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  This chapter was edited by Gdiusx. Check his works on HP and ASOIAF, I highly recommend them.

  Monday, 31st of May 1993

  The mangy two-legged creature bared its teeth in displeasure while looking at the letter, and he gave him an unimpressed gre and a warning hoot. No treat ever came, and five minutes ter, the ungrateful short sharp-ears attached a roll of parchment to his foot.

  The string was tied too tightly, so the offender received a smack with the wing for it, and he leapt in the air before two legs could retaliate. A few fps ter, he had left the stone dwelling and was now cutting through the pleasant night air above the stone forest.

  A*L*S*M

  Harry woke up at four in the morning, as part of his new training regiment, to the arm charm Hermione taught him st night. The charm was simple enough: cast it once on your pillow, and it would vibrate in an hour; cast it multiple times, and it would vibrate after the number of hours you cast it. He didn’t feel hungry for once, owing to the veritable feast of Basilisk meat he had st night. Not only that, but he felt rested and full of energy.

  Dawn in Scotnd was quite early, reminding him of the North. After reviewing the Huntsman's ritual that Ghost had consumed from what he was now sure to have been a piece of Riddle's magic, his short dreamscape session was mostly spent flying with Hedwig. It was an odd feeling at first, but not unwelcome. Skinchanging was definitely a type of magic originating from Westeros, not Britain. He dearly regretted never exploring that bond with Ghost when he was Jon, but what could he do? He was flopping in the dark and busy with far greater problems. His experience with magic in general on the Wall and Beyond wasn’t the best, so he had been reluctant to even delve into things like that.

  Harry shook his head; there was no use crying over a spilt potion. He rose from the bed, dressed in his trainers and scks, grabbed his cloak and wand from his trunk, and made his way down to the Chamber.

  It was a pleasant surprise for him to discover the secret exits and entrances of the Chamber. Aside from one leading into the Forbidden Forest and another to the loch, which he guessed were used for the Basilisk to hunt when it was much smaller, he found two more secret entrances in addition to Myrtle’s bathroom. One to the nearby clock tower courtyard. Another opened to the dungeons near the abandoned cssrooms across from the stairs. Thankfully, no one visited that part of the dungeons often.

  Both secrets required command in Parseltongue to open, and Harry reckoned that anything reted to Slytherin also required speaking the nguage of the serpents. How convenient.

  It was through the Clock Tower courtyard that Harry made his way to the Chamber, hidden under his cloak. He had not explored more than half of the maze of tunnels and chambers below, it was quite possible that there were more passages to be uncovered, but that would wait for ter.

  Upon arriving at the Chamber, he found Dobby still busy with the Basilisk. Harry stared in wonder at the intrepid elf; it was like he never tired.

  “Don’t you need some rest, Dobby?”

  “Oh no, sir. Dobby had a whole half-an-hour of sleep! Dobby has never felt so rested! The Great Master Harry Potter is strong, and now so is Dobby!”

  An odd reply, but almost everything about House Elves was odd, so Harry took it in stride. He was sure Hermione would be trying to grill the poor elf for information if she was in his shoes, but Harry was content to let the topic lie as long as Dobby had no problems.

  “Do make sure you’re well rested,” Harry said with a chuckle. “And if you need anything or encounter trouble, come to me.”

  If anything, Harry definitely did not want Dobby to get any ideas about dealing with ‘problems’ on his own. He shuddered just at the memory of the poor creature’s deadly attempts at ‘saving him’.

  The elf nodded in excitement while Harry began warming up. Running in the Chamber was possible, but he would rather exercise here instead. Once it was six in the morning and curfew ended, he could run along the grounds unless it rained. The training methods of this world were somewhat different from what he had used in Winterfell, but then again, they did not train to wield arms here. A pity he had no dummies to practice his swings. He would also have to learn how to transfigure something suitable to whack with his sword.

  Harry had discovered yesterday that he had excellent stamina. After hours of working on the carcass, he barely felt fatigued. Although that could have been due to the amount of meat he had eaten, the mention of a ritual in that journal led him to believe he might have unknowingly activated one. Madam Pomfrey had no idea what caused these changes but was assured they were benign.

