Chapter 6: Heir Apparent

The idea had been gnawing at Harry for weeks now, ever since Draco had smugly informed him that the Ministry had seized control of the Potter house in Godric's Hollow after the attack in 1981. The thought of strangers rummaging through his parents' belongings, filing them away in some dusty archive, or worse pocketing them, made his stomach churn with frustration.

"Typical Ministry behavior," Draco had sniffed when he first mentioned it. "They left the ruins standing so they could gawk at it like some kind of museum. It's practically barbaric, people flock to the ruins as a pilgrimage of sorts."

Harry had scowled at the thought, "I don't see why they had any right to take it in the first place. It's my family's home."

Draco, of course, took this as the perfect opportunity to launch into a full-fledged lecture on wizarding heritage, a subject he was disturbingly passionate about.

"That's exactly the problem, Potter," Draco said, stretching lazily across the Slytherin common room sofa, his legs dangling over one armrest. "You don't even know your own family's history, do you?"

Harry, who had been flipping through A Beginner's Guide to Magical Theory in an effort to ignore Draco's post-dinner ramblings, felt his eye twitch, "And I suppose you do?"

Draco scoffed as if the very idea of not knowing one's bloodline was beneath him.

"Obviously. The Malfoys have always made it a point to know which families are worth knowing." He smirked, twirling his wand between his fingers. "And while the Potters aren't as prestigious as the Malfoys, they were still… respectable. Up until your father ran off and married a mudb- muggleborn, of course."

Harry's glare could have set parchment on fire, "Watch it, Malfoy."

Draco raised his hands in mock surrender.

"Relax, I'm just stating facts. The Potters are an old family, dating back centuries. They have a title although no one remembers the last Potter that actually claimed it," he added swiftly, as if the mere idea offended him. "Though they were always a bit too... noble for their own good-proper Gryffindor behavior, if you ask me."

Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes, "I get it. The Potters weren't sneaky enough for your liking."

Draco ignored him.

"The really interesting thing about your family," he leaned forward now, clearly enjoying his role as Harry's reluctant historian, "is that the Potters weren't always so high and mighty."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

Draco grinned, clearly relishing the rare opportunity to tell Harry something he didn't already know.

"Your ancestors weren't just noble warriors defending the weak,. Some of them were quite ruthless in their day. The first recorded Potter was a rather eccentric fellow who brewed potions for Muggles and accidentally invented several key medicinal drafts. But as time went on, the Potters became landowners, involved in politics, and-most importantly-got very, very good at making money."

Harry absorbed the information, intrigued despite himself. "And then what happened?"

Draco smirked. "Then they got soft. Some of your ancestors worked for the Ministry, some helped fund Hogwarts expansions, and others-like that idiot Fleamont Potter-decided to waste their time making hair potions instead of securing more influence." He sighed dramatically. "It's a tragedy, really. If they had kept their heads on straight, they could have been one of the most powerful families in Britain. But instead, they chose honor over ambition."

Harry leaned back, frowning slightly. "Honor isn't a bad thing."

Draco looked at him with something bordering on pity. "No, but it doesn't win wars, Potter. And it certainly doesn't stop the Ministry from walking all over you."

That sentence stuck with Harry long after the conversation had ended. Draco, of course, had gone on to lament how tragic it was that Harry had grown up ignorant of his heritage.

"Honestly, Potter, no wonder you don't know anything-you grew up in a Muggle house! You should have been raised learning the family magic, managing estates, knowing your allies and rivals. You should have been raised properly," he had declared, as if personally offended by the entire ordeal.

Harry, who wasn't about to agree with Draco out loud, had quietly wondered if he was right. His parents' house had been taken. Their belongings were unaccounted for. His entire history had been locked away from him.

He sat at a table in the common room days later unable to get rid of the gnawing feeling, tapping his quill against a fresh piece of parchment. He had already learned that goblins valued efficiency, directness, and above all, proper business conduct. Gemma had warned him that if he wanted Gringotts' help, he had to make it worth their while. Dipping his quill into the inkpot, he carefully began his letter.

To the Account Managers of Gringotts,

I hope this letter finds you well. As the heir to the Potter estate, I wish to formally request Gringotts' assistance in retrieving any remaining personal belongings of my parents, James and Lily Potter, from our family home in Godric's Hollow. To my knowledge, the property was taken over by the Ministry of Magic after their deaths, and it is possible that their belongings remain within the ruins or were confiscated.

