SAVIOUR OF MAGIC
DESCRIPTION: An intelligent, well-trained Boy Who Lived comes to Hogwarts, startling everyone in Magical Britain. Harry Potter, the boy hero, does not seem to behave in the way anyone expected and Albus Dumbledore is thrown for a loop. Watch as Harry figures out his destiny as a large threat looms over the horizon, unknown to the unsuspecting magical population. Would Harry Potter be willing to take on his role as the Saviour of Magic or would the world burn in his absence?
PAIRING: Harry Potter/Daphne Greengrass
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter. It belongs to J.K. Rowling.
AN: Thank you all for the amazing reviews you have given me for my stories; they truly encourage me to write more and grow as a writer. That being said, this story is what I had actually wanted Lightning Lord to look like. Harry was way too powerful for me to work with in my previous story, which was why I couldn't continue with Part 2. This is a whole new story, but with themes of Lightning Lord thrown in here and there and once the Voldemort problem is solved, I'll be going further, introducing what I had planned for Lightning Lord – Part 2. I've done my best to avoid character bashing of any kind, but that does not mean I will show everyone in a positive light. Harry himself is darker in this story or at least dark-grey. Thank you for all your support and please enjoy my latest story – Saviour of Magic!
If you have already read 'Harry Potter and the Lightning Lord', the Chapters 2 to 13 might seem similar, but I assure you that it's not the same. The plot diverges to a large extent from Chapter 14. Also, due to problems I faced much later, I have altered the timeline and pushed everything forward by ten years. Therefore, when Harry starts Hogwarts, it's not 1991, but 2001.
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After he left, Ollivander smiled, his silvery eyes looming over the thirteen-year-old boy outside. "The Saviour of Magic," he whispered. "Yes, as I said, we can expect great things from you, Harry Potter. Some might view it as terrible, but it is necessary. I just hope you don't crumble before you fulfil your destiny."
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Welcome Home, Harry
Harry Potter was a weird child. That was the consensus among everyone in Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey. The boy was said to have been orphaned because of a car crash that killed his parents when he was just a year old. No one knew much about his parents, but Petunia Dursley, the boy's aunt, had told everyone that the boy's father had been a good for nothing drunk and his mother, a whore. She had also warned everyone that the boy was a delinquent. Seeing him in large clothes and looking scruffy all the time just reinforced that image.
However, Harry Potter was anything but such a child. He was unusually intelligent since young, but the Dursleys always did their best to discourage him. The boy had always known that he was different. For as long as he could remember, Harry was called a 'freak' by his relatives and they spoke about his 'unnaturalness'. This confused the young boy because he wondered what they were talking about. But he didn't dare ask what it meant because he knew that doing so would make his relatives angry. The last time he had asked about his parents, Uncle Vernon had beaten him up and not given him any food for three days. Harry didn't really care for a repeat performance.
Things slowly started to change as Harry grew up. Strange things started to happen as he began school. For one thing, he could instantly grasp everything being taught by the teachers and he could remember what he had studied or learnt with excellent clarity. This, of course, led to more problems with his relatives. His cousin Dudley, who seemed to be inflating on a daily basis due to the amount of food going into his mouth, couldn't even pronounce anything other than his own name properly. This led to more punishments as the Dursleys claimed that he had cheated on his tests.
As he grew up, things only seemed to get worse. Harry was given an unending list of chores around the house. He had to cook, clean, weed the gardens, wash the dishes and was essentially a slave to his uncle, aunt and cousin. He was given very little food while his whale of a cousin could eat anything he wanted. His hand-me-down clothes were all too big for him and he was forced to sleep in a tiny cupboard under the stairs. He was not allowed, because it made the Dursleys angry, to be happy or sad. Harry personally felt that didn't have anything to be happy about. And dare he ever reveal that he was sad or angry, he knew that Uncle Vernon would be furious; he did not have a death wish.