  For now, though, he hoped to finally tire himself today with an extreme training session to discover his limits.

  A*L*S*M

  Hermione yawned as she made her way out of her dorm room. She had stayed te at night doing some light reading in her bed. Her dorm mates left her alone, not wanting to bother her in her grief, or so she assumed. She never did meet again with Harry yesterday, but he had a message delivered to meet her in the Great Hall for breakfast early in the morning.

  It was not even eight in the morning, so it wasn’t a surprise to find the common room nearly deserted, especially with the ck of csses. She could only see a few older students quietly studying together for either OWLs or NEWTs.

  The entrance to the common room opened before Hermione could make her way across to it, and a thoroughly soaked Harry Potter stumbled his way through, grabbing her attention.

  “Harry! There you are. What were you doing outside the tower? Why are you so wet? Are you okay? You are breathing harder than normal.”

  Harry chuckled at the barrage of questions. “Well, in order, I had a run, then I decided to go for a swim in the ke; I am fine, but a bit tired because I got into a wrestling match with the giant squid. Lost badly, but I will definitely get back at it again.”

  Hermione stared at the cheeky smile of her friend, speechless. Before she could gather her thoughts to reply, Harry ughed and continued to his dorm, “Give me a few minutes to change and shower, then we can go for breakfast.”

  A*L*S*M

  They made their way to the Great Hall, enduring plenty of stares and gawkers. Many of the student body had tried to talk to them, but Harry was not in the mood to entertain fickle people who had proven themselves fair-weather friends.

  It had finally dawned on Harry his actual worth as the Boy-Who-Lived. That meeting with the Minister for Magic had truly been enlightening.

  They could hear the chatter and noise as they approached the Great Hall, and upon entering, the noise level considerably dropped while Harry took them all in.

  He gazed at the seated students starting from his right at the Slytherins, where he could see Malfoy gring daggers at him with barely restrained hatred. He could feel no regret or pity from the git, even if Harry didn’t want any. He would not forget how callous the boy was st Christmas when he hoped for Hermione’s death. Ignoring him, his gaze fell on the rest of the Slytherins, feeling a strange mixture of pity, fear, awe, and annoyance from them.

  His eyes moved to the Ravencw table. The house of the book lovers, as some of his housemates called them, did not appear too bothered by the near disaster that faced Hogwarts. From the still ongoing whispers, they were mostly bothered about the canceltion of the exams. Undoubtedly, they looked forward to acing them for the bragging rights and rubbing it to the other houses. Such… childish motivations should have been beneath them.

  The Hufflepuffs, on the other hand, were strangely subdued. A quick whiff of the air told him they all felt fear and regret when they met his eyes. His gaze found a certain blonde boy in his year, who was the main instigator of the rumours surrounding him. Macmiln wouldn’t even meet his gaze, making Harry snort. The boy might have apologised after Hermione was petrified; Yet now he could easily spot how it was a simple ptitude made in public, barely a token attempt to make amends with no sincerity behind it.

  All of this didn’t take Harry more than two or three heartbeats before he led Hermione to the Gryffindor table. Many students offered him and Hermione condolences, while others even offered him a seat. The House of the Brave didn’t exactly ostracise him for being a Parselmouth as much as the rest of the school, but they did not help either. Most of them opted to ignore his plight, but he still had friends in his house.

  Harry returned greetings to a select few and made his way to his year mates. Dean and Seamus sat together with Neville across from them, his back to the wall. Harry moved to join the empty seat next to Neville.

  “Morning, Harry.” “Morning.”

  “Good morning. Alright, there, Neville? Dean?” Harry then turned to Seamus, who nodded a greeting.

  “We’re alright. Didn’t want to wake you yesterday, you looked knackered. Oh, and good morning Hermione. Gd to have you back!”

  Hermione sat on his right before returning the greetings.

