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ACT5CH25 - New Beginnings
🕑 Added 2025-09-05 02:57:49 +0000 UTCThe gravestone was smaller than he'd imagined. Simple. White marble, worn soft around the edges by rain and time. Two names carved into it with quiet reverence.
James Potter (1960 – 1981)
Lily Potter (1960 – 1981)
Harry stood in the soft soil, cloak still fluttering faintly in the wind. Behind him, Daphne stood, a respectful distance away. The cold of the December evening had settled around him like a hush, and even the crows seemed to keep away from the graveyard’s hush.
He knelt before the gravestone.
He had fifteen years to make up for, after all.
“Hi,” he said, voice cracking. “Mum. Dad. I know, I should have come here before. I should have known where this was. I should have… asked.”
He swallowed.
“But I didn’t. I… I was afraid. Afraid of what I’d find. Afraid that it’d make it real. It was just so much better to imagine that the two of you were somewhere far and after all of this was done, we could just…. I don’t know, be together? Happy?”
He exhaled.
“The first time I saw you, it was in the Mirror of Erised. And I thought — wow, she’s pretty. And so young. Full of life. Mum looked like she had just passed out of Hogwarts. And Dad… Dad looked like one of those quidditch pros that Ron wouldn’t shut up about. And I was like, no way they could have a skinny little dolt like me as a son. They’re so young!”
He barked out a laugh, which vanished midway.
“I grew up with the Dursleys,” he smiled humorlessly. “I don’t know if you really knew them well, but I don’t think you’d have liked me to be raised there. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon… They hated magic. And me. By extension, I guess. They told me how you and Dad were drunkards that died in a car accident, leaving me on their doorstep. But I didn’t believe me. I remember flashes of your red hair, Mum. And Dad’s glasses, and… and a giant black dog. I once drew that on my cupboard wall. It made me feel… safe. And I thought... I thought maybe you were watching over me, but that would mean you saw me when I was six and I used to cry myself to sleep. That you saw me scrape food from the bins because Dudley got all the good stuff.”
Daphne grasped his shoulders.
“You know, all my life, I felt I was different. A freak. How could I not? Strange things kept happening to me. I turned my primary school teacher’s hair blue once. Another time, I apparated to the school terrace to escape Dudley and his gang. And then on Dudley’s birthday, when we all went to the zoo, I gossiped with a snake without realizing I was speaking Parseltongue, and accidentally vanished the glass keeping it trapped, and Dudley fell into it, after the snake escaped. You should’ve seen his face when he saw the glass was back on.”
He softly grazed the gravestone with his fingers.
“Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon didn’t take that nicely, so they locked me up in my cupboard and refused me meals for two days straight. Dudley was an arse more than usual. Then the letters from Hogwarts started coming. Uncle Vernon wouldn’t let me read mine, so he’d burn them at the fireplace. And then one day… letters started coming from everywhere. The door, the windows, the fireplace…. Guess the OWL post takes their job seriously.”
Daphne snorted from behind.
“Things went so bad that the Dursleys took me and moved to this lighthouse near the sea. And then on my eleventh birthday, Hagrid blasted through the bloody door at midnight, and told me I was a wizard. That all the freakishness I did was magic. He got me a birthday cake too, but Dudley stole it, so Hagrid gave him a tail.”
He paused and frowned. “I ought to have kept that a secret. Hagrid isn’t supposed to be doing magic!”
“Anyway, he took me to London the next day, and Diagon Alley, and it was awesome. He got me my wand, and gave me Hedwig as a birthday present, and showed me Gringotts and goblins and all sorts of wonderful things….” A warm smile formed on his lips. “At last I was free! Free to explore this amazing world of magic and its wonders, to finally be among people like me, and become a wizard like my parents would have been…. then I found out that my parents were killed by this dark wizard who wanted to kill me.”
He slumped back.
“Well… shit.”
Daphne couldn’t hold back a snicker from where she stood. “Understatement of the century, Harry.”