Harry hated his relatives. Even as a four-year-old child, he hadn't liked them. As time went on, he realised that strange things happened to him when he was angry or upset. That horrible teacher's hair had turned blue on the first day of school because he hadn't known his name; it really hadn't been his fault! How was he supposed to know his name if the Dursleys didn't tell him? Freak could hardly be his name; he was smart enough to know that. However, the strange occurrences, just like this one, never stopped.
When Aunt Petunia had shaved him nearly bald one day, his hair had surprisingly grown back the very next morning! Of course, Aunt Petunia had shrieked and shrieked for an hour and he was punished for it, but it made him very curious as there were several other similar instances over the years. Then, today, during one of Dudley's routine Harry Hunting games, he had wished himself to escape from his tormentors and the next thing he knew, he had appeared on the roof of the school!
That had blown things way out of proportion.
Harry was seven-years-old now. He dreaded to go back home, knowing what was going to happen. He didn't know how he had appeared on the school roof, but it had triggered a major scene, bad enough for the Headmistress to get involved. There were no stairs to the roof, so the fire department had to be called to rescue him. Harry knew that he was in trouble. His heart thumped in his chest as he pondered the question. Did he have some strange power like the superheroes on the telly? Is that how he could do such things? His bones had always healed themselves the next day after every beating. Normally, he should have been covered from head to toe in bandages for months, but even after sustaining several injuries, he was still fine the next morning!
Harry took a deep, shaky breath and at once, he calmed down. He had always been able to control his emotions. There was a focus on which he could draw from that helped him maintain an expressionless facade all the time. He didn't know what it was, but perhaps it was his mystery force? He certainly wasn't going to complain. Maybe he should try to do something, like levitating an object. That would prove his theory about some arcane power.
If he survived tonight's beating, that is. Harry knew that there was no escaping this. Aunt Petunia had been called to the school because of the incident.
As soon as he entered the house, he focused on finishing his chores quietly in order to get back to his cupboard as soon as possible. He could see Aunt Petunia seething in the background. He wanted to get back to the cupboard before his uncle could come home. Maybe then, he could avoid the beating that would follow, but he wasn't stupid enough to expect it. Once he finished cooking dinner, he closed the door of his cupboard, just as Uncle Vernon entered the house in a towering rage. Harry's thin form trembled in fear as he heard Aunt Petunia screech loudly, telling her husband about the incident at school.
Harry cringed as he slowly opened the door of the cupboard. He stepped outside and entered the kitchen.
"Yes, Uncle Vernon?" he asked in his usual bland voice that lacked any form of expression or emotion.
But that was the last thing he said before the obese man grabbed him by the throat. "What did I tell you about using your freakishness, boy?" he bellowed. "I won't have your craziness in my house, do you hear me? None of it! How did you end up on the roof?"
Harry tried to get away, but the grip was too tight. Just as he was about to pass out due to of lack of air, Vernon bodily threw him on the floor towards the other side of the room. Gasping and coughing, he wheezed out, "I swear, I don't know. One minute I was running and the next second I was on the roof. It was like magic!"
That was the dreaded word. Petunia's eyes widened in horror and rage; she gasped. Vernon gave an almighty roar of rage, his face an angry shade of red.
Uncle Vernon came forward and pinned the boy to the ground, face down. Harry whimpered as the man's belt impacted his back. Why couldn't they just leave him alone?
"THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS MAGIC!" screamed Uncle Vernon, his face puffed up with rage. He had promised himself that he would beat the freakishness out of the boy when they took him in and that was what he was going to do! He wouldn't have such freaks living in his house. If he couldn't get rid of the boy, then he would get rid of the nonsense that was in the boy itself! After this punishment, maybe the freak would think twice before using his unnatural powers on good, hardworking people such as themselves.
