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Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
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Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | VoldemortHarry Potter/Tom RiddleHarry Potter/Voldemort
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Dark Heritage
Drops_of_Nightshade
Chapter 2: Complicated conversations
Chapter Text
Chapter Two: Complicated conversations
Two hours later Harry had a rudimentary crash course of the wizarding world. The various books in the Muggleborn Introductory Package contained further reading for him to cement his understanding of the history and basic rules of their world.
He had been particularly excited by the informative pamphlet on Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, which Ms Abbott had informed him his parents had put his name down for from birth. He would be able to attend once he turned eleven in three years. The pamphlet had contained moving images, including one of people in different coloured uniforms riding broomsticks of all things.
Mr Greengrass had explained they were playing a wizarding sport called Quidditch, which was very popular. Apparently, Hogwarts offered it as a co-curricular activity, and there were even professional teams domestically and internationally, like football.
Harry couldn’t wait to try flying on a broom for the first time.
The snacks and lollies in the package were each explained to Harry as being popular treats that were enjoyed by children who grew up in the wizarding world. It was a recent inclusion to the Muggleborn Introductory Package in order to familiarise newcomers to popular foods.
Mr Greengrass had gently encouraged Harry to try a wrapped cauldron cake, which Harry had eaten, as he had been starving.
There were also various latest editions of magazines and newspapers – Mr Greengrass explained the package included the most recent editions of every major publication to introduce individuals to popular culture and current events.
Both adults had assured Harry there was no rush to understand everything, and that he could take his time reading the books on the history of their world and the basics of magic that would be taught at Hogwarts in his first year.
Harry had glanced at the door a few times, confused why Claire had never reappeared and they had not been interrupted. Mr Greengrass had caught his eye movements and explained that when they entered Ms Abbott had cast a spell with her wand to ensure they would have privacy while they talked.
Harry was in awe of the world that had just been opened up to him.
Sensing that Harry had probably had enough of a basic introduction, Mr Greengrass suggested they leave for his family home, as it was approaching late afternoon.
Ms Abbott was remaining behind to finalise the paperwork that would smooth things over with the Muggles and to put tabs on the Dursley family’s child abuse case that would be unfolding over the coming months.
It would have to be left to the Muggle justice system to determine what was to be done with the Dursley couple. Ms Abbott would be monitoring the case – as far as the Muggles were aware she was now Harry Potter’s official caseworker. A copy of all of Mr Potter’s disclosures to his teacher, the police and the social worker were already copied to his file in the Ministry. The eventual outcome of the investigation and any charges levelled against Petunia and Vernon Dursley would also be automatically added to Harry’s file.
Before Mr Greengrass took Harry with him Ms Abbott asked Harry quietly, “I will be stopping by your former home after I am done here – what would you like me to collect for you?”
Harry thought about it for a few beats before replying, “I don’t know what there would be to collect Ms Abbott…maybe my clothes?”
Mr Greengrass interjected gently, “Do you have any special possessions - perhaps ones your parents left you that arrived with you when you were delivered to your relative’s home?”
“I don’t have anything like that – my aunt told me she found me wrapped in a blanket on the doorstep when she went to put the milk bottles out in the morning,” Harry told them.
Ms Abbott gasped and asked, “You were left alone on a doorstep all night? You were not delivered directly to your aunt and uncle?”
“My aunt said I was left at some point in the night. I don’t know how I got there.”
Ms Abbott and Mr Greengrass shared a long look between them.
Harry said quietly, “I shouldn’t have been left on a doorstep, should I have?”
“No, Mr Potter,” Mr Greengrass said, determinedly trying to keep his voice level. “The people involved in your transfer to your Muggle relatives will be questioned in due course why they acted in the way they did. For now, we’ll have Ms Abbott collect your clothes and anything else she finds that belongs to you.”
“Thank you,” Harry said, ever polite.
“I’ll drop your belongings around to the Greengrass home later today,” Ms Abbott told him.
“Floo is fine Ms Abbott, I will have your fireplace approved for my family home,” Mr Greengrass said. Before Harry even had to ask Mr Greengrass explained patiently, “The Floo Network is a form of wizarding transportation. You can connect your fireplace to the network with the permission of the Ministry, and travel from one fireplace to another connected fireplace. You do so by stepping into a connected fireplace, then you speak the name of the place you wish to go to, and you drop a handful of Floo Power. You’re transported almost immediately to the place you have said – if you have permission of course.”
“Will we be travelling by Floo to your house?” Harry asked, keen to experience this magical transportation.
“I’m afraid not today, Mr Potter. There are no connected fireplaces nearby. I’ve arranged a Ministry car to take us to my home – I live in London with my wife and two daughters.” With a fond look in his eyes Mr Greengrass said, “My wife, Rosalind, knows you’re coming. I believe she’s planned a feast for you when you arrive – I hope you’re hungry?”
