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Chapter Text

November 1991.

After all this time, he had finally done it. Lord Voldemort had triumphed over Dumbledore's pesky Order and had claimed control of Britain's magical community.

He had won.

All thanks to the most insignificant wizard he had ever had the misfortune of meeting. Peter Pettigrew was a weakling, a coward, an idiot.

A traitor.

Yet he had been the decisive factor in this war. When he sided with Voldemort – out of fear rather than conviction, like the pathetic rat that he was – and became his spy in the Order, he brought with him vital information. Like the names of every single one of Dumbledore's deluded minions, the location of all the hidden houses of each member, several strategic places that Dumbledore used as headquarters or back-ups, as well as ways to get in all of them.

The Dark Lord had used this knowledge to deal a crushing blow to the Order. While he and several of his most powerful Death Eaters launched an attack on a muggle village as diversion, the rest of his henchmen infiltrated the resistance's homes and bases, taking everything valuable and the children with them before destroying or warding the places tight enough that the rebellion had nowhere to fall back on.

It worked like a charm. As soon as Lord Voldemort pulled back his troops, the Order tried to return to their homes, only to be caught in the Death Eaters' ambushes.

Most managed to escape, since none of the traps were particularly powerful, hastily built as they were, and were meant to keep them out rather than defeat them. But with no safe haven and no foothold in England, the rebellion was forced to relocate immediately or risk extermination. He knew for a fact that the Order had left the country, now setting roots in France. There were probably still a few unknown members in Britain, acting as spies, but the vast majority of these nuisances was now exiled.

Good riddance.

Some of them had to leave their children behind, collected by his Death Eaters before they could retrieve them. Included among them were the Longbottom and the Potter boys, both possible candidates for the prophecy foretelling his fall.

He cared not for those two babies. First of all, he rather doubted that anyone could be a threat to him, with all the measures he had taken against his death. Second, the prophecy and the one that had uttered it were both majorly unreliable. The investigation he had ordered about Sybil Trelawney had revealed that she was likely a charlatan and definitely a drunkard. Third, the timing of the prophecy was just too good. For it to be heard by Dumbledore of all people, when Severus was eavesdropping and at a time where he was slowly but surely winning the war? It was far too convenient. He wouldn't be surprised to hear that the old Headmaster had orchestrated the whole thing, although he couldn't imagine what for. But then again, he had long given up on understanding anything going through Albus Dumbledore's head.

The two toddlers were placed in an orphanage, like all the children they had abducted, built specifically to prevent rebel parents from retrieving their offspring. They would be given a wizarding education until they were old enough to attend Hogwarts, and that was it. Over time, some muggleborns whose parents were deemed unsuitable for raising a witch or wizard would join them in the orphanage.

Despite many of his followers' opinions, the Dark Lord had nothing against muggleborns, judging that all magical blood was too precious to be shed senselessly. They were a small community, and couldn't afford to undermine it further.

However, he refused to let muggles interfere, or risk revealing everything to the world, hence the numerous measures he took over the years to ensure the magical people – muggleborn included – stayed apart, isolated and protected from the magicless.

With Dumbledore out of the count for now (because the old coot would be back eventually; cockroaches were easier to get rid of), Lord Voldemort was free to mold the wizarding world as he wanted. Any opposition folded quickly, and he soon managed to put his faithful in key positions, guiding wizardkind in the right direction. He allowed free elections of a Minister of Magic, knowing that he and his people actually held the reins. Let the masses believe they had the power to choose, he didn't mind ruling from the shadows. Besides, only the most gullible truly thought the Minister ran the show; most knew that Lord Voldemort was the guiding hand behind every new law.

It led to some families leaving the country of their own initiative, refusing to live under his rule. He didn't try to keep them; better let the seeds of discord go than force them to grow on his land.

Things went smoothly for him in the thirteen years following his victory. Too smoothly, perhaps, because he found himself terribly and utterly bored.

There was no challenge, no hardship to overcome anymore. True, international relations proved difficult, especially with France, and there were always small incidents here and there, but nothing that couldn't be easily fixed. His underlings did most of the paperwork, leaving him with only the most sensitive documents and too much free time.

He idly toyed with the idea of declaring war against another country – France, preferably – but thought better of it. Britain was not in the International Confederation of Wizard's good books at the moment due to the way he had seized power. While he could probably win against one other country without allies, he would be crushed if all of them united against him, and, since the world currently had a terrible impression of his rule, no nation would form alliances with him yet. He estimated that it would take a few more years.

Instead, he recalled his old dream, before he started on the path of a Dark Lord. He had wanted to be a teacher, a DADA teacher, since this was the field that had interested him the most at the time. Looking back, and no matter how much he was reluctant to admit it, Dumbledore had been right to refuse him. He was knowledgeable, there was no denying that, but he lacked the patience and complete dedication expected of a professor.

He couldn't stand half of his Death Eaters on a good day, he would most likely have crucioed excitable and loud students within the first week.

Still, the idea had some merit. While he wouldn't teach a full class of children, perhaps he could take only one student. An apprentice, carefully selected, with whom he could share his knowledge of magic, politics and whatever else.

He waited a month, to see if the idea still appealed as much to him. It did, so he contacted the Headmistress of Hogwarts to inform her of his intentions.

Minerva McGonagall had been close to Dumbledore before the man fled to France, it was a well-known fact. Yet she had chosen to stay away from the conflict, prioritizing her students like the old man should have done. Voldemort respected her for that, which was why he allowed her to rise as Headmistress after her predecessor went into exile. She was diligent and devoted to her pupils, and that was exactly what he expected of an educator. He also knew that the woman had cut all ties with Dumbledore, to leave no doubts about her loyalty so she could remain at Hogwarts.

Education was an important field for the Dark Lord, so he had done his best to ensure all wizards and witches had the fullest experience possible at Hogwarts. Classes that had disappeared from the curriculum had been returned, the curse on the DADA professor position from his younger, more impetuous years had been removed, and everything was done so that the students could learn the most from their formative years. Headmistress McGonagall had helped with most of the changes, even if she had balked in front of a few, like reinstating Dark Arts classes.

She frowned when he told her of his plan of selecting an apprentice, but allowed him free access to the castle. Not that she could have stopped him, but she cooperated anyway. It was appreciated with some degree of amusement.

A meeting with the entire educating staff was called, where Voldemort exposed his plan. All the teachers were fearfully attentive, but he focused mostly on the four Heads of House, aware that they knew their students the best and were the most likely to select suitable candidates.

Slughorn was still the Head of Slytherin, and looked as self-satisfied as ever, but for all that the portly man could be annoying and doted too much on his favored students, he was a good Head of House, and took proper care of all the Snakes. He had been called back after his retirement, because they had found no qualified Potion teacher, and the opportunistic professor had agreed without much prompting. No doubt he had missed the connections and parties he could host at Hogwarts.

Flitwick had also taught a young Tom Riddle, back in the days. The diminutive man had barely aged and was as lively and keen as he remembered. Voldemort didn't know the two last Heads of House; Pomona Sprout and Rolanda Hooch had been hired under Dumbledore's tenure as Headmaster, but the former was competent in Herbology and allegedly like a second mother to the Hufflepuffs, while the latter taught Flying and apparently had enough authority and free time to manage the chaos that was the Gryffindor dormitories now that McGonagall was Headmistress.

Not anyone could have risen to the herculean task.

Voldemort told them that he had no restriction on age, gender, blood status or House, as long as the students selected satisfied a few criteria. It was not exactly a lie, but he rather doubted that he would choose a first or second year, or a Lion. The student had to be mature enough, and have a personality that didn't grate on the Dark Lord's nerves, which made it unlikely for them to be very young or in the red and gold House.

Apart from that, the students put forward had to have a decent amount of magic (in order to practice the spells he planned on teaching), be serious about their studies and not be quick to whine or be annoying in general. He let the professors figure out what he meant by that.

He left them a week to compile files on the suitable students, after which he would review the reports and have several interviews with all the candidates. Taking an apprentice was serious business; you didn't rush your choice, even more so since the Dark Lord didn't want to stop the apprenticeship part way through because they couldn't get along.

He returned to his manor satisfied. The Heads of House had seemed to understand what he was looking for in an apprentice, and apparently already had several ideas.

A week later, he received a stack of reports delivered by owl. Thirty-nine files, each on a different student, with grades and some personal information (he was the Dark Lord, there was no such thing as confidentiality where he was concerned). He took his time perusing each one, having nothing else to do. There were eight Ravenclaws, thirteen Hufflepuffs, fourteen Gryffindors and only four Slytherins, aged 14 to 17.

He took note of a few familiar names, like Lucius' son or children of people he was acquainted with. The two boys from that old prophecy were also there, Neville Longbottom, a Lion, and Harry Potter, a Snake. The Potters came from a long tradition of Gryffindors, but it seemed that far from the Light influence of his parents, the boy had turned out to be a Slytherin. Voldemort felt more amused by this than he probably should be.

All the profiles looked promising on paper, but the Dark Lord knew he would have to test each candidate in person to make a choice.

By the end of his thirty-fifth interview, Voldemort had to restrain himself from distributing crucio like Dumbledore used to distribute candy.

He had arrived at Hogwarts in time for lunch, where Headmistress McGonagall had announced that several of the students would be called for an interview about becoming his apprentice. The children had been as fearful of his presence as they had been excited about the opportunity, even if the Headmistress had explained that candidates had already been selected.

This led to most of the students he had seen being either haughty brats that thought too highly of themselves for being considered, or timorous children that shook in their boots. So far, still in the running were three Ravenclaws out of eight, five Hufflepuffs out of thirteen and two Gryffindors out of fourteen. He had yet to meet the Slytherins, figuring that his old Head of House knew him best and would have chosen candidates wisely, making them the most tolerable and the most likely to be selected in the end.

The first Snake was a seventh year pureblood girl named Gemma Farley. She was headgirl, studious and ambitious. All in all someone to consider.

The second was a sixth year by the name of Terence Higgs. Pureblood, good grades, a prefect, respectful, if a bit too groveling for Voldemort's tastes.

The third was Lucius' son, Draco. Voldemort had been surprised to see his name in the reports since, the last time he saw him, that was to say before the boy received his first Hogwarts letter, he had been the very definition of a snotty, spoiled brat, abusing his father's influence to get what he wanted. It seemed the time away from Lucius had done him good, because the Dark Lord was faced with a polite, educated young man of 14 rather than the bullying menace he had expected. Maybe a bit too confident, but that could be imputed to his age. He remembered feeling invincible as well at 14. Young Draco would probably grow out of it.

The last candidate was the Potter boy from the prophecy. Voldemort had seen the other child, Neville Longbottom, earlier, but had crossed him out of the list. While not as senselessly terrified as some of his peers, the boy had been scared of him, too much to get anything out of him in a lesson without some serious work, work the Dark Lord didn't have the patience to accomplish.

In contrast, the Potter boy stood straight and looked at him in the eyes when addressed, although without defiance. He wasn't scared, just wary, which was odd, because he was a halfblood (the only one in all the reports, actually, despite his statement that he wouldn’t discriminate by parentage) and Voldemort's reputation still clearly stated that he despised anything not pureblood. Even the professors – Slughorn excepted – believed him to hate those of muggle origin, or else they would have put forward other students.

Yet this boy wasn't terrified. He asked him why.

The teenager considered his answer carefully. “I suppose it's because I don't think you hate muggleborns and halfbloods as much as they say, my Lord.” He replied. “I doubt anyone with your power over our society would have let us attend Hogwarts if that was the case, or opened an orphanage that welcomed children whose muggle parents didn't treat them properly. Besides, I don't think acting terrified of you is going to do me any good.” He added wryly before the placid Slytherin mask slid back over his features, smoothing them until no-one could guess what he was thinking without Legilimency.

Interesting. Voldemort kept the interview going, asking the same questions as for the thirty-eight other students, while mentally, he called his faithful Nagini to his side. He wanted to see how far the boy's fearlessness would go, unlike the other times he had called his familiar to knock especially cocky Gryffindors down a few pegs. Few things put a stop to a teenager's haughtiness faster than a giant, possibly man-eating (actually man-eating) snake.

Nagini slithered in a couple minutes later, scenting the air curiously. #Another youngling to scare, Tom?# She asked her master. She was the only one he allowed to call by his true name, since she had known him before he took the name Voldemort – and nobody else understood her.

The boy wasn't screaming hysterically or wetting himself, which was a definite improvement over three of the children who had seen Nagini. The Dark Lord caught an averted move towards his wand holster, and a shift in his posture to keep the giant snake in his field of vision, but that was all.

More and more promising.

#I only wanted to see his reaction, Nagini.# He replied in parseltongue. #Do you want to wait here until I'm done? This is the last candidate.#

She hissed in agreement, and slithered in front of the lit fireplace, before she suddenly raised her scaly head. #Oh, is that a rat I hear behind the door?!#

Voldemort swallowed a sigh. Nagini was probably the most spoiled snake in the world, and had more than enough food, but nothing could repress her hunting instincts when it came to rodents. One of these days, it was going to get her into trouble.

He dismissed the boy soon after, and flooed back to his manor with Nagini after thanking the Headmistress. It had been a busy day, and he wanted to end it in the comfortable silence of his home rather than dining in Hogwarts's great hall under hundreds of gawking stares.

As tiresome as the interviews had been, though, they had been productive. Out of the original thirty-nine, only fourteen students remained in the running. He would have to test their magical ability next – he refused to take an apprentice with mediocre skill.

Something about the interviews kept niggling at his mind, but he just couldn't figure out what. He ate his dinner while Nagini digested something she had caught in the garden, and eventually went to sleep, still feeling like he had missed something.

He only realized what the problem was when he woke up the next morning and Nagini asked for a rat.

When he had interviewed Potter and Nagini had said she had heard something behind the door, the boy had turned his head towards said door before Voldemort opened it and she rushed out. Like he had understood the snake.

Intriguing indeed.

When Harry left the interview room, he didn't go to the great hall for dinner or to the Slytherin common rooms, where he knew people would ask him how it went. The Room of Requirements would give him more privacy.

Three strides in front of an ugly tapestry and he walked into a cozy room in green shades. He flopped down on the couch, letting out in a cushion the groan of despair he had managed to swallow down so far.

He had planned not to catch the Dark Lord's eye; becoming his apprentice when he was a halfblood and the son of infamous criminals was a sure way to attract unwanted attention. If he was ever chosen over all the other pureblood candidates with influential families and a grudge against his kind, he was sure to be attacked by said families.

He and his big mouth, really! He just had to share his theories about the Dark Lord! And the snake, Nagini… He had tried to stop himself from reacting, but like an idiot, he had looked at the door when she had mentioned it.

Parseltongue was his biggest secret, one he had only shared with Neville and Susan, his two almost siblings from the orphanage, mostly because they had been the one to point out that he wasn't speaking English anymore. Not even Luna or Draco, his two other close friends knew about it – although what Luna actually knew was always anyone's guess.

The Dark Lord hadn't seemed to have caught his mishap at the time, but that had cut it way too close.

The problem was that even he knew he made a very qualified candidate, despite his blood status, and parseltongue could only play in his favor if it was discovered. He had excellent grades and was a powerful wizard. He was in Slytherin, which was always an advantage with the Dark Lord, and he was pretty high in the ranks.

The snake pit was a very hierarchy-minded House compared to the other three. Every member had an informal rank, depending on their family's influence, their year, their magic, their grades and the power they had over the others, whether through friendship, information or anything else. Harry was the highest fourth year, and had no little influence over younger and older students alike. Even Draco, the scion of the mighty Malfoy family, listened to him after he befriended him and helped him get out of his father's shadow.

Draco as an eleven-year-old had been a spoiled brat, who wouldn't understand that people could tell him 'no'. The first months had been difficult, when the boy had repeatedly been bested by a 'filthy halfblood' with criminals for parents.

Once his blond head had deflated a bit, though, in the middle of November, they had become fast friends. So much so that Lady Malfoy – Narcissa – had invited him for Christmas, knowing he had no family. The first year, he had politely declined in order to spend it with Susan and Neville, with whom he had spent every holiday since their respective parents had fled the country, leaving them behind. The next year and all those that followed, Susan, Neville, and later Luna, had been invited as well, for Christmas and then later, for the Summer break.

Those had been wonderful holidays.

The orphanage wasn't bad – in fact, a great deal of effort was done so that the little witches and wizards felt at home – but nothing compared to spending Christmas with a caring family. Narcissa had more or less adopted the three parentless children, and was a sort of mother figure to Luna. She had said that, since Harry had a Black grandmother, she was the closest of kin (disregarding her cousin Regulus, who Harry had met a few times and who had no idea how to interact with children) so it was natural for her to look after the boy, and because the others were like siblings to him, she would care for them as well.

Harry was pretty sure she had wanted more than one child, but couldn't have more for some reason, which was why she had welcomed them so readily.

Lord Malfoy, on the other hand, had been much less forthcoming. Susan, Neville and Luna were purebloods, even if disgraced, but not Harry. The man had made sure that the green-eyed boy felt the difference. Harry always stayed unerringly polite with the lord, but also went out of his way to avoid him and his like-minded associates whenever possible.

The less he thought about Draco's crazy aunt, the better.

Anyway, the way Lord Malfoy (and sometimes Lady Lestrange) treated him had taught him how most purebloods thought of halfbloods and muggleborns, which was why he didn't want to be put in the spotlight by becoming the Dark Lord's apprentice. Plus, he didn't want to risk snatching such a good opportunity from Draco. It would be a poor way to show the Malfoy matriarch his gratitude.

He couldn't afford to completely and purposefully flunk the interview either, though. First, because one didn't behave like a brainless babbling baboon in front of the Dark Lord unless they had a death wish or a peculiar love for being on the wrong side of a cruciatus curse. Second, because Harry didn't want to spoil any future opportunity for a good job (he was a Slytherin, of course he had some form of ambition), and leaving a negative impression on the overlord of Britain was just jinxing himself in the foot.

He had planned to behave politely in front of the Dark Lord, but to appear as nondescript as possible, so another student would be chosen. There would be other interviews where he could try to erase any positive impression he might have left, but at least one of those would be a magical ability test, something which was pretty hard to flunk in a believable manner. Any test of his academic knowledge would also be compared to his excellent grades, which he was sure the Dark Lord had access to, making it obvious he wasn't taking this seriously.

He turned around so that he was facing the ceiling and heaved a sigh. There was no guarantee he would be chosen, even if he did his best. Seventh years were more likely to be selected than a mere fourth year, obviously. He could only cross his fingers and hope that he was overlooked in favor of a pureblood.