Vernon grabbed the iron rod which was next to the fireplace. Harry's eyes widened in shock and terror, but the next thing he knew, he was screaming himself hoarse with tears streaming down his face as the rod impacted his legs, breaking them. Petunia shrieked in panic, but Vernon didn't stop, his rage driving him over the edge. Harry was crying and screaming, begging his uncle to stop as the rod hit him over and over again. Just as Harry saw the rod come for his head, he called upon his strange powers and wished he could be somewhere safe; someplace where he would be far away from the Dursleys so that they couldn't hurt him. Just as the rod descended, Harry disappeared from the kitchen of the Dursley residence with a loud crack.
Harry felt as though he was being squeezed through a tube. The pain he was feeling was unbearable and he fell unconscious before he could identify his new surroundings.
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Just as Harry Apparated with a loud crack, a house-elf too appeared in the entrance hall of Potter Castle. It frowned when it saw the human child. It was not possible for anyone to Apparate inside the castle, so how did the child get in? The elf's eyes widened when the familiar bond of a house-elf and its master became familiar.
"Master Harry!" the elf gasped. The house-elf called for its companions. Two other elves popped next to her as they transported Harry to the medical wing of the castle. While elves were not healers, they could use their brand of magic to heal wounds while they also used potions prepared by wizards to supplement it. Few of the elves used their magic to fix the broken bones while another poured healing potions down Harry's throat. However, there was something else which the elves recognised. Because of the bond they shared with Harry, they could tell that he was playing host to a possession which resided in his scar. Knowing that such a thing had to be destroyed before it fully controlled their master, the dozen elves surrounded the bed where Harry was sleeping as they chanted in their native tongue.
Magic was simple, yet complex. It was infinite yet harmonious. The magic of different species was different and this was the advantage here. While it was impossible for wizards to destroy a soul piece without destroying the vessel, Elvin magic could do so. Harry started shaking and sweating as his scar heated up. As the chanting grew, the boy screamed in pain; his scar split open. A piercing scream rent the air as the soul piece was destroyed after being ejected from Harry's head. The boy slumped in his bed, exhausted.
The scar on his forehead which had always been red and inflamed began healing as the elves tended to it. It was now only a thin, white line, shaped like a lightning bolt. The Horcrux in Harry's scar was destroyed, but unfortunately, it was not a clean job. The house-elves thought Harry was being possessed, but in reality, he had been playing host to a soul piece. The two were slightly different in nature, so the ritual of the house-elves did not work as they had expected. There was an unexpected side effect that went unnoticed.
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Harry Potter opened his eyes, groaning softly. He ached all over and he felt like he had been run over by a bus. His eyes widened in panic when he saw that he wasn't at the Dursleys. He was in an unknown place. It was filled with several simple beds and the walls were painted white. Was he in a hospital?
"Good morning, young man," said an ethereal voice.
Harry turned and it took all his willpower not to scream. There was a man floating in front of him. But it wasn't anything normal because he was silvery and transparent.
"W-Who are y-you?" Harry whispered, as he tried to get his volatile emotions under control. His hands and legs trembled as a feeling of dread overwhelmed him. Where was he? Memories of the encounter with Uncle Vernon flooded into his mind. He swallowed and asked hesitantly, "Am I dead?"
The figure of the man frowned. "No. You are very much alive, though you were badly injured when you got here. As for who I am, I'm the ghost of Alfred Potter; you are a Potter, are you not?"
"Ghost?" Harry blurted out. He swallowed heavily and answered, "My name is Harry Potter."
The ghost of Alfred Potter smiled. "Good; just making sure that you are indeed James' son. I'm glad you made it back home, young one. It truly was a tragedy what happened to your parents. How are you feeling?"
"I'm fine, sir," said Harry but winced slightly; his body ached. Alfred nodded in understanding as he called out, "Tippy!"
Harry was startled when he saw a small creature appear in front of him. It had large ears and tennis-ball shaped eyes. "What can Tippy do for Master Alfred?"
"Give young Harry here a pain relief potion, would you?"
The elf nodded as it popped away and brought a phial which contained a blue liquid.
"Drink this," Alfred instructed. "It will make the pain go away."
Harry had a thousand questions in his mind but decided to do as instructed. Just as he swallowed the concoction, he sighed in contentment as the pain receded.
