294AN: Hello. I'm back again, with a new Harry/Fleur story. This is not another instalment of the [Back? Not Really] series. It is an entirely new fic, not related to it.
Notes:
1. Harry is 3 years older than the canon. Harry is not the Boy Who Lived.
2. Alternate Universe. There will be many changes; do not expect a rehash of the canon.
3. OOC/Morally grey Harry.
4. M rating: mature themes, character deaths, NSFW scenes etc.
Lastly, people aren't perfect, they have flaws. They don't always make the best choices. Sometimes they mess up. Don't expect Harry or other characters in this story to be perfect either.
Chapter 1 - The Potters
"That's enough powdered moonstone, deary," an elderly woman said in a kind voice.
She was slim and short, standing at only 150 cm tall, and her long grey hair was tied in a neat bun. The wrinkles at the corner of her eyes and the deep smile marks betrayed the passage of many years, but, despite her age, one could tell that she had been a beautiful woman in her youth.
"But, Gran, shouldn't the dosage increase proportionally with the quantity we're going to brew?" asked a fair-skinned boy with a mop of messy raven-black hair. He looked like a typical 15-year-old boy who had yet to hit his growth spurt: not tall and a bit on the skinny side. If there was something that stood out in his appearance, it was the vivid green colour of his eyes.
"Normally, you would be right. The usage of moonstone in the Draught of Peace, however, is rather peculiar. If you are too heavy-handed, you might put someone to sleep...permanently."
"Oh… That's dangerous. But my 4th year Potions book doesn't have any mention of that."
The old lady chuckled softly.
"I believe that is because at Hogwarts you are only brewing potions in the standard cauldrons that you are asked to buy at the beginning of the year. You just finished your fourth year. Changing the quantity of the brews and dosage of their ingredients is into NEWTs territory."
The elderly woman and her grandson spent the next half an hour chatting as they brewed the Draught of Peace together, with her mostly spectating and letting him do everything by himself as much as possible.
In truth, the boy was more than capable of brewing a Draught of Peace in a Standard Size 2 cauldron, but, at the moment, he and his grandmother were brewing it in a cauldron that was 20 times larger.
Soon, the potion turned a turquoise-blue colour, a sign that the brewing process had been successful. The two smiled, pleased with their work.
The potion was still simmering when they each grabbed a ladle and started pouring the contents of the large cauldron into many small hexagonal glass flacons.
"This should be it. We have enough Draught of Peace to last our little shop for half a year," she said. Then, she raised her voice a bit and called out someone else's name: "Remy?"
Not a second later, a soft pop was heard as a young House Elf appeared in the Potions Laboratory.
"Mistress Effie needs Remy's help?"
"Yes. Can you help us store these flasks in the dungeon?"
"Remy definitely can!"
A few minutes later, the three of them finished bringing the flasks of potions to the dungeon, labelling them, and storing them safely in the cupboards.
"Thank you for your help. I do not know what I would do without the two of you."
"Mistress Effie can always count on Remy!" the House Elf said energetically.
The old lady smiled at the House Elf and patted him on the shoulder. "Of course. You are my most reliable friend."
The elf was moved to tears by her words.
"Remy will always do his best for his Mistress Effie!" he shouted.
"No love for me at all, huh?" the boy faked a hurt voice.
"Harry, do not tease him! You know how sensitive he is!" his grandmother admonished him before turning her attention back to the elf. "You can go for now, Remy. That was all I needed."
"Remy still wants to help with work!"
"We finished work for today. You can help us again when our guests arrive."
"Remy understands."
And with that, the House Elf disappeared with another pop.
Harry groaned as he followed his grandmother out of the dungeon. "I forgot we have guests today."
She glanced at him briefly from the corner of her eyes. "You should spend more time with your little brother. Do you know how much he looks up to you?"
When he didn't reply, she continued: "You may think I am nagging you, but it is not good to spend your entire childhood with your nose in the books. Go out, see the sun, ride your Nimbus, and play with the rest of the children in the village."
"I can't afford to waste my time like other children," Harry said in a quiet voice. "I'd rather go learn a new spell or practice my Transfiguration. You know too what happened last school year."