I would like to arrange for a goblin retrieval team to evaluate what can be recovered and have those items transferred to the Potter family vaults. Should any possessions have been seized by the Ministry, I request that Gringotts handle the negotiations for their return for an appropriate fee. According to my research such fees typically range from 30-40 galleons, and as such I authorize Gringotts to take a fee of 50 galleons from my personal vault.

Furthermore, I would like to request a change in account management. I have reason to believe that my accounts will require a firm and diligent overseer who prioritizes the best interests of the Potter estate. If possible, I would like Griphook to be placed in charge of all accounts related to the Potter family, including my personal vault, my brother's vault, and the heirloom vault.

Please let me know what will be required to proceed with both requests. I trust in Gringotts' discretion and professionalism in this matter.

Sincerely,
Hardwin Potter

Harry read the letter over once more, ensuring it was direct and professional. Goblins didn't respond well to overly polite pleasantries-they responded to clear business transactions. He folded the parchment and sealed it with the green wax. Harry ran a finger over the parchment one last time, ensuring his words were precise and clear. This was too important to risk miscommunication. Across from him, Gemma leaned against the table, arms crossed as she observed him with mild amusement.

"You look like you're trying to summon a demon, Potter," she teased. "It's just a letter."

Harry snorted.

"Yeah, well, it's not just any letter." He folded it neatly and tucked it into an envelope. "I need this to get to Gringotts without anyone sticking their nose in it."

"That's where I come in." Gemma flicked her wand, murmuring a soft incantation under her breath. A faint shimmer spread across the envelope before vanishing.

"What was that?" Harry asked.

"Standard privacy and tampering wards. If anyone tries to open it before it reaches the goblins, it'll burn to ash." She smirked. "And if they try really hard, it might just hex them."

Harry grinned. "Remind me never to get on your bad side."

Gemma preened, clearly pleased with herself. "Come on, let's get this sent before lunch. I'm not missing my treacle tart for your secret goblin dealings."

The walk to the Owlery was brisk, the cool November air crisp but not biting. The stone steps leading up to the circular tower were slightly worn, the scent of feathers and straw thick in the air as they stepped inside. Owls of all sizes fluttered about, some nestled in perches, others staring curiously at the newcomers. Hedwig, ever perceptive, spotted them immediately. With an elegant swoop, she landed on Harry's shoulder, nipping affectionately at his ear.

"Hey, girl," Harry murmured, stroking her soft feathers. "Got an important job for you."

Hedwig hooted, tilting her head as if considering the assignment.

Gemma, standing a few steps away, watched the exchange with a smirk. "You know, I've never seen an owl so attached to their owner. It's a bit unnerving, honestly."

Harry chuckled. "She's just smart. Probably smarter than half the people in this castle."

Hedwig hooted in what Harry liked to believe was agreement. He carefully tied the letter to her leg, double-checking the knot to make sure it was secure.

"Take this to Gringotts," he instructed. "Straight to the goblins-no stopping for snacks on the way."

Hedwig nipped his finger in playful protest before taking flight, soaring out of the Owlery and into the pale blue sky. Harry watched her go, a small weight lifting off his shoulders now that the letter was finally on its way.

"Alright, mission accomplished," Gemma declared, brushing some stray feathers off her sleeve. "I say that calls for lunch."

Harry nodded, casting one last glance at the disappearing white speck in the distance.

He carefully pushed any thoughts of the letter to the back of his mind. Instead focusing on the assignments that kept piling in from their various classes. It wasn't until breakfast a few days later that Hedwig arrived, gliding smoothly through the Great Hall with an official-looking envelope clutched in her talons. The moment she landed in front of him, Harry reached out to take the letter, but his fingers hesitated when he noticed the eyes watching him. Dumbledore. The old man sat at the head table, hands folded, eyes fixed on Harry with an unreadable expression. It wasn't his usual twinkling, grandfatherly gaze. No, this was something sharper-something calculating.

Harry schooled his features into indifference and stroked Hedwig's feathers, casually untying the letter as if it were nothing out of the ordinary. He ignored the way Dumbledore's piercing stare lingered a beat too long before the headmaster finally turned away, resuming a quiet conversation with Professor McGonagall. Without unfolding the envelope, Harry tucked it securely into his robes.

