A/N: Sorry about the long break. I was trying out a couple of beta readers, but they went raido silent on me as soon. so I'm just going to keep posting and working on this stuff on my own time. I'll keep trying to find a beta to work with, but I'm not going to delay what little of a schedule I have for people who won't respond reliably.
Harry wasn't sure what was going on.
He could barely open his eyes, unable to make out the world around him. His ears were ringing, and he could hear distant shouts and muffled voices. His front was cold and wet, and he was dimly aware that he was getting poked by hundreds of tiny, sharp objects.
Harry groaned and raised himself up on his elbows and knees, coughing up blood. "Please let that be from me biting my tongue."
"Harry!" shouted a distant voice. Except it wasn't distant. He looked up as he saw a pair of shoes standing in front of him. Upon seeing Bill, it all came back to him.
Harry rode in a Thestral-drawn carriage up the front drive of Hogwarts Castle, across the great stone bridge, and to the front doors of the ancient school, where Headmistress McGonagall was waiting for him.
"Greetings, Lord Potter. Professor Snape has told me you are keeping busy at your family manor?"
""Yes, ma'am. I thought I'd experiment with some of my family's potion recipes," said Harry.
"A worthwhile and understandable pastime. As long as the Weasley twins don't get ahold of whatever you are making."
"No, ma'am. I thought I'd use it and carry on my dad's legacy," Harry said with a cheeky smile.
"Well, unfortunately, those Marauders always said they'd haunt me from beyond the grave," the Scottish professor said in an undertone. "Come, we'll meet the team at the chamber's entrance.
And true, they did. There were now three teams of Cursebreakers working: one working on the door, the other two twiddling their wands in the air in the surrounding area.
Three hours later found them still standing in front of the door with Bill kicking it in sheer frustration. Harry had started saying the passcode 50 times now, and each time he was stopped in different areas.
"Damn it! Damn it, dammit!" Bill said with each kick to the massive door. "I thought we had it this time."
"Then it's time we prepare for Plan B, I'm afraid," said the Headmistress.
"What's Plan B, Headmistress?" asked Harry.
"It's something I'm disgusted is even necessary, and no, I can't tell you what it is. Simply put, it's a race against the clock."
"A race? Either you stop whatever the ritual is fueling, or—" surmised Harry.
"Yes, I'm afraid."
"Damn."
"Language, Potter, but yes, 'damn' indeed." The Scottish professor corrected, but with no heat to her voice.
"WAIT!" called a cursebreaker from a team down the passage. "I think we have something. It's ancient, way older than the changed locks. Let's see, Potter, come here and repeat after me."
"Auditis verba mea, serpent's magnus et aperi ianuam magnum tuam."
Everyone gathered around him, ready to barge in as Harry repeated the man's words in Parseltongue. The snakes moved, but not in the way they expected. Instead of slithering into the center of the door, the snakes flared off the door and sent a jet of green magic from their mouths out into the center of the room. When the green fireballs came together, a massive explosion was brought forth, loud noise and hot fire filling the room around them. Harry was flung back and knocked out against a far wall.
Harry wasn't sure what was going on.
He could barely open his eyes, unable to make out the world around him. His ears were ringing, and he could hear distant shouts and muffled voices. His front was cold and wet, and he was dimly aware that he was getting poked by hundreds of tiny, sharp objects.
Harry groaned and raised himself up on his elbows and knees, spitting up blood. "Please let that be from me biting my tongue."
"Harry!" shouted a voice. Except it wasn't distant. He looked up as he saw a pair of shoes standing in front of him. Upon seeing Bill, it all came back to him.
"Harry, mate? You okay?" A worried Bill asked, kneeling on the ground in front of him. "Anything broken? Buttocks still on?"
"Yeah—I think my tongue is bleeding," Harry wheezed out. "Is everyone okay?"
"No," Bill said, looking back, "but don't worry, they'll be fine in a few days. Hazards of curse-breaking, you get blown up from time to time. Come on, let's get you back up to the castle." And he pulled Harry along, limping all the while.