Hearing his words, his grandmother stopped and turned to look at him.
"You are but a child too. I cannot believe I am saying this, but, at your age, you should be thinking about Quidditch and girls, not trying to outdo your professors at Hogwarts with the number of spells you know."
"If only Matt heard you now," Harry cracked a small joke, causing her to blow air through her nose in amusement.
Just as they came out of the basement, they heard the sound of a roaring fire coming from the hearth in the living room.
"Honey, your husband is back!" came the voice of an old man. "Euphemia, dear? Where are you? Where is my lovely wife? Why is she not greeting her hardworking husband after a long and arduous day at work?"
Harry found himself snickering when his grandma let out an audible, long-suffering sigh as she headed to the living room.
"You overdramatic buffoon! You have not changed one bit in the 60 years we have known each other!" Euphemia said in annoyance, but she did go to her husband and kissed him on the cheek.
Harry's grandfather was a gentleman in his late 80s. Despite his old age, he still had a head full of dense, messy grey hair, his back was straight, and his body's movements seemed unnaturally firm and agile. Having a slim and tall build, Fleamont Potter looked rather distinguished in his elegant brown suit, white button-down, beige top hat, and black travelling cloak.
"Hi, Grandpa," Harry greeted him too. "How did it go? Did you put in a word for me?"
To say that Fleamont Potter's day at work was 'long and arduous' would be a gross overstatement. He had been away from home for less than four hours, for the sake of a meeting with the rest of the school governors at Hogwarts.
"I don't know whether to feel mad or amazed at you," the old man said with a chuckle. "You were right; you were one of the first names that the professors brought up when the talk about the new Prefects came up."
"So, did you convince them not to make me one?" Harry pressed on impatiently.
"I did, I did, hold your horses! Looks like those green eyes are not the only thing you got from Lily, you got her shot temper as well."
Harry smiled at his confirmation. "Phew! That's great."
"If I were a stranger, I would be tempted to think that Sirius was the one who corrupted you. Who in his right mind would turn down the honour of being chosen as a Prefect?!"
"This isn't the 1920s anymore, Grandpa. Nobody looks at a Prefect and thinks they're cool anymore," Harry said, snickering. "They're lame. They're nothing more than the Professors' errand boys."
"Why, you little scoundrel!" Grandpa Potter shouted and took out his wand, suddenly firing a nonverbal spell at Harry.
But Harry's reaction was instantaneous: his wand flew from its holster straight into his hand, and a blue-tinted sphere of light appeared around him, making the old man's Leg-Locking Charm splash against it powerlessly.
Before either of them had the chance to cast another spell, a Stinging Hex caught the eldest Potter in the bum, making him yowl in pain from the unexpected pain.
"Are you being serious right now? Dueling in the living room? AGAIN?!"
The kind and soft-spoken granny from before seemed to have turned into a harpy as she glared daggers at the two of them.
"Out! Now! Both of you!" she yelled, and they quickly scurried away to avoid her wrath, escaping into the backyard.
Once they were out in the garden, the old man started chuckling. "A spitfire, that one."
"...You know she hates it when we fire spells inside the house; why did you start it? You made her mad again," Harry said in chagrin.
"She is not truly mad. And I did not destroy anything this time," the old man said, shrugging his shoulders. "She would never admit it, but, deep down, she likes seeing me goofing around."
The sceptical look on his grandson's face wasn't lost on him, so he said in a defensive tone:
"You will understand what I mean when you get to my age. After so many years, you will also feel the need to do something to break the routine sometimes."
"..."
"I'm going back to my room," Harry said before chanting the incantation for the summoning spell: "Accio Nimubs 2001."
"Hey, what about our guests? They should arrive any moment now," Mr Potter asked when Harry mounted his broom and was about to fly up to his room through the window.
"They're coming here for Matt, not for me. I'm going to practice my Transfiguration."
A dejected look made its way onto the old man's face as he watched his grandson fly away.
⁂
Fleamont Potter appeared almost like a little child when he sneaked back inside the house, peeking through the cracked door leading to the living room.
"Just get inside…" she muttered, exasperated by his antics.