Harry’s stomach chose that moment to growl loudly, reminding him he had not yet had lunch.
“We can take that as a yes,” Ms Abbott said, laughing gently. “I’ll let you two get going. Mr Greengrass I will be around later this afternoon via Floo, thank you.”
Harry and Mr Greengrass left the building, Harry holding a scruffy rucksack that acted as his school bag. He felt a little embarrassed at how underdressed he was in his oversized t-shirt, ratty jeans and broken trainers compared to Mr Greengrass in his fancy suit.
An old-fashioned dark green car was parked in front of the office building, and as they approached a man got out of the driver’s seat. He was dressed in an emerald velvet suit that was drawing the attention of people passing by.
“Lord Greengrass,” the man said, bowing his head briefly.
Harry looked sharply up at the apparently “Lord” Greengrass, suddenly fearful he had missed some cue and should have bowed to the man too, or been more respectful. Was he a noble of some sort?
“To my home please, Edward.”
The man in the emerald velvet suit, Edward, nodded to Harry too and then stepped up to open the passenger door for them.
“In you go Mr Potter,” Mr Greengrass said, gesturing for Harry to slide in before him.
Edward inhaled sharply; gaze suddenly intense on Harry, who felt very uncomfortable. The man seemed to be examining his forehead.
“Edward need I remind you that you have signed a non-disclosure agreement when you became my personal driver?” Mr Greengrass said conversationally, but there was a note of warning in his voice.
The man almost choked in his rush to assure his employer, “I would never breathe of word of this regardless of the privacy contract, Lord Greengrass. I’ll have you both to your residence as quickly as possible.”
“When you’re ready, Mr Potter,” Mr Greengrass said, and Harry startled as he realised he’d been hovering by the open door watching the confusing interaction. He noticed Mr Greengrass was careful to not touch him to get his attention, standing a respectful distance away.
It was a small, thoughtful gesture, but one that Harry deeply appreciated. He was used to unexpected touches turning to rough pushes from his aunt and uncle or a punch or kick from Dudley.
“Sorry, sir,” Harry said quietly, rushing to enter the car and slide over to the far seat, tucking his rucksack down by his feet.
Mr Greengrass entered the car after him, somehow making it look effortlessly elegant. As Edward shut the door behind Mr Greengrass and opened the door to the driver’s seat, Mr Greengrass said, “You may call me Gareth, Mr Potter. You will be staying with my family as my temporary ward, so there is no need for such formalities.”
“Please call me Harry then,” Harry offered, and the other man graciously dipped his head agreeing, “Harry it is.”
“Gareth,” Harry began, as the car smoothly pulled away from the curb. “Why did your driver call you Lord Greengrass?”
“Ah, that would be my formal title,” Gareth replied, one finger tapping his thigh as he pondered how to further explain. “In wizarding Britain there are twenty-eight families who are known as the Sacred Twenty-Eight. The Greengrass family are one of these so-called Sacred Twenty-Eight. Ms Abbott’s family is actually also one. The heads of our families bear the title of Lord or Lady.”
“So you are the head of the Greengrass family, which is why your driver called you Lord – but why didn’t Ms Abbott call you Lord?” Harry asked.
“I do not use my title while working – Mr Greengrass is perfectly acceptable for my colleagues. However, in most other settings, Lord Greengrass is technically the correct title.”
Seeing Harry’s visible confusion Gareth chuckled and said, “This is all taught to the children of Sacred Twenty-Eight families from a young age – I know the etiquette classes are a personal bane for my eldest daughter, Daphne. Some children of other wizarding families are also taught, depending on the personal preferences of their parents.”
“So are the Sacred Twenty-Eight like wizarding nobility?” Harry asked, curious.
“Of a kind,” Gareth replied. “We are certainly among the oldest families in wizarding Britain, and so that inevitably means we have stockpiled wealth and influence over the generations. However, times have changed – I fear the old ways are dying. Among our families we maintain the traditions our ancestors have long practiced, but I’m afraid our practices are not taught anymore to newer wizarding families and certainly not to Muggleborns.”
“Why is that?” Harry asked with confusion. He had only just become aware of the magical world, and here he was finding out parts of it were being lost.
“That is a significant question, Harry, and one that does not have a simple answer,” Gareth replied cautiously. “Perhaps we had best leave that conversation for another time.”
Before Harry had a chance to feel embarrassed Gareth smiled and added, “It is reassuring to see one so young and new to our world so willing to ask questions and learn.”
Harry smiled back, pleased at the praise. He noticed distractedly that whilst the car they were in seemed like a perfectly normal car, it seemed to be slipping between gaps in the traffic that it should not have been able to.
