Chapter 1—Death Stalks the Land

Friday, June 24, 1949, Hogwarts Castle, Scotland

Harry staggered from the room, letting the door slam behind him. He looked affright: matted hair, soaked robes… Sweat dripped from his brow, chin, and fingers as he sagged against the cool stone wall, and slid to the floor, sighing mightily. His Defence NEWT was complete. It was the last of his final tests, and smiled with the knowledge that he'd done well. Better than well, really. He'd crushed the test.

He sat there, propped against the wall for perhaps fifteen or twenty minutes until Hermione emerged from the room. She looked tired, but happy, and not nearly as wrung out as Harry did.

"Merlin's ghost, Harry," she said, helping him to his feet. "I think you almost killed Professor Kilmeade."

"Nah," Harry replied, standing at last. "He almost killed me!" Harry waved a hand across the air and the time appeared in front of him. It was about an hour until supper. "Come on. I need a shower and then I need to lie down."

"You shouldn't be doing wandless magic," Hermione admonished. "Your reserves are still low from that demonstration you gave the professor." Harry nodded in acceptance and allowed Hermione to pull Harry towards Gryffindor tower. He'd just spent a half an hour in individual combat with the NEWT examiner. It was an experience that had left both worse for wear. When Professor Kilmeade had told Harry to attack him with everything he had, Harry didn't think he expected what he'd gotten.

"I'll be fine once I eat something," Harry replied as they set off.

"What was that brown spell with the green tinge?"

"I can't even remember," Harry replied with a chuckle. "I think I lost track after he managed to dodge the siege engine spell and the wall behind him disappeared."

"I think that's when everyone else started paying attention," Hermione commented. "Did you realize that all other testing stopped once that happened?" Harry smirked but shook his head. "The other examiners looked just as shocked as the students."

"Kilmeade gave as good as he got," Harry observed.

"Yes, after that siege engine spell it became a real grudge match," Hermione said. "I'm just glad you finally felled him with a stunner instead of something deadly. I don't want my boyfriend sent to Azkaban!"

"Think I'll get an O+ like on my OLWs?" Harry asked with a grin.

"I'll be surprised if Professor Silver doesn't just hand you a mastery after your grades come out," Hermione snorted.

"Nah," Harry said, shaking his head. "The Defence mastery's a bit more complicated than that. Plus I'll have to do my teaching time." They'd gotten a bit of that experience this year, which had surprised them both.

Professor Dumbledore's health had been going slowly downhill ever since Christmas 1948, when he'd recovered the third of Tom Riddle's horcruxes—the ring with the Resurrection Stone—and been compelled to put it on. He'd spent the summer tutoring Harry and Hermione in Transfiguration, and Harry had watched with concern as the withering curse had inched its way up his hand past his wrist and beyond the cuff of his robes.

Still, they'd learned quite a bit about advanced Transfiguration. Harry and Hermione had both become animagi. Hermione was a Red Fox. Harry, to the surprise of everyone, became a Griffin. It had not been known previously that wizards could become magical animagi. Harry and Hermione had co-written a paper putting forward several hypotheses and discussing the theory behind Harry's transfiguration that was published in the European Journal of Transfiguration.

Harry and Hermione had each also created their own spells. Harry's had been a solid to gas transfiguration that he'd accomplished by applying atomic theory to magic. It had allowed him to arithmantically rearrange the atoms from whatever solid was targeted, and change them to water, with the heat of the change converting the liquid to steam immediately. Harry envisioned it as a combat spell, that removed an opponent's cover, scalded them with steam, and covered the caster's escape by clouding the field.

When they'd begun their seventh year, Dumbledore had asked them to assist him in teaching the first year classes to allow him more time to rest. The withering curse was clearly taking a toll on the man. He'd rescheduled the first year classes to one of their open periods. The firsties had been easy, even the Slytherins. Harry had taught the Gryffindors and the Slytherins, while Hermione taught the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. Their students had done passably well, with all but the most incompetent students passing the class with an A or better. Teaching the firsties had given both Harry and Hermione valuable experience, and would be a boon to whomever they could convince to take them on as apprentices.

In Gryffindor tower, Harry and Hermione separated to shower and change. As Harry left the shower, he ran into Neville in the hall.