Once he came in and took a seat next to her on the sofa, she said:
"It was a much longer meeting than usual."
Four hours for a simple meeting between the Governors and the staff of Hogwarts was, indeed, not normal.
"I am not surprised considering the fiasco at the end of the last year… I was vehement about Dumbledore increasing all the security measures at Hogwarts. And I was not the only one either; the rest of the Board of Governors agreed with me too, even the likes of Malfoy and Selwyn."
"That's… surprising, to say the least," Euphemia said.
"Yes. I cannot be certain what they are playing at, but I will not look a gift horse in the mouth. Other than that, there is going to be an unusual transfer this year: a fifth-year student."
Half an hour later, a loud car engine sound was heard, and Fleamont and Euphemia Potter both stood up and went outside.
Harry also couldn't help his curiosity and peeked through the blinders covering his window. And it was just in time to see a flying Ford Anglia land on the cobblestone street in front of the Potter residence. But after learning what was the source of the noise, he lost interest and cast a Silencing Charm on his room before returning to his studies.
⁂
"I thought you were jesting when you told me about your flying car," Fleamont said, laughing in disbelief as he came to shake Arthur Weasley's hand.
"How is she? A beauty, innit?"
"It is an acquired taste, I suppose," Fleamont chuckled, but his eyebrows jumped into his hairline when he saw several redheads coming out of the car one after another, seemingly not stopping. "Merlin, how did the whole lot of you fit in there?"
Together with Arthur, no less than eight people came out of the small car.
Unconsciously puffing his chest, Mr Weasley slapped his hand affectionately on the car's roof and opened its door wide for the old man to look inside.
"Extension Charms. My eldest son cast them himself!"
While Arthur was bragging about his car, his wife and children were staring open-mouthed at the house in front of them.
It wasn't a mansion, far from it; it was just a two-storey cottage. However, the gothic architecture with its sharp roof, tall windows, and tower-like structure at the side of the house gave it an imposing appearance. The ivy-covered walls, the cobblestone alleyways, and the tastefully arranged garden with its pond and its circular, wrought-iron gazebo further enhanced the beauty of the house.
"Well, come in then. Don't just stand there. Welcome to our home!" Euphemia welcomed them.
The Potters did not enjoy opulent displays of wealth, but the Weasleys still felt a little intimidated. Nevertheless, Euphemia's warm smile and Fleamont's seemingly down-to-earth attitude and personality erased their worries.
"Matt, deary, how about you take the boys - and the girls," she added when she saw the young girl with long red hair, "- with you and show them around?"
"Sure thing, Gran. But where is Harry?" the boy in question asked.
He was younger than Harry by three years, but, despite being siblings, their appearance was strikingly different. If Harry looked like the splitting image of his father but had his mother's eyes, Matthew Potter took more after Lily, having inherited her smooth, dark red hair and freckled complexion. He didn't inherit her eyes, though; his hazel eyes were from his father.
There was one thing that stood out in Matthew Potter's appearance like a sore thumb: a jagged scar that looked almost like a lightning bolt marred his forehead. It was a reminder of the boy's tragic past and miraculous existence: he was the Boy Who Lived, the only person who had ever survived being hit by the Killing Curse.
The old lady sighed.
"You know him… he's studying again."
"No, that won't do! I'm going to drag him out of there if it's the last thing I do! Ron, Fred, George? Are you with me?"
A chorus of agreement came from the three as they rushed inside the house.
"Hey, wait for me!" the youngest Weasley cried out as she ran after them, leaving her elder brother, Percy, and her parents behind.
While the adults (followed by Percy) went into the living room, where Remy, the House Elf, served them some snacks and refreshing drinks, the children made a beeline to the second floor, following Matt to his brother's bedroom.
"Harry! Harry!" Matt called his name out and knocked on the door, but his hand was repelled by the Impervious Charm active on it. "Oh, come on! He warded the door again!"
"What do you mean by that? How did he cast magic?"
It wasn't only Ron who was confused; the twins were too.
"He's annoyingly good at magic," Matt muttered. "Open up, you nerd!" he yelled at the door.