  Harry didn’t really feel like talking with an empty stomach, so he busied himself with breakfast, letting the conversations fly past him. A few minutes ter, Lavender, Fay, and Parvati joined them at the table, thus completing their entire yearmates. Harry noted sadly that the ratio between boys and girls in Gryffindor had become equal with Ron's passing. He engaged in some small talk with his friends as he kept an eye on the windows. Hermione, who was conversing with Lavender, seemed to take notice.

  “Are you expecting an owl, Harry?”

  “Hedwig should be coming by in a moment now.” Harry turned his eye back to his empty pte and refilled it. He felt a gaze on him from the table across and noticed a blonde Hufflepuff his age staring at him. He recognised Hannah Abbot, and she immediately averted her gaze when she noticed him, striking up a conversation with the red-haired girl next to her. She had an intriguing shade of red hair that Jon had only seen once. Flowing blood just like–

  “Hi, Harry!” A squeaky voice called from behind, and Harry stifled a groan.

  “Hello, Colin. I’m gd to see you back on your feet.”

  “Thanks, Harry. I’m sorry to hear about Ron and wanted to give you these.” Creevey handed Harry a bundle of pictures, and to his pleasant surprise, they were pictures mostly of him and Ron with Hermione in some of them. He held them reverently, not at all expecting such a thing. Filled with joy, he didn’t even bother questioning how Colin had the chance to take them.

  “Thank you, Colin. I appreciate it, truly, I do.” Harry browsed the pictures mencholically. Seeing Ron waving to him from the pictures nearly made his eyes misty. Hermione leaned close to get a closer look. Absent-mindedly, Harry felt her breath on his cheek as she practically hugged him to get a look.

  He couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable. While she was his friend, she was also a girl and a tad too close. With Jon’s memories, he well-knew how that bread was buttered.

  Harry inwardly shook his head; damned puberty! He realised why his gaze had been wandering to some of the surrounding girls. With a sigh, his attention returned to the pictures and gave them to Hermione for safekeeping in her bag.

  “Mr Potter.”

  Another voice sounded from behind before he could resume eating, and Harry turned to see the stoic deputy-headmistress approach. Her normally bck hair was flecked with a few grey strands, while her face seemed to have gained a couple of rare wrinkles overnight. It appeared that Ron’s death had affected more people than he realised.

  “Yes, professor?”

  “I would like a word with you and Miss Granger, please. Mr Creevey, you have twenty minutes to finish breakfast and meet me in my office for your remedial lessons. You have missed nearly the entirety of the school year, and we need to get you up to snuff now. Follow me, Mr Potter, Miss Granger. It won’t take a few minutes.”

  Harry looked at his unfinished meal before sighing and getting up, Hermione following his lead.

  “Don’t worry, Harry. We’ll keep your seat empty,” Finnigan promised solemnly.

  “Cheers, Seamus,” Harry threw his dormmate a grateful nod before turning to McGonagall. “Lead the way, Professor.”

  They made their way to the trophy room before McGonnogal turned to them.

  “I have received word from the Weasleys.” She said simply, and Harry could hear Hermione inhale sharply, “The funeral for young Ronald will be at midday tomorrow. Naturally, you are both invited. If you agree, I will escort you to the cemetery in Ottery St Catchpole for the burial and then ter to the Burrow for the wake.”

  It suddenly dawned on Harry that he had never attended a funeral. Sure, the Watchmen had died aplenty, but he did not feel close to them, not after the betrayal. All the Starks died while he was away. Ron was gone, and now this was his chance to send him farewell. His eyes misted, and he had to gulp his sore throat. Hermione wasn’t any better.

  “Of course I will attend, Professor,” he managed to find his voice, “I am not familiar with wizarding funerals, so I will appreciate some instruction if there’s anything I need to do.”

  McGonnogal nodded and turned to Hermione, “I will attend too. Ron was my friend, and I would like to be there for the rest of the Weasleys.”

  “Then please be ready tomorrow by two in the afternoon. You can dress in your school robes, and if you need any help or have any questions, my door is always open.”