“What happened to staying silent and giving me ‘all the time I need?’”
“Sorry, sorry,” she said, snorting again.
Harry rolled his eyes. “Glad someone’s enjoying it, at least.”
He turned to his parent’s graves. “That’s Daphne Greengrass. My Daphne. I think Dad would like her. She stalked me in Hogwarts for four years straight just like Dad did you, Mum.”
“Excuse me?” said Daphne, blinking dumbly. “Oh no no no, you don’t get to say that about me! I didn’t stalk you at all.” She raised an accusing finger at Harry. “You were simply too oblivious to care about anyone other than Malfoy and getting into trouble!”
“Seriously, Aunt Lily,” she said, looking at his mother’s grave. “When it comes to trouble, Harry’s the biggest magnet out there. I swear you leave him for five minutes and already he’s neck-deep into some kind of world-ending disaster or fighting some dark wizard or solving some great unsolved mysteries of our world.”
“I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic or serious.”
“Neither can I.”
“....”
“Seriously,” Daphne went on. “This guy over here should’ve spent his time trying out for Spring Leagues or taking me out on dates. I even gave him a memory of your time in Puddlemere, Uncle James, hoping that this dolt would get a hint, but Noooooo, he had to — just had to make a bloody familiar out of that bloody runespoor, which opened up its own can of worms.”
“It was Neville’s gift,” Harry defended. “And besides, you love Hecate.”
“Yes, and someday I’m going to cruciate the hell out of Neville for thinking a XXXX creature would be a damn good idea for a birthday present.”
Both of them went silent for a moment, thinking about their fallen companion. There had been absolutely no news about Neville Longbottom ever since he had transformed into an Obscurial and ravaged through Diagon Alley before Albus Dumbledore had impeded and calmed him down, before trapping him employing an obscure spatial magic that was way beyond Harry’s ability to understand, much less recreate.
For whatever reason, Dumbledore seemed to think that Harry too was capable of enacting that same magic.
Even more bafflingly, Newt Scamander had confirmed it.
It made no sense. Maybe after things had settled down a bit, he’d ask the Headmaster what he truly meant. Or maybe wait for Scamander to return home with Neville after Minister Bones brokered an acceptable Armistice between Harry and the other pureblood lords.
“Your son decided that he wanted to raise a bloody runespoor and decided that leaving it in the Chamber of Secrets was the best idea. And that started an entire new saga of insanity that spiralled from Slytherin’s hidden vault to a runespoor golem and every damned abomination on the planet coming out of the woodworks just to fuck with him. And he indulged.”
“Hey! You make it sound like it’s somehow my fault,” Harry crossed his arms and gave her a stubborn look. “I didn’t even know half of the things could happen in the first place.”
“You decided to saw through a ritual circle ward, fight a horde of werewolves and become the ritual’s anchor in the first place, Harry. And if that wasn’t enough, you joined Bones and her fray to an Azkaban trip, to face off dementors, Death Eaters and Ekrizdis all by yourself. Face it, Harry, even if trouble comes looking for you, you decide to jump headfirst into it every single time.”
“I’m not suicidal you know…”
“Could’ve fooled me. Honestly, Aunt Lily, your brat must have been a cockroach in his past life. No matter what his enemies throw at him, he somehow gets out of it alive, more powerful and twisted like you wouldn’t believe.”
“Anyway,” said Harry, not wanting her to spill out more and embarrass him further before his parent’s graves. “That’s that. I’m very much in love with her, and she loves me too.”
“And we’re about to get married soon,” added Daphne. “Which is a little early, I guess. But someone had to own this poor man or else who knows what he’d end up with.”
Harry rolled his eyes. The radiant look on Daphne’s face told him she wanted to kiss him, and as much as he wanted to reciprocate, he doubted kissing before their graves on the very first visit was a good idea.
He turned to the graves.