Harry caught a glimpse of the crater that was the stone floor before and various curse-breakers on the ground, and a severed arm, before his view was obstructed by Bill pulling him up the stairs.
As they climbed through the school, Harry was beginning to feel slightly dizzy. When he told Bill this, the young Curse-Breaker hurried them along to the hospital wing. But when he got there, he was surprised to see one more student, a first-year girl judging by her size, with wispy blonde hair. Her body was covered in bloody bandages.
"She was found a few days after the school emptied out in an abandoned classroom. The last victim of whatever had possessed Ginny. She looks a lot better than when we found her. I wasn't sure if she was going to make it or not. Ginny will be devastated when we tell her. Luna is her best friend and lives on the other side of the hills that surround the Burrow."
Harry didn't know how to react or what to say. That feeling of helplessness surrounded him again. Harry was about to speak, but Bill cut him off. "Don't worry, Harry. This isn't your fault or your job. The only reason you're being brought in is because you are the only free Parselmouth." Their conversation was brought to an end when Madam Pomfrey came bustling up to the two new arrivals.
"And just why does it look like you've both been blown up!" asked the matron.
"Because we were!" replied Bill jauntily.
Theatrical replied with a disapproving grunt before starting to scan the two, magically casting diagnostic and minor healing spells.
"Right, you're both alright. Minor inner ear damage, and Mr. Potter had a bruised lung. Both of you, drink these Wiggenweld potions, and you'll be right as rain. Rest here for an hour while the potion works its magic." The healer said before walking off back to her office.
Harry saw this as a good spot to revive their conversation. "There are more?" asked Harry. "Parselmouths, I mean."
"Of course! It is an exceedingly rare gift, but there's about—I don't know, I'd say about 100 Parselmouths in the world. But even Gringotts can only contact a handful of them, and they are all busy with other time-sensitive, unique bits of magic. The one I know personally is in Aruba, working on dismantling a Parsel magic ward scheme that is blocking rescuers from reaching twelve teams of curse-breakers that went into newly discovered ruins underneath a petroglyph."
"A preto-what?" asked Harry, giving up on the new word midway through.
"Petro-glyphs are giant ground markings. Ancient civilizations used them to mark important sites. They were especially used in the Americas: Aruba, Peru, Honduras. Most of them have been found to have several treasure hordes nearby. And many Mesoamerican cultures revered the feathered serpents as gods, so of course their priests were Parselmouths, and thus Parsel magic was used. They're still trying to find a free Parselmouth, but as you're the only one we have now, we have to call you, even though you're much too young to be worrying about this stuff."
"Bill, how many people were hurt down there—"
"Don't. Worry. About. It. HARRY. It was nothing permanent."
"Someone lost an arm!"
"And in three days, they'll have a shiny new one, as if it never happened. I've been a Cursebreaker for a year, and I'm already on hand number three. DO NOT TELL MY MOTHER THAT. Curse-breaking is dangerous; it happens, but thankfully, with magic, it's almost always reversible. Unless dark magic was involved, which there wasn't in that trap or on the door. Everyone is fine. You're fine. They're fine. I'm fine. Quit worrying and go back home to your big manor and enjoy your extended holiday. We will call you again when we need you," said Bill, losing his temper slightly at Harry.
"And when will that be?"
"In a few days, at least. Severus is working on a reversal of the ritual to coincide with the actual ritual. Now, go. I need to stay here, though I think I have a concussion. You can Floo home by yourself, yeah?"
"Yes, I'll be fine, thanks, Bill."
"No problem, Harry. I'll let everyone know you're doing okay. Yeah?"
"Yeah," said Harry, in a very morose voice.
It was several days later that Harry found himself sitting in the library of Blackstone Manor with Hermione and, surprisingly, Professor Snape, who had come back to reference the Potter family dark rune book.
