Eons' Stone

by rakrocks18

Faced with a ruined world, Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, and Neville Longbottom risk everything to rewrite history. Thrust back to their fourth year at Hogwarts, they must subtly alter the past to prevent Voldemort's rise and defeat a shadowy new threat. Can they save the wizarding world without unraveling the very fabric of time itself?

6. Chapter 5: Calm Before The Final Storm-1

Chapter 5: Calm before the Final Storm – Part 1

1:30 AM, 26th December, 1994
Hogwarts, Scotland

The Gryffindor boys' dormitory was quiet save for the faint rustling of bedding and the occasional creak of the ancient castle walls. Ron, Seamus, Dean, and Neville lounged lazily in their respective spaces, the atmosphere tinged with the kind of easy camaraderie that came from years of shared mischief and mayhem. Outside, the muffled howling of the winter wind hinted at the frosty chill blanketing Hogwarts, and the golden glow of the fireplace in the common room below barely reached their secluded corner.

The conversation had meandered to the Yule Ball, a topic that seemed to resurface every other day, much to Ron's irritation.

"I still can't believe Harry asked Fleur! Fleur Delacour of all people!" Ron exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air as if the sheer audacity of it all was too much to bear. "And she actually agreed!" He stressed the last word with a dramatic shake of his head, his freckles glowing faintly under the dim candlelight.

Neville, who had been absentmindedly flipping through a Herbology textbook, shrugged, his expression unreadable. "Harry did mention it was more about convenience than anything else," he said, his voice calm but firm. "He's one of the few who can actually stand her Veela allure, and Fleur—well, she sees Harry as Harry. Not the Boy-Who-Lived."

Ron froze mid-rant, his mouth hanging open as if he were a fish out of water. Dean, sitting cross-legged on his bed, leaned back against the headboard, his brow furrowing thoughtfully.

"Yeah," Dean said slowly, his voice carrying a note of reluctant agreement. "Most of the girls at Hogwarts probably only see him as the Boy-Who-Lived." He frowned, his dark eyes troubled as he stared out the frosted window.

"Well," Ron began, his tone taking on an edge of curiosity mixed with frustration. "You know how Harry's always going on about not wanting attention?"

Neville glanced up from his book, raising an eyebrow. Dean and Seamus both nodded, their faces reflecting the same unspoken question.

Ron hesitated, his lips quirking in a way that suggested he was teetering on the edge of something bold. "Do you think he and—"

Whatever Ron was about to say was cut off abruptly when a misty, ethereal creature bounded into the dormitory. The silvery Thestral appeared as if from nowhere, its skeletal wings beating soundlessly as it hovered in the center of the room.

The air grew colder, and an eerie stillness settled over the four boys. Dean sucked in a sharp breath, while Seamus scrambled to the edge of his bed, his wide eyes fixed on the apparition. Ron's freckles seemed to vanish under his pale complexion, and he gaped openly at the translucent creature.

Only Neville seemed unfazed. His sharp intake of breath wasn't one of fear, but of recognition. He narrowed his eyes at the shimmering form, his jaw tightening as realization dawned.

"Neville, come to the infirmary! Please!" Harry's voice rang out, clear and desperate, echoing through the dormitory before the Thestral dissolved into nothingness.

Ron's eyebrows shot so high they nearly disappeared into his hairline. "That—that wasn't his Patronus! Harry's Patronus is a stag, isn't it?" he blurted out, his voice tinged with panic and confusion.

Neville, who had already moved to the door in two swift strides, paused, his hand gripping the cold brass knob. He didn't turn around immediately, but Ron's voice pulled him back.

"What's going on, Neville?" Ron demanded, his tone lower now, almost accusing. "You've been acting strange since November. You and Harry—" He trailed off, his gaze sharpening. "You've been... chummy. What's this all about? You never even used to talk to Harry much, not like me and Hermione."

For a moment, Neville was silent, his back still turned to them. Then he sighed, a deep, weary sound that seemed to carry the weight of something far bigger than the room they were in.

"This was always going to happen," Neville muttered, his voice low and bitter, almost as if he were speaking to himself. "But isn't it too soon?"

Seamus and Dean exchanged wide-eyed glances, clearly unsettled by Neville's cryptic words.

And then, without warning, Neville turned on his heel, flicking his right wrist in a motion so swift and practiced it left the others frozen in place. His wand, smooth and worn from use, was suddenly in his hand, pointing directly at the center of the room.

Ron let out a startled yelp, scrambling backward until he hit the wall with a thud. Seamus and Dean instinctively leapt onto their beds, pressing themselves into the furthest corners as though the wooden bedposts might shield them.

"Neville!" Ron squeaked, his voice breaking. "What the bloody hell are you—"

"Forgive me," Neville interrupted, his tone quiet but resolute, his eyes glinting with an edge of something cold and determined. His knuckles whitened as he gripped the wand tightly, a flicker of anguish crossing his face before he steeled himself.

"It's necessary," he murmured, almost as if trying to convince himself as much as them.

Before anyone could react, Neville whispered, "Obliviate!"

The soft golden light of the memory charm shot from his wand, striking Ron squarely in the chest. His eyes glazed over immediately, his expression slackening into one of dreamy bewilderment.

Neville didn't pause. With precise movements and a grimace that spoke of reluctance, he repeated the spell twice more, the incantation cutting through the charged air. Seamus and Dean, caught off guard and paralyzed by shock, succumbed just as quickly, their gazes going unfocused as they slumped back into their respective corners.

The dormitory, once filled with lively conversation, was now eerily quiet save for the faint crackling of the common room fire below. Neville stood in the center of the room, his wand still raised, his breathing heavy.

"I'm sorry," he whispered to the empty air, his voice barely audible. Then, with a flick of his wand, he extinguished the remaining candles and slipped out into the corridor, leaving the dormitory in darkness and the memories of his friends forever altered.

---

The corridor leading to the infirmary was dimly lit, the sconces along the stone walls casting and flickering alongside the moon silver light. Neville's hurried footsteps echoed softly as he darted down the hallway, his breath forming small puffs in the chilly air. He could see the flowing beard of Dumbledore and the sweeping black robes of Snape just ahead. Both men were walking briskly, their postures tense, exuding an air of purpose.

Neville instinctively slowed his pace, staying a few steps behind. Dumbledore didn't need to know why he was here, why it was him and not Ron or Hermione. It would only complicate things further. His heart pounded in his chest, not from the running but from the ominous feeling that something terrible had happened. Harry's voice, cracking with desperation in the Patronus message, replayed in his mind like a broken record.

As they neared the infirmary, the muted sounds of the castle faded, replaced by the soft hum of muffled voices. The door stood slightly ajar, and Neville caught sight of Madam Pomfrey bustling about inside, her wand glowing faintly as she worked over a stretcher. His stomach twisted when he glimpsed a bloodied figure lying motionless on one of the beds.

Neville clenched his fists. He could piece together some of what might have happened. Harry must have lost control. But why? What could have driven his friend to such an extreme? He pushed the thought aside. First, he needed to assess the situation; then, he'd figure out how to confront Harry.

"What the hell happened, Potter?" Snape barked, his voice sharp and accusatory.

Snape's voice lashed through the infirmary like a whip, sharp and cutting, snapping Neville's attention forward. He slipped into the room as quietly as possible, staying near the shadows while the scene unfolded.

Harry stood by one of the beds, his back straight despite the weariness in his frame. His messy black hair was even more unkempt than usual, and there was a slight tremor in his hands as they hung at his sides. His jaw was tight, but he met Snape's glare head-on, his emerald eyes alight with both defiance and exhaustion.

"The girl was being attacked," he said, his voice firm but tired. "I did what I had to do to protect her. The boy..." His gaze flickered to the bloodied figure on the bed. "He tried to kill her. He used the Cruciatus Curse on her and tried to cast it again. I stopped him."

Snape's lips curled into a sneer, but Dumbledore raised a hand to silence him.

"Details can come later," the headmaster said, his voice calm but laced with authority. His gaze softened as he looked at Harry. "Thank you for protecting her, Harry."

Harry nodded. "We'll discuss this further, but for now, rest."

Neville, still standing at the edge of the infirmary, let his gaze sweep the room. On one bed lay the girl Harry had saved, pale but alive, her breathing even as Madam Pomfrey hovered over her. On another, the boy who had attacked her was barely clinging to life, his face ghastly white, his body riddled with evidence of violent magic which had been directed at him moments ago.

The scene was almost surreal, but Neville's sharp eyes caught the way Flitwick and Sprout—both of whom had just entered the room—stared at Harry. Their faces shifted from confusion to shock as their gazes moved between the injured boy and the raven-haired teen who had caused the damage.

Neville's heart sank. He knew exactly which spell Harry had used. The telltale signs were there: the hollowed-out expression of the victim, numerous gashes on the body, the lingering static in the air. His breath hitched, and a pit formed in his stomach.

Neville strode forward with purpose, yet his eyes got misty. He understood why Harry had lost control. He grabbed the raven-haired teen in a bone crushing hug, which served as the final break which the failing dam needed. Neville felt Harry's body wrack with silent sobs.