"Alright there, Nev?" Harry asked, still towelling his head.

"You bet!" Neville replied, throwing his book bag down on his bed. "I'm quite sure I just aced my Defence NEWT." Harry threw the towel in his trunk and pulled on some shorts.

"That's great!" Harry said enthusiastically. He was genuinely happy for Neville. These past two years had really seen him excel. "How're your plans for the summer shaping up?"

"Good," Neville said. "I've got word from the greenhouse that I'll be able to start in two weeks."

"You're still coming back in the fall, though. Right?" Harry finished getting dressed in some clean khakis and a light green button down.

"They know," Neville assured him. "Marina would kill me if I didn't." Neville's girlfriend was very excited to be starting a Potions mastery in the fall. It dovetailed nicely with Neville's proposed Herbology mastery. That, and the thought of them finally living in the same part of the castle had her practically dancing in anticipation.

"Well, Hermione's waiting for me, so I'd better get going," Harry said. "See you at supper."

"See ya," Neville agreed.

Harry nodded and left, heading down to the common room. Hermione was there, but so was Professor Yates. They wore grim looks. Hermione even looked like she might be forcing back tears. Harry came up to them, dreading the news.

"Mr. Potter…"

"He's gone, isn't he?" Harry asked, cutting off the middle aged witch.

"Yes," Yates nodded, her blue eyes softening. "Just a few moments ago." Harry was stunned. It was expected, but there was no preparation for the pain he felt. Professor Albus Dumbledore, the one constant in his magical life was suddenly no longer in it. "I'm so sorry for you both. I know how close you were."

"Thank you, Professor," Harry replied automatically. "This can't be easy for you either." While Harry hadn't thought Yates was particularly close with Dumbledore, they were colleagues, and at least casual friends. Professor Yates nodded.

"The formal announcement will be made at supper tonight," Yates informed them. "I'll make sure you get a portkey for the funeral."

"When will that be, Professor?" Hermione asked.

"I don't think it's been set yet," Yates replied. "But I'll ensure you're informed."

"Thank you," Hermione said. As Professor Yates left, Harry pulled Hermione into a hug and the two cried for their mentor.

ooOOOOoo

"It is with great sadness that I inform you of the death of Professor Albus Dumbledore," Headmaster Binns said abruptly after rising at the conclusion of supper. "His illness was well known to all, and this was not unexpected. Still, it is a tragedy. He will be difficult to replace." The hall was stunned to silence. While it was true that most were aware of Dumbledore's affliction, it was not well known that it was fatal. Dumbledore and the staff had not been especially forthcoming to the general student body in that regard.

"His lack of empathy astounds me," Harry sighed in the stunned silence.

"Almost as much as his ignorance of the facts," Hermione agreed quietly.

"The funeral will be held at the Dumbledore family plot in Godric's Hollow at ten in the morning on the twenty-sixth of June," Binns continued in the disinterested monotone he was famous for. "All faculty and students are welcome to attend."

"Doesn't give much time for the announcement to go out," Harry observed. It was Friday, June 24. The Express would be leaving the next day. It would be a busy weekend.

"And now, it's time to award the House and Quidditch cups," Binns said, transitioning effortlessly, as though he hadn't just devastated most of the students. "I'm pleased to announce that Ravenclaw House has been awarded the House Cup. Well done." There was scattered weak applause as Binns handed the trophy over to Professor Silver, the Defence professor and head of Ravenclaw. "And in celebration, let's bedeck the hall accord…" Professor Silver leaned over and began whispering in Binns' ear. Binns appeared to be affronted, then hid it, composing himself. He finally straightened. "While usually the Great Hall would be bedecked in Ravenclaw colours, in light of Professor Dumbledore's passing, the hall will instead be draped for mourning." He waved his wand, and black hangings appeared, along with black and grey wreaths on the tables.

"The Quidditch Cup…" Binns continued, as though he hadn't just been interrupted. "…is awarded to Gryffindor, who had an undefeated season this year. Would the team captain please come up to accept the trophy?"

George Wood sighed mightily and hauled himself to his feet. He walked as though his feet were filled with lead as he made his way to the front of the hall. When he got there, Binns stood before him with a disinterested smile on his face.

"Congratulations, Mr. Wood," he said, handing over the trophy. George nodded and turned. Then he brightened and hefted the trophy over his head.

