Chapter Text
Harry watched with a detached sort of interest as Aunt Marge’s distended, bloated body floated out the back door.
He quickly turned, went to the cupboard and opened it, drawing out his wand and waving it, trying to call all of his things to him.
His album and Hedwig’s cage, as well as his cloak, all came to him dutifully, to his great surprise, but another chest rattled its way down the stairs from the attic.
It had two strange symbols on it, one that was three circles interlocked and a triangle with a circle in it and a line bisecting the circle.
Harry frowned and opened it and saw letters addressed to him, plus a leather bound book. He hastily put the smaller chest into his and shut it, then turned to head out the door.
Vernon stormed up to Harry. “You bring her back!” He blustered. “You bring her back and you set her right!”
Harry sneered at Vernon. “No, I won’t.” He said with all the bravado a thirteen-year-old boy could muster. “She got what she deserved, and if you don’t let me go, I’ll give you the same treatment!”
Vernon’s face went white. “You can’t!” He said surely. “They’ll expell you!”
“Do you think I care?!” Harry snapped. “Our Ministry is completely incompetent, they can’t touch me if they can’t find me. I won’t be your problem anymore, I’m leaving!” He snapped, then walked to the door and out into the brisk night air.
Now what? Harry thought to himself. He walked down the street a ways and sat, thinking. He was staring listlessly into a bush when he saw a shape, a large black dog. He stood and hastily backed away as it emerged from the bush, staring at him intently.
Harry lost his footing and cried out, hands flying into the air as he fell to the ground.
A large, triple-decker bus arrived on the scene with a loud bang, and the door opened and a man came out.
“Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded Witch or Wizard. I’m Stan Shunpike, and I’ll be your conductor this evening.” He noticed Harry lying on the ground and frowned. “What ‘choo doing down there?”
Harry got up with an irritated growl. “I fell over.” He muttered, looking back to where the dog had been.
It was gone now.
Stan followed his gaze curiously. “What ‘choo fall over for?” He asked.
Harry huffed. “Well I didn’t do it on purpose!” He snapped.
“Well, best get on, then.” Stan said, going back inside the bus.
Harry glanced back one more time and then boarded the bus.
The dog was long gone by now, surely.
He paid for the bus to take him to Diagon Alley and waited while they made a fast, somewhat turbulent ride toward Diagon Alley, making a few extra stops to let off other passengers along the way.
When they got to Diagon, he hastily got off and was greeted by the Minister for Magic, who revealed that he was Harry Potter, and Harry’s bright mood was immediately soured.
He followed the man into the Leaky Cauldron and was shown to a room, where Minister Fudge explained that Harry was free to stay there for the rest of the summer, and he also revealed that Marge had been set to rights, further cementing Harry’s dislike of not only the pompous man, but the entire Ministry.
He assured Harry that the Dursleys would be expecting him next summer, and Harry’s mood plummeted further.
After the man left, Harry got into his pajamas and, curious, opened his trunk, pulling out the smaller one and opening it again.
There were a lot of letters, all of them written in a beautiful and feminine hand, and Harry traced his name on the oldest one, hoping he was right about who these letters were from.
It was dated November 16th, 1979.
He opened it with trembling fingers and began to read.
“Dear Baby,
I haven’t decided yet if I am keeping you, and I don’t know if you’re a girl or boy, all I know is I just found out that you even exist!
I’m scared to tell James.
Voldemort captured me during a raid, and instead of killing me or giving me to his followers, he decided to force himself on me and let me go, calling it ‘an act of mercy!’ As if I wanted mercy from him!
The fact is, though, that I feel like I should tell James, and keep you. I have a feeling that your existence might be the only thing that keeps us safe, later on down the line.
If he found out that I’ve become pregnant and there is every possibility that the child is his, what would he do, I wonder.
The fact is that you might be his, you might be James’, it’s simply too early to know, but I know that you were conceived either that Halloween night, or the day just after or before, the timing of these things is sometimes tricky.
I wasn’t traumatized by the event, though by all rights I should have been.
That’s not to say it was a good experience, but he wasn’t overly cruel, he was considerate and made sure I wasn’t in pain while he… did what he did.
I need to talk to James, we’ve had trouble conceiving, and even if you aren’t his, this may just be the blessing we were hoping for.
I’m not sure if I’ll keep you yet.
But I’ll keep writing monthly in case I do.
Your Mother,
Lily Rose Potter”
Harry wiped his tears away and reached for the next one, eager to read and see his mother’s thoughts and hopefully learn if he was welcomed, or just kept for safety’s sake.
Had he even been wanted? Had he been loved?