"What was … that thing?"
"That was a house-elf, Harry, didn't you recognise it?" Alfred frowned. "They serve in many magical households; surely your guardians would have one in their house, or at least employed one."
Alfred scowled. "It looks like you haven't been told about the existence of magic. The scion of our clan being raised by Muggles! I can't believe it!"
When Harry just stared back at the ghost, Alfred sighed. "What do you know about your parents?"
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So it began. Harry learnt everything about his parents – their names, their status in the society, and about the Potter family in general. The house-elves gave him more healing potions, but Harry was still very small and frail for his age. Alfred Potter, Harry's great-great-great grandfather began explaining to him about why he had remained as a ghost.
"To answer your question about why I'm a ghost, you first need to understand the nature of our clan. The Potter family is one of the oldest families in Magical Europe," said the ghost. "At one point in time, our family was quite large. It was big enough to create our own private army if the situation demanded it. We didn't care much for politics in the Wizengamot – our governing body – but instead, focussed more on business. We had warders, Quidditch players, healers, duellists, potioneers, enchanters and businessmen in our family. Our power in international trade was unparalleled by anyone in Europe. We thought ourselves invincible, increasing our fortune through shrewd business tactics and investments that were planned meticulously. However, things didn't remain rosy for long."
Alfred took a deep breath. "One of my nephews felt it was his right to get the Lordship of the family," he continued. "That wasn't possible because the next in line to head the clan – the family – was my son, William. With that in mind, he descended deep into the Dark Arts, consorting with people who were hell-bent on our destruction as they manipulated him, feeding his ego."
"I won't bore you with the details right now about why people wanted to see us dead; that is a story for later, but suffice it to say, we had many enemies. The boy was able to raise a small army of his own. With sheer power and use of different magical instruments powered by his blood, he was able to get his people inside the various homes inhabited by the family around the world. It was a massacre. He and his companions slaughtered every single one of the Potters – except three members."
Harry was shocked. To think someone would do that just for the sake of power and wealth was something he couldn't imagine. He was still a seven-year-old boy, having been confined for as long as he could remember, with the realities of the larger world unknown to him.
"We, that is to say, me, my wife and my son, were here at Potter Castle. We didn't know what was going on until my son's friend, Steffen Greengrass, was able to find out about it. The massacre was truly well-coordinated and executed. Several years of planning was needed to pull it off, from what we found out later."
"Within a day, the once mighty Potter family was brought down to its knees, never to recover again, with only three surviving members left because one of them was power hungry. However, by the time the attackers came to the castle, we were ready to defend ourselves. We used the offensive and defensive enchantments to a great extent and were able to overcome our enemies. When I died, I refused to move on because I took it upon myself to protect the Potter family in the future, which is what I am doing now. Come with me, Harry. We must raise the wards around the castle now that you are here."
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Albus Dumbledore was frantic when he saw the silver instrument which monitored the blood-wards around the Dursley residence not giving out puffs of smoke anymore. The wards had fallen! How could that happen? He had to get there quickly to put the enchantment back up again otherwise the situation would be too horrible to contemplate. Dumbledore cursed under his breath. He had not been around when the wards had fallen. The place had been exposed for an entire day! He quickly stepped inside the Floo and with a flash of green flames, was transported to Arabella Figg's home.
"Albus?" exclaimed Mrs Figg in surprise. "What are you doing here?"
"The wards have fallen," he said with worry as he walked out of the house. Quickly making his way to Number Four, he knocked on the door. After a few seconds, it opened and he recognised the face of the woman he wanted to meet.
"You!" whispered Petunia in fear and a hint of anger.
"Hello Petunia, it is nice to see you again," smiled Dumbledore. "I have a few important things to discuss with you. May I come inside?"
Without waiting for her to answer, Dumbledore let himself in. "I'm afraid the wards have fallen around this house. You are in grave danger. Where is young Harry?"