"I, and the rest of the team, would like to dedicate this victory to our head of house, Professor Dumbledore!" There was enthusiastic applause at that pronouncement, and afterward, George quickly moved to his spot at the table and passed the trophy around to the teammates.

The leaving feast concluded swiftly after that, and the subdued student body returned to their common rooms in a sombre mood.

"I don't feel like sitting around with the others," Hermione said as she held Harry's hand. "Can we go to the Room?"

"Sure," Harry agreed. "It is date night, after all." Hermione gave him a wan smile and nodded.

"I don't know that I'm really in a date mood," she said as they walked. "But I want to be alone with you. I'm not really sure the others understand." She looked back at the crowd of Gryffindors who were talking amongst themselves.

"I know," Harry said. "It can be our own private wake."

ooOOOOoo

Harry was miserable. He stood in his formal robes next to Hermione and the rest of the Potters. The sun was merciless, and the temperature was near 85º F. Sweat mixed with the few tears that managed to leak out of his eyes, so that his face was streaked with wet trails.

Around him, the graveyard was full to near bursting to commemorate the life of the defeater of Grindelwald. It seemed that everyone had turned out. The Ministry was there in force, as were the international crowd. Hogwarts was also well represented. Harry thought that upwards of ninety percent of the students and all of the faculty were present. Albus Dumbledore had been a very popular man.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," a voice called from the front. Harry recognized the speaker as Aberforth Dumbledore. He was far younger than Harry remembered, and looked much more like the sixty year old Albus Dumbledore than the one hundred-something Aberforth had looked like the one hundred-something Albus. Harry was surprised, because he didn't think that Aberforth liked Albus all that much, though he'd never discovered why. Still, Harry supposed family was family. "If you could all please take your seats, we'll begin." He waited while the seating area filled completely, and the remaining congregation gathered around.

"We are here today to bury my brother, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore," Aberforth said. "Albus lived a great life, full of the things he loved. He had a love of learning and a love of justice that he carried with him through his final days. He wanted you, his legions of friends and colleagues, to know that it was his privilege to know you. Indeed, he was well liked by most. It will be painful for many to let him go. And now, I'll turn the podium over to our first eulogizer, the Minister for Magic, Wilhelmina Tuft."

While he waited for the new speaker, Harry sighed and wiped his brow. He glanced over at Hermione and saw her sweating as well. Finally, the handshakes were done and the Minister took the stage.

"This is perhaps the saddest passing imaginable for our community," she said. "Albus Dumbledore gave more to us than we could possibly imagine. His defeat of the Dark Lord Grindelwald saved not only Magical Britain, but all of Magical Europe and it materially assisted Muggle Europe as well. With a stroke of his wand, Albus Dumbledore ended the worst war that has ever plagued this Earth." Harry felt that was a little hyperbolic, but made a concession for the memory of the man. "The Chief Warlock was also an astute politician, who, in his three years in the post, managed to make significant changes to better the Ministry and the lives of British Witches and Wizards. He was a unifier, a coalition-builder, a man of vision, and we are all saddened to see him pass so young."

As Minister Tuft droned on, Harry glanced behind him to gauge the reactions of the crowd. Most seemed appreciative of her words, nodding in agreement. Some, mostly purebloods sat stony-faced, refusing to allow Dumbledore the moniker of visionary even in death. One of those faces Harry recognized as dangerous: Bernard Rosier.

Bernard, just eighteen, had been suspended from Hogwarts two years before for attacking Harry in the halls. He was carrying on a feud started by his friend Leslie Mulciber. Rosier was dark, and ambitious, and a pureblood zealot. Unfortunately for him, he was also stupid. Those were a dangerous combination, and Harry was disturbed to see Rosier glaring not at the Minister behind the lectern, but at Harry. When their eyes met, Rosier sneered at him. Harry watched him nudge a man next to him, who cast Harry a dirty look.

In his seat, Harry surreptitiously palmed his wand, keeping it out of sight at his side. He returned his attention to the funeral service, but would keep tabs on Rosier from time to time by pretending to check on Hermione.

"What's wrong?" Hermione asked quietly after the fourth time he looked at her.

"Bernard Rosier's standing in the back," Harry whispered. "He's been glaring at me for the past ten minutes and talking to the man next to him."