“I’ve made friends here, Mum, Dad. There’s Ron and the rest of the Weasleys. There’s Hermione Granger, she’s really smart, but we’re going through a rough patch right now. There’s Professor Dumbledore and Aunt Andi and….”
He trailed off, unsure of how to speak about Sirius.
“I know you did something on the night you died, Mum. Something that saved me, gave me a chance to live when you and Dad didn’t. The world calls me the Boy-Who-Lived, but I know that it only means my parents didn’t. Whatever you did, Mum, I am close to finally figuring it out. I… I’m a Warlock now, and I raised House Potter to Nobility status, to House Peverell. Sirius told me that you’d be proud of me, Dad. As would Grandpa and Grandmum.”
“They would,” said Daphne.
“So, you see?” He went on, his eyes moist. “It’s never been in vain. You gave me all of this. You made it possible that I could live, that I could become strong and survive against the oncoming darkness. So I just wanted to th ....”
His voice broke. Daphne grasped his shoulders again.
“I… I wanted to thank you,” he managed to say. “I’m — I’m sorry I didn’t come here before. But I am here now. I — I’ll live, and I’ll thrive just like you’d have wanted. I’ll make my dreams come true, and no matter what the world throws at me, I’m never going to give up. I — I miss you. You can’t imagine how much and …. and…. ”
He looked at the gravestone with a forlorn expression.
“Harry?”
“It’s stupid.”
Daphne gave him a curious look.
“All of this,” he said. “Talking to their graves. All of this. As if they can somehow hear me. But they can’t. I know it. I’m Death’s vessel. I can feel the residue of the dead. I know when magic clings to the living long after they’ve died. And my parents… they’ve… they’ve truly moved on.”
“Have they? How would you know?” Daphne asked.
“Of course they have. There’s no way to —”
He paused right there, fisting his fingers. Was there truly no way? He could think of at least one that existed in this world. Two, if he included his owl form and its ability to trespass into the Anima. Three, if he considered what the Azkaban Gate truly was.
He had already lost way too many people. His mum. His dad. Sirius was lost to the Anima, and to this date, he had no way to get him out.
No. That wasn’t right. He had a way, when he had become one with the Eternum. But he had chosen to close the Gate, chosen to be altruistic, to do the right thing, even if it meant closing the very gate through which Sirius could find his way through. There was the Resurrection Stone that could technically call upon the spirits of the dead, and if he could truly manipulate Time of all things like Akingbade claimed he could….
“Harry…. No.”
Harry looked at her with a mix of apprehension and surprise. Daphne didn’t say a word, but her frightfully intelligent gaze told him she knew exactly what he was thinking.
It truly was a dangerous line of thought he had treaded upon. To have the power to truly fetch one’s loved ones from beyond the grave… not only was a power that spat on the rules of the world, it broke everything that was sacred. The dead were dead, and had no business with the living. To try and force them to return back to the living and play a role that they shouldn’t have to was an existence not unlike what Ekrizdis did to the souls he captured using his dementors. Harry could tell himself that he was doing it out of love, claiming that his parents never truly have a choice and now that he had the power, he could actually give them the choice to live, even if he would essentially be forcing it upon them. It would be wrong but….
Sirius had told him that there were ways to spot when he was making an irrationally stupid decision. It started with justifications that began with ‘It would be wrong but…’
Sirius said it was best to leave the conjunction out of the sentence.
It would be wrong.
Sirius wouldn’t want him to let the Anima devour and corrupt the world just to get him out.
Just like his parents wouldn’t want him to step over the very rules he had put up in place when he took up the mantle of Gatekeeper.
“I know,” he said at last. “But that doesn’t stop it from hurting.”
“I know,” said Daphne, grabbing his head and pulling him into her bosom. Harry let himself be dragged in, the pain flowing out with his tears. Daphne was crying as well, only in silence. He could feel tears running down her cheek and falling on his.
They stayed like that for a long time.