Petunia trembled as she felt the old man's magic flare around her. Dumbledore frowned as he looked into her eyes, attempting Legilimency. What he saw shocked him to the very core. Vernon Dursley had nearly killed Harry? Was the boy punished frequently for accidental magic too? How could Petunia do that to her own nephew?
Harry Potter had disappeared. Where had he gone? The boy had to be rescued before any of Lord Voldemort's followers found out. It would be disastrous should they kill the Boy-Who-Lived.
Cursing under his breath after Obliviating Petunia, he called for Fawkes who materialized in a flash of flame above his head. He instantly appeared in his office and quickly summoned another silver instrument. This was a tracking charm which he had placed on the boy. He frowned when he realised that he couldn't find Harry. He was obviously under heavy wards.
Quickly moving towards a secret cabinet, Dumbledore removed a single filament of hair which was stored in a phial. Normally what he was doing was illegal, but since he was the boy's magical guardian, he had the right to ensure Harry's safety. As long as he didn't have any blood in his possession, all was in the game. He put the strand of hair inside the silver instrument. He smiled as it started puffing and glowing. Any minute now, he would know of the boy's location.
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Harry followed his ancestor to the Lord's study. On the way, he looked around and was in awe of the beauty and splendour of the place. It was richly decorated in crimson, cream and gold, with gold-framed paintings hanging on the walls. Even the marble flooring was gleaming under the lighting charms. He was lead through a door and gasped when they entered the study. Several shelves filled with books were present, along with a large mahogany desk. Rich trinkets were placed all over; the fireplace was lit and the floor to ceiling windows on one side gave an outstanding view of the grounds outside the castle. A leather swirl chair was behind the desk.
"Come here and place your hand on this spot," instructed Alfred as he floated towards the desk.
Harry did as he was told. Just as he placed his hand there, he felt it stick to the wood. There was a tiny prick on his palm as it took a blood sample. When he removed his hand, a metallic disc appeared with several weird symbols on it.
"Now listen to my instructions very carefully, Harry. Do as I tell you and exactly as I tell you, understood?"
"Yes sir," Harry muttered nervously. For the next twenty minutes, Harry tapped the necessary runes on the plate, carefully following the directions of his ancestor. It would have taken much less time for an adult, but Harry was just a child. He did as instructed.
"Now, I want you to press your hand on the rune plate, close your eyes and feel the wards; when you are ready, say 'Lockdown'."
Harry pressed his hand to the rune plate as ordered and closed his eyes. He could suddenly feel something in his mind. The castle seemed to hum with him. It was sensations he had never felt before and he was very excited.
Suddenly, the windows and doors of the castle all shut at once. Heavy shutters slammed down, locking the castle into a fortress. Ancient wards activated as they absorbed magic from the ley lines present underground. The castle hummed as the surrounding property around the structure too came under the wards. The water in the moat surrounding the castle began churning as it glowed, various enchantments taking effect.
"There," said Alfred in satisfaction. "Unless they're resorting to blood magic, no one would be able to track you. The wards will give you the best protection possible at the moment. For now, this is enough."
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Albus Dumbledore smiled in satisfaction and relief as the tracking instrument was able to triangulate the coordinates. But just as he was able to reach for it, there was a wailing noise as the instrument gave out. Dumbledore blinked in surprise. What kind of protective enchantments must Harry be under for this to have failed?
He must start searching for Harry immediately. It was imperative that he rescue Harry from wherever the boy was being held. He would have to search the homes of the former Death Eaters first. Dumbledore didn't even want to think about what state poor Harry would be if he ever ended in the hands of someone like Lucius Malfoy. Reaching towards the Floo, he summoned his trusted aid.
"Severus, could you please come up to my office? I need to speak to you at once!"
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The next four years went by rapidly. Harry, at first, was quite awed by the castle itself. It was enormous! But he was more impressed with magic and what he was learning. However, he didn't reveal this to the ghost of his ancestor. Harry might feel emotions, but none of it was shown on his face or in his voice. When he confessed to the ghost about his perfect memory, Alfred had exclaimed that Harry was probably a natural Occlumens. That was the only theory that seemed to fit because no other child his age could control their emotions or remember something as much as Harry did. The talent was rare, but not unheard of.