He cast a tempus. Dinner was almost over – he had been lost in his thoughts for longer than he expected. Good thing he knew where the kitchens were and the house elves liked him. His experience in the orphanage and in Malfoy manor had taught him the benefits of a friendly relationship with the servants, who generally knew everything in their house. He only learned about the Room of Requirements because the elves had shown him where it was and how to open it.

A quick snack courtesy of the house elves (meaning a full meal for three people and then some, because the overzealous creatures refused to understand the difference between peckish and starved) and he would have to face his housemates' questions.

He was not looking forward to their version of the Spanish Inquisition.

Voldemort returned the next day to continue his interviews. Compared to the first meetings, today he knew he had at least removed the most annoying students, leaving only the tolerable ones.

He also planned to investigate the possibility of the young Potter being a Parselmouth; it gave him something to look forward to.

Today he would test the magical might of the fourteen remaining prospective apprentices, to ensure the child he would choose had the necessary power to perform all the spells he intended to teach. Due to how much magical cores evolved between ages 14 and 18 (the range of the applicants), and the gaps in knowledge between a fourth and seventh year, he had to set an easy, standard test for all the teenagers.

A lumos spell made an ideal test. Any witch or wizard worth the name could cast it, so he didn't have to worry about the younger ones not knowing it.

At his ‘request’, McGonagall called the fourteen students after lunch to gather in an empty classroom that Voldemort had prepared beforehand. Since he had forgone his own meal in the Great Hall – and all the not-so-subtle gawking – he had had plenty of time to draw all the runes he needed on the walls and was now waiting for the appointed time in a throne-like chair (enchanted with several cushioning charms) with the Headmistress at his side.

For the first time, the students could see who else was still in the running. They gauged each other appraisingly as they entered the classroom one after another. Some garnered surprise, some were obviously expected, and some were met with barely veiled scorn.

The Potter boy and the Malfoy scion arrived together. In fact, they were chatting animatedly. That was an unexpected discovery; Lucius had no doubt discouraged his son from befriending any halfbloods, yet the two were obviously close friends.

As he laughed at something young Draco said, the Potter boy cast a look around the classroom, no doubt assessing the competition (like any self-respecting Slytherin) and met the Dark Lord's gaze. He lowered his eyes immediately, stopped laughing and slowed down a fraction, so that the Malfoy child unknowingly walked in front.

It could have passed for a sign of fear, but Lord Voldemort had not reached the place he was today without an excellent ability to read people. The lad has not acted out of fright or even deference, this was a step back from the spotlight. The boy didn't want to be noticed.

One more clue that the child wanted to avoid being selected as his apprentice. But why? It was an enviable position, more than any halfblood could reasonably hope to achieve in their society, especially one without a family backing him up. The boy had to have ambition, probably more than the usual Snake, or else the hat wouldn't have sorted someone of his blood in Slytherin, no matter how cunning. The old relic was created not only to look at children's personality and memories, but also to assess in which House they would thrive.

Voldemort doubted the issue stemmed from diverging ideologies. The Potter boy hadn't seemed to mind his policies during the interview, and a child of fourteen couldn't have developed a mask efficient enough to fool him yet. Case in point: he had slipped upon hearing Nagini.

Before he could continue his assessment, Headmistress McGonagall stepped forward. Silence fell immediately; the lady had lost nothing of her authority when she stopped teaching. “You are gathered here today to take a test of your magical power.” She began, her tone betraying none of her reluctance. “To ensure you are all evaluated fairly, you will all pass the same test, at the same time.” Some students exchanged glances, but no-one dared to speak.

“At my signal, you will cast a simple lumos charm, and hold it for as long as you are able to. If your spell ends before the countdown is over, or if the brightness of your wand dims too much, you will be eliminated, and will wait until the end of the test there.” She pointed towards a few benches at the back. “You will not bother your comrades.

“So as to ensure the test doesn't last too long, our Lord has drawn runes that will make it harder for you to channel your magic through your wand, forcing you to expend more energy to keep it lit, so don't be surprised. I will add that being the last student standing doesn't guarantee you will be selected in the end, in the same way being benched doesn't necessarily mean you are eliminated: all results will be considered in light of your age and the development of your magical core. Any questions before we begin?”

One of the oldest students – Diggory, if he recalled correctly, a Hufflepuff – raised his hand. “How long are we expected to hold exactly?”

The Headmistress glanced at Voldemort. “As long as our Lord deems it necessary.” She replied with pursed lips. He had not given her any actual duration since he had not decided on one; he would just announce it was over when he was satisfied. It would test the children's patience as well as their power.

“No more questions? Then the test begins now!” Declared McGonagall. She didn't sit down though, likely in solidarity with her students who were not provided chairs and would remain standing until the test was over or they were eliminated. The Dark Lord had no such sentiments and lounged on his throne, keeping an eye on the students.

They all frowned and blinked in shock at how difficult a simple lumos proved to be. The runes interfered with their connection to their wands such that even the Dark Lord would have trouble lasting longer than five hours in their place. He had made it so that the test wouldn't last much more than an hour, to weed out the less powerful.

After a few fumbling attempts, all fourteen students had managed to cast the charm and were waiting with various degrees of impatience.

Voldemort spent his time observing the teenagers and evaluating them in silence. The youngest Ravenclaw, Marcus Belby, looked seriously pissed at having to wait; the Dark Lord crossed him out of his mental list. Excessive arrogance was a fault he wouldn't tolerate in his apprentice.

The others fared better, for the most part. A female Hufflepuff, Gillian Ossett, looked faint. Unable to deal with stress, probably. Unsuitable as well, then, given the pressure his future apprentice would have to bear.

Twenty minutes into the test, Angus Matlock, a 17-year-old Gryffindor and one of the two Lions still in the running, suddenly couldn't keep his wand lit anymore. He tried to start his spell again three times before the Dark Lord cleared his throat and motioned him pointedly towards the benches. The boy left with a dejected frown.

Students were eliminated one after another after that. Terrence Higgs, a Snake, then Karl Limpley, a Badger. Roger Davies, Gillian Ossett and Herbert Fleet failed soon after – respectively a Raven and two more Badgers. Forty minutes after the beginning, Draco Malfoy, a Ravenclaw named Cho Chang and a Hufflepuff called Gwendolyn Hedgeflower were ruled out as well. Too bad for the young Malfoy, but Voldemort had decided that he could allow himself to be picky in his choice of apprentice. If the boy didn't have enough magical power, then he was simply not suitable.

Of course, he was younger than almost all the other candidates, and as such had a less developed magical core, but he expected his apprentice to be able to hold at least an hour, even at the age of 14.

Still standing were Ravenclaw Marcus Belby – that he had already eliminated, unbeknownst to the boy – Hufflepuff Cedric Diggory, Gryffindor Neil Randall and Slytherins Gemma Farley and Harry Potter. Four children still in the running after an hour. Better than he expected.

All of them displayed various levels of strain – sweat, trembling hands, flickering lights, heavy frowns. Just to see how they would fare, Voldemort let the test continue without a word. Farley, Diggory and Randall were 17, Potter was 14. A large gap, and yet the boy didn't look any worse than the other three.

In fact, he didn't look all that stressed, now that Voldemort looked closely. He wasn't sweating much and the light of his wand wasn't blinking as erratically as it should if the boy was struggling as hard as he seemed.

He was faking it. Staying in the run to prove he had the power, but making sure to stay at the bottom of the top, out of the spotlight.

Oh, the Potter boy was growing more intriguing with each meeting. Time to test his other theory.

#The test is over, you can end your spells.# He hissed.

The older students looked at him quizzically, but didn't stop their lumos. The Potter child, on the other hand, didn't hesitate and turned off the light. A second later, he looked around, realized his mistake, and turned his gaze resolutely to the stone floor.

The thing about Parseltongue was that, to a speaker, it sounded like their mother tongue. Practice allowed a Parselmouth to detect the slightly drawn out 's' and identify the shift in language, but a youngling like the Potter boy would hear plain English.

He expedited the end of the test, congratulating the four – five, including Belby – remaining students and telling them that he would follow suit with another, more personal interview. The Potter boy still hadn't looked up.

“We'll start with the youngest.” He ordered, completely disregarding McGonagall's disapproval. Those interviews had never been planned. He headed towards the smaller classroom where the first meetings had taken place without looking back, assured in the fact that the boy was following him.

“Sit down.” He instructed as he locked the door with a wave of his hand. “How long did you expect to keep the fact that you are a Parselmouth hidden?”

The boy chanced a mulish glance up, before he riveted his gaze to the ground once more. He had the good sense to reply, though. “At least until you had chosen another student.” He paused. “Honestly, sir, I'd rather nobody knew about that – the son of exiled terrorists and a halfblood to boot shouldn't have an ability so closely linked to the Dark Lord.” He jeered softly, making sure that he remained properly deferential.

“Even if it gives you an added advantage in the competition?” Voldemort was curious. All the other candidates were obviously trying their best to shine, appearing excessively polite and awed during the interviews, and pushing themselves to the limit to stay in the race. Yet, here was a boy – the youngest of the bunch – who had somewhat easily passed the magical test and didn't hide his sarcastic streak when faced with the Dark Lord. He didn't even seem really cowed, just cautiously courteous.

“Not if it gets the most fanatical blood purists on my case, my Lord.” Replied the teen.

Voldemort considered the young boy in front of him. “You don't want to be my apprentice.” He concluded.

The Potter child looked at him in the eyes with thin lips, clearly wondering if he should offer an honest reply. The Dark Lord waited patiently; the teen was the first interesting mystery he had encountered for an awfully long time, he could give him a moment to sort his thoughts.

“I was raised in the orphanage you had built.” The boy began. An odd place to start his explanation but Voldemort humored him. “But during the last three holidays, me and my closest friends were welcome in Malfoy manor, because we were friends with Draco.”

Ah. Voldemort started to understand. “Lady Malfoy was always extremely kind with us and began looking into officially taking us as her wards last year. It would be utterly ungrateful of me to take the place of her son, when Draco is a perfectly viable candidate.” Finished the child. He didn't look upset at all, only accepting.

“The young Malfoy was already eliminated.” Reminded Voldemort. “Are you going to drop out of the competition as well?”

With a tired sigh, the boy leaned minutely back on his chair. “Would you let me, my Lord?” He asked rhetorically. Voldemort raised a sardonic eyebrow in reply; the answer was obvious. “Thought so.” Muttered the teen. Louder, he continued. “I knew there was the possibility of Draco not being selected; that's not a problem as long as I'm not chosen in the end.” He admitted, a pleading undertone to his voice.

The Dark Lord pondered on that for a moment. Would he allow the boy to flunk the tests in order to keep the substitute family he had acquired? Would he allow the most interesting riddle he had met in years to slip away, just like that?

Of course not.

He was a selfish man, always had been, and now that he had uncovered such an intriguing character, he was not about to let him go so easily. Besides, Narcissa was a reasonable woman; she would hold no grudge against a child (one she had welcomed in her home – Voldemort would have to look deeper into that) for having been chosen instead of her own son, especially if the selection process had been fair.

He could have a word with her anyway, just to be sure.

“Be there for the final test; we'll see then. Ask the next candidate to come in, would you.” He simply ordered. The boy looked peeved, but nodded nonetheless and left the room at the dismissal.

Voldemort smirked to himself as he waited for the next student.

Chapter Text

November 1994.

The five students still in the running for becoming his apprentice undertook the written and theoretical test the next day. Voldemort didn't even bother looking at Marcus Belby's copy, having mentally discarded the brat already, but he took his time perusing the papers of Cedric Diggory, Neil Randall, Gemma Farley and Harry Potter. It gave him a good impression of their personalities and their academic abilities.

Diggory had all the markings of a studious Hufflepuff. His scholastic knowledge was easily at the top of his group age, and he elaborated his point methodically, never giving more credit to one side over another in the three controversial essays the Dark Lord had assigned (what is the main difference between a muggle and a wizard? Should all sentient creatures be given the same rights as wizards? If you had the power, what would you improve in the government?). He was fair and unbiased, despite knowing what answer was likely expected given Voldemort's proclivities.

It made for a rather boring and tepid read.

Randall's papers were much more one-sided. The boy went into the most minute details of each and every one of his arguments, completely ignoring the opposite side's point of view. He followed the government's public policy to the letter, which might have played in his favor had he not had so few arguments to put forward, no matter how much he elaborated on them. It was a terribly pedantic essay – no personal experience or opinion, just the facts, the same facts and even more details on those few facts. The knowledge assessment was the same : flawless, but awfully impersonal.

The two Slytherins' copies were much more interesting to the Dark Lord, probably because they fit with his preferences better.

Farley also religiously followed the government's policy, but she also gave a few arguments for the other side – in a way the subtly underlined and supported the official stance. Very underhanded; the girl was evidently skilled in debating and politics in general. The problem was that it felt very... it felt very much like boot-licking to be honest. There was no challenge, no spark, just pandering. Her academic results certainly explained her being Head Girl, though.

Potter's paper, as befitting someone who didn't want to be selected, went the other way completely.

The boy had purposefully taken the exact opposite stance of his, even on topics he was sure the brat agreed with him on; he argued in favor of introducing acromantulas in wizarding society, for Merlin's sake. Yet, as outlandish as his proposals were, they were all well defended. There was an undertone of sarcasm in almost every sentence, but Potter had been careful never to fall into insolence, which made his essays delightful to read, although that had probably not been the intended goal.

His academic knowledge was also good. Of course, he knew less than the three other candidates, all of which were in their last year at Hogwarts, but had Voldemort not been aware that the boy was fourteen, he would have taken him for a very talented fifth year, or a slightly better than average sixth year.

It was nice to see that Potter had not attempted to flunk his knowledge assessment, given that Voldemort had access to his normal exam results and had the gist of his abilities. Of course, he had tried to sabotage the essays by spouting nonsense, but that plan had backfired spectacularly; his papers were the most compelling of the four.

That decided it, then, he knew who his apprentice would be. The boy might argue for a while, but as long as Lady Malfoy assured him that she was not upset, he would prove to be a dutiful student.

As had been decided beforehand with the Headmistress, he went to inform the professors of his choice first; they wanted to be able to contain the unavoidable disappointed outcries and outraged rejected students – which would become all the more violent since he had picked a halfblood. There was also the issue of the apprentice's continued education; Voldemort couldn’t look after the student all the time, so he or she would have to spend some of their time at Hogwarts. It wouldn't have been much of an issue had his apprentice been in their last year, but given that Potter was 14, arrangements had to be made.

He flooed to McGonagall's office without warning. She knew he could arrive at any time, but she still put on a pinched expression when he appeared in her fireplace. As Headmistress, Hogwarts was her turf, and she disliked having her authority challenged.

Credits given where credits were due, though, she didn't argue and summoned her staff with dignity. Offended dignity, but dignity nevertheless. For all that their opinions diverged, Voldemort held a deep respect for the witch.

The professors gathered quickly – no one wanted to risk making the Dark Lord wait – and took their seats. Or conjured them when there were not enough. The new chairs looked more comfortable than the stiffed-back wooden seats in McGonagall's office anyway.

“I have made my decision.” Announced Voldemort with no preamble. “You will ensure that Harry Potter can continue his education at Hogwarts when I'm not teaching him.”

The gob-smacked looks on the staff's faces were oddly rewarding. None of them had expected him to choose a halfblood. Only Slughorn smiled serenely, implying that he had known who Voldemort's pick would be from the start. He might have at that – Slughorn was smarter and more cunning than what he liked to appear, and he was one of the rare few that could honestly claim to have known Tom Riddle.

The meeting was over soon after that, the professors too dumbfounded and fearful to argue about anything. They all trailed out one after another, still in a mild state of shock.

“Would you care to join me for a drink?” Inquired his former head of House once only he and McGonagall remained. “I could tell you a little more about your apprentice.”

The offer was tempting, and not only because of Slughorn’s mythical collection of liquor. The reports on all the students told him much, but nothing could make up for a personal assessment. He would also have to talk with Lady Malfoy – Narcissa was apparently pretty close to the boy and would be able to convince him to give it his all.

“With pleasure, sir. I would love a taste of your famous firewhiskey. With candied pineapple.” He added just to see Slughorn's smug attitude falter for a second at the memory that last statement evoked for them both. Of course, the portly man recovered immediately, but now Voldemort had reminded him who was in charge.

“Please, my Lord, call me Horace.” Voldemort nodded, satisfied, as he followed his former Head of House to his office. He didn't offer to be called Tom, naturally.

It didn't take long for the two of them to be settled in Slughorn's plushy armchairs with a drink in hand and a box of sweets opened. Voldemort didn't take any.

“When you informed us that you were looking for an apprentice, I knew you would choose Mr Potter in the end.” Boasted Slughorn. The Dark Lord could have dismissed it as his usual bragging, but there was a hint of melancholia in his tone that lent credit to his words. “You have no idea how much he reminded me of you when he was sorted.” He huffed with a tinge of bitterness.

“Of course, he was a halfblood in Slytherin, and was shunned at first for his family name. You know of the Potters of course... Yet Harry rose in ranks very quickly. He somehow managed to befriend young Draco Malfoy within the first months – a friendship that did wonders for them both – and by Christmas he was the leader of his year. He's a very charismatic young man, very driven, and very smart. He's among the first in his year, toe-to-toe with Miss Granger. She's a bit better than him in theory, but he far outstrips everyone in practicals, even those older than him. He has a large amount of magic at his disposal, that one, even when he tries to blend in.” Slughorn prattled with barely veiled pride. Voldemort paid close attention, aware that Slughorn caught more than most.

How else could he have spotted all the most promising students before their talent bloomed?

“He's a fourth year student, but Harry has no little amount of clout over all seven years. The younger ones look up to him, and the older ones respect him for the most part – there are always a few narrow-minded students that can't see beyond blood purity, of course. You know how that works...” He seemed to realize what he was saying as the words left his mouth and turned as pale as a ghost under Voldemort's eyes.

He didn't really care to be honest. He had long since made peace with his ancestry (murdering his paternal family and framing his maternal one had worked wonders) and very few people remembered that his father had been a muggle. He knew in reality, blood 'impurity' had at worst no inference on the strength of one's magic, at best actually enhanced it and cleaned the damage done by inbreeding. Besides, almost no family had a completely 'pure' genealogical tree, or they would have ended like the Gaunt: stupid, weak, malformed and squibs. They only knew how to hide their halfblood or muggleborn relations, the same way Voldemort pretended to be a pureblood, and nobody questioned it.

Moreover, Slughorn wouldn't share his secrets with anyone – he knew better. But as frightened as he was, he wouldn't tell Voldemort anything more. Time to reassure him and get him in a talkative mood again by offering some new information. The good old Slytherin game. “Did you know Potter is a Parselmouth?”