"Official-looking, isn't it?" Blaise observed, glancing at the wax-sealed emblem of Gringotts.

"Probably just a bank statement," Harry replied easily, keeping his voice light. "Nothing exciting."

Draco scoffed. "With your family's money? That's probably more than what half the families here have combined. Just a bank statement ."

Harry only hummed in response, letting the conversation shift back to Quidditch tryouts while he finished his meal. He endured the rest of the day, made small talk when needed, and pretended to be completely unbothered. The second they were dismissed from classes for the day, he made a beeline for the dungeons. Harry waited until he was safely behind the locked door of his dormitory before finally pulling out the letter. The paper was thick and expensive, the emblem of Gringotts pressed into the wax seal. He broke it open carefully, eyes scanning the precise, clipped handwriting inside.

Mr. Potter,

Gringotts acknowledges your formal request. A retrieval team has been dispatched to evaluate the remains of the Potter property in Godric's Hollow. Any recoverable belongings will be transferred to the Potter family vaults. Items that have been confiscated by the Ministry will require additional negotiations. A full inventory will be provided upon completion. The fee you have authorized has been removed from your account, please see attached receipt. Additional fees may be required if we deem so and will contact you for the authorization.

Additionally, your request regarding account management has been reviewed and approved. Effective immediately, Griphook has been assigned as the new account manager for the Potter family estate. This includes oversight of the following:
Vault 687 (Personal Vault – Hardwin Potter)
Vault 688 (Personal Vault – Charlus Potter)
Vault 374 (Potter Family Heirloom Vault)

All financial transactions, estate matters, and vault modifications will now be handled under his supervision. If you require further services, Gringotts remains at your disposal. Expect a full report within the month.

Gringotts Account Management
Department of Vault Oversight & Retrieval

Harry exhaled, feeling a weight lift from his shoulders. This was a victory. Not only was his request for retrieval in motion, but he now had a goblin he could trust overseeing his financial interests. A small, satisfied smirk tugged at his lips-but he knew better than to fully relax just yet. A soft knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. He quickly folded the letter and tucked it behind his back before crossing the room. When he opened the door, Gemma stood on the other side, arms crossed, one brow quirked in amusement.

"You disappeared fast after dinner," she observed, stepping inside as he stepped aside slightly to allow her in. "I assume you got your reply?"

Harry hesitated before giving a short nod, his grip tightening around the parchment still hidden behind him. Gemma's gaze flickered downward, clearly noting the way he was holding himself.

"Relax, Potter, I'm not here to pry." She smirked as she made herself comfortable, perching on the edge of his desk. "I mean, I could if I wanted to, but I'm not in the mood for the effort tonight."

Harry snorted despite himself. He liked Gemma well enough, and she'd proven to be someone he could rely on but she was still a Slytherin. And Slytherins were always looking for ways to gain an advantage. Instead of answering her unspoken curiosity, he simply shrugged and leaned back against his bedpost.

"That was fast," Gemma mused, crossing one leg over the other. "Well, goblins don't waste time when gold is involved."

Harry nodded absently, but his mind had already drifted back to something that had been bothering him since breakfast. His fingers brushed over the folded letter as he recalled the way Dumbledore had watched him-assessing, calculating.

"Dumbledore was watching me when I took the letter from Hedwig," he muttered.

That made Gemma sit up straighter. "The Headmaster?"

Harry nodded, brow furrowing slightly. "It was subtle, but I could feel it. He knows I'm up to something."

Gemma tapped a finger against her knee, her expression sharp with thought.

"It's not illegal to contact Gringotts," she pointed out. "For all anyone knows, you simply requested a withdrawal to buy more sweets."

Harry scoffed. "Doesn't mean he won't try to interfere."

Gemma's lips curled into a wry smile. "Good thing you're a Slytherin then, huh?"

Harry smirked. "The best thing that's happened to me, really."

She chuckled, pushing off the desk and ruffling his hair as she passed by. "Alright, Potter, enjoy your secret goblin dealings. Just don't forget, if you ever need something hexed beyond repair, you know where to find me."

With that, she left, the door clicking softly behind her. Harry let out a slow breath and leaned back against his pillow, staring at the letter in his hands. His parents' belongings. His accounts. His legacy. It felt like he was reclaiming something that had always been his.

