Harry would have been quite content with having Hermione in his arms for the evening but that wasn't meant to be. Alas, he had a duty, as Lily had reminded him, to dance with the other ladies too, especially the ones who were in want of a partner.
But he didn't wantto leave Hermione.
"You're good at this," Hermione remarked with a quirk of an eyebrow. It was their 2nd song on the dance floor.
He snorted. "You don't have to sound so surprised."
She huffed good-naturedly. "Pleasantly surprised," she retorted with a smile. "I like surprises which work out for the good."
"Me too," he smirked, leaning to give her a twirl. Hermione gave him a tiny surprised gasp before following his lead in the waltz.
She patted his chest lightly as they resumed their steps, gliding from one corner of the ballroom to another. "Still, I didn't take you for someone so... graceful."
"I'll take that as a compliment," Harry said, his green eyes twinkling. "Although I can't decide if you're genuinely impressed or trying to flatter me."
"A bit of both, perhaps," Hermione teased, though there was an unmistakable warmth in her voice. "But you must have practiced quite a bit to be this good. Who's the lucky lady?"
"My mum," Harry answered easily. "She insisted that I learn before my first ball. Said it was non-negotiable for a Potter."
Hermione's lips curved into a soft smile. "I think she was right. You're setting quite the standard for the gentlemen in the room."
Harry tilted his head toward the other couples on the dance floor. "Speaking of which, your admirer seems rather displeased at the moment."
Hermione glanced over her shoulder to see John dancing with Susan Bones a few feet away. His gaze flicked toward them more often than necessary, his jaw tight and his movements lacking their usual charm.
"He's not my admirer," Hermione said quickly, her cheeks flushing. "We're just… good friends."
Harry raised an eyebrow, an amused smile playing on his lips. "Good friends who've known each other and have practically lived in the same tower for the past three years? Forgive me if I find that hard to believe."
Hermione sighed. "Fine, perhaps he's been... interested, but I—"
"Don't worry," Harry interrupted gently. "I'm not judging. Although, if I were him, I'd be jealous too."
Her breath hitched slightly at the sincerity in his tone. She met his eyes, searching for any hint of teasing, but found none. "You're awfully confident, Mr. Potter."
"Only when I have good reason to be," he replied smoothly, his hand tightening ever so slightly on her waist. "And right now, I have a very good reason."
Hermione looked away, her heart fluttering in a way she wasn't entirely accustomed to. She wasn't used to being the focus of such attention, especially not from someone like Harry. He was an enigma, and having only learnt what she knew of him from his brother and his best friend, she'd never found what he was really like.
Now, she didn't quite believe that this was the same Harry who'd been... defamedby so many in her own house, including his twin brother.
"You're surprisingly light on your feet," Harry teased, his emerald eyes glinting under the chandeliers. "Are you sure you haven't been sneaking lessons behind everyone's back?"
Hermione rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress her smile. "I'll have you know that reading about waltzing techniques and actually performing them are two very different things."
Harry chuckled, a low sound that sent a flutter through Hermione's chest. "Ah, so you did your research before coming tonight. That explains it."
"And what if I did?" she challenged lightly. "It wouldn't do to come to a Potter gala and step on the host's toes."
"Well, I appreciate your consideration," he replied, his tone mockingly formal. "Though I must say, you've done an excellent job of making me look good."
"You're quite the charmer, aren't you?" she managed to say, though her voice was softer than she intended.
Harry chuckled. "I try. But if I'm honest, Hermione, tonight it's not me who has charmed you."
She said nothing.
"I assure you, it's quite the opposite."
Hermione was fighting the pink on her cheeks that threatened to undo her in the middle of too many people who both knew and didn't know her. She didn't know which would be a better revenge, to tilt her head just a little and kiss him right then and there or to leave him there without a partner in the middle of their third song together to regain her composure.
"I really want to know what's going on in that brilliant head of yours."
"You're making a mess of it," she replied honestly, still not understanding why it was so easy to talk to him. And she didn't just want to talk to him, she wanted to reveal everything she kept very close to her chest. Somehow, in so short a time of knowing him, he'd made her believe that he could be trusted with all of it.
"Tell me what you're thinking," he tried again.
"I was just pondering how you're making me look so good in front of these numerous international guests," she said. "By dancing three continuous sets with me."
"It doesn't matter what they think of you, Hermione," he said grinning, 'Although, I do appreciate the compliment.'
Hermione glanced around briefly, her smile faltering for a moment as her gaze swept over the other elegantly dressed women on the dance floor. Daphne Greengrass was spinning gracefully in the arms of a handsome Ministry official, her lilac gown shimmering with every movement. Susan Bones, not far from them, was laughing at something John had said. Both women looked stunning.