Thus began Harry's training under his ancestor's guidance and sometimes, under the guidance of the various portraits in the castle. He was not taught in the traditional 'Potter method' as it was known, as Harry's intelligence warranted for accelerated teaching. They began with Potion making – a very important art which not many people appreciated. Potions could accomplish many things that other fields could not. Alfred always stressed that all fields of magic were equally important. He supervised Harry in the Potions lab as the boy learnt how to create a potion. When Harry made even the simplest of mistakes, the ghost would tell a house-elf to vanish the contents of the cauldron. Harry, without complaint, would gather the ingredients again and start the potion from scratch. This ensured that he mastered the art of preparing the potion, even if the method was extremely frustrating for Harry. Not that he ever complained, of course. He was grateful for being taught at all and remembering where he had come from was enough for him to focus all his attention on studies without complaint.
Alfred Potter was quite surprised by how quickly Harry seemed to grasp the concepts. It was like he already had the muscle for it all and only had to learn it once or twice to grasp everything. The boy was a prodigy. Alfred still couldn't believe that Harry was a natural Occlumens! It explained how his memory was always so sharp, not to mention why his emotions were never expressed. That was the downside of a natural Occlumens; emotions were unconciously suppressed by the witch or wizard and Harry had been actively doing it when he was raised by the Dursleys.
Harry was also taught other subjects such as Runes, Defence, Charms and Transfiguration. These were the basic subjects of magic, and he was determined to master them. The boy also had a rather sharp grasp on wandless magic, which brought about another question in the nine-year-old boy's mind.
"Why do wizards use wands? Why not rely on wandless magic?"
"It's not like we haven't tried, Harry," said the portrait of Fergus Potter, Harry's great-grandfather. "But the problem with wandless magic is that it is not as powerful as the spells cast with a wand. You can tire yourself out and the intensity of the spells which come out of a wand cannot be matched. A wand is a focus for a wizard's power. While you can use wandless magic, it won't help you much in case you are fighting a powerful wizard. With the intensity of the spells being thrown around in a duel, wandless magic can give you an edge, but not by much. However, it is a powerful tool. You should practice it regularly so that you can harness the skill."
Harry also, under an alias, enrolled in a school for a wizarding form of martial arts when he was nine. Alfred said it was imperative that Harry knows how to defend himself physically. He also argued that it would help greatly during a fight as agility would be an asset.
By the time Harry's eleventh birthday rolled out, he was quite ready to re-enter the magical society. He had been trained extensively by the portraits about pureblood etiquette. He knew how to behave for a person of his standing. He also knew about his parents and their life experiences from the journals the elves had recovered from the wreckage of the cottage in Godric's Hollow. Harry also knew to be wary of Albus Dumbledore. The man had been mentioned repeatedly in his parents' journals and the portrait of his grandmother, Dorea, insisted that he was not who he appeared to be.
Dangerous or not, Harry was nothing if not careful. He would trust no one blindly, another concept which had been drilled into him over the years by the ghost of his ancestor. He had also learnt from his mistakes of doing that during his time with the Dursleys.
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Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall and Severus Snape were standing in the Headmaster's office as the quill enchanted by Rowena Ravenclaw began writing on the various envelopes. They had searched for Harry Potter for the past four years. It had been a pain to keep the Ministry of Magic and the media from finding out about the boy's disappearance, but they were hoping they could finally find out where he lived before word got out. Dumbledore had tried every method of tracking the boy, without success.
He had used the Harry's hair, but it didn't work. He didn't have any more of the boy's blood either, so that was not an option, having used all of it to erect the protective enchantments around Number Four, Privet Drive so many years ago. Letters with tracking charms were returned unopened almost immediately as the owls were confused; no doubt there were anti-mail wards around the place for any letter sent with a tracking charm. Even Fawkes didn't seem to know where the boy was, so Dumbledore was sure the place was not ordinary. None of the Death Eaters seemed to have him from what Severus had gathered, so they were quite curious about where he could be.