That had the expected outcome. Slughorn shook himself out of his fear and leaned forward in interest. “Is he? No, I had no idea; the boy can be so secretive when he wants to be. I wonder from which side of the family he takes it. The Potters were never known for speaking to snakes, but Lily is a muggleborn. How fascinating...”

“What can you tell me about his acquaintances?” Interrupted Voldemort before Slughorn could expand on Potter's possible ancestors and which he had met.

“Oh, well, as you know, he was raised in the orphanage after his parents– well, after his parents went into exile. I don't know much about his life there; you might want to talk with Narcissa Malfoy for more information. She became his official guardian at the end of his second year, and she adopted his orphanage 'siblings' as well. Neville Longbottom and Susan Bones. Their parents were also exiled, so they grew up together.

“Miss Bones is in Hufflepuff. Her aunt, Amelia Bones, is still in the country and works in the DMLE, but due to suspected ties with Dumbledore, she's not allowed custody. Mr Longbottom's grandmother is in the same situation. They are allowed visits, but that is all. The Longbottom lad is in Gryffindor, but the three of them are still very close, it's like the House rivalries don't exist at all when they are concerned.”

Slughorn knew an awful lot about students that belonged to different Houses. “All members of the Slug Club, I assume?” He asked wryly. Trust the man to know all about his little pet projects.

The Potion Master looked falsely contrite. “Yes, they are. Mr Longbottom is especially talented in Herbology, a true prodigy in the art. He's also a good duelist – I suspect Harry of tutoring all of his friends in that area; he’s a prodigy on the dueling stand, but they're all suspiciously competent. As for Miss Bones, Pomona has shared that she plans to help her aunt by becoming an auror, and I have no doubt she will be successful. She's a very resourceful girl, with a strong sense of justice.” Slughorn took a sip of his drink before continuing his tale.

“Those three are like siblings – they grew up together after all – but Harry has made other close friends since he entered Hogwarts. Draco Malfoy is likely the one he sees the most, given that he's the only one in the same House. They had a rocky start, with young Mr Malfoy being offended by a halfblood ending in Slytherin and surpassing him in most classes. I think they clashed at some point – I suspect one of those clandestine duels teachers are not supposed to know about. After that, Draco seemed pretty impressed by Harry and started looking up to him. They became fast friends.

“Knowing that, Lady Malfoy invited Harry over to Christmas, but he turned her down the first year – he said he wanted to spend it with his foster siblings like they had always done. The following year, Narcissa invited them all, since Draco had met them through Harry and they got along well. At the end of the school year, she offered to officially become their guardian, and they accepted. I don't think they were mistreated at the orphanage, but there must be a difference between being a trio of children in a place crowded with them, and being cared for by a parental figure.

“After Narcissa was listed as their official guardian, she came to the parent-head-of-house reunions for Harry as well as Draco. I assure you that she loves her adopted children very much. It's no secret that she wanted more than one son, but couldn't for medical reasons. Her surrogate children must sate her motherly instincts. I was more surprised that Draco didn't throw a fit at no longer being an only child – he used to be pretty spoiled – but he has matured a lot and actually seems happy to have 'siblings' of his own.”

“I somehow doubt Lucius was as happy.” Drawled the Dark Lord. Slughorn chuckled.

“No, he was not. He doesn't seem to mind Miss Bones and Mr Longbottom much, although he's certainly not attached to them. But Harry is a halfblood, and Lucius had issues with his parents in the past. Fortunately, the man knows the restrictions of married life, and was intelligent enough not to oppose his wife in these matters. He avoids the children, the children avoid him in return, and Narcissa is satisfied.”

A smirk crept on Voldemort's lips, mirroring the one on Slughorn's face. While Lucius was a prominent figure in politics, everyone knew that all familial affairs were dealt with by Lady Malfoy, and Lady Malfoy only. Her husband didn't dare offend her in their house. Only a fool would willingly ignite the infamous Black temper...

“I see... Any other close acquaintances?”

“Only the Lovegood girl.” At Voldemort's raised eyebrow, Slughorn elaborated. “She's a Ravenclaw a year younger, and Harry seems to have taken her under his wing. She's- how do I put this? She's one of a kind. Her eccentricity bothers some people and she was often the target of bullies. Harry noticed and pretty much adopted her as a little sister.

“To be perfectly honest with you, I wasn't very keen on inviting her to my dinners, despite her being close to several of my star pupils, but it turns out that beyond her flightiness and her… original outlook on life, she's very knowledgeable on creatures. I wouldn't be surprised if she ends up being the next Newt Scamander. I only fear for the fools that try to bully her for her oddness.” He chuckled, and Voldemort had to ask.

“Why? Is she that fearsome?” It didn't fit at all with the picture Slughorn had painted of her so far.

“Oh no, she's a sweetheart, though I assume she knows how to defend herself after Harry befriended her. No, it's Harry the bullies have to look out for.”

Now that was intriguing. “How so?”

“Well – and bear in mind this is mostly supposition, even if I'm pretty sure I'm right – during Harry's second year, a number of students of all Houses were found cursed in the span of a month. From a particularly tenacious silencing spell to a nasty curse that had the target believe he was a possum at random times of the day – whenever we thought we had gotten rid of it, the boy had a relapse, and let me tell you it is a hassle to try to cure a boy that attempts to hang upside down from the ceiling and feigns death whenever an owl flies over him.

“Anyway, almost two dozens students were affected, all with a different curse, which made it even harder to pinpoint the culprit. An investigation revealed that all of the students had bullied Miss Lovegood at one point or another, and that the severity of their harassment was somewhat proportional to the severity of their respective ailment. But Miss Lovegood was conspicuously present in all her lessons, in the library or in her common room when each of the bullies were attacked, with several witnesses.”

“You never found the culprit, did you?”

“No we didn't.” Slughorn sounded strangely gleeful when speaking of the staff's failure. “It was pretty obvious that whoever had done that had made sure Miss Lovegood couldn't be suspected, but she had no friends at the time, so that was a dead end. We persevered for a couple months, but with no new lead and no new incident, we eventually gave up. Two days exactly after we closed the case, Harry speaks with Miss Lovegood and they become fast friends, the girl is included in Harry's group and nobody bothers her because Harry is respected by almost everyone, and his friends have a strong influence in their respective Houses.”

Voldemort tilted his head in surprise. “You believe Potter to be the culprit.”

This time, Slughorn let out a full-bellied laugh. “Of course I do! I don't know how he did it, I don't know where he found all those curses – believe me when I say we had trouble canceling them, and a few of them we never even identified – and I don't even know how he knew we had stopped our investigations, but I know it was him! He's one of the few skilled enough in Hogwarts to pull that off. And sneaky enough to stay hidden while cursing students throughout the school.”

“But you have no proof.”

“No, but when I asked him a week later, he smiled and didn't deny it. He didn't admit anything of course, but he didn't refute my theory which is as good as a confession. Besides, he's more than protective enough of his friends to curse a handful of students. He handles insults towards himself easily, but he never lets it go when his friends are targeted. Of course, since his friends defend him right back and nowadays he's well liked by most, it's a moot point, but still... I think that's the main difference between the boy you were and young Harry: you never really cared about your circle beyond how useful they were to you, while Harry would go to great lengths to protect his loved ones. You can both be pretty vicious when angered, though...”

“How vicious exactly?” They were finally getting to worthwhile information. Knowing his apprentice didn't flinch from heavy curses was nice. It meant he wouldn't have to get him used to damaging his opponents. Voldemort didn't bother arguing against Slughorn's assessment of himself either – the portly man was completely right on his account.

“One of the older bullies had punched, cursed and physically harmed Miss Lovegood, enough for her to stay a full week in the infirmary, and probably hounded her severely for a while before that. There were even a few suspicions of sexual harassment.” Sighed the Potion Master with rare solemnity. “He was found in an empty classroom two hours after he was reported missing at dinner, but we suspect he was there for longer. When we arrived, he was bound to a chair, tied up so tight that his fingers had turned blue, and cursed to live nightmare after nightmare, with brief moments of lucidity, which, in my humble opinion, is more of a cruel way to dangle hope in front of him than a mercy. It took us two more hours to break through the curse. He never told anyone what his nightmares were about, but he still sees a mind healer twice a month, and has heavy duty wards around his bed to muffle his frequent screams of terror. I brew sleeping droughts for him, but he can only take one every other day to avoid addiction. So yes, Harry can be vicious, and I wouldn't be telling you that if I didn't think you'd approve. He looks nice and charming at first glance, and he truly is as long as you don't threaten him or his friends, but he can also be ruthless and cruel when he believes he needs to be.”

How promising. The more he learned about the boy, the more he was convinced that he had made the right decision. Potter might be significantly younger than most other candidates, and as such was less mature and had several more years of education to look forward to, but it also meant that the Dark Lord had more time to work on him and mold him in the right direction. Not that there seemed to be much to work on, if Slughorn's report and suspicions were accurate. Young Potter appeared to be exactly the type of personality he had been looking for.

"Thank you for all this information," offered Voldemort, because it paid to be polite to people who could be useful in the future, "and for this delicious firewhiskey. Can I ask you to send young Mr Potter to my manor tomorrow at 9am for his first lesson."

Naturally, it was an order, and Slughorn was well aware of it, but the portly man nodded serenely, as though it had been a mere request. "You know he's not going to comply happily, don't you? He’s not stupid, so he won't argue outright, but he will not make it easy for you either. Not at first anyway." Amended Slughorn with a knowing smile.

Voldemort didn't really get what he was hinting at, but he didn't care much. Potter was smart enough to realize he couldn't ignore his direct instructions.

He stood up, aimed a final cordial nod to his old Head of House, and made for McGonagall's office. They had to discuss his new apprentice's customized curriculum.

Three years later, when Voldemort looked back on Slughorn's words, he realized what the Professor had meant.

Harry had indeed behaved like a sullen child at the beginning of his apprenticeship, doing the bare minimum to satisfy his new mentor, and making sure the man knew of his anger. The Dark Lord had utterly dismissed those childish displays and forced him to learn what he had to teach.

No need to say that the first weeks had been rough. Voldemort had caught himself about to crucio his unwilling and uncooperative student more than once.

After a while, though, and with Lady Malfoy’s intervention, they started to understand each other better. It went slowly, and they had had several more arguments since then, but overall, they got along well.

Better than well, really. After their bumpy beginning, Voldemort had never honestly regretted taking an apprentice. Harry, once he got over his initial snit, proved a devoted student and a delight to have around. He was one of a handful of individuals in the Dark Lord’s circle that didn't fear him, and one of the very rare few that never hesitated to say they disagreed, while remaining respectful.

Voldemort could easily admit (to himself, if nobody else) that he enjoyed his apprentice's company, to the point that he now even recalled the turbulent early days with fondness.

So years later, when he got a message from the French Ministry of Magic asking for a meeting that reeked of Dumbledore's influence, he didn't think twice about taking his apprentice (who doubled as his assistant nowadays) with him. Even if the old meddling Headmaster would undoubtedly attempt to convert his talented student to his cause, and that said student's parents would also be there to drag their son back to their side.

He knew Harry enough to guess that they would have a harder time of it than they were expecting, and he really didn't want to miss Dumbledore's reaction when he realized that his apprentice wouldn't let himself be corrupted without a fight…

Chapter Text

July 1997.

Lily Potter tried not to fidget too openly. She was waiting in a meeting room for the arrival of the British delegation, along with the rest of the envoys from the French Ministry. Every one of them was on edge, but did their best to mask their unease – negotiations with Voldemort and his minions would be difficult enough without giving them the advantage.

As per Professor Dumbledore's recommendations, the French Ministry for Magic had initiated talks with their British counterpart to re-open the borders between their two countries. Lily had worked with Minister Anne Blanchard for a couple years already; it had been logical to send her as part of the French representatives. The Order wanted a member on the inside, to have a first-hand report on Voldemort's behavior and words (assuming he came in person – he wasn't the official leader of his country, for all that everyone knew who was ultimately in charge), and Minister Blanchard had agreed to her presence.

The Order had deliberated on whether to disguise her for the meeting, but had finally decided against it. The Dark Lord was likely to see through any magical disguise, and muggle means were not reliable on the long run. Besides, Voldemort wouldn't dare attack her, even on the off chance that he recognized her: this was the first opening of the world towards Britain since the ICW blacklisted the country, immediately after his victory.

Professor Dumbledore had managed to act quickly at the time, thank Merlin. But now they needed to take back their homeland, hence the current ploy.

She caught herself stomping the floor nervously and forced her feet to stay still. To distract her mind, she reviewed all the information the Order had gathered about Voldemort and his rule since they had been forced into exile.

The closed borders had made spying and information gleaning difficult. A few of their agents had remained in Britain, but a lot of them must have been found and imprisoned or killed, because they had had no news in years, and the survivors had to keep a low profile. The things they managed to learn rarely had much worth, when they succeeded in transferring them through the international blockade at all.

They had gotten obscenely lucky when, two years ago, Severus, Voldemort's personal Potion Master and a high-ranking Death Eater, had contacted them and offered his services as spy, sending coded letters to the Order informing them of the Dark Lord's movements and the evolution of magical Britain.

In these letters, Severus wrote that he'd felt terribly guilty when he realized that the prophecy he had reported to Voldemort pertained to Lily's family. He had swallowed that guilt for years, tried to live with it, which had allegedly been made easier by her survival, but a ghastly encounter had forced him to reconsider.

He had met Harry, her Harry, while in the service of Voldemort. Her precious boy had been chosen as the Dark Lord's apprentice! Who knew what that monster taught her little Harry and what he forced him to do!

She and James (and Sirius and Remus, of course, just as much part of the family) had been horrified when Severus had reported Harry's status. They had had more children while in exile – Rose and Iris, twin girls born two years after their eldest, and then Lucas, a year later – but they had never forgotten their first boy, the one that had been kidnapped and that they had been forced to leave behind.

According to Severus, he didn't look mistreated, but Lily had still begged him to send a memory or a picture with his letters, to see for themselves. Her oldest friend had delivered. Harry looked good, healthy and rather happy. Even after all those years, they had recognized him at once: he looked so much like his father, but he had her eyes. He was the only one of her children that had inherited her eyes...

Anyway, Harry had apparently contacted Severus after learning that he used to be her friend. He had been looking for information, stories about his parents.

The urge to hug him, to draw him into her arms and protect him from the world, like when he was little, had been unbearable. He was still her baby boy, and the gaping wound of their separation ached the same as day one.

They needed to take him away from Voldemort's toxic influence. Severus had reported that they got along, which was nothing short of appalling. Harry had to come back home, with his parents, where he was loved and cherished and safe. Away from the madman that would corrupt his mind and make him into another Death Eater, another violent sycophant.

There was a chance her boy would attend the negotiations, as Voldemort's apprentice. Severus hadn't known exactly what that title entailed, only that Harry received mysterious lessons from that monster and followed him on a lot of his meetings. Her old friend had also noted several times that Harry's attitude toward Voldemort was often informal, bordering on impudent. She didn't know how reliable that detail was: Severus had shown a lot of bias in his letters about her son – likely a transfer from his open hatred of James.

(Severus was nonetheless a priceless source of information about Harry. Without him, she wouldn't have known that Harry had been adopted by the Malfoy, that he had lived in an orphanage before, that he was in good health, that he had good grades, that he was in Slytherin and was a seeker, that he had been selected to be Voldemort's apprentice… She would know nothing of who her son had become in the last 16 years. It made it easier to forgive and overlook Severus' prejudice.)

The elaborate clock on the wall chimed 10am. The time of the meeting. Any second now, the British delegation would arrive and she would see whether Voldemort would come. Whether Harry would come.

Someone knocked at the door. They all straightened, and Minister Blanchard called for whoever it was (they didn't have the names or position of anyone yet, and were only informed that there would be a dozen guests). A French secretary opened the door and began stating the names, ranks and jobs of all twelve of the newcomers as they walked in.

Lily discreetly wrote them down, for future reference; an enchanted feather worked on a complete transcript of the negotiations, so she didn't bother with that. First came two faceless aurors, the protection detail. Then the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, Gideon Artman, invited here by name for their plans, followed by two assistants. She dutifully noted all their identities, but they were not really people of interest, just convenient means to an end.

The British Minister of Magic, Pius Thicknesses, entered next. A figurehead if there ever was one. He came with his personal assistant, a woman who had clearly been hired more for her plentiful 'assets' than for her competency.

Lucius Malfoy, and two other representatives of the Wizengamot whose names she had never heard before, but she had never looked much into politics, or rather, into politicians. Dumbledore would probably know them, though. Those three were the ones who held the real power among the envoys, apart from their master.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear. They could all feel Voldemort's presence before he entered the room. The oppressive and cold aura that surrounded the monster had the hair on Lily's arms rise. She gulped, but forced herself to appear stoic; she had faced the man before and she hadn't faltered then, in battle, so she wouldn't falter now.

Some of her colleagues were less enduring, especially the young assistants, who were new to the monstrous. One woman was shivering so much, Lily heard her chair rattle. Another trainee, fresh out of Beauxbatons, looked on the verge of fainting, he was so ashen.

Then a black-haired head popped from the door, the last member of the British delegation, and Lily felt her heart skip a beat.

He was younger than anyone else in the room, yet so much older than the last time she had laid eyes on him. Severus had sent a picture, but seeing him in the flesh was a wholly different experience.

His gaze skimmed by everyone in the room, cataloging one before jumping to the next, until his green eyes settled over hers, and he froze.

He had recognized her, she was sure. Her eyes and flaming red hair were fairly distinctive, and Severus had admitted to showing her son photos of her taken when they were children.

Slowly, a tentative smile stretched his lips, and Lily replied with her own trembling grin, her heart bursting with love and relief. Her baby boy hadn't been corrupted enough that he refused to interact with his estranged, muggleborn mother!

She took a step forward and opened her mouth to call him, to say something, anything to her beloved son, when a pointed cough brought back her awareness of the situation like a cold shower.

Voldemort – the one who had cleared his throat – raised an eyebrow in her direction as he spoke to the assembly. “Now that everyone is in attendance, surely we can begin the introductions.” A snide order rather than a polite suggestion.

She took a step back, realizing belatedly that she had broken rank with the rest of the French delegation. Behind the Dark Lord, Harry shot her a sheepish smile and mouthed 'later'. Lily nodded, the warmth she had felt earlier still present, but tempered by Voldemort's reaction to their interaction. What exactly was Harry's relation with the monster that he showed such possessiveness? Even Severus, despite being the best informed of their spies, had been unable to define what the apprenticeship to Voldemort entailed.

The French spokeswoman and translator introduced every member of the delegation, from the most important – Minister Blanchard – to the last trainee. They were almost fifty, more numerous than the British envoys by far; they were on their turf, to begin with, and they had offered as many seats to the British Ministry as their own.