"I'm not sure I measure up to all this," Hermione murmured, her voice soft. "You have quite the assembly of potential partners tonight."
Harry's brow furrowed, and he gently tightened his hold on her waist, drawing her focus back to him. "Hermione," he said firmly, his voice cutting through the music. "Do you really think any of that means anything to me?"
She blinked up at him, caught off guard by the intensity in his gaze. "I just mean… well, I'm not exactly—"
"Stop that," Harry interrupted, his tone both gentle and resolute. "You're brilliant, Hermione. And for the record, I wouldn't trade this for anything." His lips quirked into a lopsided grin. "Even if my mother did threaten to hex me if I didn't make the rounds."
Hermione laughed despite herself, the warmth in her cheeks now entirely unrelated to the physical exertion of dancing. "Well, we can't have that, can we? I'd hate to be the reason you ended up in the hospital."
Harry leaned in slightly, his voice dropping conspiratorially. "Between you and me, I think Mum's bark is worse than her bite. But don't tell her I said that."
"Your secret's safe with me," she promised, her amusement genuine.
The music shifted to a slower tempo, signalling the end of the song. Harry reluctantly slowed their movements, letting the final notes guide them to a stop. Around them, other couples clapped politely for the orchestra before reforming into new pairs for the next dance.
Harry released her hand but didn't let go of her waist just yet. "I suppose I should be a dutiful host and see to the others," he said, his voice tinged with reluctance. "But will you do me the honour of saving me another dance later?"
Hermione froze.
A certain memory came blazing to life inside her, tingling her nerves and prickling her skin.
Hermione curtsied, taken on by a sudden urge, and then met his eyes, her heart doing an unexpected flip.
"I'll hold you to it," she managed to say.
As Harry stepped away to greet a group of witches waiting at the edge of the floor, Hermione found herself lingering, her fingers still tingling from where his hand had held hers. She caught John's gaze from across the room, and her stomach sank at the sour expression on his face. Susan appeared to be speaking to him, but his attention was fixed firmly on Hermione.
Hermione turned away, pretending not to notice, and busied herself smoothing the fabric of her dress. Her thoughts, however, were still very much on Harry—the way he had made her feel seen, valued, and entirely at ease despite the grandeur of the couldn't help but feel a pang of envy toward the other women who would soon have his attention.
She shook her head, chastising herself for the thought. After all, she was just beginning to know him. But something about Harry Potter made it hard for her to stay indifferent.
-_-_- .
Harry woke up to the sound of a light cough and a sneeze. His eyes bleared open to the rays of the sun peeking through the curtains.
"Wha-" he began but stilled as he felt both the rush of memories from the previous night and a warm weight on his side, holding his arm like a cuddle pillow.
He left slowly, taking care to pull the duvet all over Claire's sleeping form. He smiled when she furrowed into the bed, liking the warmth that he'd just left over.
Twenty minutes later, he was done with his morning ablutions and just as he was exiting his chambers, his stomach signalling the need for breakfast, he turned.
Walking to his desk, he tore off a small square piece of parchment and picked up his quill. Quickly scribbling down a note, he hung it in mid air on the bedside table.
The breakfast parlour was empty to his surprise, considering he was already thirty minutes late in coming down.
Shrugging, he took a plate of sliced apple from the fruit platter and began to walk towards his favourite sitting room in the Manor. The sitting room was where he often found solace; it was quiet, sunlit, and filled with the faint scent of lavender from the enchanted sachets his Mum had tucked into the curtains. However, as he approached the room, he paused. The door was slightly ajar, and he could hear the faint rustle of movement inside.
Curious, Harry nudged the door open and stepped inside, only to stop in his tracks. Sitting by the fireplace, her elegant frame poised and her long, greyish-blonde hair cascading over one shoulder, was Vivienne Gauthier. She looked entirely at ease, as though she was sitting in her own.
She glanced up as he entered, her lips curving into an enigmatic smile. "Good morning, Mr. Potter," she said smoothly, her voice carrying the faintest trace of a French accent.
Harry blinked, caught off guard by her presence. "Mrs. Gauthier," he greeted politely, stepping further into the room. "I didn't realize I'll have company in this part of the Manor."
"Oh, I hope I'm not intruding," she said, her smile never wavering. "Your elf was kind enough to allow me a quiet moment here. This room is quite charming."
Harry nodded, still trying to process her unexpected presence. "It's one of my favourites," he admitted. "The view is lovely. Though I'm surprised to find anyone else here this early."
Vivienne's smile deepened, and she gestured to the seat across from her. "Would you care to join me?"