""You know, Harry, I find it rather sad this year, casting aside the horrible events going on. I was rather looking forward to exploring the Chamber of Secrets with you and Smara. It would have been ever so interesting to get there before the Ministry picked it clean," said Hermione.
"Yeah..." replied Harry. "Smara says there's a bunch of really interesting books that Slytherin himself wrote. Maybe I can petition to keep them? As his last known living relative."
"That would be very wise and incredibly foolish of you, Potter," sneered the professor, his nose still in his book.
"Why's that?" Harry said, bemused that this had been the first time that Snape had spoken at all in four hours.
"It would be wise to lay a family claim over any magic or knowledge in that chamber, Potter, because then the Ministry would lose access to all of it under house law. They could examine all things and determine if it was summarily a dark artifact. But as these things are so ancient, they will be 'grandfathered' out of the law that would normally see them confiscated."
It would be foolish for the same reasons, as doing that would make several high-up and important people in the Ministry very angry with you, Potter. But angering your betters has never seemed to perturb you before, so ever onward, I say.
Harry, narrowing his eyes at the man but refusing to let the dour potions master anger him, refused to speak and simply got up and walked away toward the large bay window letting in the dreary mid-day winter light. It had started snowing; it seemed that it was going to be a blizzard. It was quickly agreed upon by the three inhabitants that it would be best to part ways before the weather trapped them. Snape had explained that the Floo Network acted oddly during blizzards, something about the cold affecting the fire's magic. Thus, Harry found himself alone aside from his trusted owl and the four house elves that lived in his manor. So Harry went around the empty rooms filled only with covered antiques. It put him in a rather glum mood, despite the bright decorations that filled the halls and more commonly used rooms. Hermione had implored him to come home with her, that her parents loved him and wouldn't mind him staying. But Harry knew that despite liking the Grangers a lot, he wasn't family. And Christmas was a time for family. And then he had an idea, an idea so obvious he was immediately surprised he hadn't thought of it before.
""Tuppy!"
'CRACK!' "Yes, Master Harry?"
"Do you know where my parents are buried? I've never been allowed to visit their graves."
"Oh, Master," said Tuppy, looking sad and simply holding out his hand. When Harry grabbed the elf's hand, he was immediately whisked away from where he was and popped out in a medium-sized cemetery beside a small church. Tuppy was nowhere to be seen, but with the thick blanket of snow on the ground and the flakes floating in the air, the small creature could have been standing beside Harry and he wouldn't have known. Still, his elf friend's voice carried out of the wind.
"Master James and Mistress Lily are buried here in the cemetery of Godric's Hollow. As are several members of your family. Even many Peverells, an ancestral branch of your blood, reside here."
"Do you know where?" Harry asked, but the elf shook his head and suddenly grabbed Harry's arm and popped him back into the warmth of his family home.
""I apologize, Master, but a group of wizards were approaching, and one of them smelled of Dementors. It's best you not be dealing with them."
"What's a Dementor?" asked Harry.
"Evil, Master Harry, they are evil."
Harry looked out at the setting sun. "Well, that's cheery. I guess we can go back another day?" he asked, but the elf had already gone about his business, and Harry smiled at the thought that the elf was already so comfortable with him that he would disappear before actually being dismissed. Something the elves had not done before then.
Several hours later, Harry found himself writing to Andromeda, his weekly letter, inviting her and the rest of the Tonks family over for the holidays. He'd never had an actual holiday with family before and was excited at the possibility. He was also drafting a short letter to his aunt to wish her a happy holiday, not that he cared for her much, but she had helped him in the end.
Harry sat at a desk in the library, reading late into the night. The blizzard had come into full effect now; the wind howled outside, and the snow fell fast and thick, leaving a blanket of white a foot tall and growing.
"Master?" said the croaky voice of his most ancient elf, a tiny thing called Muad.
"Yes, Muad?" Harry asked the old elf.
"I was wondering if you would like me to continue, Master."
