Of Magic and Masters

Welcome Home

1

The students of Hogwarts were vastly diverse – ethnically and otherwise. There were Americans, Russians, Chinese, Colonial Africans, and more from the far reaches of the globe. The tuition was astronomical compared to lesser institutions, and the student population reflected the fiscal requirements. The girls were bred for beauty and the boys were tall. The foreigners spoke impeccable English, and nearly every student possessed an undeserved and unfounded sense of entitlement and self-righteousness. Even the youngest first years were up to date on the current fashion trend, and were just as self-assuming as the oldest university student.

For all these reasons Harry knew immediately that the girl was not an elitist child like the rest of the students. Harry could tell that her father was not a politician or a colonial governor. Her father was not an industrial tycoon like Harry's own father, but probably some manager at a semi-successful business, or maybe even a muggle. She would be pretty at any other congregation of people, but not at Hogwarts. She was average and plain next to girls like Daphne Greengrass and Susan Bones.

The new girl had large front teeth, that could be corrected easily at the local dentistry in London or Hogsmeade, and soft brown eyes that were the source of her plain prettiness. She had a disastrous hair style (that was not the latest fashion trend) that loosely resembled a pixie's nest. She was sitting alone in an empty compartment on the Hogwarts Express reading Hogwarts: A History.

"Hello." Harry said to her. "Even if I don't know their names, I recognize nearly everyone on this train, but not you. You must be new."

She smile nervously at him. "Yes. I graduated from Aylesbury. My name is Hermione Granger, by the way. I'm a university student on scholarship." Aylesbury. Alyesbury was a disgraceful school in the eyes of most Hogwarts students. It was the only school that allowed muggle-borns to attend for free. Harry found it amazing that a girl from Alyesbury managed to earn a scholarship to Hogwarts, the most prestigious school in the world. The girl must have been a giant among dwarfs at that school, but here she was a mouse in a pit of snakes.

"Impressive. Did you attend any of the Hogwarts-Aylesbury matches? I'm captain of the Slytherin squad." Harry asked.

"I'm afraid I'm not much of a quidditch fan." She told him, still not meeting his eyes. She was frightened by him. Harry smiled humorously at her bashfulness. Harry knew immediately she was muggle-born. All natural wizards and witches can honestly say they at least partially enjoy quidditch. She truly will be a black sheep this year. Harry's own friends will eat her and spit her out.

"What about any of the mundane sports? Rugby? Football? Which do you prefer?" Harry asked, attempting to make conversation. Harry found himself wondering why he was talking sports with a woman.

"Harry, mate! Come sit! I've got a couple o' bottles of Firewhiskey!" Zacharias Smith yelled at him from a compartment down the hall.

"Well it was nice meeting you. My name's Harry. Harry Potter."

"Hermione Granger. Pleasure." She said. Harry left the strange girl to herself and joined his friends of eight years in the largest compartment in the front of the train that was informally reserved for the group with the most powerful connections.

"Lads. Ladies." Harry nodded to his friends. The group was not constructed randomly by chance. Harry built up his core group of friends carefully. Connections. Allies. You had to start young, or you may fight yourself outclassed and outmatched in the greater world. Harry's father had told him that before his first year of Hogwarts.

"Ah. University. We're finally the top dogs of Hogwarts. Seventh year was good, but Eighth year will be grand." Susan Bones declared with a content smile. Susan Bones was an intellectually sound girl who came from a political family. Her aunt was the director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and her father was a key political adviser to the current minister, Rufus Scrimgeour. The girl herself was conservatively beautiful, in a strict no-nonsense way. She had copper hair and dark blue eyes. She was destined for a career in politics, and began training as a young girl.

"We can come and go as we please. Drink and smoke as we please, and fuck over the younger kids!" Zacharias laughed.

"Everything you just said is still not allowed, even for University students." Susan told him.

"That's never stopped us before!" Smith said as Harry sat next to Daphne.

"How was everyone's summer?" Harry asked.