"It's probably his father," Hermione opined after sneaking a glance. "Did you notice that there are about four other men who all look a little like Rosier?" Now it was Harry's turn to glance back. Once he'd seen it, he couldn't un-see it: Bernard and his father were accompanied by four other men between twenty and forty, a boy who looked just old enough for Hogwarts, and three women.

"I just hope they don't try anything here," Harry said, turning back.

"I doubt it," Hermione snorted. "Half the Auror force is here. They wouldn't dare." Up at the front, Minister Tuft was replaced by Professor Binns, who began droning on about Dumbledore's academic achievements. Harry used the time to continue to watch the Rosiers.

When Professor Binns was done, Elphias Doge, Dumbledore's closest personal friend, took the podium. The poor man was in tears, and could barely wheeze out his eulogy. His distress was exacerbated by the heat, and the corpulent man's robes were practically soaked through. What little hair he had left was plastered to his head. Harry found it difficult to listen to him, and remained concentrated on his own safety.

Suddenly, Doge stopped talking. Harry glanced to the front, and saw the man collapse. Other guests gasped. It looked to Harry as though the man had passed out, probably from a combination of grief, heat, and stress. A few people in the front row rushed up to help him. Harry used the opportunity to look around, and it saved his life.

Rosier used the distraction to strike. While everyone else was focused on the front, Rosier drew his wand and cast. Harry shouted something unintelligible and ducked, pulling Hermione down with him as the emerald green spell impacted the old witch sat in front of him. Down between the seats, he had a moment to think, and looked over at the rest of his family.

"Dad!" he shouted, pointing to the rear. "Rosier!" Fleamont looked at Harry, saw the lady slumped in her chair in front of him, then glanced back to see the entire Rosier clan brandishing wands.

Bernard cursed as his spell missed, and was slow to get the next one off. Fleamont was already reacting, pulling his wife Euphemia to safety behind the chairs. Others were starting to move as well, but not fast enough. The other Rosiers began to take advantage of the commotion and started firing spells.

Harry looked over as Lord Henry and his wife, Lady Winifred, began to move as well. Lord Henry pushed Winifred down and was drawing his own wand when another killing curse struck him in the back.

"No!" Harry shouted as he watched Lord Henry collapse lifelessly onto his wife. The other Potters managed to dive to safety, largely shielded from the attack by the other mourners and the chairs.

Harry snapped. He was done losing people he cared about to arseholes like the Rosiers. He glanced at Hermione, silently willing her to stay safe. Then, with a fearsome glint in his eye, he apparated away. He appeared directly behind the Rosier clan, brandishing his wand and started casting. In an instant three of the Rosiers were impaled on rocky spikes that erupted from the ground. It was seconds before the Rosiers realised anyone was behind them, and by then it was too late. Next to his impaled son, Bernard's father turned and saw his own death coming as a reductor curse hit him in the chest.

One of the remaining two brothers screamed a war cry and raised his wand. He looked shocked when he failed to cast anything. His hand was severed by a cutting curse from Hermione. Fleamont joined the battle as well. His wand felled the last Rosier male with a bone-exploding curse.

The three Rosier women were instantly cowed. One of them huddled over her son, while others held each other. They weren't threats.

Harry scanned the crowd for danger, but saw none. Everywhere was pandemonium, Doge long forgotten. Witches and Wizards were scrambling to get away from the fight, climbing over chairs and other mourners or simply apparating away. As the people fled, the dead woman and Lord Henry were conspicuously visible in the sea of empty chairs. Next to them, stood the Potters: a united front—a phalanx of wands. On the other end of the killing field stood Harry, covered in the gore of his enemies, his sharp green eyes alight with an indescribable fire.

He lowered his wand as he saw Aurors approaching. It was to their credit, he realized, that they didn't fire first and ask questions later. Harry carefully pocketed his wand and raised his hands over his head.

"You sure do make a statement, don't you Potter," one of the Aurors said as he arrived next to him. Harry recognized the young Auror. It was Alastor Moody, not yet known as Mad Eye. Moody seemed to realize what had happened, and that Harry hadn't started the fight, merely ended it. "Relax, boy," Moody said, trying to avoid stepping on any body parts. "I'm not going to arrest you… yet. You wanna tell me what happened? I was lookin' at the whale at the lectern when the business started." Other Aurors were arriving as well, but most seemed content to let Moody take charge. They busied themselves collecting evidence and locking down the scene.

