today was not one of his usual days, and so, James had better hopes of finding him for his usual fill of whiskey and women.
"I like your cigar, Mister," said a soft, foreign voice from beside him.
He looked up to see a brunette waitress holding up a refill for him. He signalled and she acquiesced. He figured he should respond.
"Thanks," he replied, a wry smile playing on his lips.
The waitress, a moderately pretty witch with her tits spilling out of her robes regarded him with a mischievous glint in her eye, leaning against the counter. "You know, it's not often we get a customer who can appreciate a good cigar in a place like this."
He chuckled. "Well, a man's gotta have his vices, right?"
"Especially when they're good ones," she agreed, a playful grin spreading across her face. "So, what brings you to this little hole-in-the-wall?"
"Just passing through," he said, taking a long drag of his cigar. "Needed a place to unwind."
"Well, you've certainly found the right place," she replied, winking at him. "Anything else you need, Mister?"
He sipped from his glass and tossed her a galleon. "Maybe later," he replied, smirking.
She giggled and left him alone after that.
It was only minutes later when the door chime clinked again and he saw his former classmate enter.
The wizard slid in a stool away from him and ordered a special firewhiskey. James figured that it was a treat for a long time customer like him. After it was served, the wizard walked away with his drink to likely find a booth.
As the wizard disappeared into the dimly lit recesses of the pub, James' eyes narrowed. He had been waiting for this moment for a few days now, ever since he'd learned about this watering hole from Bella. family.
James pushed back his stool, his movements fluid and deliberate, as he made his way towards the booth where the wizard had settled, his wand hidden by the sleeve of his robes.
Sliding into his booth, he noticed that he had a witch gyrating on his lap.
"Corban," he murmured harshly and the wizard looked up from his drink, startled, "It's been a while."
For a moment, they just stared at each other, the only sound the soft murmur of hushed conversations and clinking glasses from the rest of the pub. Yaxley's eyes, a cold, calculating grey, seemed to bore into James', but he didn't flinch. He had expected this reaction, had anticipated that Yaxley would try to intimidate him.
Yaxley's expression twisted into a sneer. "Potter. Joining me for a drink? Evans not satisfying you these days?"
James ignored the taunt, his eyes locked on Yaxley's. "I'm not here for entertainment, Corban. I'm here to discuss business."
Yaxley raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued. "Oh? And what kind of business could we possibly have to discuss, Potter?"
James leaned forward, his movements economical and precise. From his pocket, he produced a small vial filled with a colourless liquid, courtesy of Lily's exceptional skills, and placed it upon the table.
"I want you to sign this parchment," he placed a leaf of parchment beside the vial.
Yaxley mockingly glared at the parchment and picked it up. James whispered, "Go on, the sooner you do it, the better."
And then he began to laugh. "You're mad, Potter. Why will I ever sign over my best investment over to you?"
"It's not a matter of why, Corban. It's a matter of when," James said, pulling the girl away from Yaxley. She shrieked and stumbled and then scampered off after a glare from him.
"What the hell do you think you're -" Yaxley started but began to cough.
The suspicion on his face now dissolved into panic.
James ignored him.
"Will you sign the Prophet over now when you're alive or will I have to ask Bella to take it from your wife and children after you're dead?"
Yaxley began to claw at his neck. "Please...Potter... don't do this..."
James shook his head at him, looking at the vial on the table. The Pub's name now seemed eerily ironic.
"I wonder whose mind will break first. Your son or your daughter. I'm betting it will be your daughter. But Bella says it will be your wife, after seeing her children tortured into insanity," James mused.
Sweat and tears coming out of his eyes, Yaxley thrashed in his seat. James put a blood quill beside the vial.
"What's your choice then, Corban?"
Yaxley struggled but signed the parchment with his blood.
James stood up grabbed his jaw and poured the contents of the vial into his open mouth. "Swallow like a good boy if you want to live."
Yaxley swallowed. "You'll never get away with this, Potter," he spat, gaining his bearings again. "I'll make sure of it."