"Let's see... I acquired a very delectable tan on my beach in St. Tropez, all the while insulting the Frenchmen and their puny empire." Daphne Greengrass told them. Daphne was widely considered the most beautiful girl at Hogwarts, and to her credit there was very fierce competition. She has never been, to this day, caught wearing the Hogwarts mandated robes. She had black wavy hair that was seemingly assembled one hair at a time. She had entrancing violet eyes and always pink cheeks. Harry would, much to his chagrin, grow angry and petty anytime some other man would speak to her. Her father was a wealthy oilman who owned an eighth of the Arabian peninsula's oil wells and worked often with Harry's father, James.

"How far down does the tan go?" Harry asked vivaciously as he tried to peek down her dress, only to be slapped away.

"All the way." She said saucily. "I don't do tan lines." It was true she did have a tan. She was a slightly darker shade of pale milky white.

"Father took me on a business trip to the States. I picked up a few bottles of Kentucky Firewhiskey. You've never tasted anything like it. " Draco Malfoy was an only child and set to inherit the vast Malfoy fortune. Draco's father Lucius owned a thousand businesses in a hundred countries. He had the Minister of Magic and the muggle Minister and the American President in his back pocket and even outright owned an archipelago in the Caribbean. "If you ask me, we should of tried harder to suppress their revolution. I could do with unlimited imports of Kentucky Firewhiskey."

"It's not like you can't get as much as you want, Draco. How much does a bottle cost? A couple hundred galleons?"

"Five hundred, as a matter of fact." Draco boasted.

"Wow, mate, you don't have a bottle on you, do you?" Zacharias asked hopefully.

"I do, in fact. It's in my bag, have a go."

"What about you, Harry?" Susan asked. "What did you do? And how's your dad doing?" She asked dreamily. Susan had been infatuated with James Potter ever since fourth year when they all went with their parents to see the Quidditch World Cup.

"Oh, he's good. He asks about you all the time." Harry admitted.

"Really!" She nearly screamed and bolted up.

"No, not really." Harry said as they laughed.

"Harry, how do you feel about getting a new mom. Doesn't Susan Potter sound so... perfect." She sighed and gazed thoughtfully out the window.

"I hate to break it to you, but, I'm not interested."

"Not you, you narcissistic prick." She corrected.

"Don't call my mother a prick!" Draco yelled.

"Your mother's name is Narcissa. I said narcissistic." Susan said.

"Oh."

"What's that mean?" Smith asked confused.

"It means your dumb as shit." Draco said.

"We honestly look exactly the same." Harry argued. "Everybody says so."

"Somebody's jealous." Daphne quipped.

"You most certainly do not." Susan continued. "He's so rugged and powerful. I bet he knows how to make a girl scream!" She said throatily.

"Are you making yourself wet?" Daphne asked laughing.

"Can we stop talking about Harry's father? The real topic of discussion we should be having concerns Harry's mother, and what's beneath her robes." Smith said, attempting to change the topic to one with bigger tits.

"Enough!" Harry said coldly. He almost brandished his wand and pointed it threateningly at him. Smith shut up immediately. Good. They're still afraid.

Harry's wand was special, and it cost a small fortune as well. Ollivander said so himself. The wood was gnarly and warped; stolen from a branch of the largest Whomping Willow in the heart of the Forest of Dean. Harry remembered what the old man said: "Only a very powerful wizard can successfully control wood from a whomping willow. It will buck; It will fight like an unbroken horse, but the results will be rewarding and awe inspiring." The core was a dragon's heartstring taken from an Alaskan Firedragon. "It's scales are frozen to the touch, but it's fire burns brighter and truer than a Hungarian Horntail. This is a very special wand, young man, treat it well." It cost twelve thousandgalleons; three times as much as any person Harry parents never ceased to remind him of it's cost.

"Yeah alright, mate. How 'bout we down some of that Kentucky Firewhiskey." Smith said nervously.

"There's a new girl, you know. Did you see her? She's muggle-born and she's from Aylesbury." Harry commented as he took a glass of whiskey.

"Aylesbury!"

"Muggle-born!" They all shouted.

"How the hell did she get into Hogwarts of all schools?" Daphne asked indignantly.