"No, I mean, how can he cast magic without the Ministry finding out about it?"
Now it was Matt's turn to be confused.
"Why would that be an issue? We're inside a magical home. As long as we're here or inside the yard, the Trace doesn't even pick it up. Even outside, the Ministry won't say anything because this is a wizarding hamlet. There are no Muggles here or anywhere around for dozens of miles."
The Weasleys made a face as if their entire life had been a lie until then.
"Mum and dad are sooo gonna pay for this!" one of the twins growled, and the other one nodded furiously too.
"Let me try something. I learned a good spell last year," Ron said as he took out his wand. He pointed it at the doorknob and said in a loud and clear voice:
"Alohomora!"
"It didn't work," Matt crossed his hands to his chest and shook his head.
After one of the twins put his hand on the doorknob, he quickly jumped back, startled, as a small electric shock zapped him.
"Oh, now it's on!" the twins said at the same time as they started casting all the charms they knew, trying to open the door. They even tried to pick the lock the muggle way. Unfortunately for them, it was to no avail.
⁂
"No success?" Fleamont asked in amusement when he saw the children climb down the stairs and go outside.
"Nope. He must've come up with a new spell after the last time I broke into his room," Matthew said.
"I think he used some sort of transfiguration that made the door one with the wall," one of the twins said.
"Oh my, that's new. This boy… the lengths to which he will go just to be left alone," the old man shook his head, sighing.
"He doesn't know what he's missing out on. We're going to explore the Mage Tower."
"Be careful of the spiders if you are going to Tower! Don't fly too close to the forest," Euphemia warned them.
"Spiders?!" Mrs Weasley gasped.
"Yes, I made a complaint to the Ministry a week ago, but they have not sent any handlers to thin down their numbers," Fleamont said. "And, recently, the Dugbogs are running rampant too. Every summer we have the same problems..."
Located in the northernmost part of the Scottish Highlands' wilderness, Pitt-Upon-Ford was just one of the many hamlets peppering the Scottish countryside. It was a wizarding settlement with less than 200 inhabitants—a place where no Muggles have set foot in centuries, if ever.
Thanks to the Muggle-Replling wards keeping the region a secret, it was a safe haven not just for wizards and witches but for magical creatures too.
Alas, while some creatures, such as Centaurs, Unicorns, Nifflers, and Hippogryphs lived in relative harmony with the wizard folk or kept to themselves, others were highly hostile and dangerous. Colonies of Thornback spiders and Acromantula, Dugbogs, and packs of Dark Mongrels and other invasive species frequently needed to have their numbers culled by agents from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.
"If the Ministry doesn't send a team of handlers soon, we might have to form a militia and take care of the problems ourselves," Fleamont said.
"Would it not be better to let the experts deal with them?" Molly asked. "Magical creatures can be highly dangerous."
She wasn't wrong, especially when it was common knowledge that the average wizard or witch could barely cast a proper Shielding Charm, to speak nothing of powerful offensive spells, or having knowledge about the correct way to combat dangerous magical creatures.
"I agree," Arthur also said. "Worse comes to worst, you should put up a bounty. Come to think of it, why not talk it over with Professor Hagrid? My sons have been telling me he's an expert in handling dangerous beasts."
"Worry not! It would not be the first Dugbog lair or Acromantula nest I have destroyed. With my trusty sword and wand in hand, there is nothing I fear," Fleamont said, his voice filled with unshakeable confidence.
"Sword-?" asked Percy.
As a studious and diligent student who wished to get a job at the Ministry of Magic once he graduated from Hogwarts, Percy Weasley had memorized a great deal of information about all sorts of things related to the Ministry: from regulations about the thickness of the bottom of cauldrons to the history of notable and old wizarding families and much more.
That being said, he knew that the Potters were famous for their Potion-making expertise first and foremost, not swordplay and whatnot.
But just as Percy asked that question, Mr Potter pointed his wand at an unmoving painting (strange for a wizarding household) of a medieval knight wearing plate armour and holding a long, silvery claymore with both hands.
"Bruncvik."
The silvery claymore suddenly jumped out of the painting and flew to Fleamont's side. It was real.