The British had turned down such a generous offer, and had instead sent word that only a dozen seats would be necessary. With Voldemort attending the meeting, it made sense: the man was the head honcho of the British Government, he had no use for more advisers or straw men. The rest of his delegation only came for appearance's sake.

Then, once everyone was seated and named, the meeting began in earnest. Lily didn't pay much attention to it; an enchanted quill was recording everything and Dumbledore had been promised a copy of the transcript by Minister Blanchard. Moreover, agreements about the opening of borders between France and Britain had never been the true purpose of this meeting for the Order of the Phoenix. Or for Lily personally.

Instead, she stared at her son, took him in as the brass discussed conditions and taxes. He looked so much like James! Even with his long hair tied with a green ribbon that matched his irises, she could see how wild it was, how much it tried to escape gravity's bindings, just like his father's. Harry had the same chin, the same proud nose and cheekbones, the same laughing mouth. The only thing he got from her were his green eyes – the exact same color and shape! Of her four children, he was the only one to have inherited them.

He looked healthy too. She spotted no trace of gauntness on his face, and he wore expensive tailored robes that highlighted his features. The very picture of a young man from a well-to-do family. Did Narcissa Malfoy provide those clothes? Severus had said she had adopted her baby boy during his second year at Hogwarts, along with little Neville and Susan.

Harry also looked much more invested in the negotiations than she was, although he regularly made eye contact, to share a hopeful smile or just to look at her. It must be just as strange for him, to meet the mother that he virtually never knew.

But what in Merlin's name was he doing sitting to Voldemort's left? There was plenty of room on their side of the large table; the Dark Lord had taken the middle, with Lucius Malfoy on his right, and the British Minister for Magic on Malfoy's right. Yet Harry had taken the seat directly to the left of Voldemort and nobody had contested it? Shouldn't Minister Thicknesses – even if he was a figurehead and everyone here knew it – at least be placed closer to the center? For appearance's sake, if nothing else?

In addition, Harry didn't even look bothered sitting next to a mass murderer the likes of Voldemort! Whenever the tyrant needed a document or something, it was Harry who provided it from a stack of files she had not noticed until then, like a dutiful little secretary! Was that what Severus had meant by 'apprentice'? A glorified name for an assistant?

If it was true, it was at the same time reassuring and terrifying.

Lunch break arrived before Lily realized it, so absorbed had she been in scrutinizing her son. The representatives wasted no time ending the meeting to eat – they were all tired and hungry, and she had come to learn that French people didn't joke when it came to meal times. Everyone trailed out towards the dining room and the banquet prepared for the occasion, but Lily lingered, as did Harry. Soon, they were the only two left.

(Several heavy-duty enchantments protected all the documents and files from both sides, preventing unauthorized personnel from reading or tampering them. No one bothered checking who stayed behind.)

Harry caught her eyes, and sent her a jittery smile. What should she tell him? These would be the first words he would remember her saying. How could she tell him all she wanted to share for almost 16 years? What should she begin with?

After almost an entire minute of staring wordlessly, it was Harry who eventually broke the ice with a nervous chuckle and a tentative “Hi, mom.”

All at once, all the emotions Lily had suppressed for years broke free, and the next thing she knew, she was embracing her Harry and weeping softly in his shoulder.

He was a little taller than her. When did her baby grow so big?

She had no idea how long they stayed like that, her holding Harry as tightly as she could and Harry, at first tense as a spring, slowly relaxing in her embrace until he hugged her back, although more loosely. All she knew was that the two hour break had not ended yet, and her son's stomach was starting to gurgle.

Her maternal instincts returned in full force and she stepped back, arranging Harry's clothes to be presentable again, and casting a small charm to dry his wet shoulder. Her boy stood still and let her fuss. “You- you must be hungry.” Her voice was hoarse, but they both pretended they couldn't hear it. “We should go eat something before everyone comes back.”

“Right.” Harry's voice was also a bit tight, and his eyes shone too much, but no tears marred his cheeks. “I heard French food is pretty good.”

They made their way to the dining room while exchanging stilted small talk, neither really ready for more personal conversation. When Harry looked at the buffet and clearly didn't recognize half of the dishes, Lily recommended her favorites and they both sat around a small, empty table in an isolated corner of the room. She could feel the eyes of everyone around riveted on her and her son, but she ignored them while Harry didn't seem bothered in the least. If he spent as much time around Voldemort as she feared, he might have been used to it.

Even that monster was staring at them. Was that protectiveness in his creepy red eyes when he looked at Harry? It couldn't be, right?

The mere thought sent shivers down her spine.

“So...” Began Harry awkwardly. “I guess you've managed since you left Britain.”

That drew all her attention back to him quite effectively. “Harry, you have to understand, we would have done anything to get you back! We tried, but the protections around-”

“I know, I know.” Interrupted Harry, much calmer than her. “I don't blame you for anything. And you don't have to worry about me being mistreated either, the orphanage was more than correct, and Narcissa was always very nice with us. Even the Dark Lord has been weirdly kind all things considered. I am fine, mom. I- I can call you mom, right?” He wondered hesitantly.

Lily felt her heart melting. “Of course, sweetheart.” She quickly reassured, extending her hand to catch Harry's and rub it soothingly. Her eyes stung a little, but while she could allow herself to cry in front of her son, she couldn't show weakness under the scrutiny of so many enemies. “I'll always be your mom, no matter what, just like James will always be your dad.” She paused, and felt compelled to add. “And like Sirius will always be your Paddy. He's your godfather, or your dogfather, as he says, if you didn't know.”

The smile Harry sent her was so terribly sweet, it made him look much younger than the almost 17-year-old she knew him to be. “I know. Narcissa told me all that, and she shared a few stories about Sirius. She also directed me to Regulus Black for more, and to Severus Snape and Peter Pettigrew for stories about you and dad, but I'd like to hear some from your own mouth, if it's not any trouble.”

“We'd love to.” Replied Lily. “You can come home tonight, after the meeting. You'd see your dad and dogfather and Remus, and you'd meet your siblings.”

“Siblings?” Harry's eyes lit up in a very endearing way. Lily smiled.

“Yes, siblings. There's Rose and Iris, twin girls who'll start their fifth year at Beauxbatons in September. They're not fraternal twins, as you'll see; they have very different personalities and appearances. Then there's your little brother Lucas, who was born a year after the twins and will start his fourth year. They'd love to meet you.”

Harry looked a bit self-conscious. “Right. I'd love to meet them too, but I need to ask permission to visit.” Lily frowned, so he elaborated. “The Dark Lord is my legal guardian for as long as we're out of Britain, and I'm officially part of the diplomatic corps; there are security issues to be taken into account, and I have to be back early enough to organize the files.”

“... You organize Voldemort's files?”

Her son looked at her blankly for a second, until he realized what he was doing. “Sorry! Sorry! I'm just not used to anyone using our Lo- uh, my- the Dark Lord's name. We're sort of told to avoid using his name, and, if we really have to, to call him Lord Voldemort. Anyway, yes, I organize most of his files. It's part of my duties.”

She hesitated to ask what other duties he had, both out of fear of what she'd discover and because she didn't want to disturb the awkward understanding they were establishing piece by piece. As much as she would like otherwise, with how tenuous their growing bond was, questioning Harry's activities would undoubtedly break it. She would wait.

“Right.” She replied, skirting around their many unsolved issues. “Well, the offer stays open, you only need to tell me.”

Harry smiled gratefully (she'd never tire of seeing him smile) and brought the conversation back on the topic of his newfound siblings. Lily was happy to chatter lunchtime away with little anecdotes of her – their – family, and her son seemed genuinely interested in their shenanigans.

Negotiations resumed too soon, and she found herself once more on the opposite side of the table, observing every interaction between Harry and the British delegation.

Lucius Malfoy utterly ignored his existence, but he was the only one. The envoys – Voldemort excepted – treated her boy with an impossible mix of respect and haughtiness that baffled her. As for the Dark Lord himself, he seemed as familiar and comfortable with Harry as Harry was with him.

It became even more obvious that they'd known each other for extended periods of time when Minister Blanchard addressed one of the most controversial topics.

“If we are to expect this agreement to hold, your government will have to change the way it treats its political dissidents. France cannot condone any of its allies torturing and summarily executing or Kissing anyone who objects to their policies.”

Lily's ears perked up at that opening. This was one of the matters the Order had brought up to the French Ministry as one of the main pillars of Voldemort's tyranny. Once people were free to speak their honest opinion without fearing retribution from, say, Bellatrix Lestrange or a Dementor, the dictatorship barely disguised as a democracy would crumble from the inside.

Voldemort spoke up, which was rare enough to be noteworthy. Despite sitting in the middle of his side of the table, he mostly let Malfoy and Thicknesses do the talking, only interjecting a few precisions and instructions so far.

“Minister, what you call 'political dissidents', we call terrorists who killed or endangered the lives of several of our citizens. Moreover, each and every one of them that we managed to capture alive – a difficult feat seeing as they tend to favor martyrdom – are granted a fair trial and given the appropriate sentence. I can personally assure you that not one such individual has suffered a miscarriage of justice, unlike what some people would have you believe.”

Lily wanted to scoff in derision. The so-called 'terrorists' were mostly remnants of the Order who couldn't or refused to go into exile, or sympathizers that attempted to oppose Voldemort's rule. At most, they attacked Death Eaters or allies of the Dark Lord, and not innocent civilians like the man was trying to convince the envoys.

What followed was an increasingly heated debate about human rights and justice, illustrated by descriptions of torture and murder more and more gory as the minutes trickled by. Several times, Lily found herself fidgeting on her seat at a particularly disturbing death (sometimes with photos as evidence) despite being used to war. This was not her first time seeing a dismembered corpse. For most of the French delegation it was a new experience, though, and three envoys of various ages already had to leave the room, green-faced.

Meanwhile, none of the British had the decency to look incommoded – apart from Thicknesses and his pretty secretary, but since everyone knew they had no real power, they barely counted.

Nonetheless, seeing with her own eyes Harry look at pictures of gored men and women and barely raise an eyebrow was not an experience she wanted to live again.

(She wanted to whisk him away, far from Voldemort and his noxious influence, to hold him close and safe until the day he fulfilled the prophecy and rid the world of that monster once and for all. Then she would bring him back home and make sure he was happy until the end of his days.)

In the end, the representatives reached a decision that didn't really satisfy anyone, but allowed them to move on to other matters. It was supposedly the usual practice in negotiations as tense as these. The French would send a delegation of three Aurors overseas who would work in tandem with the local inspectors and check the legality of every trial and sentencing they could get their hands on. The inquiry would last six months.

In short, they wouldn't see the truly important cases, the ones hidden from the public behind layers of red tape, probably the most relevant and gruesome ones. It was too bad, but Lily reasoned that they could start a proper investigation once they had reclaimed Britain and purged the government of its corrupted and corrupting elements.

It would take years, but Justice would be dealt, one day, for all the victims of Voldemort's regime.

The meeting ended soon after, with everyone in attendance tired from the drawn-out debates. Lily was about to go talk to her son when Harry caught her eye and mouthed to wait for him outside before turning his back on her and walking towards the retreating Dark Lord. Despite her screaming motherly instincts, she complied and didn't wait to see how Voldemort would react.

Though, after waiting outside for ten good minutes, she was starting to worry for Harry's health, when the boy exited the meeting area, saw her and made for her with a brilliant grin. “I'm allowed to leave the rest of the delegation for three hours!” He announced mirthfully, and Lily smiled back. “The Dark Lord only asked that I be back by 9pm and,” he hesitated only for a second, but Lily caught it nonetheless, “that no... politics are involved or discussed.”

Now he looked contrite. “I'd also prefer that, if you don't mind. This is a family reunion; I don't want to sour it with arguments about politics.”

Lily took his hands in hers, still marveling at finally being able to hold her lost first child. “That's fine. A family reunion is all we want as well.” For now; Harry didn't look like he would be receptive to any recruitment speeches at the moment. She would take her time to work on it, to slowly show him the true ravages of Voldemort's tyranny. She couldn't expect Harry to shrug off years of indoctrination in the blink of an eye.

She would be patient, and follow Professor Dumbledore's carefully thought out plan.

Chapter Text

July 1997.

Sirius checked the clock for the umpteenth time. Lily should have returned home from the diplomatic meeting ten minutes ago, and they were all growing anxious. There was no actual reason to worry – the Death Eaters wouldn't dare attack the French delegation – but they couldn't help fretting. One could never completely predict the actions of madmen like Voldemort and his cronies.

Beside him, James leaned on the table, his leg beating the floor in a nervous display. He had alternated sitting and walking in circles all day, and Sirius was mildly surprised that the ground didn't have a brand new circular cavity from all the pacing. Remus was not as blatant in his worry. He had spent the long hours since Lily's departure looking over reports and fiddling with some kind of colored box (likely one of the Weasley twins' inventions), but Sirius was pretty sure he had got very little work done.

The children had been told that their mother would be meeting with British envoys, but the grown-ups had kept quiet that Voldemort himself might be in attendance. No need to have the young ones worry for nothing if Lily returned without trouble, although they must have picked up from their father and uncles' attitude that something was going on. For the moment, they were in their rooms, waiting for their mother’s return to eat dinner.

Fifteen minutes late now. Five more, and they would contact Dumbledore.

Just as Sirius was turning his head to check the clock one more time, a patronus barged in the room, startling the three of them with how tense they were.

A doe. Lily's patronus.

“The meeting is over and went without a hitch.” Came her voice, easing their nerves. She sounded unduly cheerful for someone leaving a tedious and stressful diplomatic meeting on opening borders. “Expect me in ten more minutes – the time to go through security – with a guest. His only stipulations for coming are that he leaves by nine and that we don't talk politics, so behave!”

With that last cryptic order, the shimmering doe vanished into thin air, leaving the three men reassured and befuddled at once. A guest? It had to be one of the British envoys, but who? Lily wouldn't have invited a Death Eater in her home, but who else would have been among the representatives?

Still confused, Remus hurried to add another plate and cook another serving (he was the only one of the Marauders that could manage more than eggs without burning the kitchen to the ground) while James went to tell his children that dinner would be served soon and that they had a mystery guest (which was an unspoken order to be polite and tone down the usual pranks and teasing).

Sirius stayed behind, guarding the door in case this turned out to be a trap. It was far-fetched, but Lily might have been subjected to the Imperius and 'convinced' to bring a Death Eater to her house. One of them had to be ready to intercept them, just to be sure.

He heard the telltale 'crack' of apparition outside and readied himself for anything. Or so he thought, because when the door opened and he saw who was following Lily...

He dropped the hand that had been about to draw his wand and gaped at the dark-haired, green-eyed teen that was looking back with polite curiosity. “Prongslet?”

The boy (and how he had grown! He looked just like James if he had decided to grow his hair!) smiled self-consciously. “Hello. You must be my godfather.”

Sirius was still staring dumbly when James and Remus arrived one after the other and stared just as stupidly at the boy they had been forced to leave behind so long ago.

Lily allowed them their moment of silent incredulity before she gently ushered Harry (Harry!) inside and closed the door. “I imagine you already know that, but this is your father, your godfather, Sirius Black, and Remus Lupin, who is not exactly related but is like a brother to James and an uncle to your siblings. Where are they, by the way?”

“Upstairs. They're coming soon.” Replied James mechanically, eyes still riveted on his first child. “Harry? Is that really you?” He asked, vulnerable with hope.

“Yeah, that's me.” Harry played with his ponytail nervously, gaze switching between the three men and the floor. “It's nice to meet you, dad.”

James let out a muffled, almost sobbing sound before he rushed to hug his son and pat him all over as if to check he was really there and not an elaborate and cruel illusion. Harry endured it with an awkward smile while Lily watched with fondness and teary eyes.

Not that Sirius was doing any better; as soon as James stepped back and left Harry some breathing room, he and Remus took his place.

They had just let go of the teen when Sirius heard three people tumble down the stairs. Trust teenagers to hurry only when drawn by the promise of food. “Huh, who's that?” Exclaimed Rose in French. “I thought we had a stuffy English politician for dinner?”

Harry's eyes were trained on his three siblings, even more unbalanced than upon meeting his father and honorary uncles. Sirius supposed it made sense; the young man probably knew a few things about the adults, but must have only learned of his sisters' and brother's existence today. The boy chuckled weakly, gaze unmoving, and replied in a barely accented French. “Sorry to disappoint, but I'm not a politician, and I dare to hope I'm not too stuffy either. I'm Harry, and I guess I'm your older brother.”

Sirius hadn’t expected Harry to speak French so well. Translating charms and talismans existed, of course, but they tended to result in jerky sentences and literal translations. His godson's introduction had been fluent and smooth, nothing like what magic could come up with.

“You're Harry?!” Wondered Rose incredulously (in English; they had made sure the children grew up bilingual for when they eventually reclaimed their homeland), her younger brother and sister a step behind her and peering with curious eyes at the young man by the door. Rose had always been more open with her thoughts and the de facto spokeswoman among her more timorous siblings.

The three kids looked at their mother, as though to confirm Harry's identity. As if he could be anyone else but Lily and James' son: he was the spitting image of his father at that age, apart from his green eyes that he had clearly inherited from his mother, and the almost waist-length hair tied in a ponytail. James had never worn his hair long.

Lily stepped up behind her eldest son, placed her hands proudly on his shoulders (Harry seemed startled by the gesture, Sirius noted). “This is indeed your older brother Harry. He's... visiting today so he could meet you and the rest of the family. Harry, these are your younger siblings. The one who spoke is Rose, the oldest. Behind her is Iris, her twin sister, and Lucas, the youngest.”

“Hello.” Lucas waved shyly, stepping away from his sister's shadow. Iris followed suit.

An awkward silence hung over them. Nobody knew how to break the ice.

Remus (bless the man) cleared his throat and gestured towards the dining room. “The food is ready. Maybe we should eat before it grows cold?”

At least it gave them all something to do other than staring at each other. Remus was a good cook, and nobody had spiked the food with any prank potion (not that it happened all the time, only once or twice a week, when the children were on holiday. At least three times a week when the grown-ups were left to their own devices).

Dinner was one of the most awkward meals Sirius had experienced in his life, and he had grown up with Walburga Black. Nonetheless, it was not oppressing, and they all managed to eat their share of mashed potatoes and chicken.

All the while, Harry stole glances at all the people around the table, but especially at his siblings. Sirius wondered what he saw. Rose was 15, had chestnut hair as long and wild as his godson's (a Potter staple), except she didn't tie it, and her father's brown eyes. She was the most mischievous of the three and would probably be the first to ask personal and inappropriate questions. Had she been to Hogwarts, the Hat would have sorted her into Gryffindor.