"Is she prettier than me?" Susan asked angrily.

"Do you still like my father?" Harry asked.

"No. I love him."

"Then yes, she is definitely very much more pretty than you."

"It's not nice to lie to your future mother, son." Susan admonished. Harry closed his eyes, sighed, and downed his whiskey. It burned something fierce and sent him into a coughing fit.

"Bottom's up, lads." He coughed. After the intense fire burned out in his core, he finally tasted the oak flavoring that was signature of American whiskey.

Daphne and Susan stared at their respective drinks with apprehension, while Draco remained undistracted. "I'll tell my father about this.Muggle-borns at Hogwarts! This is a crime! A befoulment of magic!"

"It's not against any laws and rules. And you and I both know that Dumbledore would never expel a witch based on her blood. The old man's a muggle lover. It's by the grace of God that he hasn't convinced the board to lower tuition." Harry said.

"It won't matter if he grants scholarships to any piss poor beggar with an ounce of magic." Draco cried furiously.

All at once there was commotion. While Harry and Draco were talking Daphne and Susan both agreed to down their whiskey at the same moment. They counted, slowly, - "One, two, three-" They paused as the put the glass to their lips, but didn't sip - "One, two, THREE!" They both swallowed the whole contents of the glass, but it didn't stay down. They felt the burn, and instead of taking the plunge and swallowing, they spit it up in a spray of burning, 180 proof firewhiskey – right into the eyes of Draco and Zacharias who sat opposite Susan, Daphne, and Harry.

"Ahhhhhhh!" They screamed in agony. This continued for a while. They writhed and squirmed and screamed, while clutching their eyes, as if shielding them from something unsavory or extraordinarily bright.

The other three were the audience to a particularly morbid comedy. They laughed at their friend's plight. Susan took pity on them soon enough and blasted them with water from a swish of her smooth cherry wand.

They choked out water from their noses and opened their eyes to reveal the blood-red color of their whites. It stayed like that until they visited Madame Pomfrey at the Hogwarts infirmary."Glad you had a laugh you fuckin' twats." This caused them to laugh more.

The train horn blew precisely at 10:59, signaling it's departure. The red steam engine puffed a great billow of black smoke as the arms began to slowly turn the gold painted wheels. Last minute stragglers jumped onto the colossal red steam engine as it inched forward. The younger kid in the rear cars vied for windows to stick their heads and hands out for their parents.

"Remember being that young? Those were the days." Susan sighed.

"Yeah, you assholes used to have sympathy, now you're a bunch of heartless bleedin' arseholes." Smith whined.

"So, anyway, my summer was great." Harry said. "I attended the World Cup in Rome with my family. Much to everyone's relief Spain trounced France. I was there to dance on France's collective dream's graves, along with about half of England, it seemed."

"Other than that I toured all my father's regional headquarters, learning the business."

"I'm sorry to say Harry dear, but your father's business is so...droll." Daphne said. "Oil is so much more lucrative than, whatever it is you do, coal?"

"Actually we do – steel, iron, coal, and chemicals. Imagine this – this whole train was constructed entirely from parts manufactured by my father's company, and besides, it may not be as lucrative as oil, but we monopolize the whole industry, unlike your father who fights off Yankees and Arabs and Russians. We got mines in every country of the world, baby."

"Enough of this business talk! Let's get royally shit faced!" Zacharias exclaimed.

2

His friends didn't see them, but he did. They were ugly creatures - bony and grey - they were winged, but lacked the graceful majesty of birds. Where a bird had feathers, these creatures merely had naked black skin, stretched taught over hundreds of protruding bones. They pulled the carriages without pleasure, and moved slowly, but not with a sure foot. They were nervous, cautious, and above all else – pitiful. Their eyes were sad, and seemed to be ready to shed tears at any slight provocation. They sneezed frequently and beat their wings, as if to fly away from the pains of the world.

They were called Thestrals, and they fit in seamlessly with the queer greyness that occupied the sky after the sun set. They're considered an omen of peril and doom, do to their rarity and association to death. Children normally could not see them, hence the myth that the carriages were propelled of their own will. They appeared only to those who have personally witnessed death, or to those fully understand the complexities and finality of death.