“Can I ask something else, Gareth?”
“Certainly, Harry.”
Picking at a hole in the knee of his baggy jeans, Harry glanced uncertainly at the back of Edward’s head, wanting to ask about the earlier interaction but not wanting the man to overhear.
Gareth, ever intuitive, said, “There is a privacy spell in effect between the passenger seats and the driver section. It’s standard in all Ministry cars. Edward can only hear us if I make the charm drop.”
Sure enough as the man spoke Edward did not so much as twitch away from his focus on the road and weaving through increasingly impossible seeming gaps in the backed up traffic on their way into London.
“I noticed when you said my name that Edward seemed quite shocked – like he recognised me?”
“He did indeed recognise you Harry,” Gareth confirmed. He turned in his seat so that he was facing Harry more directly, a complicated expression on his face. “I have been considering what exactly to tell you, as it is perhaps an overwhelming conversation, and you have already been put through over two hours of an introduction to our world.”
“I would like to know the truth,” Harry said quietly.
Gareth nodded, and Harry was pleased the man was taking him seriously and actually listening.
“Edward did not so much recognise you, as he recognised your name. Your name, Harry Potter, is famous in our world. You are also known by another name – The Boy Who Lived. There is likely not a witch or wizard alive who does not know who you are, Harry.”
Harry was flabbergasted. “But – why? Why does everyone know who I am? What did I do?”
“You became famous on the night your parents died. And I assure you Harry they did not die in a car crash as your Muggle relatives lied to you. Do you wish me to continue? I understand if this is a painful topic,” Gareth stated quietly.
“I want to know,” Harry said, trying to sound as firm as possible. His shaking hands betrayed him though.
“Your parents were killed by another wizard, Harry, one we refer to as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, or You-Know-Who. There is great fear around the name of this wizard. In his rise to power twenty years ago he styled himself as Voldemort. However very few feel comfortable saying that name, and so I advise you be cautious whom you speak that name in front of. His true identity is unknown.”
“Why did he murder my parents?” Harry whispered.
Gareth looked upon Harry sadly as he replied, “No one knows exactly why Voldemort targeted your parents. They did oppose his rise to power though, so it could have been political. Our world was at war, you see. Battle lines had been drawn, and there were those who supported Voldemort and those who fought against him, including your parents. On the thirty-first of October in 1981 – almost seven years ago to the day, he came to your family home and cast the Killing Curse on your parents. Only, when he tried to cast it on you too, he failed. He disappeared, and has not been seen or heard from since. They say the only mark left on you was a scar.”
Harry reached up almost reflexively, touching the strange lightning bolt scar on his forehead.
“But why would he try and kill me? I was just a baby.”
“Why indeed,” Gareth murmured, eyes looking distant.
As Gareth spoke, Harry was suddenly reminded of the times he had woken up from a dream of a flash of green light.
“Is the Killing Curse green?” Harry asked, feeling a little bit numb.
Gareth looked at him sharply, and replied, “Yes, it is.”
“I think I - I think I remember parts of that night. I remember a bright green light.”
Gareth seemed to not know what to say in response to that.
After a moment of silence, Harry continued, “You said he disappeared – so there’s a chance he’s still out there?”
“Yes,” Gareth told him honestly. “Though some believe he might have been destroyed that night when he failed to kill you.”
“But how could I have survived the same curse that killed my parents? What could I have done as a baby to have destroyed him as those people think?”
“That is unfortunately a mystery, Harry. There is no known counter-spell for the Killing Curse.”
“Then it must not have been me,” Harry insisted, suddenly desperate. “Could my mum and dad have done something that night? You said they were fighting against him – could they have set some kind of trap for him?”
“I do not know what kind of trap could have protected you that night and resulted in Voldemort’s disappearance – but I certainly would not rule out the possibility that it was your parent's actions that had some impact that night.”
A sudden dreadful thought came across Harry’s mind. “If there are people out there who think it was me who defeated him – those who call me The Boy Who Lived – what if Voldemort believes that too and comes after me for revenge, or just to prove everyone wrong? Or what if there was a certain reason he attacked me that night too, even though I was only a baby? ”
His heart was racing, already feeling crushed with the weight of responsibility on him and the fear of the unknown.
“Harry,” Gareth said firmly, but gently, breaking Harry out of his spiral. Harry looked at him, green eyes desperate behind his broken spectacles. “You are under my protection, and when we find your next of kin you will be under their protection too. It is not your job to worry as to Voldemort’s whereabouts, or what he might be thinking. And if he does return, you owe people nothing. You deserve the chance to live a normal life, to have family and friends and ordinary childhood experiences.”