James just laughed, a low, menacing sound. "The antidote was sitting right in front of you and you didn't have the sense to take it. What chance do you have against my family, Corban?"
He didn't wait for an answer and turned, his feet taking him out of the place in a matter of seconds.
Walking to the nearest apparation station, he wondered if Lily was having as much success as he had. He doubted it but knew that his wife would not take no for an answer anyway.
-_- .
As they apparated into the heart of Paris, Harry and Sirius found themselves surrounded by the charming architecture of the city's magical district. The narrow streets were lined with quaint shops, cafes, and boutiques, each one showcasing a unique aspect of French wizarding culture. The air was filled with the sweet scent of freshly baked croissants and the sound of soft chatter.
"Le Marais Magique," Sirius grinned at Harry as they made their way through the crowded streets. "Not quite like Diagon Alley, is it?" he said, nodding towards a nearby patisserie that specialized in magical pastries. "But just as enchanting in its own way."
Harry's eyes widened as he took in the sights and sounds around him. They passed by a shop selling intricate, handmade wands with delicate craftsmanship, and another offering an assortment of rare, exotic potions ingredients. Everywhere they looked, there were hints of the rich magical history that permeated this district.
As they turned a corner, Sirius led Harry towards a small, unassuming bakery shop.
Harry glanced amusedly at his godfather. "Are we having a second breakfast?"
Sirius said nothing and soon they were standing before a brick wall at the back of the shop. Sirius tapped his wand and Harry's eyes widened in realization.
The entrance to the French Ministry of Magic was guarded by two stern-looking French wizards in elegant, dark blue robes. They eyed Harry and Sirius warily before nodding in recognition at the older wizard.
"Bonjour, Director Black," one of them said, with a slight bow. "We've been expecting you. You and your... guest are cleared to enter the Ministry."
Sirius smiled and clapped Harry on the back. "This way, Harry. The portal is just inside."
They stepped into the building, which turned out to be little more than a facade for the real entrance to the Ministry. Inside, they found themselves in a small, dimly lit room with a large, ornate mirror at its center. The mirror seemed to ripple and shimmer as Sirius approached it.
"This is the Portail de la Ministère," he explained to Harry. "It's a secure portal that leads directly into the Ministry's central hub. Just step through, and we'll be there in an instant."
Harry felt a thrill of excitement mixed with a touch of nervousness as he followed Sirius through the shimmering portal. On the other side, they found themselves in a bustling, high-ceilinged atrium filled with wizards and witches hurrying to and fro. The air was thick with the murmur of conversations and the soft rustle of conversation and flying parchments .
Sirius nodded towards a nearby staircase. "The Minister's office is just up those stairs. Let's hope we can catch him in a good mood."
As they climbed the stairs, Harry couldn't help but feel a sense of awe at the grandeur of the French Ministry. The French Ministry of Magic, with its airy, light-filled halls and vibrant tapestries, exuded a sense of elegance and joy. In stark contrast, the British Ministry, cloaked in shadows and heavy stone, was a place of somber seriousness, where the weight of centuries of magical history hung heavy in the air.
At the top of the stairs, they were greeted by a elegant receptionist who smiled warmly at Sirius before turning to Harry. "Bonjour, young Monsieur Potter. Welcome to the Ministère de la Magie. I'll let the Minister know you're here."
With that, she disappeared into the office, leaving Harry and Sirius to wait for their meeting with the French Minister of Magic.
Harry stood beside Sirius, who was seated in a plush armchair in the opulent office of the French Minister of Magic. The room was adorned with lavish tapestries, giving off an air of extravagance that made Harry feel uneasy.
As he glanced around the room, Harry's eyes landed on a large, ornate mirror hanging above the fireplace. It seemed out of place among the other decorations, and he wondered if it was a magical artifact or simply a expensive piece of furniture. He also noticed that the Minister's desk was cluttered with papers, quills, and strange, exotic trinkets that seemed to be more for show than actual use.