Harry had first saw one his second year, six years ago on this day. What he saw that day during summer vacation had bothered him for a long time, but no longer. His father explained it as - "An unsavory, yet necessary part of business, son. You'll understand when you run this company someday."

Harry now knew that his father was making an example out of the men on strike outside the Bristol factory. It was an organized strike that affected hundreds of his father's steel mills, mines, and factories. They were striking for either higher wages or unionization. When both appeals were denied, they took to pickets and street corners. Production was halted for only the time when it began one Monday morning to the time it took his father to reach the demonstrators in Bristol some hours later.

Harry's mother Lily had feverishly fought against Harry going with his father.

"He's just a boy, James! Do you want to poison him so soon?" She knew what was bound to happen, and she wanted Harry to withhold from seeing such things for as long as possible. His father was many thing – stubborn, willful, intelligent, but soft, he was not. Her pleas fell on deaf ears, and Harry was allowed to go. At that point Harry was excited. He was to excited to notice his mother's identical green eyes water, and he didn't notice how she stared at his father with absolute and utter loathing.

They'd taken the train. They sat in first class with the other rich passengers. James had spotted someone he knew and left Harry to himself with James' corporate lawyer – Luke Rivers, whose family had served the Potters for generations. Even though he abandoned him already, Harry was excited that he finally was able to spend time with his father, who remained elusive and scarce throughout Harry's childhood. James apologized, in his own way, by allowing him to purchase as many sweets as he wanted from the fat vendor who ate twice as much candy as he sold.

What Harry remember most vividly from that day was the way the men screamed. It was January, and a terrible day to be on strike. It was noon, but the layers upon layers of oppressing desolate clouds cast the town into premature night. Snowflakes fell peacefully like dust. A carriage was waiting for them when they arrived at the station, and soon they met the mass of strikers in front of one of the largest factories in England.

"Stay here." The lawyer said to him as Harry moved to follow his father. The strikers, who had been huddling glumly around pits of fire, found life when James approached. They didn't recognize him, but they knew who he must have been.

"Don't look away." The lawyer told Harry before, "He'll know." So he didn't. He sat wide-eyed and transfixed on the unfolding scene. He remembered being scared for his father. How foolish he was.

"Who is the coward in charge?" James yelled in a booming voice.

"I am no coward." The man said as he, admittedly, bravely stepped forward through the throngs of dirty workers. The man was blonde and taller and bigger than his father. The man would have been threatening, if not for the fact of magic. Harry's father stood calmly with his hands behind his back.

"Get back to work." He said simply. James' back was to Harry, so he couldn't see his face, but he could see the Foreman's. He was frightened. The throng of protestors were frightened. Harry remembered wondering why they were frightened. James may not have been the best of fathers, but he was never mean or rigid.

"I'm sorry, sir. But we cannot. The working conditions are poor. Workers lose fingers daily -"

"Enough." James commanded. They stood like that for awhile. They stayed silent while James observed and calculated the group.

"They get their courage from their leader. Your father must only need to silence him, and the rest will fall into place." The lawyer Luke Rivers said to Harry. The lawyer was right. That was all James needed to do to get them back to work, but he also needed to get the rest of the strikers all over the country back to work.

James broke the silence by asking - "Are you cold?"

"I'm sorry?" The man asked confused.

"Are you cold?" James repeated.

"A bit." The man answered.

"Would you like to be warm?"

"I would, sir." The man smiled, thinking a victory was imminent. James drew his wand instead and pointed it at the man.

"Sir, this is a peaceful demonstration!" The man cried, looking cross-eyed at the bit of wood pressed up to his forehead. He cringed in pain as the tip lit up orange and began to sear into his flesh and skull.

The man didn't have time to beg for his life.