The snow along the cobbled path muffled Harry's steps as he and Daphne walked back to the same lane as the Potter cottage, stopping at the ageing house just before it. Utterly inconspicuous from the others, from the ivy creeping up the flanks, to the crooked chimney puffing occasional sighs of smoke into the greying sky — nobody could guess the identity of its current occupants or the significance of the meeting that would follow.
Bathilda Bagshot held the creaking door open as they stepped inside.
"I knew you'd come," said the old woman, her voice a whisper carried by parchment. She smiled gently, and her eyes crinkled with something deeper than warmth. "Betty put the kettle on ten minutes ago. Come inside, child. And bring the girl with you. The others should arrive soon.”
"Ma’am," Harry said softly, nodding as he stepped inside. The cottage smelled of paper, elderflower, and the slow-burning scent of old wood and older stories.
Inside, the room was a library in all but name. Shelves carved from ancient oak lined the walls, filled to bursting with manuscripts, first editions, rune-scrolls, and ancient volumes that pulsed faintly with ambient magic. Harry promised to have a closer look at the collection and tally the Sunken Vault with it.
No, he wasn’t feeling book-envy or anything.
A gentle fire crackled beneath a mantle lined with tin-framed photographs and glass jars. There was a round table in the middle of the room, already laid out for tea. Silver spoons with winged handles.
“You look so much like James,” said the old crone. “But your expressions are all Lily. Always thinking, always brooding, but never telling.”
Harry gave a ghost of a smile. Right then, there was a shimmer in the air, a subtle ripple in the wards outside. A moment later, Albus Dumbledore, Babajide Akingbade and Amelia Bones entered through the doorway.
"I hope we’re not late," said Albus, doffing his hat. “We got a little caught up with something.”
"Punctuality is a courtesy," said Bathilda, already pouring more tea. "But this tea is sacred. You’ll drink it whether or not you deserve it."
Dumbledore gave Harry a twinkly-eyed smile, before sitting down next to him. Akingbade and Bones sat on the opposite couch. They finished their tea with minor small talk. At some point, Akingbade offered Harry a drink, which he accepted, despite Dumbledore’s warning.
He really should’ve listened to the old man, for once.
“Anyway,” said Amelia Bones. “Now that the song and dance are dispensed with, perhaps we can get down to the main issue behind this meeting?”
“Professor Dumbledore told me that you have a proposal,” said Harry. “The last time we had a private meeting, Croaker and the DOM came after me. I can only wonder what will happen this time around.”
And just like that, the atmosphere shifted.
“Harry, behave,” said Daphne.
Harry just scoffed.
“I’ll go see if Betty needs any help,” said Bagshot.
“Actually Bathilda,” said Dumbledore. “I was hoping you’d be present here. I have no doubt that an eminent historian like yourself could bring a unique perspective to the table.”
“Albus, this was not —” began Akingbade, but something about Dumbledore’s gaze paused him midway.
“...if you insist?” offered the old crone, taking a seat.
“I do,” said Dumbledore. “Harry,” he said. “I know a lot many things have happened recently, and given how things ended at the Wizengamot, you are right in your decision to be cautious about trusting the Wizengamot. Trust me, I myself resigned from the Chief Warlock position right after you left, and I completely agree with your decision.”
“But you still want me to entertain this.”
“Alas,” said Dumbledore. “The things we must do for the betterment of society. Like I conveyed to you through the letter, Amelia here had a meeting with the relevant Lords of the Wizengamot and forced them to play along. We believe that if you cooperate, perhaps we can rebuild the British Wizengamot from its ashes to become something better.”
“Are you certain they aren’t just agreeing because they’re afraid the goblins will revolt and they’ll lose everything?” Harry snarked.
“The goblins have already revolted,” said Amelia. “Oddly enough, they retain representation of a few select houses which includes House Potter, Black and Greengrass, while aggressively declining to release the vaults of the other Houses. You wouldn’t have anything to do with it, did you?”
“Really?” asked Harry with a faux-innocent look that fooled no one. “First time I’m hearing of this!”