Despite himself, Harry chuckled and took the offered seat. There was something about her that put him slightly on edge, though he couldn't quite put his finger on it. She was graceful, almost ethereal, and her presence seemed to carry an air of mystery. Up close, she reminded him even more of her daughter who he'd just left sleeping in his bed.
"How are you and Mr. Gauthier finding your stay at the Manor?" he asked, aiming for polite conversation.
"Delightful, though my husband departed last night and I stayed," she replied, tilting her head slightly as she regarded him. "Your family has been most hospitable. And the ball last night was... enchanting."
"I'm glad to hear that," Harry said, though he felt her gaze linger on him a moment too long.
For a while, they spoke of innocuous things—the weather, the beauty of the Manor, and even the oddities of British magical customs compared to those of France. Harry was finding her quite knowledgeable on many subjects.
But gradually, their conversation took a more pointed turn.
"The state of France is… complicated," Vivienne remarked, her fingers lightly tracing the rim of her teacup. "Two years ago, we came dangerously close to dismantling everything we've worked on for two-hundred years. The Ministry's inner sanctum was rife with betrayal and ambition, and it's left scars that have yet to heal."
Harry leaned forward slightly, intrigued despite himself. "I heard about the unrest, but it sounded like the Ministry managed to regain control?" He didn't let on that he knew the internal state of the Ministry more closely than an outside observer, Sirius would be proud.
"Barely," Vivienne said, her tone dry. "The Minister clings to power by sheer will, and the Auror force is stretched thin. My husband has been working tirelessly to keep what remains of our fragile order intact. But stability is a fleeting illusion these days."
Harry nodded, feeling a pang of sympathy. "It's not much better here, to be honest. There's this sense of… something brewing, even if no one wants to say it out loud."
Vivienne regarded him with a knowing look, as if she understood far more than she was letting on. "That 'something' you feel," she said softly, "is not confined to Britain. The world is shifting, Harry, in ways that even the wisest among us struggle to predict."
He didn't know how to respond to that, so he steered the conversation to something lighter. "So," he began, a small smile tugging at his lips, "Claire didn't seem too thrilled about me beating her in the Under-17 duelling championship finals. She didn't talk much about it last night."
At that, Vivienne laughed, a rich, melodious sound that filled the room. "Ah, yes. My daughter's pride is both her greatest strength and her greatest weakness. She loathes losing, but she can tolerate it, if it is to someone she respects."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "She respects me?"
"Don't sound so surprised," Vivienne teased. "She will never sleep with some less worthy."
Harry chuckled, the directness no longer taking him aback and actually making him remember another witch that spoke like that, without filters. "She did say that to me last night. And that you taught her everything she knew." He kept his face blank.
"I'm glad there are no secrets between you two," Vivienne laughed lightly, her eyes twinkling. "She's an honest woman, Harry. You should be careful."
"Why?" A part of him was not at all used to having a surreal conversation such as this with the mother of his lover.
She looked at him with an oddly knowing look. "Now that she's found you, she wouldn't want to let you go."
Harry grinned, picturing Claire's determined expression during their lovemaking. "I'll keep that in mind." He didn't want to let hergo after all.
The conversation drifted again, touching on the differences between French and British magical education, the traditions of Beauxbatons versus Hogwarts, and even the peculiarities of the English weather. But all the while, Harry couldn't shake the feeling that Vivienne was subtly guiding him, her words carefully chosen to plant seeds of thought.
Finally, she set her teacup down and fixed him with a look that sent a shiver down his spine. "Tell me, Harry," she said, her tone light yet probing, "do you believe in fate?"
Harry blinked at the sudden change in topic. "I… suppose so," he said cautiously. "Though I think we still have a say in our own choices."
Vivienne nodded thoughtfully. "An admirable perspective. But there are moments, are there not, when it feels as though our paths are guided by something greater? As though we are exactly where we are meant to be?"
Harry's stomach tightened. There was a weight to her words, an implication that he couldn't ignore. "What are you getting at?" he asked, his voice quieter now.
She leaned back in her chair, her enigmatic smile returning. "There's a reason you were sent here, Harry."
His breath caught, his heart thudding in his chest. What did she know? "What do you mean by that?" he demanded, his eyes narrowing.
Vivienne's expression softened slightly, and she raised a hand as if to calm him. "Do not be alarmed. I mean you no harm. But you must understand, your presence here is no accident. Fate has its reasons, even if they are not yet clear to you."
Harry stared at her, his mind racing. How could she possibly know? He had told no one about his journey from another world, not even his family.
"What do you know about me?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
She regarded him with a look that was almost pitying. "There are things I see, Harry. Threads of destiny, woven together in ways most cannot comprehend. Your thread is... unique."
