Chapter Text
Harry looked to the ceiling, desperately hoping it held the answer as to why things like this always happened to him. All he had wanted to do was buy his godson a birthday gift, and now he’s suddenly a property owner. How does that even happen?
Harry sighed as he touched his wand to the cool metal of his vault, his breath slipping through his lips in wispy puffs that curled upward before disappearing. The heavy door lurched to the side, allowing him entrance. He took a moment just to stare at his fortune, which was beginning to look depleted and significantly different from the mountain of gold he remembered from when he was eleven. It used to be taller than him, but now only came up just above his knee. He was in no means struggling for money, and he really didn’t have to change anything about his spending habits at all, but if he wished to save money for the future he’d need to get a job. The only issue was that he quite enjoyed the time he was spending focusing on his hobbies.
Having visited his vault what seemed like a million times, Harry began shoveling coins into his small, drawstring bag without even a second look. It was only when a large pyramid of coins toppled over that he spotted it among the glittering gold. A piece of parchment was coiled up among the pieces, a slight blue glow surrounding it. Harry reached for it and the parchment emitted an orange spark once his fingers connected. He slowly unraveled the scroll, eyes flitting across the page as the words registered in his brain.
Panicking, he threw the scroll in his bag along with a few more coins and slipped out of the vault, watching it close behind him. The ride back to the lobby of Gringott’s was uneventful, but Harry still felt dizzy, as if he had been on a merry-go-round for an hour.
He apparated just outside the front door, tucking the large, wrapped present under one arm before knocking. The door creaked open seemingly on its own and Harry peered around it. “Hello?” His voice echoed through the foyer, but no one replied. He slipped inside and shut the door with an audible click. After standing there for a minute waiting for someone to greet him like usual, he ventured further into the house. He glanced into several rooms but found them all empty. Starting to feel rather embarrassed, he slinked into the kitchen.
Andromeda gave him a fond smile, her red lips turning up. Her eyes flitted over him, seemingly to assess him for any wounds. Harry stood there awkwardly, knowing she would do this every time he came over. He glanced around the kitchen and found a few more vaguely familiar faces. They were the parents of Teddy’s school friends, each one holding a glass of wine.
“I haven’t been in any trouble,” he joked, finally setting the present on the counter, separate from the others. “Er, my present is of the…special variety,” he stated with a pointed look at Andromeda.
She nodded and took a sip of her wine. Harry leant over the cake that was situated on the counter nearby and licked his lips. Andromeda shot him a look of warning, and Harry regrettably backed off. He rounded the island and pressed a polite kiss to her cheek. “Ron and Hermione should be arriving soon. Where’s the birthday boy?”
“In the garden, playing with his little friends.”
Wordlessly, Harry wandered out the French doors to the backyard. It was rather easy picking Teddy out of the crowd of pre-schoolers and parents. Harry silently wished Teddy’s muggle friends weren’t around, so that his hair could flash every color imaginable. He always loved seeing his godson so happy and excited.
“Uncle Harry!” Harry suddenly found himself with an armful of excited, wriggling six year old. Teddy clung to his leg, until Harry finally stooped down to lift him up. Teddy placed a great big, slobbery kiss on Harry’s cheek.
Grinning fondly, Harry reciprocated, but with a lot less wetness. “Hey, kiddo.”
“Can I open my presents now?” Teddy pleaded, his bottom lip protruding dramatically. Harry nearly rolled his eyes.
“You’ll have to ask your nana.” He set Teddy back on his feet and sat in a chair nearby. The garden was decorated in every color imaginable. Balloons were tied into animal shapes, mostly giraffes and dogs, and hanging off the back of every chair in the garden. A bounce house was set up in the corner, and several children were inside having the time of their lives, from what it looked like. Harry knew Teddy would drag him in there eventually. He just hoped it was over with before cake, otherwise he might get sick.
Somehow Harry got roped into playing football with Teddy and his friends. Him, Teddy, and a little girl were on one team, much to Teddy’s pleasure considering it was his birthday. Harry was making his way down the makeshift field in the yard, dribbling the ball between his feet, getting so close to the goal when three of his opposing team ganged up on him. His foot slipped over the ball and he landed flat on his back, quickly covered in five- and six-year-olds.