  Harry had to stifle a snort at this as Hermione asked McGonagall further questions.

  ‘Door always open? Then why is it that whenever you are needed most, you prove useless.’

  What truly frustrated him was that he could feel genuine regret and sympathy from McGonagall. It is as if she didn’t realise that she was partly to bme for Ron’s death as well. She was the one who goaded Lockhart to challenge the Chamber.

  ‘Forget it. It’s not worth blowing a gasket now.’ With an enormous effort, he managed to calm down and gather the gist of the conversation. Dumbledore would attend the burial but not the wake. He and Hermione were the only students, aside from a friend of Ginny’s, that would attend. All the Weasleys would be there, even Ron’s eldest brothers, as well as other retives. At that, Harry felt some anxiety being around so many strangers, but he gathered himself. Ron deserved a good final farewell.

  Once Hermione finished her talk with the deputy-headmistress, they returned to the Great Hall and resumed breakfast. Harry conversed with his dormmates and couldn’t help but notice that he didn’t really know a lot about them beyond the simplest things. Seamus was an Irish half-blood with a muggle father, Neville was a pureblood who lived with his grandmother, and almost nothing about Dean apart from being a muggle-born and a Westham football fan.

  Suddenly, Harry stared at the windows and noticed Hedwig flying in. He quickly cleared the table in front of him aside from a pte of bacon and other treats he was saving for her.

  It didn’t take long for her to fly in, followed by a veritable flock of owls.

  “Hello, girl. Hope you enjoyed your flight.” Hedwig preened as he stroked her silky snow-white feathers before raising her leg for him to take the letter. Once free of her burden, she quickly hopped to her pte to feed.

  “Your owl is very well-trained, Harry,” Neville observed in admiration, “Can I pet her?”

  Harry was opening the Gringotts letter before he stopped and felt Hedwig's emotions at the idea. “You can try. If Hedwig likes it, she will let you. If not… well, I can personally vouch for Madame Pomfrey's healing prowess.”

  He grinned at the boy, then dived into the letter before scowling in disgust. Hermione hesitantly leaned over Harry’s shoulder to read the letter, and Harry angled the roll of parchment, so she could read it better and frowned at the contents.

  Neville, meanwhile, shied away from the owl and instead noticed their expressions and the seal of the discarded envelope. “Trouble with the goblins?”

  Harry restrained himself from tearing the letter in frustration and instead folded it, “Bloody bleeding gremlins charged me a whole Galleon for a bank statement! Then another Galleon for ‘delivery expenses’ disregarding that I didn’t use any of their owls, and yet another Galleon for ‘wasting their time’. Why do we even leave our gold with them in the first pce?”

  Neville smiled awkwardly, “I hear you, Harry. Gran doesn’t like them either. I doubt anyone likes them, to be frank. Still, there is no denying that they provide the best kind of security in Britain to keep our gold and valuables safe. Sure, you can store your gold in your house or other pces, but if you are robbed, then it's completely on you.”

  Hermione looked fbbergasted, “What? But I thought the Aurors’ job is to prevent crime, and theft is a crime, right?”

  Lavender chose this moment to barge into the conversation from Hermione’s right, “Oh sweetie, theft is certainly a crime, but no wizard or witch worth their wand would ever admit that they failed to pce necessary protections in their homes to protect their valuables.” She giggled, her honey-coloured eyes full of mirth, “Daddy tells me that Aurors usually busy themselves stopping violent crimes or making sure regutions are followed. Unless you are a ministry-sponsored business or have a seat on the Wizengamot, they will give you lip service if you report a theft. The only time they will act is if the crime is right in front of them… or you have connections in the DMLE, if you know what I mean.”

  Harry flexed his fists as he contempted Neville and Lavender’s words while Hermione grilled their cssmates for more information regarding the structure of magical society. Harry himself would have felt the same as Hermione, but Jon felt this was too simir to Westeros. Winterfell and Wintertown had very little crime, so he couldn’t compare it to here. But he heard from other Bck Brothers how other cities, particurly Kingsnding, operated. Many were forced to take the Bck because they robbed the wrong person. If they robbed a merchant with no connections, then the city guard would not bother with them. If they robbed a noble, however, then going to the Wall would be a mercy.