"It's not Lily, Harry," Neville whispered, his voice gentle but firm, his lips near Harry's ear. "It's not Lily."

He knew why Harry had lost control—why he had unleashed magic so devastating that it left the boy near death.

For a moment, Harry didn't respond, but then he gave the smallest of nods, his face buried in Neville's shoulder. The words struck something in him, cracking open the pain he had been desperately trying to suppress.

Neville tightened his hold, his mind racing. Anger and sorrow twisted inside him, and though he kept his face calm, his thoughts were anything but. 'Fuck you Dumbledore, you rat eating, lemon sherbet shitting pile of mouldy manipulative shit!', he thought as he struggled to comprehend what Harry could be feeling right then. He didn't know about Ginny, but no matter what had happened he knew that Harry would love James, Albus and Lily to the ends of the universe. No matter what part Dumbledore manipulated, they were always going to be his children. But, if they weren't going to follow the old goat, there was going to be a huge chance that the trio of Potters would never be born.

Neville realized with a gut wrench, Harry was being haunted by his dead daughter and sons who he would never see again, never hold again, never spoil again.

Harry would never get the chance to look at and hold his loved ones, like Draco and him had a chance too.

The weight of that loss hit Neville like a blow to the chest. His mind reeled as he pieced together the implications. Harry was adrift, untethered. No family. No anchor. No home to return to when the fight was over.

His mind flashed to the times Harry had spoken of traveling the world after the war, always in vague, distant terms since they had returned. Neville had laughed then, joking about joining him occasionally with Hannah and their "chipmunks" if they ever had kids. But now, that laughter seemed hollow. Harry hadn't been dreaming of adventures—he'd been planning his escape. 'I've been an idiot! He would avoid staying in Britain because we had people to return to, and he wouldn't want to impose on us! Sure, he would stay with Sirius, if they managed to keep him alive, but even Sirius was a bachelor and there wasn't any indication that the man had been interested in a relationship the last time around. Alright, personal plan with priority, find Sirius a girl and give Harry a place to return to!'

Neville eased Harry onto one of the infirmary beds, his movements deliberate and gentle. Though he loosened his hold, he didn't entirely let go until he was certain Harry was steady. The younger boy had fallen silent, his breathing calm but uneven, as if the weight of his emotions had taken everything out of him.

Neville pulled back, his gaze lingering on Harry's tear-streaked face. He managed a small, pained smile, one that held more understanding than he could put into words, before turning away. His back was straight, his demeanor collected, but inside, the fire of frustration and anger simmered. He knew there would be questions, and he couldn't care less.

Let them ask, he thought bitterly. I'll give them answers they won't forget.

The room was alive with tension. The professors stood huddled near the far corner, their murmured voices low but urgent. The flickering candlelight danced across their faces, illuminating the furrowed brows of concern etched into McGonagall's face, the tight-lipped disapproval on Snape's, and the somber sadness in Dumbledore's twinkling blue eyes. Even Sprout and Flitwick seemed unusually subdued, their attention torn between the unconscious students and the pale figure of Harry.

Neville squared his shoulders, his posture radiating a confidence that would have seemed alien to anyone who remembered him as the shy, bumbling boy he once was. As he turned to the professors, his sharp gaze swept over them, silently assessing.

Professor McGonagall, who had been carefully watching Neville since November, stiffened as his piercing eyes locked onto hers, boring into her very soul, an effect which only Albus had on her till date. This isn't the boy I have known for the past three years, she thought, her chest tightening with worry. This is a man—calm, deliberate, and far older than his years.

Neville's voice broke the heavy silence. "How is she, Professor McGonagall?" he asked softly, gesturing toward the girl who lay unconscious on one of the infirmary beds.

McGonagall blinked, startled by his composed tone. "She's stable," she said, her voice tinged with sorrow. "Physically, at least. But…" She hesitated, glancing at the girl's pale face. "She'll need to see a Mind Healer. Likely more than once."

Neville nodded solemnly, his jaw tightening. "And her parents?"

"They've been informed," Dumbledore interjected, his voice carrying both authority and weariness. "Professor McGonagall contacted them the moment she arrived. They'll be here shortly."

Before Neville could respond, Snape's sneering voice cut through the conversation like a blade. "I wasn't aware you'd been appointed Headmaster, Longbottom," he said with a sharp glare, his words dripping with sarcasm.

Neville turned to him, his expression unflinching. He met Snape's sneer with a cool detachment that only seemed to heighten the tension in the room.

Dumbledore cleared his throat, interrupting before Neville could retort. "We should focus on the matter at hand," he said evenly, though his eyes lingered on Neville with quiet curiosity. "Though I must admit, Mr. Longbottom, I'm surprised you are here in Mr. Weasley or Miss Granger's stead."

Neville's lips curled into a sardonic smile. "Ron doesn't know when to keep quiet, and Hermione's too busy following rules to question them. I understand Harry better than they do," he said, his voice steady but laced with an edge that made McGonagall flinch.

Before anyone could respond, the fireplace roared to life, green flames licking at the air as two figures stepped out. The Greengrasses had arrived.

Lady Isabella Greengrass, her snow-blonde hair tousled and her face pale with worry, rushed toward the bed where her daughter lay. She knelt by the bedside, her hands trembling as she reached out to gently cradle her daughter's hand. Silent tears streaked her face, her lips trembling as she whispered something unintelligible.

Lord Cyrus Greengrass, dressed in hastily donned robes, stood frozen for a moment. His sapphire eyes, sharp and filled with anguish, swept over his daughter before narrowing in fury. He turned toward the cluster of professors, his expression thunderous.

"Would someone like to explain," he began, his voice low and dangerous, "how in Merlin's name this was allowed to happen, Chief Warlock?" His tone twisted with venom as he addressed Dumbledore.

The headmaster's usual twinkle was absent, replaced by a steady gaze that met Lord Greengrass's wrath head-on. Before he could respond, Neville stepped forward.

"Lord Greengrass," Neville said firmly, his tone commanding enough to draw the man's sharp eyes to him. "We're in an infirmary. Your daughter has been traumatized, another boy is in critical condition, and one more narrowly avoided…" He paused, his voice turning cold. "Obliteration. This is not the time to shout and snarl. Save it for tomorrow."

Cyrus's eyes flashed with anger, and his wife let out a quiet gasp, but both paused, stunned by the audacity of the young Gryffindor.

McGonagall's horrified voice broke through the silence. "Mr. Longbottom! You cannot say such heartless things!"

Neville didn't flinch. His gaze didn't waver as he addressed her. "Heartless? No. Honest. If that boy had cast the Cruciatus correctly, Harry would have obliterated him. There wouldn't be a body to heal."

The professors collectively recoiled. Flitwick's face twitched with disbelief, and Sprout's hand flew to her chest. Even Snape, who had been scowling moments ago, now looked at Neville with something resembling unease.

McGonagall was the first to recover. "And how," she said, her voice trembling with controlled fury, "do you know this, Mr. Longbottom?"

Neville's expression softened, but his words remained firm. "Because I created the spell," 'Harry and Draco too, in the future', he said simply.

The air in the room seemed to freeze. Flitwick's sharp intake of breath was audible, and McGonagall looked as if she'd been struck.

"You created it?" she whispered, her voice filled with a mixture of disbelief and horror.

"Yes," Neville replied, his voice unwavering. "Harry and I created it to counter the Cruciatus Curse. It was… my revenge against Bellatrix Lestrange." 'Harry and Draco's revenge against the Second Leader of Obscura, Perinkas, for killing their children'

The room fell into stunned silence, the weight of his words settling heavily on everyone present.

Finally, Dumbledore spoke, his voice grave. "There will be time to discuss this further. For now…" He turned to the Greengrasses. "I apologize for what happened tonight. An investigation will begin immediately, and I assure you, we will uncover the truth."

Cyrus's gaze flickered between Dumbledore and Neville, his anger undiminished. "You have two weeks, Dumbledore," he said coldly. "If I don't see justice by then, there won't be anyone left for Azkaban to take."

Isabella gasped in horror, clutching her daughter's hand tighter, but Cyrus's steely expression didn't waver.

Neville's jaw tightened as he stepped forward again. "Justice will come, Lord Greengrass. But understand this: if you cross the line, you'll only make things worse. For your daughter. For yourself."

For a long moment, no one spoke. Then Cyrus nodded stiffly, his expression unreadable. "I'm assuming Heir Potter will be with you, Heir Longbottom," Cyrus said, his tone formal but edged with lingering disdain. His piercing gaze swept over Neville, assessing.

Neville inclined his head in a small, measured nod. "He will," he said simply. His words, though brief, carried the weight of certainty.

Cyrus's lips pressed into a thin line. "House Greengrass is in his debt," he said, though the words seemed to leave a bitter taste in his mouth. "Even though you and he are from families of blood traitors, your spell and Scion Potter's actions saved my daughter's life and…" His voice tightened with emotion he barely contained. "...many other things."

For a fleeting moment, amusement flickered in Neville's eyes, though his expression remained unreadable. I had forgotten that Cyrus Greengrass was a Death Eater.