“No!” Harry laughed, trying to shield his face from an onslaught of poking. “Have mercy!” Eventually even the kids on his team were tackling him, even Teddy whose knee landed straight in Harry’s gut, knocking the wind out of him. He surrendered pretty quickly after that, but not before getting in a good tickle session with the birthday boy.
Harry couldn’t wait until his godson opened the present he bought. Andromeda had warned him that Teddy shouldn’t get a broomstick until his second year of Hogwarts, but Harry couldn’t resist. If anything, he could take it back home with him every time they were done using it, so that Teddy couldn’t get into it when Andromeda wasn’t looking. Harry reasoned with himself. Flying was a huge part of his life, especially now that he had the time to actually enjoy it, and he wanted to share it with his godson.
It wasn’t until days later that Harry went back to the wizarding bank, after staring at the scroll sat on his kitchen table for hours at a time. The blue glow around the parchment, he later found out, was a preservation charm, which led him to believe that it had been written hundreds of years ago.
Approaching a random goblin, a rather new one it looked like, Harry cleared his throat. The goblin set down its quill and gazed at Harry blankly. “Yes?” It’s beady eyes seemed to glare at him and he briefly wondered if they still hated him for breaking into the bank, stealing from a vault, and escaping on the back of their protective dragon.
Harry dug the scroll out of his bag and held it out. “I found this in my vault last week, and was wondering how it had come to be there.” He stood up straight as the goblin’s long, spiky fingers reached out for the parchment. His black eyes scanned it, before handing it back with a pointed look at Harry’s forehead.
“Magical Deeds and Realty. The left corridor, at the end.” Harry nodded his thanks and backed away towards the corridor, before turning completely and disappearing from view. He walked down the hallway, wishing that it hadn’t been raining outside as his trainers were now squeaking against the waxed floor. Every step could be heard echoing through the corridor.
He finally came to a stop outside the last office. There was a large sign on the door declaring, “MAGICAL DEEDS AND REALTY” and, in a slightly less offending size, “Draco Malfoy – Director.” Harry only had a few seconds to panic about seeing his longtime school nemesis before the door swung open sharply.
The first thing Harry saw was the pale blonde hair, combed into a neat, respectable style just as it had been in their 8th year at Hogwarts. Malfoy sat behind a large wooden desk, leaning back in his chair but not lounging by any means. He beckoned Harry to come in and he did, standing awkwardly. To Harry’s surprise, Malfoy barely looked shocked to see him standing in front of him. It had been several years since the last time they saw each other at Hogwarts. Though the Wizengamot was not particular to throwing Draco Malfoy in Azkaban, they were rather hopeful they could secure house arrest for him and his mother. For four hours he had argued with the court, insistent that they let Draco and Narcissa Malfoy go free. The former because he was merely a teen at the time, still heavily influenced by his father’s political views, and the latter because she had saved his life in the forest. After those tiresome hours, in which Harry had drank so much water to clear his dry throat that by the end he desperately needed to relieve his bladder but refused to on principle, they had finally cut a deal. Draco Malfoy would return to Hogwarts for his eighth year, after which he would be off scot-free, and Narcissa would be placed on a loose probation. All things considered, Harry assumed that was the best he would get so he agreed.
“How can I help you, Mister Potter?” Malfoy began. Harry held himself back from snorting. Never in his life did he imagine Draco Malfoy calling him Mister. Though, Harry was never comfortable being addressed quite so formally anyway. Malfoy’s tone was merely professional, not a single hint of sarcasm or anger in sight. Harry was impressed, considering how he and Malfoy had gone toe-to-toe several times during that eighth year at Hogwarts, nearly getting them both expelled at one point.
Harry, caught up in the memory of holding Malfoy in a headlock, struggled to come up with a semi-intellectual response. However, speaking to Malfoy without sounding like an idiot had never been his strong suit, as he simply blurted out, “I have a house!”
One of Malfoy’s eyebrows rose slowly and his lips twitched, as if fighting off a smirk. Harry mentally kicked himself for being so ineloquent.
“Sorry,” he said quickly, and then, “I was grabbing coins from my vault when I came across this and I was just wondering… If you could tell me anything about it.”
Malfoy held his hand out. “May I?”