  He was broken from his thoughts when Hermione finished breakfast and her conversation with Lavender before excusing herself for the library. Harry promised to swing by in a few hours before he struck up a conversation with Dean. Normally, Ron would be the one striking conversations with others, but now with him gone, Harry needed to break out of his self-imposed shell. He was no longer that scared little boy locked in the cupboard under the stairs.

  “We’re trying to get enough people to py a game of football. I have the ball and managed to convince an older student to transfigure two goalposts. What do you think, Harry?”

  Harry felt excited at the prospect of pying football, he never had a chance to py at school because of Dudley and his merry band of misfits. He had nothing to do and was still feeling energised despite his training. The alternative was to brood, and that wasn’t a practical use of his time.

  “Sure, why not?”

  A*L*S*M

  Harry watched attentively at the Ravencw sixth year, whom he recognised as one of the house’s Chasers, as he silently waved his wand, and a straight metal goalpost rose from the ground. Another wave of the wand and the metal extended horizontally until it connected to a simir post a few yards away. The boy turned towards the gathered group of juniors and gave a small smile at their awed expressions.

  “Is this good enough, Thomas?”

  Dean nodded his head rapidly, “Y-yeah, thanks, Shafiq. Are you sure you don’t want to join us?”

  “Pass. It wouldn’t be fair to py against a group of thirteen-year-olds. I’ll just sit here and act as ref.” The older boy replied in a zy drawl that reminded Harry of the rare Bck Brother on the Wall from Dorne. He waved his wand again and silently transfigured the ground to create a comfortable metal chair with plush seating.

  Harry smiled inwardly; the boy was tall and compared to him, their group looked like midgets. It was he and his dormmates, along with a few other students who were probably muggle-borns or half-bloods. Regardless, the silent use of Transfiguration was certainly impressive. Maybe he could help him create some training dummies?

  ‘After the game, mayhaps.’ He quickly joined Dean and the others as they formed teams and expined the rules to the magical-born kids.

  .

  .

  .

  “You’re not half-bad, Harry.”

  “Half-bad? Ha, the kid ran circles around you, Tommy. Is that why you pyed goalie for the st bit, Potter? Didn’t want to kill the game too much?”

  Harry ran his hand through his hair in embarrassment. It’s been an hour since they started, and he and the other kids were taking a break on the sidelines. Well, it was more for their sake than his. To say that the other kids were cking in fitness would be an understatement. Aside from him and Dean, the others probably never had to run in their lives. Needless to say, Dean was on the opposing team, and yet Harry’s team still won by a rge margin.

  “I’ve always been quick on my feet. Not to mention, Quidditch practice with Wood would turn anyone into a fitness nut.”

  Shafiq winced at that, “We’ve heard horror stories of how your Quidditch captain trains you. Credit where it’s due, you Lions have been a tough nut to crack on the pitch.” The older boy sipped from a gss of fruit punch that Harry had no idea where he got while he gazed at the colpsed form of Neville, who looked to be on the verge of hyperventiting. “Still, I doubt that alone would be enough. You've run and pyed more than anyone else today, yet you’ve barely broken a sweat.” Shafiq gave a calcuting look at him, his turquoise eyes gleaming. “Impressive.”

  Harry returned the look with an impassive gaze of his own, “I’m more impressed with how you created those posts and your chair. Others might mistake it for Conjuration, but you instead transfigured the ground into what you desired. Non-verbally as well, and without even breaking a sweat, not to mention metal? Impressive.”

  They both looked at each other, and Harry blithely noted that even while standing, he was barely the same height as the seated Ravencw. Shafiq chuckled before he stood from his seat and offered a hand, “You are an intriguing fellow, Potter. I honestly didn’t expect much when Tommy over there asked for help. The name’s Tariq, of the Noble House of Shafiq. An honour to make your acquaintance.”