"I noticed the Rosiers were back here," Harry began. "They'd been watching me since the start of the funeral. I suppose Bernard took advantage of Mr. Doge fainting to attack me. He's been after me ever since he was suspended for attacking me in December 1948."

"This goes back to the Hogsmeade incident in November of that year?" Moody asked, pulling out a notebook.

"Well, back to my run-in with Leslie Mulciber on the Hogwarts Express in September, but yeah," Harry agreed. "Rosier just couldn't let it drop. I thought things were done when he didn't try anything at school last year, but I guess I was wrong."

"So who fired first?"

"Bernard Rosier," Harry said firmly. He cast a killing curse at me, but I ducked and it hit the lady sitting in front of me." He pointed to where she was still slouched in her chair.

"Okay," Moody allowed. "What happened then?"

"I got everyone's attention, and the rest of my family started to take cover," Harry explained, then stopped. He paused for a moment as the gravity of what he was about to say sank in. All at once, it seemed as if the adrenaline built up over the course of the fight left him and he visibly sagged. "One of the other Rosiers got Lord Henry with a killing curse before he could get to safety."

"I'm sorry, Potter," Moody growled, and clapped Harry's shoulder in a conciliatory gesture. "He was a great man." Harry nodded.

"I guess, when I saw Lord Henry go down… I just snapped," Harry reasoned, regaining a bit of his vigour. "I was so sick and tired of the bloody Rosiers… I apparated behind them and… went to war. I can provide a pensieve memory for the record."

"That's fine," Moody allowed, observing Bernard and two of his uncles impaled on shafts of rock. They were dead, probably hadn't known what hit them. Bernard's father Tobias Rosier, and one of his uncles were in bits and pieces all over. The only surviving Rosier had fainted after he'd lost his hand, and was in the custody of the Aurors. "You can come down to the Ministry on Monday for that."

Moody looked at the three women and one son. They were being looked after by a team of Aurors. They'd be interrogated eventually, but not now. Not here.

Harry looked around at the now mostly empty graveyard. His eyes scanned the gravestones and empty chairs, coming to rest on a small clump of people standing where the Potters had been sitting. They were clustered around Lord Henry's body.

"I need to go," he said absently, and started walking over to the crowd. He stopped next to Hermione, on the outside of the group. She turned when she heard him arrive.

"Oh, Harry!" she cried, and flung her arms around him. He reciprocated as she wept into his chest. "I'm so glad you're alright. Lord Henry…"

"I know," Harry consoled softly, looking over her head to where Lord Henry lay. Lady Winifred was sat on the ground, holding Lord Henry's head in her hands and weeping softly. Fleamont and Charlus stood over her, speaking quickly in whispered conversation. Their wives were crouched around Lord Henry, trying and failing to provide comfort to Lady Winifred. Simon, now ten, stood behind his mother, staring with wide eyes at Lord Henry's body.

Harry drew Hermione away once she'd calmed down a bit, and led her by the hand over to where Fleamont and Charlus were.

"What are we doing?" he asked them softly.

"We're going to take him back to Peverell Court," Fleamont said. "Then I need to go to Gringotts. We were already scheduled to go tomorrow for Dumbledore's will reading, since you're mentioned in it. Might as well make it a family affair and get dad's will read too."

Harry knew Lord Henry's funeral would be private. The Potters were not a showy family. They didn't do public funerals, weddings, or other family events. They kept to themselves. It was how they'd survived for millennia. Harry nodded, accepting Fleamont's decision.

He turned around and saw that Hermione was trying to distract Simon, but wasn't being very successful. He looked back at Fleamont who was preparing a portkey.

"Is there anything we can do?"

"Take Simon back to Peverell Court," Charlus said. "We'll deal with Dad and Mum." Harry nodded, and went to help Hermione.

ooOOOOoo

It was a sombre Harry, Hermione, and Fleamont that made its way into Gringotts the next morning. Lord Henry had been buried the night before in a very private ceremony in the Potter graveyard. It was a small patch of grass in a forest clearing somewhat north of the main house on the Peverell Court grounds. Harry found it a little eerie to lay the man to rest under the flicker of torchlight, but it seemed to fit the family's mood.