There was only one way to know, and he opened the letter dated December 23rd, 1979.
“Dear Baby,
I’m about two months gone now, and we’ve decided we’re keeping you. James will blood adopt you, and we’ll tell you who you really are when the time is right; perhaps before you start Hogwarts, so that if you sort Slytherin, it won’t be a nasty surprise.
Yes, that does mean we know who your real father is, and no, it is not James.
You are the child of the Dark Lord Voldemort.
We’ll still protect you, James has vowed to love you like his own, and I believe he will do right by you, and by me. We’re in this together, the three of us.
James did tell me that children conceived on the Sabbats, like you, are magically powerful. They are considered blessed by the Gods, and since his family still teaches the Old Ways, even if they no longer practice them, he is excited to see for himself just how powerful you will be!
I admit that I’m curious, too, because your biological father may be many things, not all of them pleasant, but weak is never one of those things.
He is powerful, there is no mistaking that, and I’m no slouch, either, so I think you’ll be very strong.
I find myself hoping that you’re a girl, although I know James is hoping for a boy.
I’ll be happy as long as you’re healthy, but a little girl would be such a joy!
I have to go now, but I will write again in a month, and when you can read and are old enough, I will give you all of these letters and you can see how things were while you were still just my unnamed baby, before we properly met.
I love you already.
Love,
Mummy”
Harry wiped away the new tears and picked up the book. It had the same symbol that was on the trunk, with the triangle and circle and the line, but when he opened it to a random page, it was blank.
He turned to the first page, worried that this book was like Tom Riddle’s diary, but the first page had writing on it.
It read: Peverell Book of Shadows.
Below that was an inscription that read “on the night of Samhain, the holder of this book must make a blood offering into the Samhain fire and recite these words:
In this night and in this hour,
I call upon this ancient power,
Give your knowledge now to me,
Share the tale of my ancestry.
Only then will this book reveal its contents to those who possess the noble blood of the Peverell family. Use it well.”
Harry frowned. Samhain? Sounds like I need to do some research.
He closed the book again and decided he’d read the rest of the letters tomorrow. He’d had a trying day, and was ready to sleep.
He put the things away and laid down, falling asleep nearly before his head hit the pillow.
*****
Harry set his stirring rod aside and looked into the cauldron. He frowned. It looked exactly as it should at this stage, so if he could make it so easily, why had Snape only assigned an essay about it rather than an actual brewing assignment? It was easy!
Then it gave a suspicious glup and boiled over and Harry panicked. He grabbed his wand and tried to vanish it, and the whole mess exploded, coating him with a fine layer of green goo.
“So much for easy.” Harry muttered, grabbing a towel and scrubbing at the mess on the bathroom floor. “I’m never brewing without supervision again.”
It took him an hour to clean the bathroom and himself, but once that was accomplished, he went downstairs with the rest of his homework and worked diligently at it for the rest of the day, finishing it around dinner time.
After he ate, he went to Gringotts to get an inheritance test from the goblins, after reading that Lily had gotten one and had found out she was a descendent of the Peverell line.
She wasn’t able to access any of the vaults or anything else, as the Peverell family had always passed down the leadership through the male line and a female simply couldn’t hold any of the titles or monies.
But perhaps Harry could. He was a male, after all, and maybe then the goblins could tell him what exactly Samhain was.
He had nothing to lose by asking, and potentially a lot to gain, so he wanted to at least try.
He went to Gringotts and walked up to a goblin teller and said, “Hello, Sir. I’d like to get an inheritance test done, if that’s alright.”
The goblin looked shocked to be addressed with such respect, and gave Harry his full attention. “Would you like the standard test, which is free for account holders, or the full test and family tree? The price for that is 50 galleons, no discount for account holders.” The goblin warned.
Harry’s eyes widened. “Um… then the standard one will be fine, I suppose.”
The goblin opened a drawer and took out a sheet of parchment. “Prick your finger and drip a drop of blood onto the parchment. The test will go back as far as great-grandparents and will list any blocks or compulsions on you as well as who placed them. We can remove any that are there, but I’m afraid that service always carries a charge.”
Harry took the pin held out to him by the goblin and pricked his finger, and the goblin took back the pin and stuck it in a bowl of clear potion, or perhaps it was just water, Harry did not know.
Words began to appear on the parchment and Harry’s eyes widened as he saw that yes, he was Voldemort’s son.
What was more surprising was who his secondary Godfather was.
“Why is Snape my Godfather?!” He asked in shock. “He hates me!”
The goblin looked decidedly unimpressed with his outburst. “I’m sure I don’t know.” He responded. “You humans are strange sometimes.”
Harry sighed and looked over the test in interest.