  Harry grasped the offered hand and shook it firmly, “The honour is mine.”

  “Would you like to walk with me, Harry? May I call you Harry?”

  Harry hesitated slightly and turned only to see Neville wave him away, “We’re gonna be fine, Harry. You can go ahead of us if you want.”

  Down on the ground, the pudgy boy was catching his breath yet watching them with rapt attention. The other students were busy joking or talking about the game, yet most had no noble connection or did not care. Harry nodded his thanks to the boy. Neville was much more perceptive than he lets on, especially when it came to noble courtesies. Harry was not expecting to deal with a noble, one who was clearly attempting to build a rapport with him. It was an excellent opportunity for him to build connections, especially with other houses. Time for Jon to bring out those courtesy lessons he never used on the Wall.

  “So long as you don’t mind me calling you Tariq. Lead the way.”

  Harry followed the Dornish-looking boy towards another group of students in the distance pying a game of Quidditch. Despite being hundreds of yards away, Harry could clearly tell they were a mix of houses. From his house, he could see Angelina and Alicia but not Katie. Diggory and a couple of other Hufflepuffs he didn’t recognise, a few from Ravencw and one lone Slytherin in the form of Pucey, if he wasn’t mistaken. His vision had truly improved tremendously.

  “An interesting thing, isn’t it? Members of all four houses having a fun game of Quidditch. No silly house rivalry or simir nonsense that we are subjected to on a daily basis in this school.”

  “True. It feels like the competition between Houses has gotten… well, out of hand, and we’re just second years now. I don’t even want to imagine how bad it would be in another three or four years. Some of the professors openly encourage this too.”

  Shafiq chuckled, “Looks like the rumours of you and Snape not getting along were not exaggerated.”

  Harry scrunched up his nose at the mention of his least favourite professor, “Am I wrong?”

  “Heh, perhaps not. Still, the point is, once school is over, none of those former students care a lot about which House you were in. You won’t find people refusing to work with their unit in the DMLE because one was a Snake while the other was a Lion. In the end, Hogwarts is the perfect pce to build future connections. Especially those between the noble peerage.”

  “Like you and me, I presume?”

  “Quick on the uptake. That’s good.”

  “Yet, you do not seem to mind being seen associating with non-nobles. How did it come to be that you would not only know a muggle-born like Dean, who is years your junior, but even talk familiarly with him?”

  The Ravencw sighed at that, and Harry felt hesitance and reluctance. As if it was a topic he would rather not discuss. They stopped by an empty bench and the boy sat on it to collect his thoughts. “Tell me, Harry. Do you know how Muggle-borns came to be?”

  Harry was surprised at the sudden question, “Not really. Never thought about it. Isn’t it simply magic awakening randomly in people?”

  “Not quite. Magic, at its core, is a bloodline ability. Witches and Wizards are different from muggles at a genetic level. There are only three ways for a magical to be produced from a muggle line, and all three require a magical ancestor. It is rare for a magical to fall in love with a muggle so much they choose to abandon their way of life, but it happens, as our esteemed deputy headmistress’ parents have proven. Sometimes, it could even be from a squib line. As our caretaker has shown, squibs are shunned in our society; thus, many parents encourage their squib children to integrate into the muggle world. They may not be able to use magic, but they still carry magical blood, nonetheless.”

  Harry noticed the inflexion put on encourage, but decided not to comment. So, McGonnogal was a half-blood? How did Shafiq even know that?

  Tariq continued, his face twisting in slight distaste, “Yet, the true reason why Muggle-borns are not trusted and looked down upon has to do with the third way they are created. Can you guess what it is, Harry?”

  The answer would have completely flown over Harry’s head, but for Jon…that stigma had followed him all his life, so it was easy for him to guess what Tariq was alluding to, “Bastardy.”