"He will know of it, Lord Greengrass," Neville replied, his voice steady and polite, though there was a subtle undertone of steel that didn't go unnoticed.

Cyrus gave him a curt nod before turning to Dumbledore and Snape, his composure cracking ever so slightly as anger bubbled beneath the surface. "Professor Snape. Headmaster Dumbledore," he ground out, his voice low but firm, "I will be taking Daphne and Astoria back with me right now."

Madam Pomfrey, who had been quietly tending to another bed, straightened with a concerned frown. "Lord Greengrass, it wouldn't be wise to take Daphne right now," she said gently, though there was no mistaking the firmness in her tone. "She needs rest and time to recover—"

Her words were cut off by Cyrus's sudden, feral snarl. "I don't think I can stand my daughter being in their company any longer without killing those little immoral gits," he spat, his gaze snapping toward the prone, unconscious forms of Daphne's attackers.

Madam Pomfrey and Professor Sprout recoiled slightly at the venom in his voice. Pomfrey's hand hovered briefly over Daphne as though uncertain, but she finally relented, nodding solemnly. She waved her wand with a graceful flick, summoning two small vials that hovered in the air before settling neatly into her outstretched hand.

"This is a Calming Draught," she said softly, handing one vial to Cyrus. "It won't put her to sleep, but it will help her remain calm if she becomes… distressed."

Cyrus took the potion with a terse nod, his gaze momentarily softening in gratitude. "Thank you, Madam Pomfrey."

A few minutes later, the tension in the room lingered as Cyrus turned to his younger daughter, Astoria, who had just entered the infirmary, her confusion evident in her bleary sleepy eyes. She had been hurriedly woken and brought to the infirmary by her Head of House, but until now, no one had dared explain the situation to her.

As the story was quietly recounted to her, Astoria's expression shifted rapidly—from confusion to horror, and finally to blazing fury. Her wand was in her hand before anyone could react, her knuckles white as she raised it toward one of the attackers.

"You filthy bastard!" she screamed, her voice trembling with rage. "I'll make you pay for what you did to my sister! Av-!"

The green light of her spell had barely begun to form when Neville reacted. His wand was out in an instant, and with a precise flick, he cast Expelliarmus. The spell shot across the room like a bolt of red lightning, knocking Astoria's wand cleanly from her grasp. It clattered noisily to the stone floor, spinning to a stop several feet away.

"Enough!" Neville barked, his voice sharp and commanding. His gaze fixed on Astoria, who was breathing heavily, her hands shaking as she glared at him with tearful indignation.

"He doesn't deserve to breathe!" she shouted, her voice breaking as tears streamed down her face. "You should've let me—"

"Hurting him won't undo what's happened to Daphne," Neville interrupted, his tone softening but still firm. He stepped closer, lowering his wand but keeping his posture steady. "Focus on her, Astoria. She needs you right now. Don't let them win by losing yourself to anger."

Astoria's shoulders slumped, her anger giving way to quiet sobs. Isabella rushed forward, pulling her youngest daughter into a tight embrace. Cyrus, who had watched the exchange in silence, placed a steadying hand on Astoria's shoulder, his expression unreadable.

Minutes later, with Daphne carefully levitated by her father and Astoria clinging tightly to her mother, the Greengrass family departed through the infirmary Floo, their emotions raw.

As the echo of the flare faded, the infirmary seemed to grow eerily quiet. Neville exhaled slowly, the weight of the night's events pressing heavily on his shoulders. He turned toward Harry's bed, where his friend lay unmoving but breathing steadily.

The professors began to file out one by one, their expressions a mix of exhaustion and unease. Dumbledore paused briefly at the door, his eyes flickering with something unreadable as he looked back at Neville. "We'll speak in the morning, Mr. Longbottom," he said softly, his tone making it clear that the conversation would not be a pleasant one.

McGonagall lingered for a moment longer, her gaze filled with equal parts worry and something akin to pride. "Rest, Neville," she said, her voice gentler than before. "You've done more than enough tonight."

As the last of the professors left, Neville sank into the chair beside Harry's bed. The flickering lanternlight bathed the room in a dim, golden glow, casting long shadows across his weary face. He reached out, his hand hovering briefly over Harry's, before he pulled back with a sigh.

"You're safe now, Harry," he murmured quietly. His voice was steady, but his eyes betrayed the storm of emotions swirling within. "We'll face the rest of it together."

And with that, the infirmary fell into silence, broken only by the faint rustle of the wind outside and the soft, even breathing of the boy who had always carried too much.

---

7:00AM, 26th December, 1994
Hogwarts, Scotland

The headmaster's office was as intimidating as ever, filled with the gentle whir of silver instruments on spindly tables and the faintly judgmental gaze of former headmasters and headmistresses in their frames. The golden morning light streamed through the high windows, but the warm glow did little to offset the tension crackling in the air. Harry and Neville sat side by side in the chairs opposite Dumbledore's vast, claw-footed desk, their postures a study in contrast. Harry was fidgeting, his fingers twitching against his robes, while Neville sat ramrod straight, his arms crossed and his expression unreadable.

When Harry had woken up in the wee hours of the morning, Neville had duly filled him in with everything that had happened. Harry was remorseful over the student's condition, but Neville had asserted that the git had got what he had coming to him, and Harry had used the spell in self-defence, the very thing it was made for. When he had told Harry about Cyrus' message, he had laughed the entire time he relayed that part.

'Hahaha! Only you can put a Death Eater in your Life Debt! You even have the ability to ask Daphne's hand in marriage! Just imagine, Draco and you as brothers-in-law', Neville guffawed and wheezed between laughs and deep breaths. Harry looked scandalized at the words.

'It can't be like that, Nev! Its would be so… so unfair to her if I do that!'

'So, you're no opposed to Draco as your brother-in-law?', Neville asked with a smirk

'Neville!'

Dumbledore regarded them over the rims of his half-moon glasses, his long fingers steepled in front of him. To his left, Professor McGonagall sat stiffly, her lips pursed so tightly they had nearly disappeared. To his right, Snape leaned back in his chair, his black eyes gleaming with barely concealed disdain.

"Let us begin," Dumbledore said, his voice calm but with an edge that hinted at the gravity of the discussion. "Harry, could you recount for us the events of last night? In your own words, please."

Harry shifted in his chair, exhaling sharply. "It started with me walking back from the outside. I was taking a late-night walk to relax," he began, his voice tinged with nervousness. "I heard voices and Daphne screaming. When I got there, two boys were—" He stopped, swallowing hard, his hands clenching into fists. "They were trying to—hurt her. She was fighting them off, but they had her cornered."

McGonagall's nostrils flared, and her knuckles whitened as she gripped the arms of her chair. Even Snape's lips tightened, though he said nothing. Dumbledore's expression didn't waver, but the faint flicker of sorrow in his blue eyes spoke volumes.

Harry continued, his voice firmer now. "I used a Stunning Spell first, and got one of them but the other used the downed one as a human shield and threw it off and came at me with the Reductos, Bombardas, Bombarda Maximas and Cruciatus Curse. That's when I used the spell Neville and I developed."

"And this spell, Rubrum Principis," Dumbledore interrupted, his tone heavy with measured curiosity. "You must understand, Harry, that the nature of this magic is… concerning."

"Concerning?" Neville interjected, his voice sharp. "What's concerning is that Daphne could've been tortured—or worse—if Harry hadn't used it. The only thing that spell did was save her life. You're really going to sit here and criticize him for that?"

Dumbledore's gaze shifted to Neville, his expression calm but his eyes sharp as steel. "Mr. Longbottom, I understand your perspective, but you must also understand that the use of magic, particularly spells of an untested or… darker nature—"

"Darker nature?" Neville snapped, his tone biting. "Are we seriously doing this, Headmaster? This isn't some Ministry cocktail party where we can debate ethics over firewhisky. Harry was in a life-or-death situation. What should he have done? Asked them to politely stop?"

"Enough, Mr. Longbottom!" McGonagall's voice was a whip-crack, but there was a tremor beneath the sternness, as if even she was struggling to keep her composure. "This is not the time for sarcasm."

"Oh, I think it's exactly the time for sarcasm, Professor," Neville shot back, his eyes blazing. "Harry did what needed to be done because your rules, your protections, weren't enough."

"That is enough!" Dumbledore's voice rang out, silencing the room. The twinkle in his eyes had vanished, replaced by a cold, unwavering intensity. "This is not about blame, nor is it about questioning the need to protect a fellow student. It is about ensuring that the methods we employ do not lead us down paths we cannot return from."

Neville's jaw tightened, but he said nothing. Harry, however, spoke up, his voice low but steady. "With all due respect, Professor, if you think I'll apologize for saving Daphne's life, you're wasting your breath. I'd do it again in a heartbeat."

The silence that followed was thick, broken only by the faint creak of Snape's chair as he leaned forward. "And what, Potter, should we expect next? More self-made spells? Perhaps a touch of necromancy while you're at it?"