"I can't wait to go home for the holidays," Draco said suddenly, breaking Harry from his thoughts.

They were walking the frost-laced pathways near the edge of the castle grounds, boots crunching against the brittle grass. A bitter November wind cut across the open space, stinging Harry's cheeks and biting at the edges of his robes. He exhaled sharply, watching his breath curl in the air before recasting the warming charm on his cloak. It was practically a Slytherin rite of passage to learn those spells early. The dungeons were cold enough to freeze the ink in your inkwell, and no one wanted to admit the fireplaces didn't do much past the first two feet.

"Hmm? That's nice," Harry murmured, tugging at the fastenings of his cloak with half-frozen fingers. He doubted Draco even cared whether he was listening. He would keep talking either way.

"Mother and Father always wake up early with me," Draco continued, his tone drifting toward its usual brand of indulgent superiority. "The house-elves make hot cocoa, and after presents, we take a walk through the manor grounds. Then we-"

He stopped abruptly, eyebrows raised in disdain.

"What in Merlin's name is your brother doing?"

Harry followed his gaze. Across the courtyard, Charlie was trudging through the frost with Weasley and Granger at his side. They were heading toward the small wooden hut on the outskirts of the grounds. Hagrid's.

Harry shrugged. "I heard them talking about it in class. Apparently they visit the groundskeeper often."

Draco turned to stare at him like he had just confessed to licking the inside of a chamber pot. "Visiting a… groundskeeper?"

Harry suppressed a sigh and pulled his cloak tighter. "I know. Scandalous."

"But why would they waste their time doing that?"

"Why do you waste your time memorizing Quidditch statistics?" Harry countered, giving Draco a nudge toward the castle before he got too deeply invested in the moral failings of Gryffindors. "My hands are freezing, and if we don't get inside soon, I'm going to lose a finger."

Draco huffed but didn't resist, muttering under his breath about people with terrible taste in company as they turned back toward the castle. The wind howled behind them, sweeping over the grounds like a warning, but Harry barely noticed. His focus had already returned to the promise of warmth and the vague amusement that, somehow, despite everything, this counted as a normal afternoon.

Once the holidays began, Harry found himself alone in the first-year dorms. Every one of his yearmates had gone home, their trunks long vanished, and beds stripped bare, and curtains left open. The space felt oddly hollow without the usual rustling of blankets or whispered late-night mutterings, but Harry wasn't particularly bothered. Going home had never been an option. Signing up to stay had taken all of thirty seconds.

He wasn't completely alone, thankfully. Gemma had remained at Hogwarts to study for her upcoming OWLs, along with a handful of older Slytherins who had their own quiet reasons for staying behind. They didn't mind Harry tagging along as long as he kept to himself, didn't interrupt their revision sessions, and was smart enough not to ask questions when they muttered about exam curves and career paths under their breath.

What did surprise him, though, was Charlie. Apparently, his brother had also stayed for the holidays instead of going back to Privet Drive. At first, Harry found that strange. Then he heard the Dursleys were spending the break with Aunt Marge. That explained everything. Even Charlie, desperate as he might have been to escape Hogwarts lately, wasn't foolish enough to subject himself to a week with Marge Dursley. Not voluntarily, anyway.

Charlie and Weasley had more or less taken up residence in the library. Harry had braced himself to avoid one of his favorite places in the castle, worried the familiar hush of pages and warm candlelight would be polluted by awkward tension and unwanted sibling proximity. To his surprise, they barely acknowledged him. Even when he sat at the next table, they didn't glance up. The two of them were hunched over a growing stack of books, muttering quietly about magical objects, sketching notes, and cross-referencing pages with surprising focus. Harry was vaguely curious. Charlie didn't open books unless forced, and definitely not magical ones. But whatever they were up to, it hadn't impacted him, and Harry had no intention of wasting his holiday trying to figure out his brother's sudden academic enthusiasm.

Christmas Eve was unlike anything Harry had ever expected. The remaining Slytherins had taken it upon themselves to throw a party. It was, by all accounts, against the rules. But that didn't stop them. They had shoved together several of the long tables in the common room, covering them with a feast that rivaled the Great Hall's. Plates of pastries, roasted meats, sugared fruits, and various snacks were piled high, and someone had even managed to sneak in a wireless radio, which crackled out wizarding holiday tunes from the corner. The fire crackled warmly, casting flickering golden light over the gleaming green-and-silver décor.