Minister Dumont, a tall, slender man with a pointed beard and a charming smile, leaned back in his chair behind the massive desk. His eyes, however, seemed to hold a calculating glint that put Harry on edge. He was dressed in a finely tailored suit, complete with a crisp white shirt and a patterned tie that seemed to be made of silk. A large, golden watch adorned his wrist, and a pair of cufflinks that looked like they were made of solid gold sparkled in the light.
"Ah, Director Black, it's an honour to finally meet you," Dumont said, his voice smooth as silk. "And, of course, the famous Harry Potter. I've heard so much about you, young man."
Harry smiled politely, but he couldn't help feeling that Dumont was being insincere. There was something about the Minister's demeanour that didn't sit well with him – perhaps it was the way he seemed to be trying too hard to be charming.
Sirius nodded, his expression neutral. "Minister Dumont, thank you for seeing us. I'm sure you're aware of why we're here."
LaFleur's smile never wavered, but his eyes seemed to narrow slightly. "I believe it's regarding the presence of your Hit Wizards in France, Director Black. We've had... complaints about their behaviour, and our citizens are growing restless."
Harry watched as Sirius leaned forward, his eyes locked intently on Dumont. "I understand that there may be some concerns, Minister, but I assure you that our primary goal is to maintain law and order in France. The attempted coup two years ago was a traumatic event for your country, and we're committed to helping you prevent anything like it from happening again."
Dumont's expression turned solemn, and he nodded gravely. "Yes, the coup was a dark time for our nation. But I'm afraid that your Hit Wizards are not making things easier for us. They're arresting people without proper authorization, and some of their methods have been... questionable, to say the least."
Harry felt a surge of defensiveness on Sirius's behalf, but he bit back his retort. He knew that Sirius was a skilled diplomat, and he trusted him to handle the situation.
"I apologize if our presence has caused any difficulties, Minister," Sirius said calmly. "However, I must remind you that our Hit Wizards are highly trained professionals who are committed to upholding the law. If there have been any... misunderstandings, I'm happy to work with your people to resolve them."
Dumont leaned forward, his eyes glinting with a hard light. "I'm afraid it's not just a matter of misunderstandings, Director Black. The fact is, our citizens are growing increasingly uneasy about the presence of foreign law enforcement on our soil. We need to take steps to reassure them that we're in control of our own country."
Sirius raised an eyebrow. "And what exactly do you propose we do, Minister?"
Dumont's smile returned, but this time it seemed more like a thin-lipped mask than a genuine expression of friendliness. "I'm afraid I must insist that you withdraw your Hit Wizards from France within the next fortnight. If you don't, we'll be forced to take... measures to protect our sovereignty."
Harry felt a shiver run down his spine as he watched the exchange. Something about Minister Dumont didn't sit well with him – perhaps it was the way he seemed to be enjoying the power play, or the calculating glint in his eye that suggested he was hiding something. Or maybe it was the case with all politicians because they all had something to hide, he told himself, unable to understand this uneasiness he felt at that admission.
He glanced around the room again, taking in the lavish decorations and the faint scent of cigar smoke that lingered in the air. He noticed a small, almost imperceptible tremble in LaFleur's hand as he gestured, and wondered if the Minister was as confident as he seemed.
As the meeting drew to a close, Harry couldn't shake off the feeling that there was more to this encounter than met the eye. He glanced at Sirius, who was watching Dumont with an intensity that suggested he was thinking along similar lines. The game of cat and mouse had begun, and Harry had a feeling that the stakes were much higher than they initially seemed.
"I see," Sirius said finally, his voice calm and even. "We'll need to discuss this with the ICW, Minister. But I must warn you – withdrawing our Hit Wizards could have serious consequences for your country's security."
Dumont's smile never wavered. "I'm willing to take that risk, Director Black. After all, we can't have foreign agents running around our country, doing as they please. It's time for us to take control of our own affairs. I'm also confident that our Aurors can manage it from here."