"Harry wouldn't need necromancy," Neville said coolly. "You'd probably die of boredom if he started explaining his plans." 'Don't worry, Draco's going to drill it heavily into your thick skull'

Snape's expression darkened, and he opened his mouth to retort, but Dumbledore raised a hand, silencing him.

"I believe we are straying from the matter at hand," Dumbledore said, his tone measured. He turned back to Harry, his gaze softening slightly. "Harry, your intentions were noble, and your actions were brave. But I must ask—why create such a spell in the first place?"

Harry hesitated, his eyes flicking to Neville, who gave a small nod of encouragement. "Because we needed it," Harry said finally, his voice quiet but firm. "There's nothing in standard magic that can block something like the Cruciatus. We made Rubrum Principis because we knew there'd come a time when no one else could save us."

McGonagall's expression softened, a glimmer of something like guilt crossing her features. Even Dumbledore seemed to falter, his fingers un-steepling as he leaned back in his chair.

"The Cruciatus Curse," McGonagall murmured, her voice thick with emotion. "It's an Unforgivable for a reason. To withstand it... It's a testament to your wits and strength, Harry."

Neville leaned forward, his voice quieter now but no less firm. "Strength only goes so far, Professor. Preparation does the rest. You taught us to be aware and ready for anything. Well, we were."

Dumbledore regarded them both for a long moment before nodding slowly. "Very well. There will be no further questioning on the spell, but I must insist that it be documented and stored securely. Its use is not to be taken lightly."

Harry and Neville exchanged a glance, silently agreeing to the terms. "We can't write much as it is a still an experimental spell", Harry provided with a sheepish smile causing Severus and Minerva to gape at him. 'And we wouldn't make it public, you hair-brained old coot. Its going into the Longbottom and Potter Grimoires'

"Are you intellectually demented, Potter?", Snape snarled as he tried to stand with an accusing finger.

"Calm down Severus. Even if it was experimental, it saved Miss Greengrass's life", Dumbledore interceded with a firm tone. 'I'm not sure what's more concerning. Harry and Neville growing independent or the kind of spells they are dabbling into. I hadn't expected this anytime soon. Harry needs to be shown light again, for the Greater Good'. McGonagall exhaled softly, as though releasing a weight she hadn't realized she was carrying.

"In light of last night's events," Dumbledore continued, "points will be awarded to Gryffindor for your bravery, Harry. However…" His gaze sharpened. "There will also be consequences for the harm inflicted, however justified."

Before he could elaborate, McGonagall interjected. "Points will also be given for the quick thinking and initiative both of you showed," she said firmly, casting a sharp glance at Dumbledore. "Fifty each."

Dumbledore hesitated before nodding. "Very well."

As the meeting concluded and the boys stepped out into the corridor, Harry let out a long breath, glancing at Neville. "You really told Dumbledore off in there," he said, half in awe and half amused.

Neville smirked, his usual warmth returning to his eyes. "Somebody had to. Besides, he needed to be reminded that sometimes, rules aren't the answer."

Harry laughed softly, shaking his head. "Well, remind me never to get on your bad side."

Neville clapped him on the shoulder. "You've got nothing to worry about. Just keep being you."

---

4:00 PM, 26th December, 1994
King's Cross Station, London

In the train ride back to London, Harry and Neville had been hounded by questions from Ron and Hermione over their morning visit to Dumbledore's office. The pair had explained vaguely about what had happened without disclosing the names of the involved students, to protect their privacy. At least Daphne's, Neville thought privately. He took a glancing look at Harry's trunk in which the cursed Diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw lay. They had gotten that just before departing.

The usual chaos of Platform nine-and-three-quarters was in full swing, with parents shouting instructions, owls hooting indignantly in their cages, and the occasional burst of accidental magic from an overeager young witch or wizard meeting their loved ones again. The Hogwarts Express hissed and steamed, its massive engine casting a warm glow over the bustling crowd.

Harry, Neville, Ron, and Hermione stood together, their trunks piled on a trolley. Neville looked unusually calm, his posture straighter than usual, while Harry glanced around with an air of practiced nonchalance. Ron, however, fidgeted, his ears slightly red—a telltale sign of some internal debate.

It was Molly Weasley who spotted them first, her voice cutting through the noise. "Harry!" she called, her face lighting up. Arthur trailed behind her, his face breaking into a surprised but warm smile.

Molly enveloped Harry in a tight hug before holding him at arm's length, her eyes scanning him with motherly concern. "Oh, Harry, dear, what happened? You look like you've been dragged through a hedge backward!"

Arthur chimed in, his tone gentle but curious. "We didn't expect to see you today. Is everything alright?"

Harry gave them a small, reassuring smile. "I'm fine, Mrs. Weasley, Mr. Weasley. Just... a lot happened after the ball."

Molly raised an eyebrow, her hands on her hips. "A lot happened? That's not the kind of answer a boy gives to a concerned witch. What exactly have you gotten yourself into, Harry Potter?"

Before Harry could respond, Neville stepped in, his tone light but steady. "He's fine, Mrs. Weasley. We've just been keeping busy. Harry and I have some important work to do and Hermione has made her mind about joining us"

Ron grumbled, "I agreed that you could go off without me, but if you get into anything fun without me, I'm hexing you guys when we're back at school."

Harry chuckled, clapping Ron on the shoulder. "We'll try not to have too much fun, mate."

"Better not," Ron muttered, though his grin betrayed his irritation.

As the Weasleys said their goodbyes after their short interaction and headed off, Hermione's parents appeared at the edge of the platform. Dr. Granger, a tall, serious-looking man with a professional air, and Mrs. Granger, whose warm demeanor contrasted with her husband's formality, approached cautiously. Hermione brightened at the sight of them and quickly led Harry and Neville over.

"Mum, Dad!" she greeted, giving them both a quick hug. "These are my friends—Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom."

Dr. Granger extended a hand, his handshake firm. "Good to meet you both. Hermione's told us quite a bit about you. Especially about you, Harry!"

Mrs. Granger smiled warmly. "It's nice to finally put faces to the names. She talks about you all the time."

Harry smiled politely. "Nice to meet you too, Mr. and Mrs. Granger. I hope she told you only good things"

Neville nodded, his demeanor reserved but polite. "Pleasure to meet you."

The elder Grangers smiled at the politeness in the teens. Hermione wasted no time. "Mum, Dad, I need to go with Harry and Neville for a bit. It's... important."

Mrs. Granger's smile faltered. "Important? Hermione, school just ended. Surely it can wait."

"No, it can't," Hermione said firmly, her tone carrying an edge of finality. "It's personal? …And I'll be back before eight."

Dr. Granger exchanged a skeptical glance with his wife. "You know we trust you, Hermione, but this isn't like you. What's going on?"

"It's nothing dangerous," Hermione assured them quickly. "Just... something I need to do. Please trust me."

Mrs. Granger hesitated, but finally relented with a sigh. "Alright. But you'd better be home on time, young lady."

Hermione gave them a grateful smile. "I will. Thank you."

As her parents walked away, Neville's face tightened, his eyes flicking toward a tall, regal-looking woman striding toward them. Augusta Longbottom, wearing her signature vulture hat and carrying her ever-present air of authority, was unmistakable. Her sharp gaze zeroed in on Neville, her expression already set in disapproval.

"Neville," she began, her voice brisk and cutting. "I assume you're coming straight home. I've tolerated enough of your antics this year."

Neville stiffened but didn't cower. Instead, he met her gaze steadily, his voice calm. "Gran, I'm not coming home yet. I have something important to do."

Augusta's eyes narrowed, her tone turning colder. "And what, pray tell, is more important than your family, Neville? Or has Hogwarts taught you to forget your obligations entirely?"

Harry's jaw clenched, but before he could speak, Neville held up a hand. His voice remained firm but respectful. "Gran, I'm not forgetting anything. But I'm not a child anymore, and I'm done letting you dictate everything I do. You can either trust me or not, but I won't argue about it", and bored his into her grandmother's. The old woman's breath hitched, she felt as if her grandson was staring into her very soul.

The platform seemed to go silent for a moment as Augusta stared at her grandson, her expression unreadable. Internally, she wrestled with conflicting emotions: irritation at his defiance, pride at his newfound confidence, and a pang of realization that her little boy was growing up.

"Very well," she said at last, her voice softer than before. "But don't think this conversation is over."

"It never is," Neville replied with a faint, ironic smile.

As Augusta turned and walked away, Hermione looked at Neville, impressed. "That was... unexpected." She had known a few titbits of Neville's home life, and had conflicting feelings over the woman, and she had seen Neville get confidence this year, but tell her own grandmother to leave him to his own device this soon, was not something she expected.

Neville shrugged, though a hint of satisfaction flickered in his eyes. "It was overdue."

Harry grinned, clapping him on the back. "That was bloody brilliant, mate."

"Yeah, well," Neville muttered, his cheeks tinged pink. "She'll probably have a Howler waiting for me when I get home."