He didn't know what to say to that. Part of him wanted to demand answers, while another part warned him to tread carefully. Vivienne Gauthier was clearly more than she appeared.
"And what is my destiny, then?" he asked finally, his voice steady despite the turmoil within him.
Vivienne's smile faded, replaced by a somber expression. "That, I cannot say. Only that you have a role to play, one that will shape the fate of many."
Harry frowned, frustrated by her cryptic words. "That's not exactly helpful."
She chuckled softly. "No, I suppose it isn't. But some things cannot be revealed before their time. You will understand when the time comes."
He wanted to go back to the fundamental questions again. "Who are you? And why are you telling me all this?"
He didn't think she would answer, so he was surprised when she did. "Tell me, Harry, have you ever heard of Nicholas Flamel?"
The question caught him off guard. "Of course," he said. "The creator of the Philosopher's Stone. He's practically a legend."
Vivienne nodded, her eyes twinkling with something akin to amusement. "He is also my great-grandfather."
Harry stared at her, stunned. "You're joking."
"Not at all," she said, her smile returning. "Though I doubt he would appreciate being called a legend. He always preferred to keep a low profile."
Harry shook his head, trying to process this new revelation. "So, you're descended from one of the greatest alchemists of all time," he said and then realized something. "But he's over six hundred years old, and you're young!"
Vivienne laughed, a soft, musical sound. "I'll take that as a compliment."
He gave her a disbelieving look. "How old are you, really?"
She only smiled at him.
They spoke a while longer, with Vivienne sharing snippets of her family's history and Harry getting somewhat used to her enigmatic questions and her quaint way of speaking but never quite relaxing in her presence.
He realized once gain that how terrible he was with adults who tried to hide things from him. Especially now when he knew that she knew far more than she was letting on.
As he finally rose to leave, Vivienne placed a hand on his arm, stopping him. "Remember, Harry," she said softly, her gaze piercing. "None of what has happened is an accident. But what will happen is very much up to you."
Harry nodded slowly, her words echoing in his mind as he left the room. Just after she left, he realized that the sixteen year old witch he'd made love to last night was probably unaware of the origins of her own mother.
Otherwise why would her mother meet with him and leave him with unanswered questions when he could just go interrogate her daughter anyway?
-_ - - .
The magical district in Bulgaria was nothing like Diagon Alley. The cobblestone streets sprawled wide under the bright sun, weaving between rows of colourful shops, cafes, and open-air markets. A faint hum of magic filled the air, and Harry couldn't help but feel like he'd stepped into another world. The shops were vibrant, some with banners fluttering in the breeze, advertising everything from alchemical reagents to enchanted instruments. It wasn't just the variety that stunned him—it was the openness.
As he passed shop after shop selling items that would have been banned in Britain without question, Harry turned to Sirius with a look of incredulity. "I can't believe it," he said, his voice tinged with awe. "Is this what a magical city should actually look like?"
"Without all the censorship?" Sirius said with a snort, a mischievous grin on his face. "Of course! These countries, after their liberation from the communists, vowed to never ban a subject just because it offends a certain party. The results are what you see right here." He spread his arms wide, gesturing to the bustling street.
Harry's gaze flitted across the storefronts. One shop displayed an array of shimmering potion vials, each marked with labels like _Luck for a Month_ and _Unveiling Truths_. Another had a crowd gathered outside, where a witch in flowing crimson robes demonstrated some blood magic, the runes she drew in the air knocked a wizard to his knees. Nearby, a sign outside a dark-panelled shop read, _Necromantic Studies: Classes Every Tuesday_.
"They teach necromancy?" Harry asked, stunned.
"Teach it, practice it, and debate it openly," Sirius replied with a casual shrug. "That's how they handle magic here. They don't see it as inherently dark or light—just a tool. It's all about the wizard who wields it."
Harry mulled over the idea as they walked. In Britain, so many forms of magic were shrouded in taboo. The thought of openly discussing something like necromancy, let alone teaching it, would send the public into fits, not to mention the Ministry who would throw you into Azkaban, probably without a trial.
And yet here, it didn't seem to bother anyone. Wizards and witches of all ages moved through the streets, some clutching books, others carrying cauldrons, or practicing spells in small groups. The air buzzed with a sense of unrestrained curiosity.
"What about safety?" Harry asked as they passed a shop advertising experimental magical constructs. "Isn't it dangerous to let people just… experiment?"
"Sure, there are risks," Sirius admitted, "but they believe the risks are worth it. They regulate practices, but they don't stifle them. Their philosophy is that the best way to counter dark magic is to understand it—not bury it."
Harry nodded, though his mind was still reeling from the implications.