Harry, thoroughly enjoying himself, hovered by the food table, debating on what to grab before retreating to a quiet spot to read. That was when he noticed something peculiar. Potato crisps. He blinked, staring at the bowl of Muggle snacks sitting innocently between a plate of cauldron cakes and a platter of roast beef. Gemma chuckled behind him.

"I had my mum send some muggle snacks and sweets. The stuffier purebloods just think it's some fancy wizarding food from America." She plucked a crisp from the bowl and crunched on it smugly. "Oh, and here-I had the house-elves make treacle tart. I know it's your favorite."

She handed him a plate, already loading it up for him before he could protest. Harry blinked, feeling oddly warm at the gesture.

"Thanks," he said, taking the plate. He made his way toward the fireplace, only to have a goblet thrust into his free hand. The dark red liquid sloshed inside, and Harry immediately gave it a cautious sniff. It smelled suspiciously like alcohol. Before he could do anything, Gemma appeared out of nowhere and plucked the goblet from his grip.

"Who gave the first year wine?" she demanded, narrowing her eyes at the surrounding students. No one fessed up. She sighed, pressing another drink into his hands instead.

"Here, butterbeer. No alcohol. Don't take drinks from people, Potter. I know for a fact some of them have firewhiskey going around and I wouldn't put some of them above spiking drinks with potions," she warned.

Harry nodded and took a cautious sip from the sealed bottle Gemma had passed him. He had no desire to test his luck with an open goblet filled with unknown liquid. This one, at least, was safe. It was charmed shut and fizzed slightly when opened. The drink was warm and sweet, with a hint of spice, and it soothed his throat against the lingering chill of the dungeons.

He ended up settling beside Gemma on one of the plush green sofas, the fabric soft and worn in from years of student use. She was in the middle of a lively conversation with her yearmates, their voices rising and falling with easy familiarity as they gossiped about Professor Sinistra's rumored romance and speculated on who was secretly dating in seventh year. At first, Harry sat stiffly, unsure whether he was meant to stay or if he was intruding. When someone tried, for the third time, to slip something questionable into his drink, Gemma rolled her eyes and reached for his sleeve.

"You're staying here," she said flatly, tugging him down beside her without looking away from the conversation.

He had protested, mildly. She had ignored him. Now, an hour later, Harry found himself wrapped in a thick Slytherin-green blanket, his legs curled up beneath him, the fire crackling warmly a few feet away. The room was dimly lit, with the low golden glow of enchanted fairy lights reflecting off the silver-edged garlands strung across the ceiling. Laughter rippled around the room. The scent of pine and cinnamon floated faintly through the air.

He wasn't really paying attention to any of it. Instead, he was hunched over a thick, worn copy of Hexes & Jinxes for Young Witches & Wizards, fully immersed. He had discovered it tucked behind a stack of holiday-themed joke books earlier that day and had claimed it like buried treasure. Now, every few minutes, he would pause to fold down a page, marking spells that looked promising: a minor freezing jinx, one that shrunk someone's robes till the seams ripped, something that made ink explode from quills if someone else tried to cheat off his parchment.

He could hear snippets of the conversation around him. Laughter, teasing, someone mentioning a drunken prefect trying to serenade a painting on the second floor. But it all drifted past like background noise. He was warm, well-fed, and left alone, which was about as close to a perfect Christmas Eve as he could imagine. Gemma shifted beside him, tossing a cushion at someone across the room and muttering something snide that earned her a round of cackling laughter. She glanced down at Harry's book and raised an eyebrow.

"Are you annotating cursework during a party?"

Harry smirked without looking up. "Better than being slipped firewhisky by a seventh year."

She made a pleased hum and went back to her conversation, letting him be. Harry, wrapped in a blanket with the firelight dancing across the pages in his lap and the low thrum of voices around him, realized this might be the first holiday where he didn't feel like a guest in someone else's life.

Harry woke to someone gently shaking him. He blinked groggily, confused for a moment as to why Gemma was in his room, the wards should have prevented that. Then he realized, none of them had gone back to their rooms the previous night. At some point during the party, someone had suggested pushing the sofas together near the fire, dragging out blankets and comforters for a makeshift sleepover in the common room. It had seemed like a good idea at the time.