All eyes stared at him blankly for a prolonged moment.
“Could you have a worse poker face?” asked Amelia Bones.
Daphne exhaled. “He’s terrible at this.”
The Minister exhaled. “I should’ve known. Only Harry Potter would be so crazy to ally with the goblins while the nation was tearing apart. One little destruction fest and you’ve gone habitual, Harry Potter.”
“He’s an overachiever,” said Daphne sagely.
“Enough dawdling,” said Akingbade. “Ever since the Anima has perforated the world since the Event, the world has tilted in directions beyond our control, Potter. And like it or not, you’re standing on the fulcrum. Some fear you. Others want to follow you. And a few want to own you."
“Yeah,” said Harry. “We’ve met.”
Akingbade ignored his quip. “Ordinarily, I’d have demanded that an Oversight committee be formed, composed of ICW members, and ensure that you don’t bite off more than you can chew. Given how you lost control over the Black Family Magic at the Wizengamot, I’m certain you’d understand where I am coming from?”
Harry frowned. “The Black Family Magic is —”
“Taken care of, I believe?”
Harry blinked.
“How do I know this?” asked Akingbade. “Because I have made you my business, Harry Potter. Ever since the last ICW Summit, my feelers have been gathering every bit of information they can get from credible… and not-so-credible sources to paint your biography, so to say. Perhaps I’ll hand the notes over to some freelancing author sometime and let them write a book on you — The life and lies of Harry Potter. How does that sound?”
Harry blinked again. Did he just—
“And as such, I’m certain that if you found the time to entertain Albus’s request here, then things must have at least settled down to a salvageable situation, if not solved already.”
Harry opened his mouth, and shut it again. It was like dealing with Nicholas Flamel. Facing powerful opponents was one thing. Facing powerful opponents that knew who you are, and did their homework, was another.
“...Yes. Yes, it has been dealt with. To a degree.”
“I expected as such,” said Akingbade. “There’s also the issue of your casting the Fidelius over the Gate’s location, without a deeper understanding of the flaws of the charm. Ordinarily, these two would be enough to have the entire ICW to come down on you, until you voluntarily consent to working for the ICW, or are identified as a global threat. However, Albus here has helped me understand why you did what you did… as well as the implications of the prophetic words of the Black Family Magic.”
Harry fisted his fingers. He had almost forgotten that there were others present there when Tezcatlipoca had uttered those ominous words.
People who didn’t have their heads in their arses.
People who would actually understand how grave the situation was, and were likely to take action.
People like Albus Dumbledore.
And perhaps… Amelia Bones.
“Albus approached me with the memory of your recent Wizengamot fiasco, as well as several other memories of your recent… exploits, shall we say. I understand you have a part to play in yet another prophecy that concerns this… Lord Voldemort?”
Harry turned to Dumbledore, eyes narrowed in question. As much as he understood why Dumbledore had kept it a secret from him, it didn’t mean he had to like it.
“We’ll get to it, Harry,” said Dumbledore. “I had already come to terms with sharing it ever since the aftermath of the Defence Against the Dark Arts curse resolution. But we both know how busy you have been with everything else since then.”
Harry snorted. Only in Albus Dumbledore’s mind could the recent events be described as ‘being busy’.
“I hope I will be kept in the loop about this, Albus,” said Amelia Bones.
“I’m afraid not, Amelia,” said Dumbledore sharply. “This is completely unrelated to the British Ministry and the Wizengamot. What concerns Harry Potter and Lord Voldemort is simply their exclusive business, not the Ministry.”
“It is the Ministry’s business if the prophecy plays a role in endangering it.”
“Oh don’t bother,” said Harry. “The Ministry does that well enough on its own.”
Daphne grasped his arm, shaking her head.
“...Fine,” he said, resigned. “I’ll listen to what you say, but if it turns out to be another trick, I’m in the wind. Then you can deal with the fallout.”