"And there's no regulation from the wizards in grey?"
It was a completely different way of thinking about magic. He couldn't decide if it was liberating or overwhelming.
Sirius smiled. "And this is where it gets complicated," he said lightly, "After the war, the countries in the Balkan region signed something called the The Pact of Thaumaturgic Restraint. The core agreement is that for not practising any 'Omni-destructive Magic', the ICW will not interfere in their internal matters."
Harry looked incredulous. "Omni-destructive Magic, as in, spells for genocide?"
"Something like that," Sirius said grimacing.
Harry nodded. "In exchange for..."
"A Guarantee of Sovereignty. So far, it seems to be a good way to ensure peace and harmony."
Harry said nothing, detecting faint hint of sarcasm in his godfather's tone.
"Now," Sirius said, clapping him on the shoulder, "We're heading this way."
Harry looked up to see Sirius leading him toward a shop with an old, weathered sign that read Gregorovitch Zaubernstabmacher - Master Wandmaker. The windows were filled with wands of all shapes and sizes, each glowing faintly under the light of a soft enchantment. Harry frowned, glancing at Sirius.
"My wand's been fine most of the time," he said. "It's just… sometimes it feels a bit twitchy, as if it has a mind of its own."
"You've been mentioning that, Harry. Wands don't become like that for no reason," Sirius said firmly, pushing the door open. A soft chime echoed through the shop. "And if anyone can figure out why, it's Gregorovitch."
Inside, the shop was smaller than Harry expected, with shelves packed high with wand cases and a counter that looked like it had seen decades of wear.
Behind it stood an elderly wizard with sharp, piercing eyes and a mane of white hair. He glanced up from the wand he was examining, his expression unreadable.
"Gregorovitch," Sirius said, striding forward with a wide grin. "It's been too long."
"Sirius Black," the wandmaker said, his voice rough but not unfriendly. "I see that you've managed to stay alive."
"More or less," Sirius replied, clapping the man on the shoulder. "And this is Harry, my godson."
Gregorovitch's sharp gaze shifted to Harry, scrutinizing him in a way that made him feel as though the old man could see right through him. "So," Gregorovitch said, stepping around the counter. "What brings you here?"
Harry hesitated, but Sirius nudged him forward. "My wand," he said, pulling it from his pocket. "It's been… acting up, I guess. It works fine most of the time, but there are moments when it just... acts on its own."
Gregorovitch extended a hand, and Harry placed the wand in his palm. The wandmaker studied it closely, running his fingers along the wood and muttering to himself.
He began to ramble in a language Harry didn't understand. After a full minute of his indecipherable mumble, Harry huffed.
"English please?" Sirius hid a smile.
The decrepit wandmaker huffed, before going back to examining the wand.
"What is it?"
Gregorovitch set the wand down on the counter and reached for a thin silver rod, which he waved over the wand. A faint shimmer of magic appeared, swirling around the wand's surface before dissipating. "This wand has served you well, yes?" he asked, looking at Harry.
Harry nodded. "It's been with me since my first year at Hogwarts. I've always felt connected to it."
"Holly and phoenix feather," he murmured. "Good wood, excellent core. Almost as fine as something I make. But…" he trailed off, frowning.
"But?" Harry rolled his eyes. Sirius bit back a snort when the old wizard took yet another moment to answer.
The wandmaker hummed thoughtfully. "But it is incomplete. Tell me, Mr. Potter, have you experienced any… unusual changes recently? Changes in magic, changes in yourself?"
Harry swallowed, remembering the world hopping, the battle with his scar and becoming an overnight celebrity all in a month. He exchanged a glance with Sirius, who nodded slightly. "Yes," Harry admitted. "I've… been through a lot lately."
Gregorovitch's eyes narrowed, and he tapped a finger against the wand. "Magic is deeply tied to the wizard who wields it. When a wizard undergoes significant change, the wand may struggle to adapt. It seeks to align itself with your magic, but if your magic is unstable, the bond may falter."
Harry frowned. "So what do I do? Can it be fixed?"
"Perhaps," Gregorovitch said. "But first, we must understand the nature of the disruption. Your wand is not rejecting you, Mr. Potter—it is struggling to keep up. You may need to...deepenyour bond."
"And how do we do that?" Sirius asked this time.
Gregorovitch stroked his chin thoughtfully. "It depends. In some cases, the wizard must reaffirm their intent, their purpose. In others, the wand may require a… recalibration." He looked at Harry. "Tell me, what does your magic feel like when you use this wand?"
Harry thought for a moment. "It feels exactly the same as it always has."
"Does it give you any resistance?"
"No," Harry shook his head. "In fact, it feels more eager somehow."