"Finally awake?" Gemma asked, smirking as he blearily sat up, still wrapped in his blanket cocoon. Across the room, Pucey and Rosier were already awake, unwrapping presents in one of the corners. Others were beginning to stir as well.

"Here," Gemma said, handing him a small pile of neatly wrapped gifts. "These are yours."

Harry blinked. "I have presents?"

Gemma frowned, her brows furrowing as if the very idea of not receiving presents was unfathomable.

"Of course you do," she said, ruffling his hair.

Harry, feeling a bit dazed, carefully unwrapped them. He received a variety of sweets and small trinkets from his yearmates, a book from Gemma and the older Slytherins, and a wizard's chess set from Draco, who had apparently decided it was unacceptable that Harry didn't have his own. He was thankful that Gemma had warned him ahead of time that gift-giving was expected among yearmates. He had put thought into each present, choosing high-quality quills for most of them, while Draco, being the impossibly difficult one to shop for, had been gifted a dragon-leather journal and a collection of his favorite sweets. Gemma had helped him order them through her father's shop, a small stationary store in Knockturn Alley.

It was, without a doubt, the best Christmas morning Harry had ever had. And then he noticed one last package sitting at the foot of his couch. Frowning, he detached the letter attached to it and began to read.

Mr. Potter,

As per our earlier correspondence, the items in question have been recovered. The tombs were returned to the family vault. However, it is Gringotts policy not to store invisibility cloaks due to their nature and possibility of misplacement. As such, I have attached the item to this letter for your safekeeping.

Attached as well is a full list of the recovered property. During this process, we did find some information that may interest you, which we may provide for a fee of five galleons due to its nature. I advise you to pay the fee. Due to the sensitive nature of this information, we shall have to discuss it in person. I shall expect you during the school break.

I also write to tell you I have received your solstice greetings and reiterate that you are indeed a very strange wizard. I find myself not entirely bloodthirsty at the thought of the recent promotion you have orchestrated.

Griphook
Gringotts
Keeper of Potter Accounts

Harry set the package aside for now and turned his attention to the list that had arrived with it. The parchment crackled faintly in his hands as his eyes scanned down the columns. It read like an inventory from a house already emptied, a life reduced to categories and notes in the margins. Most of the items were mundane, marked "damaged" or "partially recovered." Enchanted household tools, old books and clothing. His parents' wands were listed, recorded as inactive. There were letters, journals, keepsakes. A handful of photographs. Three pages of fragments. Three pages that tried, and failed, to capture two entire lives.

It was overwhelming to see it all written out so plainly. His parents' lives were folded into neat columns and ink. Harry frowned, carefully folding the letter closed with both hands. He would make sure it stayed safe. It would go straight into his trunk, locked and hidden, far from anyone else's eyes. Only then did he turn his attention back to the parcel. According to the note, Gringotts had returned only one thing into his possession. An item too unstable and too easily misplaced to be stored in a vault. An invisibility cloak.

Harry had no idea what that even meant. With slow hands, he undid the binding and peeled back the outer wrap. Inside was something soft and silvery, smooth as water and delicate as spider silk. It shimmered faintly in the low light, shifting like liquid against his fingertips. He reached in and lifted it. The fabric flowed over his hands and vanished. His heart stopped, as he froze in place. Invisibility Cloak- the name hadn't been an exaggeration.

He flinched when Gemma spoke. He had forgotten she was still there.

"Those are against the rules," she said, raising a brow. "But as long as I don't see you misusing it, I don't mind."

She crossed her arms, studying the shimmering material. "Although I am curious-how did you get your hands on one? They're rare."

"It belonged to my parents apparently," Harry murmured, still running his fingers over the fabric.

"Well, don't let the professors catch you, they'll confiscate it till graduation," she shrugged.

Harry thanked her for the book, then made a quick exit when Warrington stepped into the common room. He had definitely noticed the two of them spending more time together lately, and he had no interest in being the awkward third wheel. Besides, Warrington didn't seem to like him much, and frankly the feeling was mutual. The older boy always carried himself like the head of some self-declared aristocracy, all smug glances and slow, deliberate words, like everyone else was a guest in his personal story. Harry found him pompous, full of himself, and far too impressed with his own opinion. He didn't hate him exactly, but he had no desire to sit through another conversation where Warrington explained things Harry already knew, just to hear the sound of his own voice.