“Noted,” said Bones, breathing out slowly. “What I…. what we offer isn’t so much of a proposal, than a trade of sorts. Turns out that House Black was entrusted with ensuring the Operarius stayed intact, as per the Old Blood Compact. It gave House Black the Most Ancient and Noble standard because it needed fellow Houses to fall in line and bend to the Jaguar’s will. House Black was supposed to be the chains that hold the entire structure of the Wizengamot, and by extension, its legislative, martial and executive wings together by means of sacred protocol.”
“The Pact of Hollowmere,” said Harry, frowning.
“So, you know,” said Amelia, eyeing him. “Then I can be blunt, I suppose. Currently, you hold the glue that can snap the Wizengamot back together. You also control the Gate, and have knowledge of its protections, not to mention your unique status as Death’s Vessel. You also hold a tentative relationship with Gringotts, but in a broken economy, that means little. We, on the other hand, have all the other Houses of the Wizengamot, the authority of being a registered Magical State associated with the ICW, not to mention the entirety of the ICW that may or may not register you as a global threat given your recent actions.”
“I thought this was supposed to be a trade,” said Daphne. “All I’m seeing are threats.”
“Not threats, facts,” Amelia corrected. “Now,this is what I propose — complete cessation of hostilities against you, Harry James Potter, as well as the Houses you represent. The Wizengamot will properly invite you, as per the Old Blood Compact. House Black will be reinstated, and Binding shall return to the Operarius. House Peverell will become part of the Wizengamot.”
Harry tilted his head. “Peverell?”
“Peverell,” Amelia confirmed. “That irrelevant clause will be abolished, or deemed inapplicable, whichever is easier. Desperate times call for desperate measures. The Gate will be recognized as a sovereign magical territory, governed independently by the Gatekeeper, under Clause 18 of the Old Blood Compact and Sealed Territories Act of 1312.”
“Somebody’s pulling all the punches,” murmured Harry.
“Like I said, I’m desperate."
“In exchange, House Black will stay true to the Old Blood Compact, and fulfill its duties, including but not limited to re-enacting past protocols, reaffirming the treaties that the Wizengamot has with other agencies, such as Gringotts, the ICW, and Hogwarts.”
“You do realize that the other parties actually have to swear their oaths? I can’t just magic them into reaffirming the old laws,” said Harry.
“I understand that,” said Amelia, frowning. “And I’m certain Gringotts will exact a heavy price for it. But what we reap, we must sow. I have word from Albus Dumbledore and Sir Akingbade here that Hogwarts and the ICW will swear by the original vows and protocols, albeit after some careful restructuring to cut out the more archaic restraints that hold little meaning today.”
Both men nodded.
“You will also consent to a joint Council in operation. It will comprise of selected members of the Wizengamot, a member of the British DMLE and the Department of Mysteries, and selected members from the ICW, in addition to the Chief Warlock. No more than fifteen, and that includes yourself. They will double down as an advisory committee, as well as help you maintain the Gate, as well as track, study and interact with other potential anomalies that might have erupted over the rest of the world, or might erupt in the future, without any worries about international red tape. You will also drop the Fidelius charm that exists over the Gate, but will retain all rights to act in its defence. Should any party, nation, or independent agency attempt to breach it, the Council will use its fullest powers and influence in your favor. There are some more legalities and trivia to take care of, but I’ll clear them up with Miss Greengrass.”
“What? You don’t even need me for the entire thing?” Harry asked, feigning insult.
Amelia Bones shrugged. “It would be pointless. We both know that Miss Greengrass has you completely whipped and if she thinks the proposal has merit, she’d have no trouble convincing you to agree.”
“Hey!” Harry objected. “Who are you calling whipped?”
“You obviously,” drolled Bones. “To others it might appear like she follows you, but to you, it looks like you’re the one following her. Tell me, even if I offered the world to you, would you have gone ahead and agreed to my offer if she disagreed?”
Harry and Daphne looked at each other blankly.
“Well then,” said Bones, offering the proposal document. “Would you like to use my quill?”