This was the last of their little discussion and the meeting adjourned to until after the Minister had presented his argument to the ICW.
"That was weird," Harry commented, "Him being so snarky. Do all Ministers usually think so highly of themselves?"
Sirius chuckled. "Most don't have a leg to stand on, but France is a special case," he replied, just as the woman, the receptionist from earlier began walking towards them. "ICW has never put its nose into France's affairs until two years ago, and a lot has changed in their relationship since then."
"Pride, corruption and carelessness, you'd said to me once," Harry nodded. "After meeting Dupont, I feel like it could be all of them."
Sirius shrugged. "I'm not too concerned at this point. The worst that can happen is the country eventually falling to some communists."
Harry blew out a breath. "That sounds pretty bad."
"For them," Sirius agreed. "If both France and ICW agree that removing my Hit Wizards is the best course for them, then it's on their head."
Harry regarded his godfather thoughtfully.
"What?" Sirius asked.
"Nothing," Harry said, genuinely not able to put into words why that thought made him uneasy.
Sirius put a hand on his shoulder. "Harry, when I came into this job, I realized for the first time that our world is quite small," the woman joined them then, and they began to walk towards the exit. Harry could see some familiarity in the way she accepted Sirius' arm and they strode together. "Our world is small but it's still comprised of the same idiots that the Muggles have in abundance," he continued, making the woman giggle, "I also realized that a lot of idiots run a lot of lives, and sometimes, they make mistakes and ruin those lives. That doesn't mean it's up to us to correct their stupidity."
Harry smiled drily. "We can't save everyone."
"No we can't. Nor should we attempt to," his godfather said firmly. "Not only is it not possible, it's also not advisable."
"Not advisable?"
"My grandfather used to say that there is no one more hated than he who speaks the truth and he who dispenses unsolicited help."
Harry swallowed as a memory of Hermione sparked to life, where she was fondly berating him for his 'saving people thing'.
He shook his head, taking his unusually wise godfather's advice to heart.
"What if it's not in your own hands?"
"We're only responsible for our own actions," Sirius said. "If the people of France elected to vote for a wizard like Dupont, then they should suffer the consequences of having him run and ruin their lives as he sees fit."
The woman coughed, her cheeks glowing red. Sirius grinned at her, speaking something in her ear that Harry couldn't hear.
"When did you become so wise, Sirius?"
His dogfather smirked. "I was always wise. Why do you think your parents are friends with me?"
Harry tried to keep a straight face. "Oh, I don't know about my Dad. But maybe my Mum had no choice as you and Dad were attached at the hip."
Sirius guffawed and then turned to him with a conspiring look.
"Say Harry," he said in a quiet voice, "Will you be fine exploring the Ministry on your own for say, a half-hour?"
Harry looked incredulous as his godfather snuck an arm around petite witch. "Please?"
He shook his head, not able to believe that this was really happening. And that he was going to go along with this farce, knowing Sirius would do the same for him if he had to.
"Of course, Padfoot," he looked at both of them and smiling, "But you owe me one."
In reply, he got a one armed hug and a loud, 'Done!' which caused his ear to ring as his godfather began to lead his witch in a different direction.
-_- .
It had however only been ten minutes or so of wandering the grand Ministry when he had a weird feeling. It was a feeling that caused sudden goosebumps to rise on the back of his neck. It was a feeling that spelled danger.
He didn't know if it was for him or someone else but it began to nag at him in an insistent manner.
He began to march down a corridor and the feeling grew. Then, after he'd turned two hallways, he heard some raised voices and scuffling down from somewhere. He followed it with quickening paces.
He turned a corner and found himself facing a scene that made him almost flick his wand into his hand. There was a tall wizard in crisp dark robes of a high-ranking official, towering over a witch in a blue uniform, his face red with rage. He was shouting at her, his fists clenched, and Harry could see the fear in the woman's eyes.
But what really caught Harry's attention was when he raised his hand and slapped the witch across the face. The sound of the impact made Harry's stomach turn, and he knew he had to act fast.