Harry was struck by the sheer politeness in Malfoy’s voice. He eagerly handed the document over, taking a seat across the desk from the blonde and wringing his hands together. Harry had had no idea Malfoy had gotten a job at Gringott’s, though, he admitted, he hadn’t really kept tabs on the bloke after they were free from the shared dorm at Hogwarts. Harry and Malfoy went their separate ways and had barely crossed paths since. Harry recalled only one or two times where he saw that white blonde hair disappearing behind a corner in Diagon Alley, but other than that he’d practically been a ghost in society.
His eyes traveled around the neat office, lingering on a few framed photographs hung on the wall behind the desk. Harry could only make out one of the photos. Malfoy stood between his parents, all three of them looking quite put out as the wind seemed to whip through their pale hair, before the photograph reset.
The desk was covered in parchment. Stacks of file folders were on every corner, and scrolls upon scrolls of parchment piled up on any available space. A container of quills was nicely stocked on one edge, but it looked like it was about to topple over. Harry almost reached out to push it further onto the desk.
Pulling a magnifying glass out of a drawer, Malfoy took a closer look at the magical parchment.
“It appears, unless I’m mistaken, to be the deed to the Potter Manor,” Malfoy said with finality, setting down his tools and fixing Harry with a blank look.
“I’ve never—I mean, who does it—uh…where?” Harry asks stupidly, utterly flabbergasted by Malfoy’s piercing gaze. Something unnerved him about the blonde, but he couldn’t tell if it was something as a result of their going-on-twelve-years animosity or something completely different.
“I’m assuming that means you’ve never been to said manor?” Harry just nods. “It’s in Surrey.”
That caught his attention right away. “Really? I’m surprised it’d be that close to…” he trailed off, looking off to the side. A silence grew between them as memories seemed to float through Harry’s head. After a few moments, he snapped out of it.
“Sorry,” he said again. “Um…is there an address listed? I never knew it existed before now. Do you think it will be…uh, never mind.”
Malfoy waved his wand and a file shot itself out of a cabinet behind him. He gingerly opened it and laid it flat against his desk. “9 Milford Lane, Weybridge, Surrey.” He handed Harry a piece of parchment with the address written in a fancy script.
“Thanks, uh, thank you, Malfoy,” he said earnestly. Malfoy gave him an odd look, as if he as well couldn’t believe that they had managed to have a civil, adult conversation. Malfoy nodded his farewell as Harry took his leave. The door clicked gently shut behind him and he made his way back down the corridor, shoes still squeaking obscenely.
Harry apparated directly into Ron and Hermione’s living room, startling the pair, whose bodies were slightly more visible than Harry was comfortable with.
“Shit, Harry!” Ron exclaimed, throwing his shirt over Hermione to cover her top. Harry hadn’t even noticed, too far in his head, and had just collapsed on the couch with a long, loud sigh.
“Sorry for barging in” he mumbled, leaning his head back on the plush couch.
“It’s okay,” Hermione said while quickly pulling on Ron’s shirt, sitting next to him while Ron went to get dressed for work. She eyed him before asking, “What’s wrong?”
He wordlessly handed her the glowing deed, deeply wishing that if he leaned back far enough, the couch would swallow him whole. Hermione scanned the page quickly before her eyes shot up to his and she sank down on the sofa next to him. “Oh, Harry…” Her hand reached out to grip his forearm, nothing more than a comforting gesture that he appreciated. “Did you go see it?”
Before he could shake his head and say no, he hadn’t gone yet and he wished they would accompany him so that he didn’t end up crying on the floor of an abandoned building, Ron walked in wearing his bright orange Chudley Cannons shirt under the deep red Auror coat. Harry felt a surge of affection for his friend, whose allegiances never seemed to waver. “See what?”
Hermione passed Ron the scroll and waited in silence for him to finish reading.
It was Ron’s first full year of being an Auror. For a couple of years after they’d finished Hogwarts, Harry had helped Ron train for the exam. Ron had been disappointed to learn that being an Auror-in-training was dramatically different than being a full Auror. He was only allowed to observe cases most of the time, which seemed to frustrate him more than anything. Now he can actually lead a case, investigate, and even weigh in on other people’s cases. Harry noticed he’s definitely a lot happier now.
Hermione, however, has taken no time in moving up within the Ministry. She began as a secretary in the Muggle-Worthy Excuses division of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, and her muggleborn status quickly became a tool for her to use and she became part of the committee within months of starting the job. Less than a year later she was already moving up to the DMLE, acting as a liaison for the Improper Use of Magic office. She spent a year and a half there, before applying for a position as part of Minister Shacklebolt’s support staff. Shacklebolt, knowing how hardworking and intelligent Hermione was, hired her without an interview. She now works closely with Shacklebolt and his team.
