Chapter Text
If you wish to find out how to support my work and read the next five chapters in advance, then please visit: https://twitter.com/accio__dracarys
The sweat was a cold sting against the humid July air, but Harry didn't slow his pace. His trainers thudded rhythmically against the pavement of Little Whinging, a dull, repetitive sound that helped drown out the high-pitched, cold laughter that still echoed in the back of his mind.
After the events preceding in summer and Voldemort’s return, Harry had the realization that the way he used to live his life couldn’t continue – not if he wanted to save others from the fate that Cedric had received. Even recalling Cedric’s last moments, and how powerless he was to stop it made Harry clench his fists.
Which is why when he returned to Privet Drive, Harry hadn't touched his schoolbooks. He learned better through practice anyways, and he couldn’t practice right now without being threatened with expulsion.
Instead, when he got back to Privet Drive, he’d used a small portion of his gold to join a local boxing gym two towns over and spent every morning and afternoon pushing his body to the breaking point. The scrawny, knobby-kneed boy who had entered the Triwizard Tournament was gone. In his place was a young man who had shot up several inches, his shoulders broadening and his frame lean and corded with new, functional muscle.
He was training himself ragged because he knew that while he couldn’t practice magic, building up his stamina and fitness would only help him against Voldemort– and as far as he could tell, all this training had helped his magic as well with how it thrummed beneath his veins.
He turned the corner onto Privet Drive, his grey t-shirt soaked through, his breath coming in steady, controlled cycles. He ignored the twitching curtains of Number 4. Let the Dursleys stare. He was beyond their reach now, even if they didn't know it yet.
Harry climbed the stairs to his room, his muscles humming with a dull ache he’d grown to crave. But as he pushed the door open, the usual stagnant silence of his room was broken.
Lying on his desk was an envelope of heavy, cream-colored vellum. It wasn't the cheap parchment of Hogwarts or the frantic scrawl of Ron. It bore a thick, blood-red wax seal: The Crest of Gringotts Wizarding Bank.
His brow furrowed, as he picked it up, and broke the seal.
To: Lord Hadrian James Potter Subject: Urgent Inheritance and Contractual Obligations
Lord Potter,
Following your participation in the Triwizard Tournament, the Magic of the Goblet of Fire has recognized you as an emancipated adult. Consequently, the Potter Lordship, previously held in trust, has been fully surrendered to your person.
Be advised: there is a pending Marriage Contract involving the Most Ancient and Noble House of Potter. The specificities of this union were sealed by your ancestors and triggered upon your ascension to the Lordship.
The second party involved has been notified of these developments. You are hereby summoned to Gringotts Bank for a formal reading and activation of the contract. Failure to attend will result in a forfeiture of House Magic.
This letter is a Portkey. It will activate on July 24th at 10:00 AM. Ensure you are holding the parchment at that time.
May your gold flow and your enemies tremble,
Ragnok Director of Gringotts Trust Division
Harry read the letter three times. Lord Potter. Emancipated. His heart gave a sudden, violent thud against his ribs. Marriage Contract. The words felt like a physical weight, pulling the air from his lungs. For a moment, he felt that familiar, dizzying surge of anxiety
Not again, he thought, a flash of bitterness rising. I just got away from the graveyard. Can’t I just belong to myself for once?
A pang of guilt struck him, sharper than his own fear. Someone else is reading this right now, he realized. Someone who didn't ask for this any more than I did. He thought of the danger his name carried. Whoever this woman was, she was now a target for Voldemort simply because of a signature from a century ago.
But then, he forced himself to stay still.
He walked over to the cracked mirror, wiping a smudge of sweat from his forehead. He looked at himself. He saw the height he’d gained, the steady set of his shoulders, and the exhaustion behind his eyes.
"Right," he whispered, his voice shaky but grounding itself. "No use panicking right now. I’ll see about dealing with this on the day of the hearing."
He placed the letter carefully on the desk, and moved to his trunk, digging past the tangled mess of robes and half-finished essays until his fingers brushed against cold, embossed leather. He pulled out a heavy volume that had been buried at the bottom since the end of third year: Great Houses and Traditions.
Neville had pressed it into his hands on the Hogwarts Express, looking uncharacteristically serious. "You're a Scion of a Noble and Most Ancient House, Harry," his friend had said. "People will try to use that. You should know what it actually means."
At the time, Harry had not wanted to bother with all the Lordship – not finding it worth it time. But now the book felt like a lifeline.
As the sun began to set over Privet Drive, casting long, orange shadows across his floor, Harry read. He read about House seats, about the Wizengamot, and the old laws of Regency. The more he read, the more the thrumming of magic in his veins seemed to settle into a steady, rhythmic pulse.
The work had only just begun.
__________________________________________________________________________
The office of the Director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was usually a sanctuary of controlled chaos, but lately, the chaos was winning.
Amelia Bones rubbed the bridge of her nose, her monocle catching the dim light of the evening. Across her desk lay reports of "freak storms" in the Muggle world and a string of disappearances that the Aurors were being told to classify as 'low-priority wanderers.' Cornelius was becoming impossible; any suggestion that there was a darker pattern to the recent rise in crime was met with a purple-faced lecture about "fear-mongering."
A sharp thud on her desk interrupted her thoughts. A Gringotts owl glared at her, a heavy envelope clutched in its talons.
Amelia broke the blood-red wax seal, her brow furrowing. The Goblins didn't send social calls to the Ministry.
To: Regent Amelia Bones
Subject: Activation of Ancestral Marriage Compact
Regent Bones,
Be advised that the conditions for an ancient Marriage Contract involving the Most Ancient and Noble House of Bones have been met. The primary party of the second House has reached legal emancipation, thereby triggering the bond sealed by your ancestors.
As the current Regent and the only eligible blood-descendant of age—as per the Law of Succession 1842—you are hereby summoned to Gringotts Bank for the formal reading and activation.
The identity of the second party and the specificities of the union will be revealed upon your arrival. This letter is a Portkey. It will activate on July 24th at 10:00 AM.
May your gold flow and your enemies tremble,
Ragnok Director of Gringotts Trust Division
Amelia felt the air leave her lungs. A marriage contract. At her age? In the middle of a brewing shadow war that the Minister refused to acknowledge?
"Ancestral Compact," she whispered, her voice tight. She knew the history. The Bones family had several dormant threads with other Ancient Houses, but for one to trigger now meant that someone, somewhere, had just come into a Lordship unexpectedly.
A flash of worry for Susan crossed her mind, but she quickly calculated the laws. Susan was not yet 20; the ancient "Age of Succession" laws would bypass her entirely in favor of the current Head or Regent.
Amelia paced her office, her heels clicking sharply against the stone floor. Who was it? A Greengrass? A Longbottom? Or perhaps one of the older families she hadn't thought of in years? Whoever it was, this had all the spices to be a political landmine.
She looked at the date. July 24th.
"Just what I needed," she muttered, a grim set to her jaw. "A forced union with a stranger while the world starts to burn."
She didn't know the name yet, but she knew the magic. This wasn't something she could arrest her way out of. She would have to face it.