Back in his dorm, Harry gently set his holiday gifts on the bed, arranging them with an absent sort of care. His eyes, however, were fixed on the cloak. He picked it up again, slower this time. It was the first real piece of his parents he had ever physically held. A lump rose in his throat, unfamiliar and sharp.

He crossed the room quietly, stopping in front of Draco's absurdly oversized vanity mirror. It had been delivered from Malfoy Manor with a whole production of silk covers, protection charms and a fleet of owls. It was impossibly fancy and pompous, but Harry didn't care. At the moment, it served its purpose.

He threw the cloak over his shoulders. The moment it settled around him, he vanished from sight. Not partially. Not like a shimmer or a blur. He was simply gone, erased from the reflection as if he had never been standing there. The cloak didn't shimmer or ripple. It just worked. Effortless. Seamless. Perfect.

He reached up, watching as his fingers disappeared beneath the fabric. The cloak was still flawless after all these years, and something about that sent a chill through him. It felt like more than preservation, it felt deliberate. Like the magic in it had been waiting. Curiosity sparked in his chest, sharp and bright. The possibilities flickered in his mind. The secrets he could uncover. The places he could go unseen. The power of it was intoxicating. He ran his fingers along the edge of the hood, feeling the weave of ancient magic beneath his touch.

After a morning spent opening presents in the Slytherin common room and an afternoon of lounging by the fire, Harry found himself in the Great Hall for the annual Christmas Feast. The four house tables had been combined into one long table for the occasion, stretching down the center of the hall, a supposed show of unity and holiday cheer. In practice, however, it mostly just led to thinly veiled glares between Gryffindors and Slytherins, polite indifference from the Ravenclaws, and the Hufflepuffs desperately trying to keep the peace.

The ceiling overhead sparkled like a winter night, a soft snowfall drifting down from the enchanted sky before vanishing inches above their heads. Twelve grand Christmas trees lined the hall, glittering with enchanted icicles and tiny golden fairies flitting about their branches. Over by the entrance, a group of bewitched suits of armor had gathered in a terribly off-key attempt at God Rest Ye Merry, Hippogriffs.

Harry, much to his annoyance, had ended up across from Charlie and Weasley-who had, for once, made no fuss about it. He had just finished off a roast pheasant leg when a distinctive feeling of being watched sent a prickle down his spine. Looking up, he spotted Dumbledore at the head table, stroking his long silver beard, his eyes flickering between Harry and Charlie with an unreadable expression.

Harry frowned, then flicked his gaze toward Charlie who was too busy shoveling mashed potatoes into his mouth to notice.

"What's with the Headmaster?" Harry muttered to Gemma, who had insisted on sitting beside him much to Warrington's disappointment that was evident on his face as he looked at them.

"Probably hoping for a heartwarming family reconciliation," Gemma drawled, casually buttering a dinner roll. "Tragic twin division, split by their houses, just in time for Christmas? It's practically a fairytale."

Harry snorted into his goblet of butterbeer. "Well, he's in for a disappointment."

Across the table, Charlie scowled and looked up from his plate. "I can hear you, you know."

"Good," Gemma said, taking a sip of her pumpkin juice without looking at him. "Maybe now you'll stop glaring at Harry like you're plotting his assassination."

Charlie huffed, stabbing a piece of cake with more force than necessary. "I was not-"

"Sure," Gemma cut in smoothly, tone flat with practiced disbelief. "And the Weasleys don't have a ridiculous number of children."

Ron, who had been too busy shoveling roast turkey into his mouth to follow the earlier barbs, perked up instantly. "Oi! There's nothing wrong with having a big family!"

Gemma rolled her eyes. "There is when half of them don't know how to behave in public."

"Fred, George, you going to let her talk about our family like that?" Ron demanded, turning to his older brothers like reinforcements.

The twins looked at him, then at each other. Something passed silently between them.

"Sorry, you're on your own," one of them said, casually glancing in Gemma's direction.

"Farley is wickedly scary," the other added with a shrug. "We're not getting involved."

With that, they turned back to their conversation with a pair of amused Hufflepuffs.

"Smart boys," Gemma said cheerfully, folding her hands in her lap. "I see you are both finally learning some common sense. Unlike your little brother."