When the trio approached the head teller, Fleamont stated his business, and was sent to Og. Harry and Hermione, again entrusted to a young Griphook, were guided to a large conference room. It was a large and ornate affair with a soaring ceiling and dark wood panelling. Another goblin was sitting at the head of the table. Several other people were seated around the table already. Harry recognized Professor Binns, Professor Silver, and Aberforth. Harry and Hermione took seats together next to Professor Silver.

"Hello, Mr. Potter; Miss Granger," Silver said softly. "I'm so sorry for your loss."

"Thank you, Professor," Harry replied as Hermione nodded.

"Yes," Binns said from across the table. "Bad business, that." Professor Silver shot Binns an unfriendly look. Harry merely nodded curtly. They were spared any further comment by the door opening again, revealing a very red-faced Elphias Doge. He moved slowly, which Harry could understand. The man was still recovering from his episode the day before.

"Now that we're all here, we can begin," the goblin said once Doge had taken a seat at the table. "I will now read the last will and testament of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore…" Harry found it difficult to pay attention, as he was focused on the impending reading of Lord Henry's will, which was far more consequential to his family. That is, until he heard the goblin say his name.

"To Mr. Harry James Potter, I leave my home in Hogsmeade, along with all contents not otherwise bequeathed, and a sum of one thousand galleons," the goblin read. "To Miss Hermione Jane Granger, I leave my collection of books and a sum of one thousand galleons." Harry and Hermione were stunned. Harry barely registered when the goblin passed them both sealed envelopes with their names on them.

The rest of the reading passed quite quickly, and before he knew it, they were back in the lobby, where they were met by the rest of the Potter family, who had arrived a short while earlier. After brief greetings, Harry looked down at the envelope in his hand and opened it. He extracted four sheets of parchment. The first was the deed to 27 High Street, Hogsmeade, which he refolded and returned to the envelope. The next was a bank draft for one thousand galleons, which he likewise returned to the envelope. A letter followed, which he read.

Dear Harry,

It has been my absolute privilege to get to know you these past two years. It cheers me more than you can imagine that I have been able to influence your life in both the future and the present. While I am saddened that I will not have the opportunity to become the man you knew me as, I hope that our experiences together and the knowledge I have imparted to you will allow you to grow into the man I know you can become.

You have accomplished much in the time that I have known you, and I am sure that you will accomplish even more in the time you have left. In order to help you on your way, I am presenting you with a house to call your own, and a small monetary token of my esteem that I hope will in some small way help you bear the burdens you do and shall. I have also notified Gringotts of your mastery of the Sword of Gryffindor, thus establishing your heirship to the Gryffindor line. You may talk to either the Potter or Dumbledore family account managers to take up this mantle.

My final gift to you is something you have earned over the past year and a half of study, a Mastery of Transfiguration. I hope you will forgive me this small deception, and it pains me that I will not be there to see you receive it, but it is yours, and it is my pleasure to award it to you after observing all your hard work and sacrifice. The necessary paperwork has been filed with the Department of Magical Education, and they have agreed to recognize your achievement.

Go forward, my friend. Never stop learning. Never stop growing. Never forget. I shall remember you always, and I will see you when you too cross over to the next great adventure.

Yours Truly,

Albus Dumbledore

Harry looked up and saw Hermione engrossed in her own letter through the tears in his eyes. He wiped his face roughly with his sleeve and tried to get his emotions back under control. He folded the letter neatly and returned it to the envelope. The last piece of parchment was a certificate declaring his Mastery of Transfiguration and its recognition by both the Ministry and the International Confederation of Wizards.

When she finished reading, she looked up at Harry, and whispered, "A mastery?" Harry nodded and smiled at her.

"I suppose we earned it," Harry replied. "Congratulations."

"Congratulations to you, too," Hermione said, giving him a brief hug.

Just then, Griphook appeared, and ushered the Potters and Hermione back into the conference room Harry had just left. Og was seated at the head of the table, with Fleamont to his right. The Potters took their places, with Charlus on Og's other side, and their families stretching down the table. Lady Winifred was at the far end. Og cleared his throat.

