The next morning came quietly.

Harry met Elijah again—this time in a different room, smaller and warmer. Sunlight slanted through tall windows, filtered through old glass, casting gold across the polished wood floor. A table was set with tea, parchment, and several bound ledgers—older than Hogwarts itself, judging by the wear.

Elijah was already there, of course. He didn't seem the type to sleep in.

"Morning," Harry muttered as he entered, rubbing the back of his neck. "Do we always meet before breakfast?"

Elijah glanced over the rim of his teacup. "When there's this much to learn, yes."

Harry dropped into the seat across from him, eyeing the parchment warily.

Elijah reached for a thin stack. "Let's talk about what you don't know."

Harry groaned. "How long's that list?"

"Too long to finish today," Elijah replied. "But enough to start mapping the gaps."

At the top of the page in front of him, Harry read the heading:
Foundational Knowledge Deficit Assessment

Beneath it, a list scrolled down the page:

Magical Estate Law (Domestic and ICW)

Ritual Theory and Practice

Ancestral Magic and Legacy Bonds

Warding Theory: Ancient and Family-Based

Wizengamot Process and Peer Protocol

Magical Ethics and Oathbound Politics

Advanced Arithmancy Applications

Magical History (Non-Hogwarts Canon)

Old Religion Studies (optional, but relevant)

Harry stared. Then looked up. "I don't even know what half of this is."

"Exactly," Elijah said. "Because no one ever expected you to need it. You were raised in isolation from magical society. You were never meant to inherit. Not like this."

Harry leaned back, frowning. "So… what, I need tutors?"

"You need context. And guidance. Yes—private tutors can be arranged. Correspondence for theory. In-person instruction for practice. Some may be allowed to come to Hogwarts periodically."

"I'll be a full-time student with homework on my homework."

Elijah's mouth quirked. "Yes. But only in the subjects that will keep you alive, protect your holdings, and stop people like Dumbledore from making decisions in your name."

That shut Harry up quickly.

"I'm not saying you need to master all of this at once," Elijah continued. "But you need to understand the weight of the names you carry. What they allow. What they demand."

"I don't even know how to run a house," Harry muttered. "Let alone three."

"You're not meant to—not yet. That's what stewards are for. But you need to know enough to ask the right questions. To give direction. To delegate."

Harry hesitated, then gave a tired grin. "Hermione's going to hate that."

"Oh?"

"If I start delegating, she'll think I've been body-snatched. She'll be out of a job."

Elijah smiled faintly. "She's hardly unemployed. Her own situation is... complex."

Harry nodded. "We'll come back to that."

There was a pause, then Elijah refilled their tea.

"There's something else," he said, more carefully now. "And I want to say this with the seriousness it deserves."

Harry looked up.

"You've survived more than most children. More than many adults. You've learned to hide pain, manage fear, and make impossible choices. That's admirable. It's also dangerous—if it keeps you from accepting help."

Harry didn't look away, but something behind his eyes went guarded.

"You and Hermione both—by your own admission—have been solving adult problems for years. Alone. That stops now."

"I'm not trying to be—"

"You're not being difficult," Elijah said, steady. "You're being thirteen. But you're a thirteen-year-old being handed the weight of dynasties and decisions. And it would be malpractice on my part not to recommend that you speak to someone who isn't me."

Harry frowned. "You mean like… a mind healer?"

"Yes. Not because anything's wrong with you. But because too much has happened, and more is coming. Having someone impartial—a place to put your fear, your questions, your anger—can help you figure out who you want to be in all of this."

Harry picked at the corner of the parchment. "I'll think about it."

"That's all I ask."

Elijah gave him a moment, then added, almost offhand, "Also… Potions."

Harry blinked. "What about Potions?"

"You'll need to take it more seriously. Your grandfather, Fleamont, built the Potter family business on potioncraft—formulated and trademarked several brews still in use today. There's a legacy there. And more than that—a position."

Harry sat up straighter, caught off guard. "There's… a business?"

"Still operating," Elijah confirmed. "Barely. It's been held in trust since your parents died. One of Fleamont's former partners—possibly his second—is still managing it. Out of loyalty. But he's aging. And frankly, the business won't wait forever."

Harry stared at the table. "So this isn't just a name. It's work."

"Yes. You'll have help. Advisors, stewards, possibly even an apprenticeship if you want it. But you'll need the foundation—advanced brewing, theory, practical applications. Invention, if you're inclined."

Harry gave a wry smile. "Snape's going to love this."

"No," Elijah said flatly. "But you might."

There was a knock at the door. Clarisse stepped in, her tone brisk as always.

"Elijah. Harry. Tavian Forewyn has responded. He's in London and available to meet tomorrow."

Harry blinked. "That fast?"

"He's efficient," Elijah said. "And invested."

Clarisse stepped forward and placed a sealed folder on the table.

"Also—Hermione's assessment has begun. The Grove's recognition has advanced her standing. She'll require ritual guidance and spiritual orientation. Possibly grounding."

"She's not going to like that," Harry muttered.

"No," Clarisse agreed. "But she'll take it seriously."

Harry exhaled slowly. "So… we build a plan. For her. For me."

"You delegate what you can," Elijah said.

"And I direct the rest."

He looked back down at the list—the dozens of things he didn't know.

And for once, he didn't feel panic.

Just resolve.