Iris was Rose's twin, but they were nothing alike in either looks or personality. The girl was calm and collected, and tended to act as a conciliator in the wake of her sister's pranks (that she usually discreetly enabled. All three youngest children had a mischievous streak; maybe Harry had it too?). Physically, she was her mother's daughter, with wavy shoulder-length red hair and most of her features. She had her father's eyes, though, and his terrible eyesight, forcing her to wear thick, rectangular glasses. Sirius imagined she would have been either a Gryffindor or a Ravenclaw. Most likely a Gryffindor, though.

The last child, Lucas, was born a year after the twins. He had the misfortune to inherit James' unruly hair and his eye color, but his soft features were all Lily. Lucas was pretty shy with strangers, but once he felt comfortable, he was a friendly, charming, incredibly kind boy with an easy smile. A mix of Gryffindor and Hufflepuff.

And then there was Harry.

Sirius knew precious little about his godson. He was a Slytherin, which implied a certain amount of cunning and ambition, he was raised in an orphanage before being adopted by Narcissa (which showed in his impeccable table manners). He was selected as Voldemort's apprentice, but Sirius had no idea what that entailed.

Harry sat straight and was well-mannered and polite, but he wasn't stiff. He moved with an ease and a smoothness that would make many a young Lord green with envy, yet his smile exuded genuine warmth. Although given his House, he was probably more than able to fake a grin and lie through his teeth-

No. Sirius had to stop thinking like that – he had promised himself as soon as Severus reported his godson's sorting. No more prejudice and bias about Slytherin, at least not before getting to know Harry.

Back to his observations, he noted that the cut of the young man's clothes had almost certainly been influenced by Narcissa. Classic but classy, as she used to say. The black robes were appropriate for an international meeting, but wouldn't seem out of place in Diagon Alley or in a more casual party. The white shirt underneath wasn't overdone, but nonetheless high-quality, and the discreet green highlights all over flattered his eyes and doubled as a reminder of his House. Overall a very thought-out outfit that showed his status while being understated enough to be easily overlooked.

Yes, Narcissa had definitely had a hand in Harry's fashion education. That woman composed her attires like others brewed poisons.

But one detail confused him, and it would make a light-hearted way to break the ice.

“Tell me Harry,” Sirius leaned forward in interest, “why do you wear your hair long? Short, 'fresh-out-of-bed' hair is a surefire way to attract girls.”

Harry paused, politely lowered his fork and turned to him, visibly amused. “I'm sure it works in Gryffindor, but Slytherins are a bit particular about appearances.” He chuckled and played distractedly with his ponytail. “I had some trouble fitting in during my first year, and looking like I stumbled out of bed was doing me no favors. Nothing I tried to put some order to my hair worked, so I grew it out, hoping the length would weigh it down a little. It had mixed results, as you can see, but I became used to it. Besides, Luna gifted me the ribbon two years ago, so it gives me a good excuse to wear it all the time.” He grinned.

Of course, when he got Harry to speak was the moment Rose had to put her foot in her mouth. “I thought Slytherin was the evil House?”

She didn’t intend to be mean, but Sirius cringed and saw the other Marauders react the same way. When they had learned of Harry's sorting, they had done their best to curb the – many – comments they used to make on how Slytherin was little more than a Death Eater factory. Lily had always tried her best to treat all Houses equally, so she didn't have to change her behavior much, but it had been difficult for James, Remus and Sirius to stem the prejudice they had carried all their life. Besides, most of the Order members had never bothered to censor their opinion on the Snake House in front of the children anyway.

As a result, they had inadvertently transmitted their bias to the kids.

Sirius had no idea how Harry would react, but instead of getting angry, his godson laughed lightly. “It's a popular opinion. It's true that several Slytherins are... disreputable, to put it simply, but most of us are perfectly normal people. Unfortunately, the unsavory ones are the most visible, though truth be told, every House has its share of shady individuals.”

“Like Voldemort?” Challenged Rose with a dubious look. Merlin, the girl needed to learn when to keep her opinion to herself – she was bound to push Harry away with her interrogation.

Maybe they were to blame for that. None of them had thought to teach the kids any diplomacy skills, preferring to tell them to always speak their minds freely. Iris and Lucas had soft enough dispositions that they had learned some restraint by themselves, but Rose could be blunt to the point of rudeness.

It was slapping them in the face now; even the fact that they had taught the kids to call Voldemort by his name (something the majority of the adults in the Order still struggled with) could be perceived as an insult by those that remained in Britain. As far as Sirius knew, the name was still very much taboo there.

But Harry didn't take offense, at least not openly. He smiled, a very practiced, neutral smile that betrayed absolutely nothing. The smile of a seasoned politician – the Hat knew what it was doing when it put him in the House of Snakes. “I'm probably not in the best position to give you an objective answer.”

Rose opened her mouth to reply, but Iris beat her to it. “What do you do in your free time?” She asked, moving the conversation to safer waters. She had always been the more perceptive of the three youngest Potter kids.

Harry's closed-off smile grew much more genial. “Well, I don't have much free time, to be honest, but I like to spend time with my friends; just mucking about, I suppose. And I play Quidditch, of course.”

That earned him the immediate and absolute attention of all but two members of the household; Remus and Lily had sadly never understood the greatness that was Quidditch.

“You're in the Slytherin team, aren't you?” Asked James eagerly; he had so far spent dinner staring silently at his eldest son as if he would disappear the moment he blinked or spoke. This was one of the details Snape had managed to learn and pass on to them.

The teen nodded. “I'm the team's seeker.”

“I play seeker too, in one of our school's teams – it's called les Fées Fuchsia, the Pink Fairies in French.” Offered Iris.

“We don't have Houses like in Hogwarts, so all the teams are clubs. The Fairies are an all-girls team.” Explained Lucas, seeing Harry's curious tilt of the head. “I'm a reserve chaser in another team, les Pégases Pourpres, the Burgundy Pegasus. And Rose is a good flier too, but she's not part of any team because she's too stubborn to follow proper Quidditch rules.”

“Hey!” Protested the girl, with an embarrassed shove at her younger brother.

“What? We all know it's the truth!” Argued Lucas, dodging the blows as best he could while remaining seated.

“Children.” Called Lily before the playful fight turned ugly. Rose and Lucas immediately sat ramrod straight on their chairs, and their mother sent them an unimpressed look before she turned back to her eldest brother. “You're good on a broom?”

The cocky smirk Harry shot her back was all James. “I started on the team in my first year and haven't lost a single match or missed a snitch yet.”

“They accept first years on the Quidditch teams now?” Wondered Remus.

Harry shrugged. “Not really, but Slughorn harassed Headmistress McGonagall until she gave in. The former seeker had graduated and I think he saw our first flying lessons, where Draco was still being a git. He'd stolen the rememberall Neville's grandmother had sent him, and tried to throw it away when I flew after him to get it back – I managed to catch it in the nick of time. Competition between Heads of Houses for the Quidditch cup is pretty fierce, so Slughorn saw an opportunity to improve his team's chances and took it.”

Sirius snorted in amusement. “Yeah, back when we were all students, McGonagall was our Head of House, and she was obsessed with winning the cup. She even provided some of the poorest kids with brooms that she bought herself, just so that they had decent equipment.”

“She never bought one for Padfoot or me,” added James with a nostalgic smile, “but one year, she paid for three top of the line brooms for the new chaser, the seeker and the keeper. It's a good thing we always won the cup, because I can't imagine the dressing down she would have given us otherwise.”

“She wouldn't have scolded you for losing if you'd given it your all.” Argued Remus, before he looked at Harry. “If you didn't know, your father and godfather were both chasers in the Gryffindor team.”

“I knew that.” Replied Harry. When he saw the surprised looks he received, he elaborated. “I went looking for people who knew you, because I wanted to learn more than your names and the fact that you opposed the current regime. I mean, I grew up with Susan Bones and Neville Longbottom, and both of them had an aunt or a grandmother that could tell them stories about their parents, but I couldn't find any close family to either of mine. The only relative I found was mom's sister, but she replied to my letter by clearly stating that she wanted nothing to do with me and my 'freakishness', and that I'd better stay far away from her family, so...”

Lily looked pained at the reminder of her relationship with Petunia, which Harry must have caught because he moved on.

“But when Narcissa took us in, she told me stories about Sirius – she even told me that he was my godfather, which I hadn't known – and she pointed me in the direction of Peter Pettigrew, Severus Snape and Regulus Black for more information about dad, mom and Sirius respectively. So yes, I do know a little more about you than the official stance. I didn't know until today that I had younger siblings, though.”

The mood had darkened at the mention of the three names Harry had listed; the adults in the room had a bitter relationship with each of them (even Lily with Snape, who had turned spy for them – for her. Old wounds did not heal so easily), which the kids knew well.

Sirius tried his best to change the gloomy atmosphere by switching to another important topic. “Does Narcissa treat you well? She can be a bit...” He trailed off, unsure of how to voice his concerns without sounding like he was insulting his cousin. To her credit, Narcissa had apparently taken Harry in.

Harry shook his head (his ponytail swung around him) and put on a reassuring smile. “Narcissa was never anything but kind towards us, even before she took us in as her wards. I think at first, she was just glad that Draco – her only son – had found actual friends, no matter that I was not a pureblood, and then we grew on her. She probably wanted more children, so she made up for that by more or less adopting Susan, Neville and me and treating us as her own children. Luna – Luna Lovegood, the latest member of my group of friends – she still has a father, so she couldn't exactly take her in, but she nonetheless became a mother figure to her.

“We never had anything to complain about when it came to Narcissa herself, so you don't need to worry about that, and she has enough of a grip on Lord Malfoy that he doesn't dare do more than grumble about us every once in a while.” He concluded with an impish grin.

That was reassuring. Narcissa might have been amongst his most reasonable relatives in Sirius' memories, but she had still been a fervent advocate of pureblood supremacy. He had kind of feared that she had treated Harry badly, or at least unfairly due to his parentage. And yes, Lucius was scared enough of her infamous Black temper to know when not to push.

Speaking of Blacks. “And the rest of her family?” He inquired, thinking of one specific member in particular and willfully ignoring all and any of his own blood-ties.

“You're thinking about Bellatrix, aren't you.” Harry guessed with a dryly amused expression. “She's... mercurial. One day, she can be a doting aunt, pinching our cheeks and covering us in gifts – she likes having a family just as much as Narcissa and can't have children herself – and the next day, she's yelling at Narcissa for adopting the offspring of criminals, with one of them being a half-blood to boot. The screaming has pretty much died out by now, though.

“We all learned early on to never really let our guards down around her, especially since she can grow a bit violent, but she never had much against Susan or Neville, and Narcissa had enough influence on her that she didn't attack me.”

“'Had'?” Repeated Iris, having caught on to the worrying past tense.

“... I assume you all know about the apprenticeship?” When no one looked surprised (which they maybe should have, in hindsight, to hide the fact that they had a spy on the inside, but Sirius only realized that too late), Harry kept talking.

“She became… jealous, I guess, of the attention the Dark Lord was giving me – when she wasn't being a strange but caring aunt-like figure – but he prevented her from doing too much damage. She was allowed to cast spells on me at random times, as part of my training, but not anything really dangerous or with lasting consequences, and she's too devoted to the Dark Lord to disobey direct orders. I was always pretty fast on my feet and I can cast a good shielding charm, so she only got me a handful of times, and it never even warranted a visit to a healer. Besides, she's calmed down a lot this last year, and I barely had to block a dozen curses in total.”

Sirius felt the blood leave his face the more Harry talked, and he could see the other grown-ups were in a similar crisis. The kids, thank Merlin, had thankfully never met either Voldemort or Bellatrix and had no idea how horrific his godson's brazen explanation truly was. In their blissful ignorance, they probably only thought of this as some freaky but relatively harmless training with stinging hexes.

“I- We never knew what being his apprentice entailed.” James fumbled for words. “We're just surprised that it involves random ambushes.” By his most loyal and bloodthirsty lieutenant is what he tactfully kept silent. “You- you're not part of all the- a member of-”

“I'm not a Death Eater.” Cut in Harry, voice and expression as neutral as a blank sheet of paper, but eyes boring into James'. He extended his left arm and began to pull his sleeve; for a terrifying moment, Sirius believed he would see a Dark Mark there, but the skin was unblemished. “I'm not even marked, although I technically outrank all the Death Eaters, Bellatrix included. It took her a while to process that bit of information.”

… How could Harry drop that kind of bomb with a straight face and not expect the rest of them to freak out?

“What do you mean, 'outrank'?!” Remus stood up, pressing Harry for answers. Lily looked like a breeze could shatter her into pieces and James had definitely lost the use of his tongue. Sirius didn't fare much better – only the kids seemed relatively well. Being higher-ranked than all the Death Eaters (which basically meant being only under Voldemort's orders himself) only had an abstract meaning to their innocent minds.

Growing up with carefully censored stories of the war and of Lord Voldemort couldn't compare to first-hand experience. It worked in the children's favor in this case, because they only looked vaguely lost and surprised, and not like they received a reducto to the gut.

Maybe a reducto would have left Sirius less dumbfounded.

“It means I don't have to follow any of their orders, and that I can, in case of emergency, direct them myself. I never really had to go that far yet.”

Merlin, they had all severely underestimated what this 'apprentice' title meant.

“Doesn't that mean you're on the enemy's side?” Wondered Lucas with a frown.

The air turned more awkward than ever. Lucas had just voiced a fact that they had all been trying to ignore, and that they had made sure the children didn't fully realize until now. This was a reunion with a long-lost family member, and none of them had wanted to admit that said member was also heavily (even more so than they had presumed) involved in Voldemort’s tyranny.

“It kind of does.” Admitted Harry. He looked down, saddened, but Sirius could read no regret on his face. “I was hoping to put that aside today, but if it makes you uncomfortable, I can leave.”

“No!” Exclaimed Lily. “We- We can ignore that for today. Can't we?” She looked at everyone, a hint of desperation in her eyes. Clearly, she wanted Harry to stay, no matter what.

“... I guess.” Allowed Rose for all three children. She turned to Harry again, scrutinizing him through narrow eyes. “Then what do you do, as Moldyshorts' apprentice?”

… Rose would definitely get compulsory diplomacy lessons once this was all over.

Thankfully, Harry didn't rise to the bait. “This gets too close to politics. I'd rather we don't go there, if you don't mind.”

“You really can't tell us anything about your 'apprenticeship'?” Asked Iris, whose expression was starting to mirror her sister's. Where they had treated Harry as an odd, but friendly stranger, they were now looking at him like a possible enemy (which he might be, sad as it was to consider).

The older boy was already shaking his head. “Nothing since I officially started. Sorry.”

“Then maybe you can tell us how you were selected?” Offered Remus, who seemed to have mostly regained his bearings. Lily and James were still visibly reeling from the conversations about Harry's rank. “I'm sure there were plenty of students that wanted your place.”

Harry blinked. “Oh, I hadn't thought about that.” He paused, twirling his ponytail thoughtfully between his fingers. “Yes, I suppose I can tell you about it, but it's really not that interesting. I didn't even want to compete for the apprenticeship.”

He was faced with a collective frown, so he explained. “The Heads of Houses did the preliminary selections, giving the Dark Lord reports of all the students they thought could cut it. None of us were even asked if we wanted to be considered. Then, there were more screenings based on our grades, our magical power and interviews with the Dark Lord himself.

“I didn't want the attention – I don't believe in that purity of blood tripe, but enough people do that I have to take it into consideration. Becoming the Dark Lord's apprentice was bound to make me several enemies for being selected when purebloods were not. I even told him that during the interviews, and added that I didn't believe in all his policies, but he dismissed it. In the end, my Lo- the Dark Lord picked me, despite my protests.”

That... was not what Sirius had expected. For Harry to have been seemingly forced into the job when he openly disagreed with the monster... Maybe it had something to do with the prophecy; Voldemort wanting his biggest threat close at hand, just in case. “Don't you want to step down? We could keep you far away from him.” He tried.

But Harry was already shaking his head with a soft smile. “The first weeks were not very fun, but we quickly reached an understanding of sorts. Now, I actually enjoy my job, for the most part. Sorry, but I don't want to quit.”

It left a crushing feeling inside Sirius' chest, but he could see that he would not convince Harry to join the right side today. Maybe another time, once Voldemort's crimes became clearer to his godson. “I see.”

Silence hung over their heads, heavy with the weight of missed opportunities, until Lily cleared her throat loudly. “Why don't you tell us about your friends, Harry?”

The teen eagerly spoke of his orphanage friends (“Brother and sister, really. We grew up together after all”), and of the new acquaintances he made at Hogwarts.

Alice and Frank would be glad to have news of their son, just like the Bones with little Susan. It seemed the kids had grown in a relatively happy environment, with other children to play with and attentive caretakers, until Narcissa took them in and treated them like family. From Harry's enthusiastic tales, they had had their fair share of adventures too, and unknowingly perpetuated the Marauders' legacy.

He was still surprised that his godson had befriended Lucius' offspring (it seemed the boy had been a lot like his father before Harry got to him), but Harry seemed genuinely fond of Draco, more than of his other Housemates.

The Lovegood girl was also unexpected, especially since students rarely got close to kids outside of their year and House, but the fond protectiveness Harry displayed when he talked of her was definitely brotherly. For a moment, Sirius had thought their bond to be more romantic, and he was ashamed to admit to himself that he was relieved it was not.

If she was anything like the way he remembered both her parents, Luna Lovegood was an oddball. A kind girl, maybe, but still more than a little touched in the head. Harry's stories corroborated that idea.

Slowly, Rose, Iris and Lucas added their own tales of their adventures at school and outside. They still showed understandable wariness towards their older brother, but they were also just as eager to know him as he was them. The adults preferred to listen, drinking in all and any information about their oldest kid (he might not have been his or Remus' by blood, but Sirius would fight anyone saying Harry was not theirs too).

It was not the perfect reunion Sirius had hoped for so many times since their exile, but it was something. With any luck, Harry would see the truth and join them soon, to keep him out of Voldemort's reach until it was time to defeat the tyrant.

The time for his godson to leave arrived too soon, but nobody dared to cheat, not today, when Voldemort himself had instructed Harry to return on time. The teen left after a last round of hugs, thankfully less awkward than the first, and managed to apparate away a few seconds before the clock struck nine, leaving the others bereft. No matter how impossible it was, they would have liked him to stay longer, to share more of himself and return to his rightful place in the family.

But there would be time for that later, once the Order's plan was on the way.

Chapter Text

July 1997.

The third and final day of negotiations went by the same way as the two previous ones, with tedious talks and endless political nitpicking on the smallest of details. They also had to wait for the translators every time, even if they understood French perfectly, which only increased Harry's annoyance.

But he still did his job dutifully, providing and sorting files as needed, and keeping his growing boredom carefully hidden.