"We are here to execute the will of Lord Henry Potter," he said when he had everyone's attention. He read all the standard legalese at the beginning of the document, and then got to the bequests.

"Charlus Potter shall be recognized as head of a cadet line of the Potter family. He shall take uncontested control of his family's trust vault and management of his son's trust vault. He shall receive from the Potter accounts a sum of one million galleons and the Parkmoor Estate, at which he currently resides, along with all property and sundry items it contains," Og read.

"The remainder of the vaults, monies, and properties of the Potter family, and the Potter lordship, to include all titles and honours, shall pass to my son, Fleamont Potter upon the following conditions:

"First, he shall care for my wife, Winifred Potter, until her dying day and she shall not want for anything during that time. Second, he shall name as his heir, his son, Harry Potter, to inherit upon his passing. Third, he shall continue to provide assistance, counsel, and care to Hermione Granger, treating her as a member of House Potter.

"Should these conditions not be met, or should Fleamont predecease me, all remaining vaults, monies, properties, and the Potter lordship shall pass to my grandson, Harry Potter," Og finished. He turned to Fleamont. "Do you agree with the terms set forth by your father, Lord Henry Potter?"

"I do," Fleamont replied softly.

"Very well," Og said, pushing back the chair and standing. "Please rise." Fleamont did so, and using a sword, Og bestowed the Potter lordship, along with the titles and honours of the family. He placed a cornet on his head, a livery collar around his neck, and placed the Potter family signet on his finger. When he was done, the family applauded quietly. "Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you Lord Fleamont Potter, Duke of Hereford, Earl of Mercia, and Baron Greystoke, head of the Ancient and Noble House of Potter. Our business is now complete. I shall leave you the room."

When the applause died down, Lord Fleamont sat in the seat that had been occupied by Og.

"Mum," he said after looking at everyone. "What do you want to do?"

"I… I can't live in Peverell Court anymore," Lady Winifred said, wiping her nose. "The whole place reminds me of Henry."

"Do you want to move to the London house?"

"That would do," Lady Winifred replied.

"I'll have Pinky and Whip pack up your things," Fleamont said kindly. "I suppose that means Mia and I will be moving into Peverell Court. Harry, you and I will have to have a talk soon."

"Okay, Dad," Harry replied. "I have some business with Og before we go."

"Oh?" Fleamont asked. "What did Dumbledore leave you?"

"A house in Hogsmeade, a thousand galleons, a Transfiguration Mastery, and the Gryffindor lordship," Harry revealed. Eyes bulged around the table.

"That solves one problem, in a way," Fleamont murmured. "Well, you'd best be off then, Lord Gryffindor." Fleamont smirked and waved him away. "I'll see you when you get back to Edgewood. It'll take your mum and I some time to move out. It'll be a busy few days."

Harry nodded and looked at Hermione. "Would you like to come with me, 'Mione?" Hermione nodded and followed him down the hall to Og's office. He rapped on the door.

"Enter!" Og called. When Harry opened the door, Og nodded. "Mr. Potter, Miss Granger," he said politely, waving towards seats opposite his desk. "I had a feeling I'd be seeing you again before the day was through."

"About the Gryffindor lordship, no doubt," Harry agreed.

"Could you please summon the sword?" Og asked. Harry held up his hand, touched his magic, thought of the sword, and called it. It appeared in his hand, weighty and radiating an odd warmth. It shone despite the gloom of the office. "You are indeed the master of the sword, and therefore heir to Godric Gryffindor."

"What does that entail?" Hermione asked, leaning forward as Harry lowered the sword.

"In addition to acquiring a vault," Og enumerated, "Mr. Potter will become the Earl of Monar, an ancient Scottish magical title, the holder of which is Laird of Hogsmeade."

"I've never heard of that," Hermione processed aloud.

"I doubt you would've," Og replied. "The last Earl of Monar was Godric Gryffindor himself, and he was only the fifth to hold the title. Hogsmeade wasn't very large at the time, and Hogwarts was new."

"What are the duties of the Laird of Hogsmeade?" Harry asked.

"You're tasked with governing and protecting the village and Hogwarts," Og replied. "To do that, you're entitled to collect rents or taxes, and the tenants are to provide you with service, should you require it."

"That's medieval!" Hermione exploded.