The wandmaker nodded. "Then we must explore the source of that eagerness." He gestured for Harry to follow him to a side room, where a small table and several tools were laid out. "Place a drop of your blood on this knife," he instructed.
Harry was about to protest when Sirius nodded, mouthing that it's okay. Harry pricked a finger and let a drop flow out onto the metal.
Gregorovitch began to work, muttering incantations. Sirius watched, his expression uncharacteristically serious.
After what felt like an eternity, the old wandmaker stepped back, his face lined with concentration. "Your bond is a very rare one," he said finally. "You're connected in ways that I've not seen since...many decades. It has saved your life, many times now. From wizards and creatures alike."
"Yes."
Gregorovitch eyed him speculatively, his tone gentle but firm, "What was the significant event that you've been through?"
Harry shrugged. "Just some encounters with dark wizards and dark lords. No big deal."
"Your wand wants more of you, from you," The wandmaker reiterated.
"What does it want?"
"Blood," Gregorovitch watched him. "It craves your blood to reforge your bond. There is something in your blood that will bring forth a connection of magnitude that I've never seen in my life. Not even in the legends."
Harry nodded slowly, the weight of the wand feeling heavier in his hand as he picked it back up. "Can you use my blood to make the bond?"
"I can't."
Harry understood. "I have to do it then? In a ritual?"
Sirius flinched. The wandmaker looked down at his wrinkled hands. "Yes," and then he smiled, as if he could feel Sirius' hesitation. "You British wizards, always shying away from your natural instincts just to appease laws that were never made for your benefit."
Sirius didn't retort, only signalled Harry to continue. "So how do I do it? Shall I just offer the wand my blood?"
The wandmaker tutted. "I would recommend a silver ritual blade for this purpose. Make a cut on your palm and let your blood flow freely into your wand. That should be enough."
"You're saying an awful lot of 'shoulds', Gregor. Do you know if this will work or is this a shot in the dark?"
Gregorovitch shrugged. "I've never come across a wand that wants more than it's already got," he addresed Harry. "Your bond is extraordinary, Mr. Potter. No wand that I've ever seen can match it."
"Not even the Elder Wand?" Sirius asked.
The white haired wizard stilled. He suddenly became fidgety, eyes darting across the shelves and towards the entrance. He didn't look nervous though, not that Harry could sense it. He just looked paranoid, cautious even.
"The Deathstick never wants more than to be in the hands of the family of the one that first held it," he spoke in a low voice. "But it will still obey the one that currently wields it," he then met Harry's eyes with an unnatural glint in them, "Unlike yours, Mr. Potter."
Harry took a moment to gather his thoughts. "Nobody else will be able to use my wand?"
The wandmaker smiled. "Nobody who values their life, if your wand truly accepts your blood."
As Harry put his wand back into his holster, Gregorovitch busied himself with what he'd been doing before. "I expect we'll be seeing great things from you, Mr. Potter."
Harry put his oddly reminiscent words to the mystery that old wandmakers like Ollivander and Gregorovitch seem to specialize in.
Sirius stopped at the door, letting Harry out of the shop.
"If the Deathstick also wants to be with its family, its blood relatives, how is Harry's wand any different?"
The wandmaker didn't pause in his work. "The Deathstick never asked to be created. It already existed before it knew the difference between good and evil. Right and wrong. It's owner and the enemy."
Harry was now standing beside his godfather, listening.
"But my wand is asking to be created. Like it already knows what it needs."
Gregorovitch chuckled lowly, an eerie smile on his face. "You have lots of think about, don't you Mr. Potter? I believe I will see you another time."
Some fifteen odd minutes later, Sirius regarded Harry over his cup of coffee in a local shop. "I suppose we have a history lesson to cover."
Harry nodded.
Sirius sat back, relaxing. "Alright. Let's start with the Tale of the Three Brothers."
-_ - - .
Lily was trying but failing at hiding her impatience when it came to her son and his erratic godfather. Both of them knew that they'd planned a family lunch this afternoon and it was thirty minutes past lunchtime and they were nowhere to be seen.
"Lily, they'll be here," James cajoled her, "You know how these things are. They must have stopped for a drink or something."
Lily stared at him in disbelief. "A drink? Harry is fourteen for God's sake!"
James held up a hand in peaceful surrender. "I meant coffee. They must've stopped for coffee."
"Come on, let's go inside before anyone misses us."
Lily shook her head stubbornly. "I don't know where they've gone. Why won't he tell me?"
James covered up a chuckle. "Maybe because he didn't have the chance to? Yesterday was a bit hectic, you know."