Thankfully, both sides reached an agreement before the end of the day, deciding on a slow opening of borders, requiring a special visa delivered by both governments. There were already plans to facilitate business travels, and to steadily remove many of the current restrictions, but the specifics would be discussed later in the year, after a trial run.

“We must commemorate this auspicious agreement with a special event, to show the world how successfully our talks went.” Declared Minister Blanchard, once all the papers were signed. “I must admit we had already discussed such an event beforehand, and we believe we have found an appropriate celebration.”

Harry's dwindling attention sharpened. The Dark Lord and him had known there would be an underlying goal to these negotiations, hidden behind the talks to open borders. The French magical government was known to sympathize with the Order of the Phoenix, who had settled in their country after their forced exile, and this was the perfect avenue for them to act.

Minister Blanchard went on, looking pointedly in Harry’s direction. “How better to showcase our treaty than by forging new bonds between our youths? They are the future of our respective nations, the ones that will take over once we are gone, and will be the ultimate proof of our newfound and lasting alliance!

“As such, I propose that we reinstate the Triwizard Tournament, and have the first competition this very year. In preparation for this treaty, we already contacted Durmstrang and the Bulgarian Ministry, and they gave their enthusiastic support. We also have many ideas for the trials and the preparations, and with England's support, we are positive that everything will be ready in time for the new school year in September.”

So this was their angle? The Triwizard Tournament? Harry had read about it in passing, and he knew that it had been stopped because of the number of deaths among the students participating.

Whatever plan this was, it was big, big enough that they were willing to risk the lives of children.

“And where do you suggest this Tournament take place?” Demanded the Dark Lord, who had undoubtedly picked on the same clues as Harry.

“As the country opening its borders, it would be logical for Great Britain to host it. Moreover, Hogwarts is the most ancient magical school in the world; having the first Triwizard Tournament take place in such a prestigious environment is sure to leave a lasting impression on everyone's minds.”

Of course. By pushing for it to happen on British soil, it allowed them (and a few members of the Order) to infiltrate the country legally and stay under the French protectorate. Clever.

Yet there had to be more to it – there were plenty of ways to send envoys that didn't involve planning a year-long event, with kids' lives on the line and the whole logistical nightmare that came with organizing it on such short notice. Whatever scheme was underway, it required the Triwizard Tournament specifically, and it had to happen this year.

Maybe it had something to do with Hogwarts – it had been Dumbledore's turf, after all.

“It does seem sensible, when you put it that way.” Replied the Dark Lord dryly, but Harry knew him well enough to see his amusement. This transparent plotting was thoroughly entertaining to the man, who enjoyed seeing his opponents struggle and flail as they tried to put their plans into motion, as they believed to have outsmarted him when he actually was onto them from the start. He especially delighted in crushing their hopes at the last moment, slowly undermining their schemes until everything crumbled at once and collapsed over their unprepared heads.

The Dark Lord was a sadist; who would have guessed?

Besides, even if he went along with the French’s demands and they eventually turned on him, he still gained a window to the rest of the world, and showed good faith to the other magical communities. In this situation, he was guaranteed a win, which the Order was bound to be aware of, meaning they expected this plan to be decisive. Most likely, they hoped to have removed the Dark Lord and his followers by the end of it, because that was one mighty gamble.

“We are of course willing to talk about this and submit all our ideas to the appropriate British department.” Assured one of the French leaders – the Head of International Affairs, if Harry wasn't mistaken. “This is a collaborative operation.”

“Naturally.” Drawled the Dark Lord. Since he had gotten actively involved in this particular discussion, the rest of the British delegation had fallen back into obedient silence, letting him take the lead. “... Forget about informing us of all the details, it's a bit late for us to barge in and we will trust your judgment. You need only tell us what you want Britain to do – this idea to reinstate the Triwizard Tournament is intriguing indeed. We shall leave all the specifics, including the actual planning of the Trials, to your care.”

Because the Dark Lord wasn't only a sadist, he was also playfully cruel and took calculated risks, letting his enemies have the advantage and the first moves when he was actually three steps ahead. It made their fall all the sweeter.

His compliance clearly caught the French delegation by surprise. “I- I see.” Replied Minister Blanchard. “This is very kind of you; we will endeavor to prove worthy of your trust.”

“I'm sure you will.” Agreed the Dark Lord, almost simpering. None of the French dared to denounce it as the patronizing disregard it was. “Now, if you don't mind, we would like to retire for the day. These negotiations, though fruitful, were tiring, and we have much to prepare for our return tomorrow.”

They said their farewells and well-wishes after some more tedious pleasantries and finally left for their private quarters. Harry made sure to send one last wave goodbye to his mother, who answered in kind.

“Merlin, they are pathetically transparent.” Lamented the Dark Lord once the privacy ward went up. The rest of the delegation rested in their own rooms, and only Harry stayed in the man's temporary office, having files to sort. “Whatever ridiculous scheme they have cooked, it has Dumbledore's influence written all over it. The French Minister is a fool for allowing him to meddle with her country's business.”

“Do you have any idea why they want to have the Triwizard Tournament at Hogwarts specifically?” Wondered Harry.

“Not yet.” Replied Voldemort distractedly as he started reviewing the many contracts and agreements that had been signed today.

The two of them had grown comfortable enough with each other by this point that the man didn't take offense to Harry's questioning and lack of reverence. They kept the charade of the monstrous Dark Lord and his cowed but faithful apprentice up in public, but when alone or with trusted people, they reverted to more casual interactions.

“However, we probably won't learn much more before the end of August, when they send us the finalized plans for the Tournament. No need to keep our guards up before then.”

Harry shot him a dryly amused look. “We wouldn't have to wonder about their goals if you'd asked to be involved with the planning, you know.”

The grin Voldemort answered him with was nothing short of predatory. “But Harry, it wouldn't have been nearly as entertaining.”

The teen huffed to hide his laughter – although the Dark Lord wasn't fooled in the slightest – and returned to his work. If he got this done quickly, he might have a chance of going to sleep at a decent hour. The previous day with his family had been nice (if tense and awkward), but he had stayed up until 1am afterwards just to be ready for today, so he wanted to get to bed early tonight.

Speaking of yesterday. “You didn't tell me how your little family reunion went.”

Harry didn't pause his sorting of documents. “It went as well as you could expect, really. I had to refuse to answer or elude half of their questions, and my newly discovered siblings can't decide if I should be treated as an estranged brother or a Death Eater; even after I showed them that I wasn't marked.”

Voldemort hummed. “And the adults? Mrs Potter definitely welcomed you with open arms, judging by the way she kept staring at you.”

With a sigh, Harry put down the papers in his hand. “She still sees me as the baby she was forced to leave behind and is convinced she can free me from your 'corrupting influence'. It's nice to know she cares about me despite everything, but I'd appreciate being treated as an adult, or failing this as a teenager. My dad, my godfather and my honorary uncle also wish to bring me back to the 'Light', but at least they seem to have processed that I've grown during those years apart. I think Sirius even caught on to some of my white lies and omissions.”

“He was raised into a Black household as heir; it's more than likely.” Voldemort raised his head, piercing him with his blood red eyed – it would be unnerving if Harry wasn't so used to it. “Hopefully you didn't walk out of there too shaken in your convictions.”

Which was the Dark Lord way of asking if he was alright; Voldemort wouldn't be caught dead displaying sentiment. “No, I'm fine. It was just... weird to see how I could have grown up had things been a bit different. I liked spending some time with them and getting to know them, but at the end of the day, we're just too different to fully get along when we don't walk on eggs.”

“... You will probably see them soon anyway. Chances are high that at least one of them will be among the people sent for the Tournament; you'll have other chances to reconnect then.”

“Yeah, assuming they don't try too hard to convert me to the Light.” Joked Harry. It sounded pretty weak to his own ears, but the Dark Lord didn't comment on it. “Oh, by the way, they inadvertently confirmed that they have a spy in our ranks that gave them information about me. I still think it's Snape.”

Voldemort scoffed. “Of course it's Severus – that man stinks of guilt, and it has only gotten worse since you contacted him. He's lucky to be too valuable a Potions Master to be disposed of so easily.”

“If you re-open the borders, then there will be no point in keeping up the spying and you'd have no more reason to get rid of Snape. He hasn't been near the inner circle for years; there's no way for him to be aware of anything sensitive or that can't be found out by any random citizen.”

He received a mild glare in reply. “You only try to protect Severus because he gave you information about your mother.” Accused the Dark Lord.

“Maybe.” Harry shrugged, utterly unrepentant. “He didn't have to share his memories with me though, and he took a risk by telling me of a known terrorist, but he did it anyway. I'm bound to try to defend him a little in gratitude, don't you think?”

The other man didn't even deign to reply, which Harry had expected. Voldemort was never really one to repay kindness, especially when it came from enemies – or spies. He rewarded his followers when they did good because it was expected of him as the leader and it kept them loyal, not because he was genuinely grateful, or else only rarely and when they had performed exceptionally well.

They kept working on their respective tasks, Harry recounting some of his conversations with his family, and Voldemort distractedly commenting on them (but never outright demeaning them, which the teen appreciated). He was especially amused at their reactions to Harry's stories involving Bellatrix.

“Did you tell them that you can give her orders, and that she has to follow them?”

“Yep! I thought the grown-ups were about to have an attack! My little siblings didn't really get it, but the mere idea of me telling Aunt Bella what to do was definitely too much for those who knew her. It kinda put the idea in their head that I was evil, though, but I guess it was worth it just to see their faces.”

“Wait until they see Bella treating you like a nephew; it still sends some of my Death Eaters into shock, and they should have grown used to the sight by now...”

The conversation trailed off until they were both silently focused on the documents before them. Even if he was not the official leader of Britain, Voldemort refused to completely let go of the daily affairs of his country, which meant he had at least a little paperwork to go through, and the recent reconciliation with France had increased his workload.

He'd recently started handing over some of his pile to Harry, saying it was his duty as apprentice to assist him. The green-eyed teen didn't know if that was a legit part of his training, a result of Voldemort's disdain for paperwork, or a punishment for one too many a witty or snarky remark.

Hopefully it wasn't for the remarks; for one, Harry made sure never to cross the line, and kept his mild insolence away from public eyes. For two, he knew that Voldemort enjoyed his sarcastic streak. Even Nagini had commented on how false his complaining about them sounded.

“I failed to address this earlier, but you realize you will be the Hogwarts' champion once the Triwizard Tournament has begun, don't you?” Voldemort asked out of the blue. It took a second for Harry to catch up with his non-sequitur.

“Really? I thought it was impossible to rig the selections, since they'll probably use that artifact – what was it called again? The cup...”

“The Goblet of Fire.” Supplied the other man impatiently. “It is a heavily enchanted item, and it does prevent cheating, to an extent. But even without tampering, you still have over nine chances out of ten of being selected.”

Harry blinked. “... Why? There are plenty of other talented students; at least some of them are bound to be naive enough to want to participate in that farce.”

“Because you fit the goblet's criteria to a tee. It looks for power in its champions, as well as magical knowledge and practical skills. Out of all of Hogwarts' students, you're by far the most experienced with actual danger and the best trained to respond to it.

“Besides, considering this whole idea most likely came from Dumbledore and his Order, I wouldn't be surprised if they hope for you to be chosen specifically.”

The groan Harry let out was only half for show – he had more than enough on his plate already, and didn't want to be involved with the Tournament tripe. “Ugh, this is about that blasted prophecy again, isn't it? You don't actually think they still believe that load of bullshit, do you?”

“Language.” Scolded the Dark Lord, more out of mindless habit than with any spirit. “And yes, I very much do think so. You haven't had much contact with the Order yet – although I'm sure that will change soon – but you must understand that they all follow Dumbledore's opinions like the good little minions they don't know they are. Dumbledore believes wholeheartedly in that prophecy, enough to think I would too – despite knowing of my contempt for Divination – and would have tried to murder you as a baby.”

“And I can't thank you enough for not being that gullible.” Replied Harry, crushing a paper supposed to help split families reunite on British soil in his fist. He had heard the so-called prophecy that named him the Dark Lord's downfall, and he hadn't been impressed. Meeting the ‘seer’ that had spouted it had only compounded his opinion. “Since me being chosen as champion is likely part of the Order's plan, can't I desist? I wouldn't want to play into their hands.” He tried, not hoping for much, but he had to attempt something.

“When this is our best chance to expose them and then flush them out in years?” Asked Voldemort with fake concern. “Please tell me you're not being serious, Harry.”

“Easy for you to say when you're not going to have to deal with stupid Trials on top of your training and all the other crap you've given me.” He gestured towards the piles of documents on his desk; most was already finished, but he still had at least another half-an-hour of work before he could go to bed.

“The perks of being a fearsome Dark Lord and of pushing part of your work on your poor apprentice.” Mocked Voldemort with an ominous smile. “But you're right – I can't keep training you once the Tournament begins – we wouldn't want to be accused of favoritism. Come September, you'll only be called to my side to work as an assistant, not to learn magic.”

“What?! But that's the best part!”

“Too late; you shouldn't have complained.” He looked entirely too self-satisfied in Harry's opinion. “But it is a true concern: we cannot afford the rest of the world to suspect us of cheating. You getting special lessons during the Tournament is bound to raise questions on what I'm teaching you. Best not to take unnecessary risks.”

“This coming from the guy who downright refused to know even a little of what the enemy has planned...” Mumbled Harry under his breath, but loud enough for Voldemort to catch it.

“Don't try to pretend you're not enjoying this as much as I do. You like pulling the wool over people's eyes, Harry, you wouldn't keep up the pretense of going to Hogwarts otherwise.”

“I like going to Hogwarts! I have all my friends there, and there's Quidditch!” Protested Harry.

“You barely even attend lessons there anymore.” Argued Voldemort. “You're already far ahead of your peers, and have been for a while. Had you asked to, you could have passed your NEWTs last year with flying colors. If it's your friends and Quidditch that you miss, you could simply visit on weekends.”

“It's not the same.” Harry retorted petulantly, crossing his arms. “I'd like to enjoy my last year as a student in peace, thank you very much.”

“Then stop complaining about having too much to do. You're already spared most of the homework, but you'd have less on your plate if you dropped school completely.”

Harry deflated. “I know, but... I just want to finish school with my friends. I can hang on until the end of the year, Triwizard Tournament and all. I'll still miss your training, though – that really is the best part of the apprenticeship. Just… let me complain every once in a while, and I'll be fine.”

“... Maybe we could resume your training during the holidays and some weekends. I don't want you to get sloppy due to lack of practice.”

Merlin, was it really so hard for the man to show that he cared? Did he always have to conceal it under his whole heartless Dark Lord persona?

Harry chuckled, letting Voldemort have his way, the big bad monster. “That would be great, thank you.” And he returned to his work, hoping to finish at a decent hour.

“Oh, and Harry?”

“Hmm?”

“You'd better show those fools the errors of their ways and win this ridiculous Tournament.”

Chapter Text

September 1997.

“I heard Durmstrang and Beauxbatons will put on a little show.” Draco informed his 'court' at the Slytherin table during lunch.

The small assembly used to float around Harry, as his rank of apprentice made him the de facto highest-ranked Snake, but he had spent so much time away on his apprenticeship that they had naturally drifted towards his successor (although they still listened to him when he was there). He didn't mind – quite the opposite – and Draco loved every second of the attention.

“There were talks about Hogwarts also doing something, but it was canceled in the end, for some reason,” continued the blond.

“The students of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang began working on their routines last year, before the Summer holidays,” supplied Harry, sitting at Draco's left side. Or perhaps Draco was at his right. “And we were informed of this show only a couple weeks ago. It was decided that, as the hosting school and a very prestigious place, there was no need for our students to ridicule themselves by competing so late in the game – we'll show off during the Trials.”

“Yes, I'm sure we will show them,” said Daphne with sarcastic amusement.

As soon as Headmistress McGonagall had announced the holding of the Triwizard Tournament at Hogwarts, the very first day of school, the entire Slytherin House – and the rest of the student population, actually – had unanimously decided that Harry was going to be their Champion.

Of course, there were still a handful that hoped to be chosen instead, and more than a few planned to apply anyway (including some underage kids, despite the ban on anyone under 17), but the general consensus was that Hogwarts' Champion was already as good as chosen.

Harry's explanation that he selection couldn't be rigged (it could, with a bit of creative thinking, but he didn't want to tell them that) and that there would be absolutely no attempts to influence the Goblet of Fire on Great Britain's side changed nothing. Their faith in him proved annoying, especially since he was far from overjoyed at the perspective of participating in the Trials.

“There's no way to be sure who will be chosen in the end.” He said for the umpteenth time. “We might be surprised.”

Everyone within hearing distance shot him a flat look or rolled their eyes, even a couple Ravenclaws next table over.

“Anyway,” continued Theodore, taking mercy on Harry, “what do you think the other school’s performances will be like?”

They spent the rest of lunch, and most of the lessons after pondering and putting money on the various theories (the teachers didn't even seriously try to make them pay attention, the anticipation in the air too thick for serious studies). For the first time in a while, and for the months to come, Harry attended all the lessons along with his housemates, and would only return to the Dark Lord's side during the weekends.

They caught sight of Beauxbatons arriving between lessons – three massive carriages drawn by winged horses landing at the border of the forest. Other students had witnessed three ships in the lake bearing Durmstrang's coat of arms, so all the guests had supposedly already arrived in Hogwarts – except for the politicians and other officials that would wait for dinner and the ceremonial opening of the Triwizard Tournament.

Harry was surprised to see three ships and carriages, though; one of each should have been more than enough for the students of age, since they were clearly enchanted with quite a bit of wizarding space.

He supposed he would have an explanation sooner or later, and once more silently groused about playful Dark Lords that liked to toy with their prey.

From her seat as Headmistress, Minerva looked at the assembly of students waiting for dinner.

Who was she fooling? They were all waiting for the delegations of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang to arrive, deliver a ‘performance’ (even she didn't know what kind), and for more information about the Tournament.

She would rather never have had to host such a dangerous – and absurd, really ridiculous – event, but her opinion had never been requested, and as Headmistress of Hogwarts under the current regime, she was duty-bound to comply with the whims of politicians. Even if it put her students and other innocent children on the line.

The only saving grace was that she – and the rest of Hogwarts – had a good idea of who would be chosen as Champion, and the boy was most definitely the best-equipped to survive unharmed (he might even win, probably would, but she cared not for victory or glory, only her wards' health).

Not that sending Harry into avoidable danger was much better, but she had faith that he would survive. The abilities he displayed during the few lessons he attended astounded his teachers, and she was sure he had never shown a quarter of whatever the Dark Lord had taught him. Harry would pull through, and Hogwarts as a whole would support him all the way.