“What if everyone expects me to do something though, seeing as everyone thinks I apparently did something that night to defeat him?” Harry asked worriedly.
“Then they would be callous people to expect a child to solve their problems. Your only priority is to be raised in a supportive and healthy environment. The issues in the wizarding world are for adults to solve – and anyone who might try and force responsibility on you will have to go through me to do it,” Gareth insisted, blue eyes flashing. He looked at Harry directly and insisted again, “You owe people nothing.”
It felt like some of the weight on Harry shifted and fell away after hearing an adult he was beginning to trust assure him.
“What was the war even about?” Harry asked, wanting to understand what his parents had died for.
“I must give you a simplistic answer as you are young yet, and much of the political issues are complicated to understand. I do not say that to patronise you, Harry. But the explanation of what gave rise to the war is best explained when you are old enough to appreciate it fully,” Gareth explained.
“Best to leave for another time, like the conversation about why wizarding traditions are dying out?” Harry asked, remembering the conversation they had just had about the Sacred Twenty-Eight.
Gareth looked at him shrewdly, a glimmer of respect in his eyes as he said, “Precisely, Harry. Voldemort initially gathered supporters under the banner of promising them he would lobby the government to bring back the old traditions, and he would protect wizarding culture against what he saw as a Muggle threat.”
Harry felt taken aback, not having expected that to be the platform of the man who had killed his parents. But then he remembered Gareth warning him it was complicated, and figured that was the simple explanation.
“My family, among many of the Sacred Twenty-Eight were hesitantly interested in what he had to say,” Gareth admitted, watching Harry carefully as though worried he would react strongly and negatively to this confession.
But Harry was nodding along, already having appreciated how important it was to the oldest families in their world to honour their ancestor’s way of life and traditions. It would no doubt have been tempting to follow a person who promised protection and positive changes.
Seeing Harry was not about to panic at sharing a car with someone who had at one point considered Voldemort’s rhetoric in a positive light Gareth continued. “However, something went terribly wrong with the man himself. His plans changed from a peaceful lobbying of the government to outright war against the government and any who opposed him. He grew unstable, almost like he was losing his grasp on reality. Before too long it was outright war, and he and his followers were committing increasingly unforgiveable atrocities.”
“Did he go mad?” Harry wondered. It would explain why he had tried to kill a baby.
“That is one theory. Perhaps only his inner circle of followers would know the answer to that,” Gareth mused.
Something suddenly occurred to Harry, and he said quietly, “It must have set back any hope to protect the old wizarding traditions.”
Gareth looked at Harry interestedly, and confirmed, “It did indeed. Any families who might have been on the fence about it now associate the movement with Voldemort. There are even some within the Sacred Twenty-Eight who have turned their backs on the old ways in protest of Voldemort.”
“But that’s just unfair,” Harry pointed out. “Voldemort might have used the movement to gather his followers but it sounds like what he did after that had nothing to do with the actual movement.”
Gareth stared at Harry, blue eyes gleaming. “If more people were like you Harry, and could see past their fear and prejudice, then our world would be a very different place.”
“I want to learn more,” Harry insisted, painfully aware of just how little he actually understood. “I know you said I was still a bit young to understand why wizarding traditions are no longer being taught, and why they were so important that Voldemort was able to gain so many supporters, but I want to learn.”
“I will teach you as much as I can, in the time that you are in my care,” Gareth promised.
Harry visibly seemed to wilt, hands coming back to play with the hole in his jeans. “And then I have to go with another family – whoever my closest relatives are. What if they are the type of people who don’t want to talk about wizarding traditions?”
Gareth smiled reassuringly and told Harry, “I mentioned earlier that your grandmother was a woman called Dorea Potter née Black. The Black family are one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. I am certain your living relatives will be delighted by your interest.”
“I’m glad,” Harry said honestly, already feeling a little bit better about his eventual parting from the head of the Greengrass family.
Watching Harry Potter, Lord Greengrass could see the potential of the boy plain as day. He was intelligent and mature for his age, and due to his Muggle upbringing he was practically a blank slate, so keen to learn.
The Slytherin side of Lord Greengrass noted this all down in a calculating way but it was tempered with a surprising developing fondness for the boy. And a genuine desire to protect him after all he had been through. Gareth had no need to work with his lordship and wealth, but he chose to do so because he was genuinely passionate about working at the CPA and protecting the next generation of witches and wizards.
Harry Potter was perhaps the breath of fresh air the wizarding world needed to finally come to its senses.
At the very least he was looking forward to the boy rattling the foundations of the Black family, who were long overdue to catch up with the rest of the world before they faced extinction.
Harry Potter might not be the saviour of the wizarding world, but he could certainly become the saviour of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.