Ron turned red, mouth opening for what was sure to be a very loud and very indignant rebuttal-

But Charlie cut him off before he could get a word out.

And what he said was entirely unexpected.

"The Dursleys didn't send anything," he muttered, pushing around a piece of Christmas pudding with his fork. "Not even a reply to my letters."

Harry froze, his goblet halfway to his lips. Gemma also stilled, her expression darkening. For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then Harry placed his goblet down with deliberate slowness. "You wrote to them?"

Charlie blinked, as if only just realizing what he had let slip.

"Uh-"

"Why?" Harry interrupted, his voice deceptively neutral.

Charlie faltered, suddenly looking like he regretted ever speaking. "I-I just thought-y'know, maybe they'd wanna-"

"They don't." Harry's voice was flat, his green eyes cold.

Charlie fidgeted, his gaze darting to his plate. "Well, they should," he grumbled. "They are our family."

Gemma scoffed, setting down her fork. "You really are an idiot sometimes, you know that?"

Charlie glared at her. "Oh, excuse me-"

"You think people should do a lot of things," Gemma continued, ignoring him. "But that doesn't mean they will. And forcing your way into someone's life when they've made it clear they want nothing to do with you? That's not noble, Potter-that's delusional."

Charlie bristled, his face flushing red with anger and embarrassment. "You don't know anything about my family!"

"Neither do you!" Harry snapped, slamming his goblet down with enough force to send pumpkin juice sloshing over the rim. The sharp clatter echoed against the warm hum of Christmas chatter around them. Charlie flinched, eyes going wide, but Harry didn't care. The words kept pouring out, spilling from his lips like venom.

"You had your head buried in the sand for eleven years while they treated me-"

He stopped. Too much. His jaw snapped shut so fast his teeth ached, his breath catching in his throat. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, the weight of his own words pressing down like a lead weight in his stomach. He had said too much, far too much, and the realization sent a jolt of unease down his spine. This was the Great Hall. It wasn't just them. Harry didn't know who else might be listening. His shoulders stiffened, and he forced his face into a blank mask, scanning the people around him. No one at the far end of the table looked particularly interested but Dumbledore's sharp blue gaze flickered toward him from the head table. He had noticed.

Harry swallowed, throat dry. Charlie, meanwhile, was staring at him, mouth slightly open like he had been hit in the face. Ron, however, saw his opportunity and seized it like a lifeline. Gemma next to him had stiffened considerably and looked over him as if trying to decipher a puzzle.

"Maybe that's because Charlie actually cares!" he blurted, pushing his plate forward as he leaned across the table. "He's not some snake trying to get ahead like you lot!"

Harry turned to him slowly, expression unreadable. For the briefest of moments, he seriously considered hexing Ron under the table-something small and harmless, just enough to make him shut up. But hexing someone in full view of the teachers was idiotic. Instead, he inhaled deeply, forced himself to relax, and leaned back against the bench with deliberate ease, arms crossing over his chest. Then, he smirked.

"Oh yes, because Gryffindors are never selfish, right?" His tone was mocking, his words coated in sharp, bitter amusement. "Let's just ignore the fact that Charlie only started caring when it became convenient for him."

Charlie stiffened, his mouth opening and closing like he wanted to argue, but had no argument to give. The table went uncomfortably silent. Even the usual hustle of the Great Hall seemed muffled, the warmth of the Christmas decorations feeling suffocating rather than festive. Then, Gemma, ever the tactician, broke the tension with a single dry comment.

"Well. That's awkward."

Harry exhaled slowly, letting the words settle between them like cold ashes. The silence stretched painfully long, and then, in an act of finality, Harry reached for a treacle tart and took a slow, deliberate bite.

"Just drop it," he muttered.

For once, Charlie obeyed. Ron, however, still glared, his expression tight, but there was an uncertainty lingering behind his eyes now, like he wasn't quite sure if he should still be angry. Charlie shook his head at Ron, and the redhead went back to stabbing his pudding instead.

Gemma leaned toward Harry, lowering her voice just enough that only he could hear.

"That," she whispered, "was handled better than I expected. At least there weren't any punches thrown this time."

Disclaimer:

I disagree whole heartedly with many of JK Rowling's views.

Protect Trans Youth.
I do not own Harry Potter, any of its characters or world.

This is a reupload of a story with the same name and plot. Things have been heavily edited and expanded. Please enjoy.