"Not anymore." James replied, and all at once there was an intense heat that reached Harry all the way from the carriage. Harry didn't know what spell James had used at the time, but he did now – fiendfyre. Swirling and swooshing hell beasts of flame engulfed the protestors. They screamed. A brutal, agonized collective scream of pain that lasted half a second. The passerbys and the onlookers fled indoors, while the factory workers vaporized into a million pieces of ash, vaporized into nothing. Where there once stood three hundred thinking, feeling, aspiring men, there was only soot and stained snow. They were erased from the planet, there very existence only kept alive by those who knew them. It was a terrible spell that was reserved only for total decimation.

Harry returned home that night haunted by the faces of the hundreds of men, bundled in furs, burnt alive to the melody of their own screams. Harry was scared equally as much by the 'punishment' as the look on his father's face – complacent and peaceful, as if he returned from an opera and not a mass killing.

The factory burnt down in the uncontrollable fire, as well as a whole city block of homes and local businesses. His father rebuilt it and paid the new workers twice as much as the old ones. All the strikers around the country went back to work the next day, beaten into grumbling submission.

3

Harry was taller than his father, standing at six foot, four inches. Harry had broader shoulders and a slightly stronger jawline. His eyes were his mother's – vivid green that danced colorfully when he strained himself magically. Other than that Harry looked identical to his father – from the messy jet black hair, to the sharp nose and the high cheek bones. He was the first child born from Lily and James Potter. He would inherit the family business, not his brother, and certainly not his sister. For this, he was glad. He wasn't glad out of greed or any other self pleasure, but for the well-being of his younger siblings, who were kind and softhearted.

Charlotte was fifteen and enjoyed ballet (even though she consistently received fifth place in the individual competition and was outclassed by some Russian nobles). She was a beautiful girl in the likeness of their mother. She had bright red hair, freckles, a smile that made others smile, and their father's hazel eyes. She enjoyed talking about boys and unicorns, not coal, steel, and successful business models.

Charles was eleven and was being sorted at the welcoming feast that night. Their father was severely disappointed in the boy, but their mother couldn't have been prouder. The boy was fragile and sensitive. He cried for three weeks straight when his pet dog was eaten by a swooping baby dragon at their summer home in Florence. He gardened with their mother and preferred watching Charlotte dance than learn quidditch from Harry. Harry was worried for him. He better find some tough friends, or he might be bullied.

Ever since that frigid day in Bristol everything had changed for him. His mother no longer saw him off to bed and she smiled at him considerably less, instead giving him a saddened look of failure. In exchange he received the cold and unfamiliar love and preference of his father. Harry went with him on business trips all over the world during his summer vacations and sat in on important meetings. He became acquainted with his father's friends and business partners. He even attended other instances of 'punishment'. He was shaped, entirely and completely, into the ideal successor of his family's company.

4

Hogwart's Great Hall was impossibly grand. It could comfortably house hundreds of impoverished families with room to spare, but instead served as an eating place for the impossibly rich. Thousands of candles floated aimlessly, illuminating the cavernous room with flickering dimness. The entrance doors were two huge oaken doors that stood twenty-five feet tall each. They were supported by cast iron and were carved intricately with patterns of varying complexity.

There were scores of fireplaces along the length of the hall, which were all lit in the harsh Scottish winter. Behind the professor's table stood rows of beautiful clerestory windows that looked East to the rising sun in the mornings. There were eight tables in total. The four longest were in the center of the hall. These were for the the students in first through seventh years. From left to right was Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. The professor's table was perpendicular to the four main tables. Their table was raised, with a platform in front for speeches and announcements.

And then there were the three in the back. They were parallel to the professor's table and were reserved for the Hogwart's University students, and where Harry and his friends were sitting. Harry spent his whole seven years of secondary schooling on the far right side – the Slytherin table, while his sister sat on the opposite side – the Gryffindor table.

"Welcome. Welcome. Welcome! Welcome to the start of another magnificent school year, here at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!" The wizened old Headmaster Dumbledore announced from the owl podium that overlooked the whole hall. The man wore half-mooned spectacles that rested gently on his nose. His white beard reached below his belt and was tied at the end with a small bell. His white hair reached the small of his back and was also tied in place with a small bell. He dinged and ringed at every move and smiles every time he does so. He was a jovial old man who was quite pleased, despite the fact that nearly everyone disapproved of his favorable treatment of muggles and muggle-borns.