"Continue what?" asked Harry.
"Continue here, Master Harry, if I could speak plainly, Master. I am old, even for an elf. I am nearing my fourth century. My mistresses are all gone, and my bones are tired."
"So, you want to retire?" asked Harry, unsure of what the elf wanted.
"In a sense, Master." At this, the other three elves popped into the room, looking sad.
"Master," said Toppy, "Maude wishes to join her mistress Dorea in the long sleep, as we call it, our final rest."
""You—you need permission to die?"
"No. But it is customary to ask in advance, Master. We elves can sense when our time comes, you see. Asking permission is the only other way a house-elf can break from our duties without getting...penalties."
"What do I need to do?" asked Harry, looking at Muad.
"All you must do, Master, is order me to prepare for my final rest. It will give me access to the family magic to carry out your orders. Once all my tasks are done, I go to my rest."
"Then, Maude, I order you to prepare for your final rest. You need not continue here any longer."
And with a deep bow and a choked "You is a good master" from a voice suddenly light and squeaky like every other house-elf he'd heard speak, Muad disappeared.
"Toppy? I thought you were the oldest elf here?"
"Toppy is the oldest potter elf. Maud is being brought from the house of Black. And she is two centuries my senior."
"What will Maude do to prepare?" asked Harry.
"It is deeply personal for each elf that prepares. But most likely, sir? She will do things she has wanted: eat what she has wanted, see what she has wanted to, and live a life of freedom not known by elves. But—" and at this he lifted an empty bottle of concentrated oleander essence. "She will likely return to the arms of her mistress, Dorea."
"Why now, though? It's almost Christmas. I was looking forward to having everyone together…"
"Do not be sad, Master. She will not sleep for a while yet, and she has waited for this time for close to 400 years. A life so long and well-lived is meant to be celebrated, not mourned.
"From everything I know of her, Maude has been a good house elf," said Harry firmly, bringing strong smiles to the three short beings around him.
"She has been one of the very best, Master Harry," agreed Toppy.
Not long after, Harry found his way to his bed, where he fell into a fitful sleep. For the next four days, while the blizzard raged, he repeated the process: rising in the morning, checking his potion, eating, reading in the library, checking his potion, and exploring the rooms in his big,
empty house. On the third day of the storm, he discovered a large room hidden between two rooms, with a grandfather clock as a doorknob. It was filled with magical and Muggle magazines filled with pictures that made the twelve-year-old blush and leave the forgotten horde alone.
After a four-day blizzard, the entire country seemed to shut down. Harry tried going to the Leaky Cauldron in Diagon Alley, but the Floo system must have still been down because after stepping into the green fire and calling out the name of his home, he didn't go anywhere. This left him with little to do but continue his dull routine, save for his potion, which was now in a state where he would leave it to stew for three whole weeks. If he had done the calculations correctly (and he had Hermione double-check them, so he was sure he had), then the potion would be ready to bottle the morning before he went back to Hogwarts.
So with the country snowed in for the next few days, but the blizzard finally done, Harry let Hedwig out carrying four letters. One for the Tonkses, one for the Weasleys, a fat one for Hermione, and one for Bloodrock, his account manager. This one was very short.
"Account Manager Bloodrock,
I'm not sure what goblins do during this time of year, but I'm sure you know it is nearing our holiday season. And I just wanted to thank you for your service to my family and to wish you happy holidays if you have them.
Lord Potter"
Harry didn't have a lot of people to write to, so he felt obliged to include his account manager as they had been corresponding regularly since Harry's emancipation.
After that, Harry went to the kitchen. He had absolutely nothing to do, so he figured teaching himself to bake bread was a good way to pass the time.
A/N: This will be the first chapter I've typed out on Google Docs. I'm moving formats so I can work with a beta (that as of me typing this, I still haven't found).
Anyway, I've noticed that my writing is far more description than speech. To quote a dwarf from a video game, "that probably says something rather unfortunate about me personally."