---

4:45 PM, 26th December 1994
Gringotts, Diagon Alley

As the trio stepped into the nearly empty Gringotts lobby, the imposing marble columns cast long shadows under the dim glow of the enchanted chandeliers. Goblins moved efficiently at their desks, their sharp features illuminated by the flickering light of torches. The hall was eerily quiet, with the usual buzz of business dying down as the bank prepared to close for the evening.

Harry strode purposefully toward a waiting goblin at the nearest desk. His green eyes glinted with a determination that was hard to miss. Without hesitation, he snarled in perfect Gobbledegook, "I need to see my account manager immediately."

The goblin behind the desk jerked in surprise, his quill pausing mid-stroke. He eyed Harry warily before replying, his voice sharp but laced with caution. A look at his scar, and the goblin knew who the teen across him was. "We are unarmed, wizard. There is no need for such aggression in this place."

Harry's gaze hardened, and he leaned forward slightly, his voice low but laced with venom. "Did your parents thought you to be so unworthy they wouldn't wrap your baby fingers around your first dagger?"

A heavy silence fell over the hall. Nearby goblins froze, their sharp ears twitching at Harry's words. The goblin before him stared in stunned silence, his eyes narrowing as though reevaluating everything he knew about the young wizard. Goblin traditions about gifting daggers to their young were a deeply kept secret, something only their closest allies might be aware of.

After a tense moment, the goblin inclined his head, his voice more respectful this time. "You will be escorted to your account manager, Ironclaw. Wait here."

A few minutes later, Harry and his companions were led through winding stone corridors, the clicking of their escort's clawed feet echoing in the silence. They arrived at a grand but functional office carved into the rock. Behind a wide, ornately carved desk sat Ironclaw, an older goblin whose sharp gaze seemed to pierce through anyone he looked at.

Ironclaw stood as they entered, bowing slightly. "Mr. Potter. It is an honor to meet you. What brings you to Gringotts at this hour?"

Harry wasted no time. "I need to know if I can take up the Lordship of House Potter. I've had enough of being kept in the dark about my own family."

Ironclaw's eyes flicked to Neville and Hermione, who stood silently behind Harry, before nodding. "A fair request. However, it is not so simple. There are matters tied to your family estate that require... clarification. Specifically, your parents' wills."

Hermione frowned. "Wills? But those should have been read years ago, shouldn't they?"

Ironclaw's lips curled into what might have been a goblin's version of a smirk. "Indeed. The wills of Lord and Lady Potter were sealed illegally by Albus Dumbledore in November of 1981. Gringotts was not consulted, and no legal procedures were followed. This breach has long been noted in our records."

Hermione gasped at the revelation that the headmaster everyone revered so much could do something like this.

Harry's hands clenched into fists, his anger barely contained. "Dumbledore had no right to do that."

Ironclaw nodded. "Correct. And now, as the last Potter, you have the right to unseal them. But first, you must confirm your eligibility. An inheritance test will clarify your status and unlock certain doors for you."

A goblin assistant entered the room with a small, ornate bowl and a ceremonial dagger. Harry didn't flinch as he took the dagger and sliced his palm, letting his blood drip into the bowl. The goblin assistant murmured an incantation, and the blood began to swirl, glowing faintly as runes appeared in the air.

The results formed in shimmering letters

Harry James Potter

Lord of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Potter

Lord of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Peverell

Lord of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Pendragon

Heir to the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black

The third name hung in the air like a thunderclap. Everyone in the room paused and gaped at the words, blinking a few times to make sure they weren't dreaming. Harry was sure that the Pendragon name hadn't been associated with the Potter name. And the last time when he had come here after the war, he had been offered the Lordship but had declined since he was the last living Potter and Peverell, and only Teddy, Andromeda, Draco and him were the last Blacks. It hadn't made sense to take the Lordships of the houses.

Neville blinked. "Pendragon? As in King Arthur Pendragon?". That served as the signal and a goblin scrambled out to call someone in regards to the name popping out.

Ironclaw shut his mouth and nodded solemnly. "This has just went way above my paygrade and for your question Scion Longbottom, the very same. The House of Pendragon has lain dormant for centuries. According to the will of the last Lord Pendragon, the title would only pass to someone who has bonded with a dragon. A feat thought impossible for over 700 years."

Harry, Neville, and Hermione exchanged confused looks before the memory hit them like a lightning bolt.

"The disappearing dragon during the First Task," Hermione whispered.

"But… but? It had disappeared right?! How can I be bonded to it?!"

Ironclaw raised a brow. "You bonded with a dragon during the Triwizard Tournament?"

Harry shrugged, a bit sheepishly. "I didn't really think I bonded with. I just... calmed her down. Then she touched my chest", Harry pointed towards his own chest, "and then disappeared with a large wind blast"

"Dragons bond differently than other animals. Dragons mark their partners, within whom they can assimilate, in both body and magic, and stay outside as well", Ironclaw explained what he knew of dragon bonds. "Though much of it is shrouded in mystery and lost in time as no one managed to bond with a dragon. Until you came along"

Ironclaw's expression turned calculating. "That would suffice. As you were entered into the Tournament, which is a competition for wizards of age, you can bypass your minority and assume these Lordships now. And though I would like it to leave it unsaid, I think you exactly knew that you would get the Lordships", Ironclaw said accusingly. "Not that it matters what you do. Anyway, would you like to proceed?"

Harry has the decency to flinch a bit at the accusation. Harry took a deep breath, then nodded. "Let's do it."

A few minutes later, a goblin came in with four boxes, each carrying a crest of the House which had been aforementioned in the inheritance test. A regal looking goblin came after the assistant, and all the goblins bowed to the newcomer. Harry and Neville followed the suit as they recognized the goblin, and their friend from the future. Hermione unsure of who the goblin was bowed seeing that two of her friends were also bowing.

"May your gold flow, King Ragnok", Harry and Neville greeted with a polite smile. The goblin schooled his surprise and gave a feral grin in return, which sent chills down Hermione's spine. She didn't want to be here. She didn't want to be in a place where she had no idea what was going on. She liked to be in control by knowing things, and all of this was going way beyond what she had signed up for.

"May your fall before you, and the remaining tremble, Lord Pendragon, Scion Longbottom", Ragnok responded and gestured to Ironclaw.

Ironclaw opened them one by one, and Harry inspected the ring insignias closely. The Potter Ring had an insignia of a pair of golden Griffins raring their bodies back as if they were about to attack. There was a ruby kite shield in between the griffins. The Peverell Ring had an opal Thestral preening itself on a gold base. The Black Heir Ring was silver based and had a pair of obsidian crows sitting on a silver skull.

The Pendragon Ring rose brows from the trio. The ring was shaped as a golden Hungarian Horntail coiling around the finger, with the head of the dragon pointing towards the tip of the finger and the tail towards the palm.

"Mr. Potter, you need to make a magical oath for getting all four of the Rings attuned to you. If there are any issues about its size, they will adjust themselves on your finger", Ironclaw provided.

Harry picked up the Potter ring and slid it on his right middle finger. "I, Harry James Potter, do solemnly swear upon my magic and my life to uphold the honor and legacy of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Potter. I will protect its interests, guide its heirs, and act with courage and integrity befitting its name. By the blood of my ancestors, I bind myself to this oath, now and forever. So I say, so I swear, so mote it be."

The Potter Ring shined with a golden glow, before tightening itself snugly around Harry's finger. Harry quickly turned to the Peverell Ring.

"I, Harry James Potter, by right of inheritance and magic, claim my place as the Lord of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Peverell. I vow to preserve the wisdom of this house, safeguard its secrets, and wield its legacy with responsibility and purpose. As the blood of the Peverells flows within me, I accept this sacred duty. So I say, so I swear, so mote it be."

The Thestral glowed briefly, before the ring merged with the Potter Ring. "Is it supposed to do that?", Harry asked unsure and showed the Potter Ring.

Ragnok nodded. "Yes, it will change shape according to the Ring you want to show", the goblin provided with a firm voice. Harry nodded and turned to the Heir Black ring.

"I, Harry James Potter, by the will of Sirius Orion Black and the sacred magic of inheritance, claim my place as Heir to the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black. I vow to honor the legacy of this house, to safeguard its traditions, and to redeem its name from the shadows of the past. I shall act with cunning, pride, and loyalty, ensuring the prosperity of the House of Black for generations to come. By the blood of my godfather and the magic that binds us, I accept this duty. So I say, so I swear, so mote it be."

Harry took the last ring in his hand, and marvelled at beauty the Pendragon Ring possessed. He slipped the ring on his finger, and recited the vow.

"I, Harry James Potter, by bond and by blood, do claim the title of Lord of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Pendragon. I swear to uphold the ideals of honor, valor, and justice that define this house. In the spirit of the great dragons, I will lead with strength and humility, and ensure that the legacy of Pendragon endures. By the magic that binds me, so I say, so I swear, so mote it be."

The dragon trilled softly, before moving and gripping Harry finger in a gentle yet firm grip. The eyes of the dragon snapped open with an orange glow, before it faded away as a mist. Harry would have thought that the oath had failed, but he could feel the subtle magical flow of the ring through his body as the rest of the rings did.

"Did something go wrong?", Hermione asked in worry as the ring faded away unlike the others.

