Gringotts' diplomatic wing was quiet, refined, and far older than the bustling atrium below. Carved into high stone arches and gilded with protective enchantments, the chamber exuded power—the kind cultivated over generations, not seized. Here, the conversations were the sort that could shift policy or realign allegiances.

Elijah stood at the window, arms loosely folded, eyes on the light shifting through the stained glass. He didn't pace. He didn't fidget. But the stillness he held was attentive, thoughtful.

The door opened.

Tavian Forewyn entered with a quiet command of space, dressed in robes of slate grey and ink blue with silver embroidery curling like vines around the cuffs. Despite his age, there was nothing fragile about him. Tavian Forewyn, Marquess of Ashbourne, had weathered wars, policy battles, and prophecy rumors with a calm that inspired trust and irritation in equal measure.

"Elijah," Tavian said. "You look exactly the same."

"I'd say the same for you," Elijah replied, offering his hand. "But I suspect you'd accuse me of flattery."

Tavian grinned. "Only if you meant it."

They shook hands, firm and brief, and then moved to the table. The tea had already been poured.

"I appreciate you coming in person," Elijah said.

"When Clarisse said you had a window to meet Harry, I cleared my schedule. Didn't even pretend to be subtle about it."

Elijah raised an eyebrow. "And the Ministry let you leave mid-hearing?"

"They were too stunned by the breach of decorum to stop me." Tavian's mouth twitched.

They shared a quiet laugh.

Tavian's expression sobered. "I've wanted to meet the boy since I stepped foot back on British soil. Every time I tried to get close, Dumbledore rerouted me. Said it was for Harry's safety, his privacy. At first, I believed him."

"And later?"

"Later, I started asking the wrong questions." Tavian's smile was sharp. "Which meant I was asking the right ones."

Elijah nodded. "He wasn't just hidden. He was isolated. Starved of legacy, magic, and care."

"And yet here he is."

"Yes," Elijah said. "Against all odds."

Tavian stirred his tea but didn't drink it. "What does he know?"

"Enough to be angry. Not enough to be ready."

Tavian sighed through his nose. "Most heirs begin education at seven. Tutors. Seasonal rituals. Estate walk-throughs. Legacy theory."

"He began with a cupboard under the stairs," Elijah said flatly.

"Then he is already stronger than anyone gives him credit for."

Elijah leaned back slightly. "He needs guidance. Not management. Not another voice telling him who to be."

Tavian looked at him, long and searching. "You believe I'm the right choice?"

"I believe you'll be honest with him. And I believe you won't try to own him. That's enough."

There was a pause.

Elijah added, "Have you heard anything recently—about a bloodline activation? French, or Weave-tied?"

Tavian tilted his head. "Only whispers. One of the old French estates pinged a tapestry for a child who wasn't supposed to exist. It's being kept very quiet. De Malfoy name was mentioned in passing. Why?"

"We're monitoring it. Someone Harry knows may be tied to it."

Tavian nodded slowly. "Is it concern or curiosity?"

"Both."

Tavian didn't push. "You'll tell me when it matters."

A knock at the door broke the tension.

Elijah stood. "That'll be him."

Harry stepped inside with an awkward sort of confidence. His dark green robes bore the Potter crest at the collarbone, subtle but proud. His hair was a mess, but his eyes were clear.

Elijah spoke first, voice formal.

"Marquess Tavian Forewyn of Ashbourne, may I present Lord Harrison James Potter, Heir of the Houses Potter and Peverell."

Tavian stood and offered a bow, crisp and deep. "Lord Potter."

Harry blinked, then gave a quick bow in return. "Marquess."

Tavian smiled. "You may call me Tavian, if you like. And I'll call you Harry—unless we're in a chamber full of bureaucrats who need their titles to understand importance."

Harry gave a crooked grin. "Deal."

They sat.

Tavian's manner shifted as they settled—measured and warm.

"You have the eyes of your mother," he said. "And Charlus would have been proud of you. You were never far from his thoughts."

Harry looked down for a moment. "I didn't even know Charlus existed until last month."

"Which is a failing of the adults who should have told you," Tavian said softly. "Not yours."

They sipped tea.

"You've had to absorb a lot quickly," Tavian said. "And still more waits for you. It would be an honor to help you navigate it. Not as someone who expects your loyalty, but as someone who offers mine."

Harry sat with that for a moment.

Then, quietly, he said, "I need someone to hold my votes. Until I come of age. Potter. Peverell. Gryffindor by deed. Slytherin by conquest."

Tavian raised a brow, but didn't question it.

"There's more that might come later," Harry added. "I want someone I trust holding them. I want that person to be you."

Tavian looked across the table, a beat of silence hanging.

Then, with quiet gravity: "Then I will serve until you are ready to stand alone."

A soft knock at the door.

Clarisse entered, regal in her simplicity.

"Marquess Forewyn," she said, with a nod of acknowledgment. "May I introduce Miss Hermione Granger, the Lady Grey."

Hermione stepped in with careful grace, wearing robes of deep indigo with silver trim. She offered a small curtsey and smiled, nerves showing in the pinch of her hands.

Tavian stood and returned the gesture with a respectful bow. "My lady."

"Thank you for having us," Hermione said politely.

"The pleasure is mine," Tavian replied with genuine warmth. "Any friend of Harry's is a welcome guest."

Hermione took the seat beside Harry. Clarisse moved to stand behind them, silent and watchful.

Tavian watched them for a moment—two teenagers with strong minds and old magic in their veins. He didn't say it aloud, but something about their presence struck him: a sense of possibility, of futures unwritten.

Instead, he smiled and refilled the teapot.

"Tell me," he said casually, "how did you two meet?"

Harry and Hermione exchanged a look.

"On the train," Hermione said brightly. "First year. He and Ron were being ridiculous. I told them so."

"She did," Harry said. "And then we fought a troll together."

Tavian blinked. "That'll do it."

Laughter broke the formality, and for a little while, they talked of simpler things.

Not duty. Not prophecy. Just people.

Just peace.