"Indeed," Og observed. "As I said, the last holder was Godric Gryffindor, who died before the Norman Conquest of England."

"I'm not required to collect rents or require service, though, am I?" Harry asked.

"You may rule as you see fit," Og shrugged. "It's your land. I can have the title ready by tomorrow, if you'd like. The account ledger for the Gryffindor vault will also take some time to clean up. That I can also have available by tomorrow. The Letters Patent will have to be updated, as the monarchy has gone through several changes since then. That can be completed by Friday. Our part can be done by tomorrow, but we have to send them to the Court of St. James for processing, which will slow things down."

"That's fine," I can come back on Friday," Harry replied, slightly overwhelmed.

"Excellent," Og agreed. "That will give us time to submit a request on your behalf to join the Wizengamot."

"What?"

"As a member of the nobility, it's your right to sit on the Wizengamot," Og informed him. "While the Earl of Monar has never sat on the Wizengamot, he did sit on the Wizard's Council in its time. Such an action should be relatively routine. It occurs at least once a decade: a magical noble line in abeyance after squibbing out will be reactivated with the birth of a magical child from that line or a non-magical noble will sire a magical child who succeeds to the title. This would be a variation on the former. It's fairly simple."

"I'll defer to your greater expertise and experience," Harry granted. "Is there anything you need to do today?"

"I can appoint you today, or you can wait until Friday," Og replied. "It matters little."

"Then let's wait until Friday," Harry decided. "I'll see you then." He stood and offered a hand to Hermione. He bowed slightly to the goblin. "May your gold run in rivers alongside the blood of your enemies."

"And you, Lord Gryffindor," Og replied with a smile.

ooOOOOoo

"Would you like to talk now, or later," Fleamont asked Harry when he arrived home.

"We can talk now, if you like," Harry replied. Fleamont gestured to follow him outside. They were standing in the back garden, planted with food to supplement the ration coupons that were still being issued in post-war Britain. Fleamont wandered down one of the paths.

"You're an adult now," Fleamont said after a moment. "You have been for almost a year, but now, you're ready to strike out on your own." Harry chose to wait to respond, so Flea continued. "I'd intended to offer you Edgewood to live in, however there are some complications." Harry continued to remain silent and Flea looked at him. "My first concern was that should I give you this property, Hermione would become an issue."

"I don't think…"

"You don't have to play coy with me, Harry," Flea interrupted. "I know you're sleeping together. If I cared, I would've stopped it a year ago when I found out."

"So what's the problem?" Harry asked. His voice was calm, but his face was the same colour as a tomato.

"Society," Flea replied. "While I can claim you're not sleeping together when I'm chaperoning you, were you both to live here on your own, people would talk."

"Who would tell them?"

"Word would get out," Flea said simply. "Someone would make a mistake, and it would slip. Anyway, society won't tolerate two unwed people cohabitating. I don't know what it was like in the 1990s, but here in the 1940s it just isn't done. We need to at least put up a façade of propriety."

"Okay," Harry replied. "So what do you want me to do?"

"The way I see it, you have two options," Flea said, stopping in the middle of the garden. He looked at Harry and smiled broadly. "First, you could just marry the girl. Merlin knows you two love each other at least as much as Mia and I, and based on what I could hear that night you forgot the silencing charms, you're pretty compatible, at least in the bedroom." Harry's blush increased tenfold.

"Erm, sorry about that," Harry murmured, looking at his feet.

"Forget it," Flea dismissed. "Everyone does it sooner or later."

"Even you?" Harry asked, looking up, his own sly grin on his face.

"In my youth," Flea agreed with a chuckle. "Anyway… If you're not ready for that, I could let Hermione stay here, and you could stay in Dumbledore's place in Hogsmeade. You could apparate, portkey, or floo between the two and no one would be the wiser."

"This sounds like a conversation I should have with Hermione," Harry said after considering it for a moment.

"Fine," Flea allowed. "Just let me know by the end of the week." Harry nodded. "Until then, you'll be staying here. Your mum and I will be moving to Peverell Court tomorrow. Can you and Hermione take care of yourselves here until you give me your decision?"

"Sure, dad," Harry agreed, nodding. "Thanks."

"No problem," Flea said. "Now I've got work to do, and you have a talk to have with Hermione. Best get cracking."