"No", Harry said firmly. "It's there, I can feel it".

Neville, trying to lighten the mood after the bombshells dropped on his friend, nudged Hermione with a grin. "Watch out, Hermione. At this rate, we're going to find out you've got some ancient line in your ancestry, too."

Harry snickered while Hermione rolled her eyes but, on a whim, turned to Ironclaw. "Could I do an inheritance test? Just for curiosity's sake?"

"You being a Muggleborn would make it impossible to take the inheritance test, unless a Lord of an Ancient or a Noble House sponsors you", Ironclaw replied and turned to Harry. The newly sworn in Lord shrugged his shoulders.

"As you wish, 'Mione", Harry said to the girl. "On that note, Ironclaw, Lord Ragnok, can you call the Longbottom account manager too? I would like to sponsor Neville as the Lord of the Ancient and Noble House of Longbottom"

"Are you sure you can do that Harry?", Hermione asked as she walked forward to the table where the inheritance ritual bowl was kept. Under Ironclaw's watchful gaze she pricked her palm, and let some of her blood flow into the bowl.

"That was one of the reasons we are here, 'Mione", Neville answered with a smile. Ragnok and one of the goblin guards gave a nod as the latter went to fetch the Longbottom account manager.

"You are still going to tell me what is going on between the two of you", Hermione stated with narrowed eyes and turned to Ironclaw. The said goblin was rubbing his forehead while staring at the paper in his hand.

"Color me surprised, Lady Dagworth-Granger", Ironclaw remarked with a smirk. It two seconds for Hermione to register the implications.

"WHAT?!"

"Huh? Should have expected it", Harry mumbled to himself, remembering that Slughorn had once asked Hermione if she was related to Dagworth-Grangers.

"Well, that's a pleasant surprise", Neville muttered to nobody, still reeling in shock.

Hermione, still processing, muttered, "Dagworth-Granger... that's the family that founded the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers. They've been thought extinct for 50 years."

"Considering your circumstances, you can take on the Ladyship of the House, but you will need to be sponsored. Though I don't think Lord Potter will have any issues with that", Ironclaw said as he sent another goblin to get the Dagworth-Granger Ring.

"Ron's going to be pissed, isn't he?", Harry muttered with a grimace. Neville laughed while Hermione shook her head fondly.

After a few minutes, four goblins entered the room, bowed to Ragnok and the two guards took their places. One of them gazed at the Neville and gave a stiff nod which he returned, while the other account manager looked at Hermione as if he was assessing her.

"I am Account Manager Bogrod", the Goblin who had nodded to Neville introduced himself to Harry and Hermione as he took his seat beside Ironclaw and Ragnok, the other goblin doing the same. "I work for the Ancient and Noble House of Longbottom. I was informed that Lord Potter wanted to sponsor Heir Longbottom as the Lord of the Ancient and Noble House of Longbottom", Bogrod said in a gruff voice. Harry and Neville nodded. "I'm sorry to inform you, but unless you're of the Sacred Twenty-Eight standing, you cannot sponsor another Sacred Twenty-Eight Heir".

Ragnok glared at the Account Manager, a glare which clearly communicated 'Do you think I don't know that much, you little milk sucking brat? Why would I send for your scraggy ass if that was the case?'. Bogrod thoroughly cowed at the looked and flinched visibly.

"What if I'm the Lord of the Ancient and Noble House of Peverell?", Harry asked with a smirk as his ring flashed to the opal thestral. Bogrod's brows vanished into his hairline, and nodded reluctantly, yet firm.

The goblin produced a box with the Longbottom insignia, and pushed it in Neville's direction. The box opened to reveal a golden hippogriff holding a topaz in his beak. It rested on a black obsidian base which turned into a gold ring.

Neville looked pensive for a moment before he slid the ring on his finger. "I, Neville Francis Longbottom, by blood, magic, and the unbroken line of my ancestors, claim my place as Lord of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Longbottom. I vow to uphold the honor, courage, and resilience that this house has stood for through centuries of trials. I shall protect its legacy, nurture its lands, and guide its future with wisdom and strength. With loyalty to my kin and steadfast dedication to the ideals of this house, I accept this sacred duty. By the roots of our heritage and the magic of my blood, I take my place. So I say, so I swear, so mote it be."

The topaz in the ring flashed once, accepting Neville as the Lord of the House. "Thank you, Account Manager Bogrod", the said goblin gave a stiff nod and a small smile at that.

"I am Account Manager Gornuk, serving the Noble House of Dagworth-Granger", the second goblin introduced himself.

"I am Hermione Granger… Dagworth-Granger I guess?", Hermione asked unsure.

"It is upto you Lady Dagworth-Granger", the goblin replied with a shrug, before turning serious. "Your House, Dagworth-Granger, unlike Lord Peverell-Potter or Lord Longbottom is just a Noble House. You need a history of 300 years without any squibs or line disruptions to be declared an Ancient House. You do have a permanent seat on the Wizengamot, however that can be changed if the Sacred Twenty-Eight with a two-thirds majority decides to remove you. That seat has been empty since the passing of Hector Dagworth-Granger. The Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers still has a sixty percent Dagworth-Granger stake, so if you're worried about your account, you're as rich as the Parkinsons or the Bulstrodes", Hermione's brows shot up at that. "Since the Noble House of Dagworth-Granger is relatively new, and the previous Lord didn't make any provisions such as ring to designate authority, you will need to file the inheritance papers with the proofs in the Ministry. They will go over it during the next session, and decide whether to allow you to take the position or not. You will need to take the oath like Lord Longbottom did. Magic accepting you as the recognized Lady of the Noble House of Dagworth-Granger will surely tip opinions in your favor".

Hermione sat quiet for a moment, before nodding. "Okay. I see", she muttered to herself. "Harry, Neville, I know that you have some reason to take you Lordships like this", she gestured vaguely at the surroundings, "If I take the Ladyship, will it help you guys?"

Neville nodded. "We don't want to pressure you. But yes, the more people on our side the better".

"Alright Account Manager Gornuk. I'm ready to make the vow", Hermione stated and took out her wand.

"I, Hermione Jean Granger, do solemnly accept the title of Lady to the Noble House of Dagworth-Granger. I pledge to honor its contributions to wizarding knowledge and uphold the values of diligence, wisdom, and progress. I will protect its legacy, ensure its prosperity, and restore its name to glory. By the strength of my magic and the purity of my intent, I bind myself to this vow. So I say, so I swear, so mote it be."

Hermione glowed briefly which caused Gornuk to nod. "That's all in order. We'll owl post you your current vault holdings by tomorrow morning. I'll take my leave if that's all Lady Dagworth-Granger", Gornuk gave a nod and Hermione and left, Bogrod following the actions.

"We will mail you your holdings tomorrow morning like Lady Dagworth-Granger, Lord Potter", Ironclaw stated.

"Please call me Harry, Account Manager Ironclaw, Lord Ragnok", Harry stated politely. "I have a final favor to ask of you", Harry started, his eyes getting a serious gleam. "I have three Dark objects, and I want to get rid of the curse on them without destroying the vessel".

Ragnok and Ironclaw narrowed his eyes at the request. "It depends on what you ask, Harry".

As soon as Harry retrieved the diadem and placed it on the counter, the tension in the Director's office was palpable. Goblin guards stood ready, their weapons glinting ominously under the dim magical lighting. Hermione gripped Harry's arm tightly, her nails digging into his skin, but he didn't seem to notice. His focus was locked on Ironclaw, whose glare was sharp enough to cut steel, while the imposing figure of Lord Ragnok, Director of Gringotts, watched silently from his seat.

"Explain yourself, Lord Potter," Ironclaw spat, his tone venomous. "You dare bring accursed objects into Gringotts—into my office—and expect what? A handshake?"

Harry remained unfazed, his voice steady and sharp. "No, I expect you to do your job. This diadem,"—he gestured at the artifact lying on the table—"needs its curse removed without destroying it. Your curse-breakers are the best, or has that changed?"

Ironclaw's eyes narrowed dangerously, but before he could respond, Hermione whispered urgently, "Harry, stop provoking him!"

Neville stepped forward, his voice calm but firm. "Enough posturing. We didn't bring this here lightly, Ironclaw. And yes, it's dangerous. But ignoring it would be far worse. If anyone can handle this, it's your team. Or are you saying goblins aren't up to the task?"

Ironclaw looked like he was about to explode, but Lord Ragnok's sharp voice cut through the room. "Enough, Ironclaw. Let the boy explain himself fully before you accuse him of idiocy or treachery."

The tension in the room shifted, the guards relaxing slightly, though their grips remained firm on their weapons. Ragnok's piercing gaze settled on Harry. "You claim this is no ordinary cursed object. What, exactly, are we dealing with?"

Harry exhaled slowly, his green eyes locking with Ragnok's. "This is Rowena Ravenclaw's diadem," he said, his voice heavy with the weight of his words. "Or what's left of it after Voldemort decided it'd make a good hiding place for a piece of his soul."