Harry was so proud of his friends that he sometimes wished he’d joined the workforce with them. He knew, however, that being an Auror was not a good fit for him. He still had nightmares from the war, and what the healer described as PTSD. He isn’t a deadbeat by any means, at least that’s what he thinks. He spends his time with his friends and his godson, often taking Teddy out to experience Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade, since Andromeda did not like to be seen in public. His favorite place to take Teddy was to quidditch matches, where Ron often tagged along if he could get away.
After the war, Harry decided to return for his last year of school with Hermione and Ron, but ended up spending much of it helping Headmistress McGonagall rebuild. He still had no idea what kind of job he wanted, and several tea times with the Headmistress only served to confuse him more. Since the end of that year, McGonagall had asked him back several times as a guest speaker, and once as a substitute teacher for a week. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t like those times. Being back at the school was difficult, but teaching reminded him of fifth year when all his friends stood by his side against Umbridge and the only death had been Cedric.
Harry also spent over a year on a muggle construction crew. Being able to build something, even just a wall, from the ground up without the use of magic helped him relax. He built up his strength and made quite a few friends along the way. He didn’t do it much lately. He wanted to focus on Grimmauld Place. He had made quite a few changes already, like getting rid of those horrid house elf heads and that noisy portrait of Sirius’ mother. He had opened a new vault in Gringott’s for the Black family heirlooms that he found. He didn’t necessarily want to keep them, but the thought of the latest generation of Blacks coming at him for destroying their family history made him shiver.
“Where’d you find that?” he asked, looking up and passing the deed back.
“My vault.”
“Wicked. Do you think your dad--” Hermione sent a swift kick to Ron’s shin and he yelped. “Bloody hell! What was that for?”
But Hermione wasn’t listening to him. “Harry, do you want us to come with you?”
Harry’s cheeks burned, and he felt a wave of embarrassment wash over him as he slowly nodded. He couldn’t believe he was twenty-three and still couldn’t make any big steps without his best friends by his side. He was scared of what he’d find at the property. Maybe he’d find portraits of his relatives. Maybe his dad still had a bedroom there, littered with quidditch magazines and school supplies. Or maybe it’d be empty. Harry couldn’t tell which he feared more—finding bits and pieces of his parents and other relatives’ lives, or finding nothing.
The gate wouldn’t open. Harry had tried pushing, pulling, a simple Alohamora, and even a blasting curse, but it wouldn’t budge. He’d thought it might recognize his magical signature, or something like that, and let him in, but the lock remained tightly shut. He grabbed one of the iron bars and rattled it back and forth furiously before letting go with a huff. He turned to Hermione.
“How come it won’t open? I’m supposed to be the owner, right?”
“That’s what the deed says, Harry,” Hermione replied, then quoted directly from the document, “’The position of Master of Potter Manor is to be given to the heir of the Potter family, upon the death of a previous heir. If multiple heirs present themselves, the oldest male shall be given the title of Master.’ So unless you have a long lost sibling…”
Harry was deep in thought, staring at the ground just on the other side of the gate. He couldn’t help but feel a jolt of hope. Maybe someone in his family was still alive and they’d been taking care of the Manor. A newfound excitement spread throughout his body, his mind racing. Who could it be? His parents? Grandparents? A long lost cousin? A grin started to form on his face as he thought about his possible alive family. Images of him surrounded by raven-haired witches and wizards, hazel eyes and wicked smirks floated through his brain. Spending Christmas holidays with them. Easter, or his birthday, or even just a casual Sunday dinner. God, he wanted that.
But then, he thought, visibly deflating, how is it possible that his parents came out of Voldemort’s wand, back in fourth year? How were they resurrected by the stone during the Battle? Harry wanted to yell out in frustration and pain, but only shot the ground a glare and, with one last look at the dark building beyond the iron bars, he apparated home.
Ron and Hermione popped into the lounge right behind him, and he busied himself making tea in the kitchen. They sat in silence around the table as the kettle heated. Harry pulled the scroll towards him and opened it again, eyes lingering on each word. He desperately wished it told him something about the Potter family. An itching in the back of his brain distracted him from his reading, and he knew that he had to be the Master. It was in his vault.