  “Exactly. I’m surprised you would know of it; You are very mature for your age. Regardless, whether it’s a love affair or something much more… sinister… this leads to rare cases of a muggle-born appearing out of nowhere looking suspiciously like a high-profile wizard. Can you imagine the scandal? How noble houses would rightfully fear that their lines could be stolen? Magic is magic; it does not care about house names, not truly. A completely unknown muggle-born could use his blood to, say… access his magical family’s Gringotts vault if not properly protected. Or trick their house wards to allow him inside their homes. Magic might not always recognise names, as nguages evolve over time, but it shall always recognise blood.”

  That was a lot for Harry to take in, yet at the same time, it made sense for him. Jon did look the most like his father compared to his siblings, and Lady Stark’s worst fears included something like that happening…without all the magical shenanigans.

  “Hang on, what does all that have to do with Dean?”

  Shafiq chuckled, “How many Muggle-born students are in your year?

  Strange question, but Harry quickly counted. “Three. Hermione, Dean and Justin from Hufflepuff.”

  “Your friend Hermione Granger, does she know her parents?”

  “Of course, they’re dentists. I think she mentioned visiting her grandparents as well.”

  “I see. Something for you and her to look into, perhaps. What do you know about the Hufflepuff?”

  “Justin? You saw him pying with us. He was the curly-haired guy that pyed on Dean’s team. I think he mentioned his family were members of the muggle peerage.” Harry was starting to have an idea of where the other boy was going with this, the smell of mischief and amusement evident from him.

  “And Dean?”

  Harry shrugged, a bit embarrassed that he knew more about the Puff than his own dormmate.

  “Well, a little birdie told me that Dean’s mother is a muggle who remarried after having him. Dean himself never knew his birth father. Do you see why I am interested in him now?”

  Oh yes, Harry could see it very clearly. The boy sitting in front of him was certainly a long-term pnner. Ambitiously so.

  “I’m surprised you aren’t in Slytherin, and I mean that in the best way possible. I take it you have also built an interest in me?”

  “Ha, a true Slytherin would never advertise to everyone that he is cunning and ambitious, I should think.” The snake in eagle skin stood and continued walking towards the group pying Quidditch. Harry could see one of the Ravencws waving at them, and Shafiq waved back. “Yes, you are certainly an intriguing fellow, Harry. A Parselmouth from the line of Potter? Inconceivable, considering how rare the ability was in Britain. Unless it's from your mother’s line instead. Something else for you to look into, I suppose.”

  Harry nodded along. He and Dumbledore already had their conjectures about it, and it would certainly be something for him to investigate ter. Still, this guy was sharp.

  “Nevertheless, I’m digressing. I’ll be blunt, I’m sure you are used to many people kissing up to you for your role in the defeat of the Dark Lord. Yet, from my understanding, few have attempted to approach you as a Scion of House Potter. At most, I’d wager only young Longbottom, perhaps as the heir of his house and your dormmate. Am I right?”

  Harry sobered a bit at that; there was no need to inform the older boy that he had, in fact, never been approached by anyone in his capacity as a noble. Seven hells, he didn’t even know he was a noble until the taller boy confirmed it! Dumbledore may have alluded to it but never truly confirmed it. Now, he will have to manoeuvre his way around this conversation without proving that Snape was right and that he was a complete dunderhead.

  “Something like that. I guess somehow beating Voldemort as a one-year-old impressed people a lot more than having an old name. And blood, as you have emphasised.” He really needed to brush up on his family’s history; that was the first thing he would be doing once he met Hermione in the library. The second thing will be to learn as much as possible about the Houses of magical Britain.

  Shafiq smiled at the cheek, and Harry noticed the boy didn’t flinch when he said Voldemort’s name, “Understandable. There are also the tales of you sying our Defence teacher st year after he turned out to be an aspiring Dark Lord. With Lockhart, that’s three Dark Lords that you have caused their demise, Harry.”

  Harry flexed his fist. Was that what people thought of Quirrell? That he wasn’t controlled by Voldemort but just another wannabe Dark Lord?

  “What can I say? I’m simply doing my duty.”