(She had considered that another, less prepared student might be chosen, but a thorough research on the Triwizard Tournament quelled her fears. The Goblet of Fire's criteria ensured that Harry would be selected, unless another child had managed to pull the wool over their eyes even better than the boy before he caught the attention of the Dark Lord. The artifact wouldn't choose a less talented child, lest it makes the show and execution too short and boring, she thought bitterly.)

Despite hating having to push a student into danger (the son of two of her favorite alumni, at that), the politics and scheming behind the Tournament worried her much more.

She might have formerly belonged with Order of the Phoenix, but Minerva had cut all ties when she decided to stay to protect the children; she had no clue what their goal was in reinstating the Triwizard Tournament, but she guessed Albus must have had a hand in it. They wouldn't have asked for Hogwarts to host it otherwise.

But Minerva had little to no political power. After Albus had left the country, the Dark Lord had made sure that nobody could hold that many high-responsibility jobs (a measure she wasn't wholly against, truth be told. If their society hadn't been so corrupted from the inside, Albus would have had too much power and influence for one man). Besides, she wasn't much for politicking, never had the mind for it, although it meant that today, she stayed mostly out of the loop.

She didn't know what to expect from either Albus or the Dark Lord, but she had a feeling that it was big. This masquerade around the Triwizard Tournament hid something massive, something capital.

All she could do was act as Hogwarts' Headmistress, and protect her students to the best of her abilities. Hopefully it would be enough.

As it happened her duties right now included introducing the foreign schools.

“Students of Hogwarts,” she began. While she still sometimes felt like an impostor in Albus' seat, she was long used to addressing the entire student body. “As you already know, this year, we have the privilege of hosting the illustrious Triwizard Tournament – for those of you who had been living under a rock this last month, it's a competition where Champions standing for each of Europe's major magical schools are chosen to face three dangerous Trials.

“As such, delegations from the esteemed French school of Beauxbatons, and Bulgarian school of Durmstrang will be sharing classrooms with you for the rest of the year. I have been assured that their means of transportation also provide comfortable lodgings, and that they can hold their own lessons as long as they have the room, but you will be meeting them for meals and in the corridors.

“I'm sure I do not have to remind you to behave in a manner befitting our school's pristine reputation.” She added, tone a tad more ominous. Surely there would still be incidents, but hopefully not any major ones.

Not from the student body at least…

“So, without further ado, let me introduce you to the French delegation of Beauxbatons.”

On cue, the great doors opened, and the French students danced their way in.

It was a fairly pretty procession, Minerva had to admit. A bit too fanciful for her tastes, but nice nonetheless (it also reminded her to prepare dancing lessons for her own students before the Yule ball if they didn't want to shred their reputation to tatters). The oldest students conjured shining creatures in the sky, swirling and gliding to the beat of classical music that came from nowhere and everywhere at once. The youngest children – first years, from the looks of it – cast colorful sparks over the assembly from the back; an easy trick, but they must have had only a month or so of magical education, and looked happy to be included. The students in between danced and a few did acrobatics.

It was impressive to behold, both for how practiced the procession was, and for their sheer numbers (she hadn't known more than the seventeen-year-olds would come until they were already at her doorstep. The house elves had been in a frenzy all afternoon in the kitchen) but that was not what had Minerva's eyes so riveted. She was actually looking for familiar faces.

The easiest to spot were the two Weasleys. Ronald and Ginevra, if Minerva recalled their names right – the girl had barely been a few months old when the family had packed and followed Dumbledore, weeks after his exile. Their red hair clashed rather strongly with their light blue uniforms (the perks of Hogwarts' black one was that it suited everyone) and drew the eye.

Speaking of red hair, one of the dancing girls sported a very familiar shade. Minerva hadn't known that the Potter had had more children after Harry, but that girl was certainly Lily's daughter. And once she had spotted her, it was easy to see that the girl she stayed close to sported James' (and Harry's) unfortunate unruly hair, and the younger brunet boy at their side had all of Lily's features save her eyes.

The rest was not as easy to identify, but she could have sworn a boy looking around 14 or 15 looked like a young Frank Longbottom from a distance.

Then, reacting to a sign she hadn't caught, the dancers parted gracefully, allowing Beauxbatons' Headmistress, Madam Maxime, to walk though, followed by a number of adults – the teachers and caretakers for the entirety of the French student body, no doubt.

There were many more people than Hogwarts' staff, but Minerva supposed she couldn’t blame them, given that they were not in their own school, and might fear for the students' safety when in Great Britain, but even then, it seemed like a lot.

Moreover, she definitely recognized some of them. Sixteen years of exile wouldn't prevent her from recognizing Lily and James Potter, Alice and Frank Longbottom or Remus Lupin. There were a few more members of the Order, scattered among the French staff, but none that had left such vibrant memories as those five.

What in Merlin's name were they doing here?

At the Slytherin table, Harry looked just as shocked to see his estranged family there, so he couldn't have known either (although if rumors were to be believed, he, like all of England's officials, were in the dark about most of everything around the Triwizard Tournament. A whim of the Dark Lord, apparently).

Minerva exchanged the customary greetings with Headmistress Maxime in a light daze, and spent the entirety of the show put on by Durmstrang (a military-like display of magical might) waiting eagerly for a chance to speak with her former students.

(It made the greetings with Karkaroff easier – she was well aware that the man used to don a Death Eater’s mask and that he had to flee overseas after taking advantage of his position to cheat the Dark Lord of some of his funds. She would have had a much more difficult time acting cordially to him had she been in her right mind.)

She spent dinner surrounded by her two fellow Headmasters, meaning she had to be polite and not speak over their heads, no matter how much she wanted to. It didn't stop her from noticing the three younger Potter siblings settling at the Slytherin table, and the boy that looked like a Longbottom even more now that she could compare features directly, hesitantly heading for the Gryffindor table, where an equally nervous Neville called him.

Farther along the teacher's table (which had been extended for the occasion, and had plates on both sides of the table out of necessity), Horace was freely and happily chatting with his former star pupils – no doubt telling them stories about Neville and Harry in between his boasting.

The ceremony started soon after, Minerva unveiling the Goblet of Fire in front of the awed audience. “Anyone who wishes to apply must write his or her name on a piece of paper and throw it inside the Goblet.” She explained. “No need to add the school you hail from – the Goblet will know. Moreover, protections have been put in place to prevent underage students from making an attempt directly or indirectly. I'm sure some of you will still try your luck, but don't come whining when you face the consequences.

“As of right now, the Triwizard Tournament is officially underway.” She concluded, with less fanfare than Albus would have used, but she couldn't bring herself to act enthused in front of so many hopeful, naive eyes.

With dinner and the ceremony over, Minerva finally had the freedom to talk with her former students. “Mrs Potter.” She started, unsure of how informal she could be with Lily Potter.

“Lily,” corrected the red-haired woman with an easy smile. “It's good to see you so well Professor McGonagall.”

“Please call me Minerva.” She replied. An invisible wall loomed between them that she didn't know how to break, their paths having diverged too long ago. She spoke the first idea that came to mind. “I hadn't expected you to become teachers for Beauxbatons.”

Lily laughed, a light sound that belied the tension in her shoulders. “We're not officially teachers, only parents that agreed to accompany their children. It's very common among French muggles to do so on school trips, and Beauxbatons was in dire need of half-way competent adults coming along. Some students refused to set foot on British territory, and as such, teachers had to stay in France with them, and Madam Maxime wanted more staff at hand to keep an eye on her wards.

“All of us here passed tests that showed we were knowledgeable and responsible enough to teach one subject, though – for instance, I will teach half the students Charms. They didn't pick adults at random, I assure you.”

Minerva looked at Lily's husband, who was laughing at a reluctantly amused Remus Lupin's newly acquired pink hair in a way that implied he was the culprit. “... Responsible adults indeed.” She couldn't help but reply.

Lily must have caught the fondness under her sarcasm, for she didn't take offense and smiled sheepishly back, like a child caught red-handed by a teacher they knew would let them go with little more than a gentle scolding. “For the most part.” She amended. “That's what Remus is here for, other than to teach History to half of Beauxbatons' students.”

As if he had ever been able to rein in his fellow Marauders instead of fueling their inspiration with more clever ideas for pranks... Minerva might still harbor a glaring soft spot for that particular group of Lions, but she was under no illusion about how mischievous they were either.

Just like she knew that the presence of so many members of the Order was the sign of them planning something big and possibly – certainly – hazardous.

“I hope Albus knows what he's doing.” She muttered, barely loud enough for Lily to hear.

“We have a fool-proof plan, don't worry,” replied Lily, steel in her voice and eyes just as hard.

“It's not fools I fear, but a certain Dark Lord and his close entourage, none of which can be called foolish. If anything goes wrong, it’s the students that will pay the price.” She reminded the woman, her tone matching Lily's. “Including your children.”

“I know. But it won't happen, we wouldn't have involved Beauxbatons if we were not absolutely positive that this would work. All of us here are seasoned fighters; we were chosen for our skills, just in case – it's why the Bones, who never actively participated in battle, didn't come despite wanting to see their only daughter. The students will be fine, my children will be fine, all four of them, and at the end of all this, our home will be freed.”

Minerva looked at the multitude of students in black, blue and burgundy loitering under the Great Hall's sky – the room, benches and tables having automatically lengthened to accommodate them – ranging from bright-eyed eleven-year-olds to those that were now legally adults and affected maturity and jadedness because they thought it was what grown-ups did. All children, all innocent and all endangered by the madness that was the Triwizard Tournament and the Order's plans for it.

For a brief moment she felt terribly envious of Lily's unwavering confidence, and then her senses came back and she remembered that blind faith wasn't her way anymore, and hadn't been since she decided to stay in England to protect its future generations.

She had left the Order of the Phoenix knowingly, and her only remaining duty was the protection of the students before her, not the freedom of her homeland or the toppling of a Dark Lord. Not anymore.

“Let us hope so.” Minerva said, deciding to let this topic die here. She was an outsider now anyway, so it wasn't as though they would share anything of importance with her. “Now tell me, how is your life in France? You said you had three more children.”

The rest of the day was spent in fond recollections and new stories, Minerva's other former students joining them in the conversation.

They all carefully avoided talking about Albus' machinations and the looming threat hanging over their heads.

Still stuck in a mild disbelieving daze, Harry watched his three siblings hesitantly march towards him.

The Tournament had been explicitly limited for students of age, and Rose and Iris were only in fifth year – they should have had no reason to come to Hogwarts. Moreover, they had made no mention of this when he had met them this Summer.

(His parents' presence wasn't as unexpected; having known that the Order had been scheming something linked to the Tournament, Harry had prepared himself to see them here.)

“Can we sit here?” Asked Rose, who he had come to understand was the most brash out of the three of them. Iris stood beside her, looking vaguely anxious but not afraid, while Lucas hid behind his sisters, only peering over their shoulders to check Harry's reaction and avoiding the eyes of the other Slytherins.

To be fair, everyone at the table was staring holes into them as if they were a particularly fascinating species of unicorn and not three foreign students that happened to be related to Harry.

“Sure.” He heard himself say, already scooting over and gesturing to his comrades to open three additional seats. The rest of the French students and those from Durmstrang were already finding places, but preferred to stay among themselves and keep to the ends of the four tables rather than mingle.

There were a few exceptions, of course; for instance, Harry spotted a Beauxbatons boy Lucas' age heading for the Gryffindor seventh-years and stopping in front of Neville, who looked as stunned as Harry felt.

“I'm Iris Potter, Harry's little sister,” explained Iris, when everyone found a seat and the stares didn't relent. “This is my older twin sister, Rose, and my younger brother Lucas. Rose and I are in fifth year at Beauxbatons, while Lucas is a year younger. It's a pleasure to meet you.”

“Right.” Hearing Iris speak helped Harry regain his bearings and behave like a proper Snake instead of a dumb doxie. “I met them this Summer – actually, I discovered their very existence this Summer, if you want to be accurate. I- I didn't know they would be visiting Hogwarts this year. Anyway, I'll introduce you to everyone here; this is Draco Malfoy, a very good friend of mine and an excellent Potioneer...”

He named each and everyone around them, adding a little comment to help his siblings memorize them. “... And finally, Daphne Greengrass and her sister Astoria, who is about your age, respectively a genius in Charms and Care of Magical Creatures. That's everybody I think. The reason they're ogling you like that is that they didn't know I had siblings until the start of the school year and it apparently hadn't sunk in properly yet, so please forgive them their attitude; they're actually happy to meet you and they'll act like proper wizards and witches once the shock passes.” He added with a pointed glare out of his siblings' line of sight.

He wouldn't be able to shield them from the Slytherins' schemes and teasing for very long, but he could warn his friends to behave at least the first week. Rose, Iris and Lucas didn't deserve to be thrown in the Snake pit's ruthless games so soon.

“A pleasure to meet you.” Replied Lucas, still shy and fidgeting, but well-mannered. Iris and Rose followed suit.

It was Draco – bless him – that got the conversation going, first tentatively, then with more excitement when he broached the topic of Quidditch teams. The whole Potter family – with the exception of his mother and Remus – were Quidditch enthusiasts and loved to fly, a detail Harry had shared with Draco upon his return from France.

The blond must have remembered, for which Harry was thankful, because he found discussion difficult with his siblings without the adults around. They felt so... childish when he talked with them; while it was not a bad thing by any means, it made it hard for Harry (who had so many responsibilities already) to connect with them when he didn't have shared backgrounds or any grown-ups who knew his siblings around to bridge the gap.

The adults around them might be part of an organization fighting actively (or that once did) against Voldemort, but the children had clearly grown sheltered from all that. An appropriate decision, according to Harry, who firmly believed that kids shouldn't have to carry their parents' burdens and beliefs, but one that made their upbringing so very different from his own.

Now, Harry wouldn't say he had had a troubled childhood. However, the orphanage had not been as easy as growing up with a mom and a dad, and Neville, Susan and he carried the stigma of terrorist parents. Some of the caretakers had been more distant or harsh as a result, or looked elsewhere when older children bullied them. It had forced them to develop tougher skin than most kids, and urged Harry to rely more heavily on his... his least noble qualities to earn some peace.

The first year in Slytherin had been a challenge, compared to his peers who all had familial backing and money. Sure, he could have asked to access the sealed Potter vaults when he reached the age of 13, but he wasn't sure, even now, that either the Goblins or his own family would approve. For the former, he was not officially allowed by the owners, who were not dead and thus had a legal right to bar him entrance, and for the latter, well... he never had many problems with the current regime, and ended up becoming a part of it as the Dark Lord's only apprentice, so...

Being all but adopted by Narcissa had helped, but it had come with a new set of rules and restraints that they had all had to learn (not to speak of his tense relation with Lord Malfoy, or of Bellatrix's mercurial attitude, switching from doting aunt to jealous bitch in the blink of an eye). The Dark Lord selecting him as his apprentice only heaped more responsibilities and expectations on his plate, in addition to all the admittedly fascinating lessons.

He liked his life as it was, but it had honestly little in common with his siblings'.

It didn't mean he wasn't going to try to connect with them though, for however long they stayed here before the Order's plans fell apart and they went back to opposite sides of the war. He already felt like he had brothers in Neville and Draco, and sisters in Susan and Luna, but that didn't mean he didn't want to know those three new siblings that came out of nowhere.

He made sure to participate as much as possible in the conversation, even if he gratefully let Draco take the lead. A handful of times, he also cut short some of the other Snakes' comments that veered too close to Slytherin mind games. Blaise seemed to enjoy prodding his protectiveness a little too much and toed the line far more often than the others, but none of his younger siblings caught on, so Harry begrudgingly let the matter go.

For now.

By the time all the Beauxbatons students were called to return to their dorms in the carriages, the conversation had become much less awkward, and even Lucas was talking (mostly with Astoria – Harry would bet good money on his little brother growing a crush).

Rose, Iris and Lucas still had their guards up – no doubt the result of propaganda against Slytherins, although Harry had had the impression that their parents and honorary uncles had done their best to curb it after learning of his Sorting – but they looked decidedly less tense than when they arrived.

“We really need to go,” said Rose, standing up to join the rest of the French student body. She even sounded a little regretful. “We'll see each other soon anyway, I guess. The teachers warned us last year that we'll have every meal here until we leave.”

“You already knew you'd be coming last year?” Asked Harry. It had bothered him since Beauxbatons had arrived, but he had found no opening so far to bring it up naturally – why hadn't they said anything when he had met them this Summer?

“Yeah, we did,” admitted Lucas, looking everywhere but at him and running a hand through his hair, messing it up in the process.

“We were sworn to secrecy,” added Iris, guessing the direction of Harry's thoughts. She didn't specify if the orders came from her teachers or her parents, though. “We would have told you earlier, but apparently, people weren't sure if the Triwizard Tournament would really happen then, and they didn't want to influence you in any way by talking about it too soon.”

She seemed to honestly believe that bullshit, so Harry didn't take offense. Truth was that Beauxbatons and Durmstrang wouldn't have started repetitions for their entrance last year if they hadn't been sure it would go though, and the French and Bulgarian government had been way too quick in their preparations for it to have been as undecided as Iris said. In their heads, the Triwizard Tournament had already been a certainty; they only had to convince the British delegation.

But Iris was only 15, not especially politically-savvy and not in the know of any governments or secret Orders' schemes. No need to spoil her innocent outlook.

“I see. It's fine then, I understand,” replied Harry with a kind smile that betrayed nothing of his thoughts. “I'll see you tomorrow then. Good night you three.”

They parted soon after, leaving Harry with his fellow Snakes.

“I knew you had siblings,” started Theodore, “but it still feels bizarre to actually meet them. They kind of look like you, yet not, and they're so very different personality-wise that it's weird.”

“Yeah, I bet they would have been Gryffindors if they'd attended Hogwarts,” noted Gregory without the scorn he would have shown in first year.

They'd all come a long way since then. Harry was sort of proud of his housemates.

“Maybe,” admitted Harry – he genuinely didn't know them well enough to be positive, but from what he'd seen, it was possible.

Before he could elaborate, someone plopped down on the space Iris had vacated by his side. “Merlin, today was strange,” muttered Neville, who still looked a little shell-shocked.

“What happened?” Wondered Pansy. Now that all the guests were gone, the ceremony was officially over and students were allowed to wander to the other tables again, so nobody bothered to shoo Neville away.

“Met my brother,” rambled the Gryffindor, eyes wider than normal. “He's in Beauxbatons and his name is Sebastian. He said he was in fourth year. He arrived at our table and asked to see me and I didn't know who he was – I mean, I had an idea. Harry told me I had a younger brother, and he kind of looked like me, but I wasn't sure, you know – and then he introduced himself as 'Sebastian Longbottom' and he sat next to me before I could say anything and asked me all sorts of questions about myself, and Hogwarts and Britain in general. It was bloody strange.”