"Albus, look!" cried McGonagall excitedly.
Dumbledore watched with bated breath as the ancient quill began writing on the parchment.
Mr Harry J Potter,
The Master Bedroom,
"Potter Castle," Dumbledore murmured in surprise and relief. He had heard of the place but he had never seen it before. "It is the ancestral home of the Potter family. Thank Merlin he's alive!"
"How did he end up there when he didn't even know of its existence?" asked McGonagall, bewildered.
Snape sneered. "No doubt he is going to be as arrogant as his father after living the life of a pampered prince for so long."
Dumbledore ignored him, deep in thought. After a minute, he made his decision.
"Send the letter, Minerva," said Dumbledore softly. "If he does not reply within three days, we shall go meet him personally."
McGonagall nodded as she collected the bunch of letters that were to be sent to all the wizard-raised students. Snape was scowling as he left the office too. Dumbledore began pacing; all his carefully constructed plans regarding the Boy-Who-Lived's childhood lay in ruins. He had wanted the boy meek so that it would be possible for Harry to accept his destiny, but he had never wanted him to be as abused as he had been at the Dursleys! Frankly, Dumbledore had never thought that Petunia would be capable of such a thing!
As of now, it didn't matter, because young Harry had somehow found his way to one of his family homes. Was the boy too damaged like Tom Riddle had been? Or was he too traumatized by his experience with the Dursleys that he was afraid of his own shadow? Or was he the arrogant prince that Severus claimed he would be?
Dumbledore relaxed. He was jumping to conclusions and there was no point in that. He would wait. School was only a month away. He would wait and see what Harry Potter was like in September. He was positive that he could salvage his plans. This was only a minor hindrance.
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Harry Potter woke up on his eleventh birthday with a small smile on his face. Even though he had heard all about it, he had unfortunately never ventured to Diagon Alley before. Grandfather Alfred had said that it was too dangerous for him and so he hadn't tried venturing out of the grounds for anything other than his martial arts class, but now, he could finally see the biggest shopping district in Magical Britain. He was quite excited even though he managed to hide it. He went to the bathroom and took a quick shower after finishing his morning chores. The walk-in closet in his bedroom showed many clothes that belonged to him. He picked a sky-blue shirt and a pair of black trousers, along with an informal open robe that fit him perfectly. After getting dressed, he headed to the family dining room to have breakfast. When he entered the study an hour later, the portraits all wished him a happy birthday.
"Happy birthday, Harry," Alfred wished him, the ghost drifting into the study. "We've discussed this. You know what you have to do today."
Harry nodded. He placed his hand on the Potter crest which was affixed to the wall. It contained two golden griffins facing each other with a large shield between them, with two intertwined swords. Harry closed his eyes as he said, "I, Harry James Potter, Scion of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Potter, do call upon my birthright and claim the headship of the Potter family. I vow to do my duty and bring honour to my clan. May Mother Magic bear witness to this blood oath of a Peverell!"
There was a pulse of magic as Harry's hand glowed. A ring appeared on his right ring finger. It had a large blue diamond, seamlessly placed on a platinum band. The inside of the diamond contained tiny, clear diamonds forming the Potter crest, which were implanted with magic by his ancestors.
"Natus Vincere," whispered Harry, closing his eyes in respect to honour the memories of his great ancestors. That was the Potter family motto, which meant 'Born to Conquer'.
"Congratulations, Harry," Alfred smiled at him. "I believe claiming headship does give you some autonomy over family matters. I'm not up to date with Magical Law. Talk to the goblins. They'll know better."
"I will, Grandfather," said Harry quietly as he exited the study. With confident strides, he reached the entrance hall. He took a pinch of Floo powder and stepped inside the ornate, granite fireplace and spoke clearly, "Diagon Alley," just as he was swallowed by a flash of green flames.