  “An admirable sentiment. I understand you are not well acquainted with the finer aspects of our society, Harry. As I am now of age, and my cousin has no desire to live in Britain, I find myself my uncle’s heir to the Shafiqs. I will be attending the next session of the Wizengamot with him to formally accept my duties as heir. You might think you are too young to worry about such matters, but take it from someone who had this dropped on him with no prior warning. It's better to learn early than flounder when you are of age.”

  Harry smiled along sardonically. He could feel that the older boy was mostly genuine in his advice and offer of friendship. It wasn’t purely from the goodness of his heart, of course, as Harry understood his own worth. A case of helping the young celebrity noble now and maybe benefitting in the future. Still, the guy treated him like a kid. Not his fault, really; he did look like a child. At almost thirteen, he was actually still a child. Children here mature slower than back in Westeros, it seemed.

  It was a good thing Hermione had talked Lavender’s ear off during breakfast about how unfair it was that there was a noble system. As if Muggle Britain didn’t have one of its own, “If I recall, the Shafiqs are members of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Yet, forgive me if I cause offence, you do not look British, and your name is clearly foreign. How did that come about to be, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  Tariq ughed lightly, “No offence taken. We are all immigrants if you go back far enough. The Shafiqs were part of an old Egyptian cn that you wouldn’t be able to pronounce the name of. Arabic names be like that, as we don’t really use surnames. A member of the family, the actual Shafiq we are named for, helped an English wizard when they fought Napoleon in Egypt nearly two hundred years ago. It might have been a muggle war, but wizards were active in it, just like any conflict that concerned Egypt. He and his family ter used that connection to move to Engnd and used their accumuted wealth to invest in several ventures while still maintaining ties with the main branch back home. It culminated with us buying out the Gaunt's seat on the Wizengamot when they fell on hard times and couldn’t afford to renew their seat. Noble houses have to pay the ministry an absurd amount of gold every few decades to keep their seats on the Mot, or else the ministry would put the Seat up for auction. Interestingly enough, House Gaunt were the st known Parselmouths in Britain, but they died off due to inbreeding some sixty or so years ago.”

  The Gaunts again… this was the second time he had heard of them. “And you were able to fit in easily? I would think the old nobility would baulk at the idea of a foreign house taking the pce of an old and established house.”

  “Ah, but you see, that would have been true, except my ancestor had a powerful backer here. The House of Bck was the richest and most powerful house in Britain until the seventies, and it was the heir of the House whom we helped back then. It was a rough start, but we managed. Now, enough politics. I don’t want to bore you too much, and we could discuss this another time. You still have enough energy for a game of Quidditch?”

  Harry scoffed lightly as they greeted the others, “Sure I do. The question is, are you up for it? Don’t want to dishearten you too much for next year.”

  “Cheeky. I’m already resigning to focus on my NEWTs. So, go get your broom and let’s get the game going.”

  Harry explores his bond with Hedwig. She does not like the Goblins. Don’t worry, girl, nobody does. I hate how they are used as some kind of Deus Ex Machina to solve all problems when Rowling specifically writes them as greedy and deceitful little buggers. So, NO! Do not expect any miraculous solutions from them.

  Harry starts building connections, and the more he gives an amiable disposition, the more doors will be opened for him, as many would want to be associated with the Boy Who Lived. I tried to envision how nobles would talk and decided to just stick to formality while acknowledging that they are still teenagers, so the occasional sng would slip through.

  Shafiq is not an English name. I tried my best to find out its origin, but the only thing that came up was Arabic, specifically Egyptian Arabic. Well, considering how important Egypt is in real history and magical society, I couldn’t refrain from using this opportunity.

  Hope you like my OC. It’s my take on that friend you have that always seems to know everything and you find yourself telling him stuff you didn’t even mean to. Even Jon didn’t notice how he volunteered information for no reason. Jon, unfortunately, does not have experience in manoeuvring himself in what he would call “Southern Politics”.

  His name is pronounced as Ta-Rick Sha-Feek (the same way you would pronounce Feel).

  Harry gets an “in” on the Mot. We will discover more about Harry and his House in ter chapters, and no, this story won’t devolve into Harry needing a dozen wives to revive some dead house nobody gives a shit about.