Lily sighed. Yesterday had been a perfect day, a perfect party to celebrate the life of two of her precious kids who she had almost lost on that fateful night fourteen years ago.
She gave James a long look before finally relenting and letting him guide her back toward the dining room. The soft hum of conversation greeted her ears as they entered. The room was warm and bright, filled with the chatter of family and friends seated around the long oak table.
Bella was leaning toward Hermione, speaking animatedly about some magical theory, while Andromeda and Ted shared a quiet laugh over a shared memory. Rose was alternating between hearing Bella and Andromeda. John and Ron were gossiping among themselves. And Alice and Frank Longbottom were, as usual, a big hit with Dorea.
John sat at the end of the table, fidgeting with his silverware as though he couldn't decide whether to look annoyed or bored.
But even amidst the convivial atmosphere, Lily couldn't quite shake her growing irritation.
"They're late," she murmured again under her breath to James.
"They're here," James said suddenly, nodding toward the window.
Lily's head whipped around, and sure enough, she spotted Harry and Sirius walking briskly up the garden path. Harry's messy black hair caught the sunlight, his stride confident but unhurried. Sirius was by his side, gesturing animatedly as he spoke. Lily couldn't make out what he was saying, but she imagined it was some wild tale of their latest escapade.
As the front door opened, Lily squared her shoulders and moved toward the hallway. She wasn't about to let them stroll in as if they hadn't kept everyone waiting.
"Harry James Potter!" she called, her voice sharp as she intercepted them.
Harry flinched slightly but grinned sheepishly at her. "Sorry, Mum. Got held up."
"Held up?" she repeated, folding her arms and raising an eyebrow.
"Lily, let the boy breathe," Sirius interjected, giving her an easy smile. "We've had a long morning. Didn't mean to keep you waiting."
"A long morning doing what, exactly?" Lily demanded, her gaze darting between the two of them.
"Can we save the interrogation for later?" Sirius asked, a touch of mischief in his tone. "The smell of roast beef is killing me. Let's eat first, and then we'll tell you all about it."
Lily sighed, deciding not to push further for now. Instead, she ushered them into the dining room, where the rest of the family immediately turned their attention to the new arrivals.
"About time!" John blurted out, throwing his hands up dramatically. "I thought we were going to start without you."
"Wouldn't miss it," Harry said, taking the seat between Bella and Rose.
Bella grinned and ruffled his hair. "Look at you, late to your own family lunch. You're lucky your Mum didn't have your head."
"Probably because some more guests are yet to arrive," Sirius winked, looking around the table.
Harry chuckled, his easy demeanour softening Lily's lingering annoyance. She watched as he fell naturally into conversation, answering Rose's questions about the party last night and teasing Hermione about her lack of dance moves.
But Lily didn't miss the way Hermione's gaze lingered on Harry when she thought no one was looking. Nor did she fail to notice the barely perceptible glances Harry shot her way in return.
Andromeda's voice broke through her thoughts. "James, would you mind passing the wine?"
Lily turned her head sharply, catching the subtle smile Andromeda sent James as he handed over the bottle. She clenched her jaw, forcing herself to look away.
Andromeda Tonks had quite the reputation, and Lily didn't trust her as far as she could throw her.
"I can almost smell your scorn from here," James signalled quietly to her, "Give it a rest."
Lily snorted. "Can you imagine how he stays married to her?"
Sirius coughed, leaning in. "I'm sure she gives him just enough of her bubbly arse to make him forget her indiscretions for a month."
James hid his laughter in his glass of wine. Lily glared at Sirius and then shrugged. "As long as she stays away from James."
Sirius waved her concerns away. "Don't worry about that. She won't even try."
James clicked his tongue. "You know this only started after her daughter ran away?"
Lily sighed, relenting. "I know, that's why I cut her so much slack. It must've been so hard for her."
Sirius grimaced and then said coldly, "Ted also went through the same thing. He lost his daughter too. But he never cheated on Andy."
James chuckled lowly. "As if you're the one to talk, Padfoot. Aren't you sleeping with like, eight different married women?"
Lily rolled her eyes. "Men."
"So," John piped up loudly, leaning forward in his chair. "Where have you been since this morning, Harry?"
The room fell silent as all eyes turned to Harry.
"Well," Harry began, setting down his fork, "after Sirius and I finished our errands, we went to meet the head of the DMLE in Germany."
"The head of the DMLE?" Alice repeated, raising an eyebrow.
Harry nodded. "Yeah. There've been reports of over two hundred people breaking out of prison there. It's bad. Really bad."
A murmur rippled through the room as everyone digested this piece of news.
"And what exactly did you two do about it?" John asked, his tone laced with skepticism.