As he approached, Harry pretended to stumble, using the distraction to get closer to the pair. "Oh, pardon," he muttered, as if he hadn't noticed them.
The wizard's head snapped towards him, his eyes narrowing. "Qui êtes-vous?" he growled, taking a step forward.
Harry held up his hands, feigning innocence. "Désolé, I didn't mean to intrude. I'm just... looking for the restroom."
The witch took advantage of the distraction to take a step back, her eyes darting towards Harry with a mixture of gratitude and wariness.
The wizard's gaze lingered on Harry, his expression darkening.
For a moment, the three of them stood there, the tension between them palpable. Harry could feel the ripple of disturbance in the air, a feeling that attuned him to the wizard's magic, heavy and barely controlled and quite extensive. He sensed that the witch felt it too, her eyes flicking to him.
He didn't like that her fearful eyes were practically begging him to leave them alone.
So, with a quick decision, Harry let his own magic go free, just a little and let Occlumency settle his raging emotions into cogent impassion.
The man's face twisted in anger, and he took another step forward, his fists clenched. But Harry stood his ground, his eyes locked on him and a cold expression on his face.
Then, without warning, the man spun around and stormed off down the corridor, leaving Harry alone with the witch. He took a breath and his Occlumency released its iron hold on his mind and magic.
"Are you alright?"
The witch nodded, breathing heavy and met his eyes in what looked like shame. "Merci," she whispered and turned away.
"Who was that man?" he asked but got no response as she turned down the corridor in quick steps, wiping at her face with her hands.
Harry didn't think it was wise to follow her so he simply retraced his steps, going back to the atrium to find Sirius and go home.
-_- .
In the depths of the library, inside the section only admissible to the Potter family members because it contained books on family magic, Harry found his baby sister sitting in an armchair, conversing with the portraits of their grandparents.
With a cry of 'Harry' she ran over to him, jumping into his arms. Harry laughed.
"I haven't seen you in days!" she exclaimed, her big doe eyes wide in question.
"I'm sorry," he said apologetically, "I just came back from a trip with Sirius."
"A trip with that menace," Charlus Potter's deep, no-nonsense voice rumbled from his portrait. His sharp hazel eyes narrowed as he regarded Harry. "I hope he didn't fill your head with more of his idiotic Gryffindor bravado."
"Charlus!" Dorea Black Potter chastised her husband, her soft, lilting voice cutting through his gruffness. She turned her dark, almond-shaped eyes on Harry, a warm smile curving her lips. "Sirius is family. And don't listen to him, darling. We're thrilled you've come back to us safe."
"Thank you, Grandmother," Harry replied politely, still holding his sister tightly. He kissed the top of her head before setting her down. "And Grandfather, Sirius isn't all bad. He's a good man."
"And fun," Dorea quipped.
Charlus snorted, regarding his granddaughter with suspicion. "Good man or not, the last time he visited me, he spilled firewhisky on my portrait frame. Do you have any idea how hard it is to remove firewhisky from enchanted wood?"
Dorea giggled, her laughter bubbling like soft bells. "Don't mind him, Harry. He's been grumpy all morning."
"Grumpy?" Charlus muttered indignantly. "I'm merely stating facts, woman!"
Taking a seat in the armchair beside his sister, Harry smirked, exchanging a look with her as if to say, He's in that mood again?
Dorea climbed onto the arm of his chair, leaning against him as if he were a fortress she could always count on.
"Did you bring me anything from your trip?" she asked eagerly, tilting her head up to look at him.
Harry reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small wrapped box. "Of course I did. I wouldn't dare face you empty-handed."
Dorea squealed with excitement and snatched the box from his hand, her enthusiasm infectious. She tore at the wrapping paper with gusto, revealing a delicate bracelet made of silver and set with tiny emerald stones.
"It's beautiful!" she gasped, slipping it onto her wrist.
"It's enchanted," Harry said, his tone soft and affectionate. "It can store things. I'll show you how it works later."