"There you go, flaunting that sword of yours again," Euphemia said but, despite what the tone of her voice may have implied, she was smiling in amusement.
Watching the guests' reaction to the flying sword and her husband's face filling with pride never failed to amuse her.
"An enchanted sword!" Arthur and Percy both shouted in wonder.
In the next moment, the Weasleys' awe became even greater as the claymore started flying around the room seemingly by itself, without Fleamont making any visible movements to control it.
Arthur Weasley was a geek when it came to Muggle devices, and his son, Percy, was, simply put, a bookworm, but what kind of man didn't love the idea of owning a magic sword? A two-handed silvery sword to take on the world! A trusty partner like no other! It was a man's romance!
Once it finished doing two rounds of the living room, the claymore stopped in front of Fleamont and slowly floated down until it lay with the flat of its blade on his lap. The claymore trembled, reacting almost as if it were sapient when the old man caressed the blade gently with his fingers.
"This is a family heirloom. It's a magic sword tied to our blood. Only someone from the direct line of Potter can wield it."
Having gotten his fill of bragging about this sword, the old man cast a spell to send the silvery claymore back into the portrait.
Arthur didn't need to show off his marvellous flying Ford Anglia; the Weasleys could have arrived more easily and much quicker by floo travel instead of flying for several hours from Southern England all the way to Northern Scotland.
And Fleamont Potter had no reason to reveal the existence of such a valuable magical sword to his guests either.
However, that's just how the magical folk were: when wizards and witches came together, they couldn't help showing off in front of each other.
⁂
Time passed, and, sooner than Matthew would have liked, the summer holiday came to an end. Now, the Potter family was at King's Cross, with the grandparents bidding their grandsons goodbye as they boarded the Hogwarts Express.
"Write us often, okay?" Euphemia said as she tried to hug Matt, but he evaded her arms.
"Gran, not in front of everyone!" he whined, his ears reddening like the colour of ripe apples.
"What's wrong with me embracing my grandson?" Euphemia said with a frown, putting her hands on her waist.
"I'm not a child anymore!" Matthew fumed, his face getting as red as his ears now too.
"Are you perhaps embarrassed by your grandma now?"
"No, it's not that!" Matt said quickly, but he still didn't come to hug her, his eyes darting to the numerous people watching him like hawks.
He was not having it easy. Aside from the hundreds of classmates and schoolmates who were watching him with deep interest, there were also dozens of reporters and journalists snapping photos of him from a distance every 10-15 seconds. After all, he was the famous Boy Who Lived. He was the centre of attention everywhere he went.
"You've been a teenager too; you know how they are at that age," Fleamont told his wife, all the while chortling at Matt's embarrassment.
Directly contradicting his words, however, Harry didn't wait for Euphemia to embrace him. Instead, he came to her and wrapped his arms around her.
"I'm going to miss you, Gran," Harry muttered.
The old lady smiled at him and rubbed his back.
"See that, Mathew? Your brother is older than you, but he isn't ashamed of his grandparents."
But the younger boy grabbed his trunk and rushed into the carriage, unable to withstand the embarrassment anymore, prompting Fleamont to start laughing.
Letting go of his grandmother, Harry went to his grandfather too, and they shook hands.
"Take care of your brother, but don't be too strict with him."
Harry nodded. "I will protect him with my life."
Fleamont's smile froze a little at that declaration.
"There won't be any of that this year. Not anymore. Dumbledore has assured me that Hogwarts' security measures have been reinforced. If there is a hint of any danger, no matter how small, I want you to inform us right away! Don't try to deal with it by yourself like you did last year."
"I will. I promise."
The Hogwarts Express whistled, warning everyone of its impending departure.
"It is your OWLs year, so I know that you will be buried in homework and studies, but don't be a stranger," Euphemia said, her voice quivering almost imperceptibly with emotion.
"I will ask for Professor Flitwick's permission to visit you every two weeks, or at least once a month. You have my word," he promised. "I could also meet you during our Hogsmeade trips."
"The train is about to leave. Off you go!" Fleamont said, shooing him away.
Harry grabbed his trunk and waved at his grandparents one more time before climbing into the carriage as well.