“I know the feeling,” muttered Harry. He wasn't sure if Neville heard him, though, despite being right next to him.

“Harry's three siblings also visited, although he'd at least met them once before,” provided Daphne.

This time, Neville made a vague noise to show he had heard. “I think I also saw my parents among the French teachers.” He added. “I'm not totally sure it was them, but they definitely looked like all the secret pictures Granny has of them. There was also that guy that looked like an older Harry – I actually thought it was him after an aging potion and a haircut for a moment until I noticed that the eyes were wrong. I was creepy.”

“That was probably my father – I saw him and my mother earlier.” Offered Harry, drawing everyone's eyes to him, including Neville's so far wandering attention. “There were a lot of members of the Order of the Phoenix here: my parents, yours, Remus Lupin, Alastor Moody and so on. I spotted nine people that I know for sure used to work under Dumbledore, and there are probably more that I don't know about.

Draco shot him a dubious look. “How in Merlin's name did you recognize them? Aren't their files, with all information about them, classified even for the highest-ranking Death Eaters?”

They were. In order to prevent people from defecting too easily by contacting them, the Dark Lord had all information and pictures of known enemies destroyed or locked away, only to be brought up in case of emergency. It had made it much harder for Harry – who had no more family around – to dredge up stories of his parents. Narcissa, Regulus, Snape and Pettigrew had actually defied Voldemort's orders by providing him with memories and information, which partly explained why he was so quick to defend them.

It was an open secret that families kept a few pictures hidden in their homes, like Neville's grandmother did, but apart from that, none of the rebels' faces were known by the younger generation or the people who hadn't met them before their exile. All to avoid making martyrs of them, or examples to look up to.

But as Voldemort's apprentice, Harry could access all those files – even if he had never actually asked his mentor for permission and had sneaked a look without a clear authorization. The Dark Lord most definitely knew of it anyway and had never found the need to punish him.

(In fact, he suspected the man approved of the initiative, but would never admit that out loud. It wouldn't be the first time, and Voldemort had a clear appreciation for information gathering, snooping around and finding loopholes around rules.)

He offered Draco a brilliant smile, so fake that it actually looked genuine to strangers, the one that said that he wouldn't reveal anything no matter what. “I have my ways.”

The blond groaned in mock disgust, but didn't question him further.

Chapter Text

October 1997.

Neville watched his brother in all but blood advance towards the Goblet of Fire and throw a folded piece of paper in the flames.

Almost all of Hogwarts had gathered in the room to see its future Champion make his first step towards victory today (because everyone already knew the Goblet would choose Harry). It was honestly amazing the faith the students had in Harry, so strong that few even considered for more than a second that he might not win, let alone be selected.

Yet the green-eyed teen didn't waver under their expectations or seem bothered by their scrutiny.

Neville knew better; Harry might be ambitious – although not in the way most Snakes were – and had a fondness for political games, but he didn't enjoy the spotlight in the least. Sure, he bore with it gracefully enough when he had no other choice, but Harry was fundamentally a creature of shadows; subtly pulling strings and waiting to strike unseen was more his style.

He had to hate the Tournament, where all eyes would be set on him non-stop, but his expression betrayed nothing as the fires consumed the paper with his name. Harry always had an excellent poker face – it was one of many things that had made Susan and Neville so sure that he would be sorted into Slytherin back in their orphanage days. Even as a kid, he could spout the most ludicrous lies with a straight face and convince the others around him that it was the absolute truth.

More than one caretaker got tricked by his earnest green eyes and his innocent voice over the years, despite knowing better.

Once Harry stepped down from the dais that supported the Goblet, a handful of Hogwarts students followed, offering their own names in the odd chance of being selected. Judging from their faces, most did it more because they didn't want to have regrets than out of any hope of being chosen, but Neville still commended their bravery – and their stupidity. He had little clue how tough the Trials would be, but no amount of so-called eternal glory could convince him to risk his neck. The whole thing was a pointless death-trap in his opinion.

Sure, Harry was competing for the championship too, but for one, he was – by far – the strongest and most experienced student in all of Hogwarts (and probably among all the students gathered here, none of which had a Dark Lord as a mentor). For two, he was fully aware of how ridiculously hazardous the Tournament was.

For three, he didn't compete out of a wish for fame or wealth, but because his position demanded it. The Dark Lord's apprentice couldn't afford not to at least apply for the championship, no matter that Harry would rather avoid the whole charade altogether.

“Let's get out of here.” Offered Harry as he passed by Neville, not sparing a glance to the procession of students placing their names in the Goblet (or the startled screams of the few underage kids that attempted to fool the age-line Flitwick had cast. Morons). “We could visit the French students.”

By which he meant his and Neville's estranged families. “Sure. I'd like to talk more with Sebastian, and see if I can get a word with his- with our parents.”

(Actually, he’d rather avoid the whole ‘reunion’ thing, but he’d have to go through it at one point or another; better rip off the bandaid in one fell swoop than make it last.)

He had only seen the Longbottom couple from afar yesterday, busy as they had been with the rest of the teachers. Maybe today Neville would finally be able to speak with them, even if he had yet to completely process that they were his actual parents.

Having grown up without them and with only stories and a few illegal photos his grandmother had secreted away, it had never truly hit Neville that, like everyone, he had a biological mom and dad. Meeting them in the flesh felt so far removed from reality that he couldn't even feel as anxious about it as he knew he should.

Now, that detachment would work in his favor and keep his hopes from getting too high.

Moreover, while he wasn't a staunch supporter of the current regime, he didn’t oppose it either. More importantly, he was firmly on Harry's side, and Harry stood with the Dark Lord. Neville was painfully aware that his parents came on a mission, and that this very mission would probably tear apart any bond they might manage to build in the foreseeable future.

He was curious about them (and his younger brother), but to be perfectly honest, he wasn't all that invested. They were strangers in the end, and he already had a family, if not one blood-related.

Harry and he reached the three French carriages without encountering anyone and knocked at the door of the closest one. Hopefully the Potters and Longbottoms were there, or, failing that, someone could direct them in the right direction.

A graying woman – probably a professor – opened the door. “What do you want?” She asked briskly with a thick accent.

Harry put on his most innocent smile and hunched minutely over himself to look up to her as he answered in equally accented French (which was another lie – Narcissa had drilled proper French and its pronunciation in their heads as soon as she had taken them in. Apparently, being fluent was a must for anyone living under the erstwhile French household that was the Malfoy. Draco had made sure that they continued their studies of the language when at Hogwarts, under his mother's orders), looking all the part of a hopeful but frightened child. “Excuse us, but we would like to talk with someone from our- from the Longbottom or Potter families. Could you call them here, please?”

The woman's eyes softened a fraction, and today must have been their lucky day, because she nodded and replied that she would fetch them, as long as the two of them waited outside.

“Did you really have to put on the act?” Wondered Neville without heat. He was used to it.

“You know how people agree more easily if they think you're beneath them and they're doing you a great favor? I didn't want to risk her brushing us off – she really didn't look happy to see English students here – I'm guessing she had orders to keep our ‘corrupting influence’ away.”

“At least pretend to feel remorse when I point it out,” replied Neville fondly, receiving a remorseless cheeky grin for his troubles. Harry wouldn't be Harry if he didn't low-key manipulate everyone around him. It was generally done without malice anyway.

They didn't have to wait long before the door to the carriage opened again and a group of nine people walked out. And a massive, black dog; nine people and a dog.

The animal ran straight for Harry, ignoring the cries of 'Padfoot!' coming from a scarred man at the back, tackled the teen to the floor and started licking his face.

Harry laughed. “Hey, hey! That tickles! Stop that!” And it took the combined strength of the scarred man, a man that looked an awful lot like Harry, a red-haired woman with Harry's eyes and three younger students to pull the slobbering beast off his friend.

Neville only paid enough attention to make sure Harry was fine, though, because his gaze was drawn to the other couple and their son. The two adults kept staring at him with tears in their eyes. “Oh, my little baby!” Cried the woman before she embraced him.

He stiffened, but she didn't seem to notice. The woman might be his mother (she looked so much like him that there was no denying the filiation) but he didn't appreciate being hugged by a total stranger. The man – his father – enfolded the both of them in his big arms, making Neville even more tense.

He might want to know Alice and Frank Longbottom – and Sebastian, now that he knew he existed – but he was decidedly not comfortable with this forced intimacy. It took all of his self-restraint not to pull out of the hug.

Harry, now free from the dog's likely crushing weight, looked at him with sympathetic eyes, but he didn't intervene – his attention was soon demanded by his own estranged family. No hug for him, though, the lucky bastard.

His own mother was weeping in his hair, muttering about 'her baby boy', and so on. Neville could help the twinge of annoyance he felt; he was by no means a baby anymore, and he certainly didn't consider himself 'hers'. True, he felt no resentment from being left behind in England, never really had, and he understood that they hadn't had a choice, but this was a level of familiarity he didn't like coming from anyone but his adopted siblings and – sometimes, on good days – Narcissa or his grandmother.

Maybe he hadn't been as ready to meet the Longbottom family as he'd thought.

Gently, he extricated himself out of both embraces. “Hello,” he said, for lack of a better ice breaker.

Merlin, he really wasn't ready for this. Sebastian might be fine, because he clearly had little expectations of him behaving like an older brother and Neville could interact with him pretty much like he did with any of the younger students, but Alice and Frank definitely wanted a son. And Neville wasn't one, or at least, he wasn't theirs.

Unfortunately, there was no way to get away now.

Alice was still choking on her sobs, and Frank's eyes seemed suspiciously wet, but at least Neville had gained some distance. Enough to look them in the eyes and try to convey the utter lack of recognition he felt; sure, they looked like him, but he didn't know them.

And they didn't know him, or they wouldn't have forced contact. Neville wasn't a very tactile person, even with his family. His actual family, the one that was not blood-related but had stuck with him through thick and thin. Susan and Harry, then Luna and Draco through Harry, and Narcissa through Draco. Not Sebastian Longbottom, and not Alice and Frank. He couldn't even think of them as mother and father.

This 'reunion' that was more of a first meeting had clearly been a mistake.

But Neville wasn't cruel, and he wouldn't say so out loud to the two people that looked so happy at seeing him 'again'. As if he still was the infant they had left behind.

(Maybe he wasn't as over the feelings of abandonment caused by their exile as he figured he was. Sure, they had not chosen to go without him, but they had chosen to fight in a war with a baby, and they could have easily been parted in much more final ways.)

So he endured the cries, he answered the questions they asked about his life as politely as he could.

(“A Gryffindor! Of course you are, the whole family has always been proud Lions!” As if Houses meant anything. And his family was not made of Lions; in fact, he was the only one. Would they have been so happy had he been a Slytherin like Harry or a Hufflepuff like Susan?

“I hope you're treated well where they've sent you.” Said with a hint of scorn and of 'compassion', like Neville was suffering at home. He had not been sent to live with Narcissa, he had first been invited, then he agreed to stay. It was wonderful to be honest; Draco was still the undisputed Malfoy heir, but Narcissa always treated them like her own flesh and blood, and he didn't like hearing her be disparaged like that.

“Do you get along with your fellow Lions? I hope the Snakes don't bully you too much – with You-Know-Who leading the country, they must be even more insufferable than before!” No, in fact, he had more friends out of his House than in, and most of those were Snakes. Sure, the Slytherins had tried to push him around a little during their first years, but like in the orphanage, Harry had put a swift end to that. Now he could eat at any table and find friends willing to speak with him.)

All the while, he longed to get out of the almost one-sided conversation. Alice and Frank asked questions like they already knew the answers, even if their assumptions were completely off. Bias bled through their every word. Neville played along, avoiding the touches he could and enduring those he couldn't – he just wanted to leave as soon as possible without breaking any hearts.

Over the horizon, the sun dipped behind the trees, making a perfect excuse to pull away. They were sitting outside, and October nights in Hogwarts were cold. He said his goodbyes, making sure to smile more genuinely at Sebastian, before he and Harry made their way back to the castle.

“That was exhausting.” Neville said as soon as they reached the front door, out of sight and hearing range. “I'm not looking forward to speaking with them again.”

Next to him, Harry sighed, looking just as tired. A mere moment ago, he had looked so truly happy to see his family – sometimes Neville forgot how much of a better actor his brother was. “I know. Sometimes it's like we're not even speaking the same language, even when we all avoid the more sensitive topics. It's like we're always waiting for the other shoe to drop and for the war to start again right here and then.”

They walked a bit farther inside the castle. “Want to stay in the Slytherin room until curfew?” Offered Harry.

Neville had been waiting for that. “Please. I've heard enough about the greatness of Gryffindors for a while.” It earned him a tired but true grin that he wasted no time offering back.

“We just need to make a detour by the Hufflepuff room. Susan's parents gave my parents letters for her, since owls don't reach through the borders. Maybe we can convince her to come with us too.”

It was fine by Neville. Susan always managed to cheer him up when he was down, and he really felt the need to spend some time with his family. “We might as well pick up Luna too, then. It wouldn't be fair to keep her out.”

“Right.” Harry grinned. “We can have a little party in the dorms. Draco will be all for it, Slughorn doesn't mind a little ruckus, and I think we both need a little relaxation right now. Just the five of us, having fun and forgetting everyone else. Before the shit inevitably hits the fan.”

It sounded nice, the five of them together, letting go of the worries of the day and of the future. This was what family was about.

“They've been nervous lately,” said Luna as they walked towards the edge of the forest. “The Abraxans flying Beauxbatons' carriages don't like them very much, and I think they threatened them. Or the French staff drove them away, due to their reputation.”

Since the first days of their friendship (after the investigation on who cursed Luna's bullies came to a fruitless close), going to feed the Thestrals every week had become a weekly ritual, a moment that they shared, just the two of them. Luna liked the creatures, and Harry enjoyed the moment of calm, away from the many eyes of the castle and the Dark Lord's entourage.

“Hopefully there were no fights,” replied Harry. “Although I guess we'd have heard of it if there had been. The Abraxans are huge, but our Thestrals are no slouches.”

“And they're predators,” added Luna with a smile a tad too mirthful for her words. She swung the bucket full to the brim with raw, bloody meat back and forth as she skipped ahead. “They'd have eaten Beauxbatons' pretty horsies alive, bite by bite. Just like they could have devoured the Beauxbatons teachers if they wanted to.”

Harry laughed, long accustomed to Luna's bouts of merciless cheer. The girl loved all creatures, no matter how dangerous – although she had her favorites – and she had no illusions about the ruthlessness of the animal kingdom. The strong ate the weak, and she fully accepted that; the only difference was that Luna had a different definition of strength and weakness than most people.

“We have another friend today,” said Luna out of the blue. Thankfully, Harry already knew what she meant.

He hummed. “He's been following me around those last few days. We've even been introduced, but he apparently refuses to get close to me without one of my relatives around.”

“Oh? That's too sad, he looks like a really kind dog. Very faithful.” Mused Luna out loud. She knew what – who – the dog was, Harry could tell. He had never told her about Padfoot, never shared Peter Pettigrew's stories about his animagus former friends, finding that precious tidbit of information about his family to be private. But Luna knew, and she found it hilarious.

Not that anyone could tell. To people who were not familiar with her, she looked like her regular ditsy self.

“Do you want to invite him closer?” She asked.

“Nah, I tried a few times already, but he runs away when I look at him – it's kind of stupid. I mean, I know he's there, and he can hear us from this distance, so he knows that I know he's there, but he only flees when I look at him directly.”

And Padfoot could hear this entire conversation, but he still stayed hidden behind the trees, walking a few feet away from the two of them.

“Too bad.” Lamented the blonde. “But I guess it's his decision. He'll come to you when he's ready. In the meantime, we feed our leathery friends.”

They reached the clearing where the Thestrals had retreated, all accounted for and uninjured, which reassured Harry a little. He hadn't thought they’d gotten into a fight, but it was still nice to have proof.

Padfoot stayed at the edge of the clearing for a while, but the Thestrals had noticed him early on and their empty gazes obviously made him nervous. He left soon after, leaving Luna and Harry alone with the winged creatures.

“I wonder if I should just tell him that I know he's my godfather in animagus form,” he mused, his hand lowered to allow the younger Thestrals to eat the bloody morsel in it. He was so used to their sharp teeth and milky eyes, he didn't flinch when their jaws snapped a hair's breadth from his own flesh.

“I don't think he'd take that well,” replied Luna, who was feeding the older creatures. “He seems to think you don't know about that, and this must be his best disguise. Don't make him sad by blowing it up just yet.”

“It's been blown up a long time ago, though,” argued Harry, reaching inside the bucket to pull out another slab of meat.

Luna shifted to look him in the eyes, hands on her hips, her face contorted in disappointment and rebuke, all belied by the smile that visibly pulled at her lips. “Harry James Potter! Don't you dare bully your poor godfather! He's already going to have enough of a shock without you adding to it!”

Holding back his own smile, he replied. “If you say so, Luna. But I can still mess with him a little right?”

Luna's mock-lecturing expression faded away, replaced by a sunny smile. The very picture of innocence. “Of course, silly, you wouldn't be Harry if you didn't!”

In the following weeks, Sirius kept finding bowls of dog food in his way.

They appeared everywhere, from Hogwarts' hidden corridors to the dirt trails of the Forbidden Forest. He even found one at the foot of his bed inside a Beauxbatons carriage (he had his own room, with a proper bed for all that he acted as Moony's dog, and the French house elves in the know delivered him regular human food three times a day).

Then came the chew toys. A plastic bone in his wardrobe, a squeaky carrot inside his left shoe, a plush rabbit in his bloody breakfast! On and on and on!

He was obviously the target of a very elaborate prank.

James swore it wasn't him, although he found the whole thing hilarious. Lily attested that her husband was innocent – this time – since he had had no time to find, cast or create a spell so complex in his limited little spare moments. Lessons and overseeing a bunch of teens and pre-teens kept them all busy, and only Sirius, as a dog, had any opportunity to wander around.

Remus was out for similar reasons.

Then who was it? The kids were too young to pull out such an complex act, and none of the remaining members of the Order or members of Beauxbatons's staff had ever shown an inclination towards pranks.

Yet nobody else knew he was not an actual dog, and who would prank an animal?

Maybe this wasn't an actual prank? Maybe this was an animal lover that tried too hard? After all, a real dog would have been delighted by randomly appearing dog food (his nose could tell it was all high-grade, even if his human sensibilities balked at it) and toys.

Yes, this was probably an over-enthusiastic animal lover. Sirius was a handsome dog, the big, fluffy kind; it was possible that a student wanted to pamper him. He should be flattered.

He could have done without the plush mice in his bed and the marrow bones in his shoes, though.