Her wide eyes softened, and she hugged him tightly again. "Thank you, Harry."
Charlus cleared his throat, his expression grudgingly approving. "Not bad, Harry. Protective and thoughtful—Potter traits, through and through."
Dorea Potter chuckled from her portrait. "I think it's lovely, Harry. It suits her. You've got a good eye for these things."
"Unlike his father," Charlus quipped. "James once gave Lily a set of self-inking quills for her birthday. Called it practical."
Harry grinned. "Sounds about right."
Young Dorea leaned forward, her curiosity piqued. "Grandfather, did you scold Dad for that?"
"Of course I did!" Charlus barked, his tone firm but with a twinkle of humour in his eyes. "Told him if he wanted to impress a witch, he'd better start thinking with his heart, not his head. Unfortunately, the boy's head was mostly full of Quidditch."
"And pranks," Harry added with a chuckle.
His grandmother laughed. "Ah, James. Always full of energy and trouble. But he has a good heart, just like you, Harry."
Harry's smile faltered slightly, an amalgamation of good and bad memories surfacing to the front of his mind. The bad ones from his old world, and the good ones from the current.
"None of that now," Dorea said firmly, her voice gentle yet commanding, her words telling Harry that she'd misinterpreted his demeanour. "You've come back to your family, and that says more about your heart than you realize. Forgiveness is a rare and powerful thing, Harry. Don't underestimate the strength it takes to offer it."
Charlus nodded, his expression uncharacteristically serious. "She's right, lad. Your parents were fools—idiotic, reckless fools—but they love you. And you've given them a second chance. That's no small thing."
Harry swallowed hard, his throat tightening. "I just... I didn't want my sisters and my brother growing up without me." He glanced at his little sister, who was listening intently. "They deserve better than that."
"You all deserve the best," Dorea Potter said softly, her gaze warm and full of pride.
Young Dorea reached over and grabbed Harry's hand, her small fingers curling around his. "I'm glad you came back, Harry. It's been so much better with you here."
He squeezed her hand gently, his voice thick with emotion. "Me too, little one. Me too."
Charlus cleared his throat again, his gruff demeanour returning. "Enough of this sentimental nonsense. It's your birthday, Harry. Shouldn't you be out celebrating or—Merlin forbid—relaxing for once?"
Harry chuckled, the weight in his chest lifting slightly. "I wanted to spend some time in the library first. Thought I'd check out a few books on family magic."
Dorea Potter's eyes lit up. "Oh, how wonderful! Have you started learning them yet?"
"Not yet," Harry admitted. "But I thought it was time I started. You never know when they might save your life."
Charlus grunted approvingly. "About time you took an interest in your heritage. The Potter line is one of the oldest and most respected in the wizarding world. It's your duty to uphold that legacy."
"Don't scare him off, Charlus," Dorea chided gently. "He's doing just fine."
Harry smiled. "I'll try not to let you down, Grandfather."
"See that you don't," Charlus replied, though his tone was softened by a hint of pride.
The younger Dorea looked up at Harry with wide, adoring eyes. "Can I help you with the family magic stuff?"
"Of course," Harry said, ruffling her hair affectionately. "I'll need someone smart to keep me on track."
She beamed, leaning into his side.
His grandmother watched them with a soft smile. "You remind me so much of your father when he was younger."
"Let's hope he is less cheeky than James was at his age," Charlus muttered, though his eyes betrayed his fondness.
Harry laughed, the sound light and genuine. "Not likely."
As the warm glow of the library lamps bathed the room in soft light, the four Potters—two alive, two preserved in magical paint—shared stories, laughter, and memories, the air filled with a sense of belonging and love that had been absent for far too long.
"We should head back Harry," Dorea tugged on his arm, standing up.
"Huh? What's the rush?"
She laughed. "Why, it's your birthday party, of course! And I want to help Mum with the preparations."
Harry looked on stupefied as he was pulled into one of the drawing rooms by his excited sister, not able to recognize his own home.
-_- .
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