"I'd like to welcome all the new young faces and welcome back all of those returning. It brings a smile to my face to see all of your smiling faces!" The old man said with a smile. No one was smiling. Everyone was hungry and irritable and wore scowls and frowns, silently cursing the old man for delaying their inevitable gluttonous feast.

"I don't want to make you wait any longer than necessary, but-" He was interrupted by the whole student body groaning in despair.

"-we must first sort the new first years!" He said with jubilant glee. Immediately afterward the grand oaken doors burst open to reveal Professor McGonagall, who taught intermediate and advanced transfiguration, leading a group of doe-eyed eleven year olds who whipped their heads back and forth trying to absorb everything, while cringing in adolescent fear from the seemingly giant sized older students.

And so it began. They annual ritual that every first year dreaded, and every other student hated. But, this year was different for Harry. Charles Potter would be sorted.

"Any bet's on where Potter's brother is sorted?" Draco asked from his spot beside Harry. "I personally believe he's going straight to badger-town."

"Come on, now. This a Potter we're talking about. Brother to the Captain of Slytherin Quidditch and four time Hogwarts Dueling Champion. This kid is going to Slytherin or Gryffindor." Harry said.

"Harry, dear, I've met your brother. He's to sweet to be anywhere but Hufflepuff." Susan told him. "And besides, Hufflepuff is not a bad place to go." Susan said. She was in Hufflepuff.

"Charlotte is in Gryffindor like my mother, and I am in Slytherin like my father. He can't go anywhere else."

Charles Potter was sorted into Hufflepuff.

5

Harry knew his friends better than he knew himself or his family. He spent his adolescent and teenage years living and spending every moment with them, Draco and Daphne especially. The three of them were Slytherins, inhabitants of the dungeons and children of the darkness. The required characteristics were the perfect storm. Cunning. Ambition. Resourcefulness. The dungeons were a breeding ground of powerful people and those who would do anything to achieve it. It was a stupid system, in Harry's opinion. They divide the students as soon as they step through Hogwart's windy halls, alienate them, and breed them to hate one another. They separated the cursed winners, the courageous imbeciles, the smart weaklings, and the kind patrons, and pitted them against each other in quidditch matches, dueling matches, and academic competitions. Not that Harry was complaining; Slytherin made him tough, and his Slytherin father made him tougher still.

Slytherin was about connections and allies. It was about power. They settled feuds with wands and curses, and they kept their friends close, but their enemies closer. If two families were rivals in the outside, the respective students were rivals. Personally Harry had a rival. There was a Russian boy who's father was an industrialist. The man controlled the rich vastness of land from the Ural Mountains to Siberia to the Bering Sea, and still some more south of that.

Draco had blonde hair like beaten gold. In the moonlight it was white as an Englishman's skin. He had grey eyes that looked like cloudy winter skies. He was a man who gave friendship as quickly as he gave a smile, that is to say – rarely. Draco was a source of satirical opinions. He offered his thoughts on everything, even if they were unneeded and mistimed. He was the sort that got on easily with those exactly like him, and fought earnestly with those who were not. Harry, in this regard, was lucky because of this, and Daphne too. They were all similar of opinion, class, diction, and humor. Draco spoke with pompous superiority and demanded his inferiors obedience, and expected such by just walking into a room.

Despite this, Draco's friendship came with innumerable benefits and above all else, his loyalty, which Harry valued immensely. They stick up for each other, and no other duo in Hogwarts was as magically gifted as them. They were partners in dueling competitions and soundly beat their opponents, but when they fought each other, the audience was witness to a flurry of colors and sounds and magic that never was lacking in excitement.

Unsurprisingly they signed up to be roommates, for the eight year running, in the Slytherin dormitories.

Welcome Home The banner in the common room read. Welcome Home.

AN: Hello! I thought of this randomly and decided to go with it. Somethings you should know are:

Time period is cannon, but technology is still in the early 20th century.

Many forms of magic simply do not exist, like - apparition, charms, and portkeys

Other forms are limited, like - transfiguration