Harry glanced at Sirius, who gave a subtle nod. "We didn't do anything, really. But Sirius made it clear to the man in charge that we need to be kept in the loop. He… may have threatened some consequences if we weren't."
Sirius smirked. "I only told him the truth. If they don't get a handle on whoever caused this, it could spill over into the rest of Europe, and we'll all have a mess on our hands."
John's lips pressed into a thin line, his expression unreadable. Lily noticed the way his fingers tightened around his glass, his knuckles turning white. Lily could barely keep the disappointment out of her face, feeling sorry that her other son was being so wilfully jealous of his own twin.
"How are you able to visit these people with Sirius? Aren't they supposed to be very official meetings?" Ted asked.
Sirius turned to him. "Being the head of an important organization has its advantages. I can use any method or person at my discretion to help me with things. Harry simply accompanies me sometimes to learn how the government really works."
"Well," James added, "Sounds like you two have had quite the morning."
"That's an understatement," Harry said, shaking his head, and Lily knew that it wasn't just the meeting with the German that he was letting on.
Alice's voice broke through her thoughts. "Frank, pass the breadbasket, would you?" She turned to the table at large as her husband complied. "Speaking of events, has anyone else started preparing for the eclipse?"
Bella tilted her head curiously. "The complete solar eclipse?"
Alice shook her head, her expression brightening. "That's in a year's time. It's such a rare event—happens only once every three hundred and seventy-five years." She munched on the bread. "We have a partial eclipse coming up in a few days. It's said to be a time of rebirth and transformation, both magical and otherwise. The power it emanates is supposed to be extraordinary."
"I've read about it," Hermione said eagerly. "Some texts mention that during the eclipse, magical energy aligns in such a way that it can amplify spells or even unlock dormant magical abilities."
Alice's eyes lit up. "Exactly! I've been working on a side project involving lunar-petal blooms. They only thrive in celestial events like this, and I'm hoping to cultivate a batch for research. They're said to have properties tied to rejuvenation and magical focus."
"Sounds fascinating," Ted chimed in. "But isn't it a bit risky? I've heard those blooms are temperamental."
"Oh, they are," Alice admitted. "But the effort is worth it. This eclipse is tied to so many magical myths. Some cultures even believe it marks the turning point of great events."
Lily's interest was piqued despite herself. "Rebirth and transformation," she repeated thoughtfully. "I suppose that many rituals and celebrations will be planned around it?"
"Naturally," Alice said with a smile. "Though I'm more interested in the herbological aspect, I can't deny it's thrilling to think about the magical possibilities. Who knows what discoveries could be made?"
"Or what could go wrong," James muttered under his breath, earning a soft chuckle from Harry and Dorea.
As the conversation moved on, Lily found her attention drifting again. Andromeda was watching James with a look that made her ire rise, and Hermione was staring into her plate, her expression strained.
It wasn't until Rose spoke up that Lily realized why.
"Harry," Rose said without malice, "Where's Claire? Didn't see her this morning."
Harry hesitated for a split second, but it was enough for Lily to catch.
"She went home with her mother," James answered smoothly, sensing the awkwardness.
Lily's heart ached as she glanced at Hermione, who was doing her best to look unaffected. But Lily could see the faint glimmer of shining eyes and the way her shoulders stiffened as if bracing herself against an unseen blow.
"Well," Lily said quickly, determined to redirect the conversation, "Harry, did you get a chance to-"
They were interrupted by Julius who had a letter in his hand.
"Master, this letter arrived through urgent Ministry floo."
"What is it?" James asked, taking the parchment.
Lily leaned to look over his shoulder. "James?"
"It's a notification from the Minister of an urgent Wizengamot meeting," turning to Sirius, he remarked, "Looks like your escaped criminals are trying to enter Britain."
Bella shook her head. "Amelia might've been under more pressure than we expected."
"What do you know?" Lily asked.
"Only that we're behind in tracking the ones who've already been smuggled into the country," Bella sighed. "We have deployed our Aurors but so far, all we've caught are the strays."
"Fun." Sirius deadpanned. "I can't wait to be busy in some ICW work tomorrow."
James glared at him. "No you're not."
Harry shared an amused look with Bella and Rose. Lily was too busy with her thoughts to notice the bickering.
Sirius looked at him horror. "Prongs you can't be serious! I can't sit with those-those nincompoops! I'll kill myself!"
James interrupted him, "Padfoot you won't abandon me. You're coming."
Lily nodded. "And you're Lord Black too. You have to go."
Sirius face-planted into the table.
-_ - - .
AN: Thank you for reading. If you're up for reading more (next 6 chapters are already out) or joining my discord, head to the link in my profile. See you next time. :)