The room fell silent, save for the faint, sinister hum of the diadem. Ironclaw recoiled, his expression twisting into one of shock and fury. "A Horcrux?" he hissed. "You brought a Horcrux into Gringotts?"

Neville's voice was steady but sharp. "Yes, because destroying it without destroying the artifact requires skill and precision. Your kind of skill."

"Careful, Longbottom," Ironclaw growled, his claws digging into the desk. "Your insolence is wearing thin."

"Hold it!" Neville barked, his voice cutting through the tension like a whip. His wand was in his hand, pointed at the floor but radiating warning. "Ironclaw, we didn't come here to fight. But if you think you can execute us for trusting your expertise, you're more deluded than I thought."

The goblin guards shifted, glancing at Ironclaw, who raised a clawed hand to silence them. His eyes narrowed. "Explain, now."

Neville didn't miss a beat. "We're here because destroying this without destroying the artifact requires precision and skill—your kind of skill. And before you act high and mighty, check your Lestrange vault. There's a certain Hufflepuff Cup sitting there with a similar curse. Don't tell me you've been unwitting guardians of that thing for years."

Ironclaw's face twisted in rage and indignation. "You dare accuse us of harboring such filth—"

"Go ahead," Neville interrupted coldly, "send someone to check. Or are you scared I might be right?"

The goblin's glare could have melted steel. "If this is some ploy—"

"It's not," Neville snapped. "And if it is? Well, feel free to gut me. But trust me, you won't have to."

Hermione let out a small, distressed sound, and Harry put a steadying hand on her shoulder. "Neville's not wrong," he added, his tone deadly serious. "If you want to yell and scream later, fine. But right now, we've got work to do."

Ragnok held his hand high to quiet the commotion and studied them for a long moment before barking an order to one of the guards. "Go. Now." His claws tapped menacingly on the table as the goblin scurried out.

The minutes dragged on like hours. Hermione buried her face in Harry's shoulder, murmuring, "This was a terrible idea," while Harry absently patted her back. Neville stood with his arms crossed, glaring at Ironclaw as if daring him to speak.

When the guard returned, his face was pale and his voice shaky. "Lord Ragnok, Elder Ironclaw, the claim… is true. The Lestrange Vault holds the cursed artifact. The Hufflepuff Cup."

Ironclaw froze, his eyes narrowing before they flicked back to Neville. "You've made your point. Barely. Guards, stand down."

The goblins lowered their weapons reluctantly, but the air was still thick with hostility. Ragnok turned to Harry, his tone clipped. "You said there's a third?"

Harry tapped his forehead with a grim smile. "Right here."

Hermione gasped audibly, her eyes widening in horror. "Harry, no… you can't mean—"

"Oh, I do," Harry said dryly. "Voldemort's little souvenir is right here in my scar. And while taking another Killing Curse worked great last time, I'd rather not. I mean, I'm game, but I've got a few friends who'd be pissed if I died."

Neville snorted despite himself. "Yeah, understatement of the year."

Ironclaw's claws dug into the wood of the desk. "You're suggesting you're a living… host?"

"That's what I'm saying," Harry replied, his tone flat. "And I'm betting you know exactly how to fix it without turning me into a human firework."

Ragnok growled something in Gobbledegook, gesturing sharply for another goblin. "Fetch Elder Borgkins. Tell him it's a matter of utmost urgency. Drag him here even if he is as naked as the day he was born and halfway towards embracing Death"

Harry sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Well, that went better than expected. No one's dead yet."

Hermione shot him a glare, her voice sharp. "Harry, this isn't a joke. You could die."

"Yeah, well, it's Tuesday," Harry quipped, earning a groan from Hermione and a smirk from Neville.

Ironclaw glared at all of them. "If Borgkins can't fix this," he said darkly, "you'll wish death was the worst of your problems."

Harry just grinned. "Story of my life, mate."

Harry stood his ground, his emerald eyes locked with Ironclaw's furious glare, while Hermione clung to his side, trembling but resolute. Neville and Ragnok stared at each other, before he gave Neville a brief nod and turned to the Harry.

Ironclaw's gaze shifted back to Harry, studying him carefully. "Your claim… about your scar being one of these cursed objects. You're certain?"

"As certain as I am that Snape's a greasy git," Harry said dryly. "It's been sitting here since I was a baby. And considering what's been happening every time Voldemort gets a bit too close, I think it's about time we evicted the bastard."

Hermione let out a strangled noise that was somewhere between a nervous laugh and a sob. "Harry, for Merlin's sake, could you take this seriously? This is your life we're talking about."

Harry turned his head toward her, his smile softening. "I am taking it seriously, Hermione. But if I don't laugh about it, I'll probably lose my mind. And let's be real—one mental breakdown at a time is enough."

The door banged open, cutting through the tension like a blade. Another goblin, clearly older and carrying an air of authority, marched in, his sharp, pointed features set in a scowl. He was dressed in ornate robes adorned with ancient goblin runes, and his presence commanded instant silence.

"Elder Borgkins," Ragnok greeted stiffly, inclining his head. "We have… a situation."

Borgkins' sharp gaze swept across the room, landing first on the diadem, then on Harry and his companions. "What sort of situation involves this level of idiocy?" he asked flatly. His eyes lingered on Harry. "You. Speak."

Harry gave a small bow, not breaking eye contact. "Elder Borgkins, I've brought three cursed objects to Gringotts for curse removal. I believe your curse-breakers are capable of extracting the curses while preserving the vessels."

Borgkins raised a brow. "And why should we help you, Lord Potter?"

"Because these aren't just cursed objects. They're pieces of Voldemort's soul," Harry said bluntly, his voice dropping a notch. "And if we don't deal with them now, someone else might find them later. I'm not risking that."

The elder goblin's eyes flashed dangerously, but he didn't dismiss the claim. Instead, he moved closer to the diadem, his sharp fingers tracing the air around it without touching the surface. A faint, dark pulse emanated from the artifact, and Borgkins hissed, stepping back sharply.

"You weren't exaggerating," he muttered, his tone laced with revulsion. "This is… vile."

Ragnok folded his arms, clearly vindicated. "And there's more. The Hufflepuff Cup, retrieved from the Lestrange Vault, and…" He gestured to Harry's scar with a pointed look. "One still residing inside him."

Borgkins stiffened, his gaze snapping to Harry's forehead. "You're a living Horcrux?"

Harry shrugged with a forced casualness. "Apparently, yeah. Not the best souvenir to pick up as a baby, but here we are."

Borgkins muttered something in Gobbledegook that sounded suspiciously like a curse before turning to Ironclaw. "We'll need our best curse-breakers on this immediately. And for the boy… a ritual. A very delicate one."

"Delicate?" Neville asked with raised eyebrows. "What happens if it goes wrong?"

Borgkins fixed him with a grim look. "If it goes wrong, Lord Longbottom, Lord Potter's body will be destroyed along with the cursed soul fragment. And that's the best-case scenario."

The room fell silent as the weight of his words settled over them. Harry, however, merely sighed, running a hand through his perpetually messy hair. "Well, add it to the list of ways I might die this year. Let's get started."

---

8:00 PM, 26th December 1994
Gringotts Bank, Diagon Alley

A weary Harry slumped into one of the plush chairs in Ragnok's office, his exhaustion palpable. Beside him, Hermione and Neville followed suit, their faces etched with relief and lingering tension. The ritual to remove Harry's scar had taken a brutal toll on all of them. Harry had endured searing agony, flirted with death three times, and spent an alarming amount of his magic fighting off the soul fragment within him. Harry had been giving a Pain-Relieving Draught and Magic Replenishing, and in a surprising show of kindness had given a Calming Draught to a panicking Hermione. Neville had been offered the same, but had declined the offer.

Ragnok, seated across from them in a chair that exuded authority, surveyed the trio with a mix of curiosity and respect. "That was an… eventful day to say the least, Harry, Lord Longbottom, Lady Dagworth-Granger," he said, his voice as smooth as polished steel.

Hermione, too tired to bristle at the formal address, merely groaned and rested her head in her hands. Harry and Neville exchanged quiet chuckles.

"Please, just call me Neville, Lord Ragnok," Neville said politely.

"Then you should simply call me Ragnok," the goblin intoned with a small nod before his piercing gaze locked onto Harry's Avada Kedavra-green eyes. "I'm surprised to know that you knew about the First Strike ritual of the goblins, Harry", he asked. Hermione groaned realizing that she wouldn't know what was going on, again.

She muttered under her breath. "Of course, something else I don't know…"

"I was the godfather of your child", Harry replied with a soft smile. Ragnok held his breath in shock, before realization dawned on him. The soft interaction which the two youngs Lord had shared with him, but were biting at the other goblins. Yes, ferociousness with Goblins often got you what you wanted, after all, the goblins were a warrior race, but if you were a friend, you were always polite and friendly. Something which the two teens across him had been doing since the start. Goblins respected strength, but they revered loyalty and friendship. These two embodied that duality.

"That bad, huh? And I don't mean by my choice to name you as the godfather, but to the fact that someone as strong as you, who just withstood the ritual came back in time. Things were really bad then", Ragnok said sadly. "Was it because of the self-styled Lord Voldemort?"

Neville shook his head. "No, Voldemort had been dead for twenty-five years. Apparently, Grindelwald's ideology lived on. Formed a new group, Obscura Order. Albus Dumbledore had fostered their early years from the 70s till his death in 1997", Ragnok sucked in a horrified breath at that. "When we thought we finally defeated them, they attacked the trial of their members at Oslo. We lost our Minister of Magic and many other European countries did too. Europe fell within a month after that. Statute of Secrecy was a thing of the past at that point. Britain held out for a year under Harry and Draco Malfoy, but that was also lost. By 2028, only a few communities remained across the world which fought against Obscura. Britain had only ten members. We hadn't had contact with other for a greater part of the year, and then we cooked up this idea".

"I still can't fantom how someone like Harry, you or Scion Malfoy lost to them?", Ragnok asked in a grave voice as the situation settled in.

"They had a different way of using magic. They did use wands, but they had brought in something called Circles. You can cast only one spell with a wand, but when you create circles, you can launch numerous spells at the same time. The difference in strength was staggering", Harry replied with a shake of his head.

Ragnok stayed still for a few moments and nodded. "I can imagine how you became my son's godfather. I would have openly revolted against someone who followed Grindelwald's ideologies, especially his killing of Muggles, would have resigned from my post as Director and gone into hiding, where I met you", Ragnok murmured to himself. "Harry, no- Lord Pendragon, Lord Longbottom, you have my word. The goblin nation will stand by your side in this war against Voldemort. Against Obscura", the goblin said with a determined voice. "Should you ever be any need of money, warriors, or anything else, I'll do my utmost to provide it to you".

"We are grateful, Lord Ragnok", Neville said softly, his small smile carrying immense gratitude.

"Will somebody please tell me what's going on?", Hermione snapped, her patience finally fraying.

Harry and Ragnok chuckled at the outburst. "I'm sure Harry and Neville will fill you in, Lady Dagowrth-Granger".

"Please call me Hermione, Lord Ragnok", Hermione pleaded, feeling out of place at being called Lady. She felt like some stuck up pureblood.

A knock sounded on the door and a goblin popped his head in. "Lord Ragnok, Elder Ironclaw has sent the Potter Will", the goblin said as he showed the scroll with the Potter crest. At Ragnok's nod, the goblin walked in and stood beside Ragnok.

"Shall I read it out aloud?", he asked glancing between Ragnok and Harry. At Harry nod, Ragnok gave his own nod. The goblin gently opened the scroll and started reading the contents.

"I, James Charlus Potter, and I, Lily Alexandra Potter, in full possession of my faculties, hereby declare the following:

Sirius Orion Black is to be named guardian to Harry James Potter and regent of the Potter seat until Harry comes of age. He is the only person we trust to care for our son and is under no circumstances guilty of any crimes against us. He was not the Secret Keeper.

Remus John Lupin is to be named the estate manager of the Potter properties. Prejudices against his condition may bar him from employment, but there is no one better suited to this task. He is to have a home of his choosing and full access to funds to secure it.

Should our location be betrayed, it is Peter Pettigrew who is the Secret Keeper—and therefore the traitor.

And finally, we leave everything we own to our son, Harry James Potter. I'm sorry we couldn't see you grow, we couldn't be there for your first day at Hogwarts, we couldn't be there for your graduation, we are so, so sorry. Please take care of yourself, Harry. Your father and I will always love you.

Witness – Albus Dumbledore"

Harry, Neville and Ragnok growled at the final two words. Ragnok gave multiple curses under his breath in Gobbledegook.

"That sugar-coated Grindelwald with better PR! He always knew Sirius was innocent!" Neville thundered, his face flushed with fury. Across from him, Harry trembled in his seat, his hands gripping the armrests so tightly they threatened to snap.

Hermione, unable to contain her emotions, threw her arms around Harry in a protective embrace. The weight of Neville's words bore down on her like a collapsing wall. Her mind raced with memories of the warnings Dumbledore had given them about Sirius—his stern insistence that Sirius was a mass murderer, Voldemort's most trusted ally. Now, those words felt like venomous lies.

"I'm fine, Hermione," Harry murmured, though his voice betrayed the tremor of his tightly coiled rage. Drawing on years of Occlumency training, he slammed his mental defenses into place, clamping down on the volcanic anger bubbling within.

Hermione shook her head, her face buried in the crook of his neck. "No, you're not, Harry. I know you. I know you're not fine," she whispered softly, refusing to let go.

Harry sighed, gently patting her back in an attempt to comfort her, though the gesture felt hollow.

"Lord Pendragon," Ragnok interjected, his tone sharp and authoritative, "effective immediately, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore is declared persona non grata at Gringotts. His accounts will be seized, and no business shall be conducted with him under any circumstances."

He turned to the goblin attendant by his side. "Spread the word to every goblin. If anyone objects, they can take it up directly with me."

Hermione snapped her head up in shock, her eyes wide. Being declared persona non grata at Gringotts wasn't just a slap on the wrist—it was political annihilation. "Did we just… politically murder Dumbledore?" she asked, her voice tinged with disbelief. Deliberately, she avoided referring to him as "Headmaster."

Ragnok's response was a feral grin that revealed sharp teeth. "Call it what you will, Hermione. I call it justice."

The goblin leaned forward, retrieving two aged envelopes from a drawer in his desk. His tone softened slightly as he addressed Harry. "Before your parents passed, they scheduled an appointment with Ironclaw for the 1st of November, 1981. While I do not know the specifics, they intended to amend their will. They also sent Ironclaw two letters, both addressed to Severus Tobias Snape."

Harry, Hermione, and Neville's eyebrows shot up in unison. Snape? The very idea left them momentarily speechless. Snape had been long dead in their original timeline, making it impossible to understand the letters' significance.

Harry accepted the envelopes gingerly, his hands trembling slightly as he stared at the names scrawled in his mother's elegant handwriting. For a moment, he hesitated.

Whatever happened between them was their business. No reason for me to interfere.

Ragnok cleared his throat, breaking the moment. "As much as I enjoy your company, Harry, Neville, Hermione, Gringotts' business hours are long over. It's well past closing, and I trust all matters have been handled for today. Should anything arise, you know where to find me. Simply inform the guards, and they will grant you entry."

Harry stood, slipping the letters into his cloak. "Thank you, Ragnok. For everything."

The trio left the bank in silence, and promised Hermione to explained everything to her tomorrow at Longbottom Manor. At the Leaky Cauldron, they parted ways. Hermione caught the Knight Bus home, her mind still reeling from the day's revelations. Once she was out of sight, Harry and Neville Apparated to Longbottom Manor, neither saying a word as the weariness of the day finally caught up with them.

---

9:30 PM
Longbottom Manor, Birsay
Orkney, Scotland

Neville and Harry appeared in the foyer of the Longbottom Manor with a resounding crack of apparition. Neville sighed as he heard shuffling from upstairs, 'Probably Gran. Fuck, I need to explain to her why I have taken up the Lordship'.

The pair walked into the living room, and collapsed into the soft couch, a tired sigh escaping as the day's excursion caught up to them. As Neville had expected the other living room door opened and Augusta Longbottom walked in, dressed in causal wizarding robes.

"I wasn't aware that we were having a guest over", Augusta remarked in a sharp tone. Neville nodded before gesturing Augusta to take a seat.

"With everything going on it slipped my mind, Gran", the teen said, while the witch narrowed her eyes on the ring which adorned Neville's finger.

"Neville," Augusta began, her tone clipped and sharp. "What is the meaning of this? I hear you've taken up the Lordship without consulting me. Do you have any idea what you've done?"

Neville met her gaze steadily, his voice calm but firm. "Yes, Gran. I've taken up the Lordship because it's my responsibility. It's time I stepped into my role, not as your ward, but as the head of this family."

Augusta's eyes narrowed, her lips pressing into a thin line. "And you believe you're ready for such a responsibility? You, who could barely keep up with your studies at Hogwarts until recently?"

Neville's jaw tightened, but he didn't falter. "I've grown, Gran. I've faced things you can't even imagine. And I've had enough of being underestimated. I am Lord Longbottom now, whether you approve or not."

The room fell silent, the tension between them thick. Finally, Augusta's expression softened just enough for a flicker of pride to shine through. "You've changed, Neville," she said quietly. "You're not the boy I raised."

Neville stood up and stepped closer, his voice steady but carrying an undertone of warmth. "No, Gran. I'm the man you raised. And I'll honor the Longbottom name. But I'll do it my way."

"Dowager Longbottom", Harry spoke as he stood beside Neville. "They are few things that have happened", Neville snorted at that, "But, we promise you to explain everything the first thing tomorrow morning. One of our friends is coming over, and we would rather explain everything at the same time".

The witch looked between the pair of teens before her. "You bloody well have some explaining to do!"

A/N: And that brings the chapter to a close! The longest I've ever written at 13400 words.

Things are finally picking up pace. There's a part two for this, and a twist in tale. Its in regards to a head canon, and I decided to use it and spice things up.

Please review!