Light streamed through the windows of the Throne Room in Buckingham Palace, illuminating the opulent chamber and falling on the crown of King Henry IX as he sat on his throne, narrowed green eyes studying the people assembled before him.
'So,' Harry pronounced as he shifted in his throne. Well, technically his predecessor's throne, he had just changed the Royal Cipher and added a few cushioning charms. Why throw away something good, after all? And the throne, even without the charms, was quite comfortable.
'The Order of the Phoenix...' He snorted. 'Not a group that Dumbledore founded by himself after all.'
'Please, Your Majesty,' one of the figures pleaded. 'Our families did not have anything to do with the unfortunate abduction of your sons.'
'Indeed?' Harry's eyes narrowed. 'Then, Mister Smith, please explain why it was that I found magic-suppressing shackles on one of my sons' wrists with the Hufflepuff crest engraved on it.'
'Yes,' Harry continued in a dry tone, his eyes flashing at the paling visage of the person in front of him. He held out the offending object in front of him with two of his fingers as if it were diseased. 'We believe the word you were looking for, Smith, was, "Oops".'
'Did you really think that we had you lot brought here to get you to confess because we assumed that you may be involved?' he said lowly, his eyes sweeping over each of the men in front of him.
'We know that your fathers are involved in this ... matter,' Harry spat. 'Percy Weasley was quite cooperative once we had him hopped up on Veritaserum. Then again, there were no more magical oaths to bind him once his magic had all but left him after we formally had him declared as a traitor.'
'So, the question isn't of your guilt or innocence, but rather what should we do with you.'
Reclining, he regarded the wizards standing in front of him.
Fear gripped the minds of the assembled. They all knew what happened to traitors. Not only do they lose their magic, but all properties and titles are seized by the crown, making it impossible for the quisling's heirs to inherit anything.
In short, should the King do to them the same thing he had done to Percy Weasley and John Dawlish, their family legacies would be lost, and their heirs left penniless?
The only way they would be able to avoid this, or at least keep their magic, would be if they ran, just like Ron and Hermione Weasley. Something they knew would be impossible.
'Please, Your Majesty,' Lord Jonathon Smith was the first to break, knowing that he had the most to lose. 'My father ... he is old ... I – none of us had any inclination ...'
'What are you saying?' Harry said after a very pregnant pause.
'You have to understand, sir,' Jonathon was choosing his words carefully. 'He is old ... and, old age can do things to the mind...'
'Are you saying that your father has gone senile?' Harry finally replied, with a raised eyebrow.
Jonathon nodded. Slowly choosing his words, he explained what he and the others now standing next to him had suspected for a long time. Jonathon had no idea why his father had decided to do such things. The person he knew growing up would have never stooped so low as to kidnap children for no obvious reason. Unlike the King, Jonathon and the rest knew that the group of old men would never have had aspirations towards controlling the crown. What he did know was of the group's weird obsession with Flamel. His father and his father's friends had never thought to share the specifics, however.
The only conclusion they could come up with, as much as it pained them, was senility. And this madness was probably there for quite a while. It was only because of how close they were to the situation that they never caught on. Admitting this aloud made his mouth feel like it was full of ash, but it had to be done.
The King listened to Jonathon's explanation with a blank expression. One glance into the man's eyes showed that he was telling the truth. Or at least, what he knew to be the truth.
'Very well,' Harry finally said slowly. 'We shall take this into consideration. You shall have our final say in this matter tomorrow. Until then ...' he signalled to one of the guards. 'You shall be kept in custody. It is but a precaution, we don't want you running off.' The smile he sent them was lacking in warmth.
Lord Nathaniel looked on in impotent rage as the Auror attached a magical monitoring device to his ankle. Jonathon had arrived half an hour before telling him of what the new King had decided. The monarch had deemed it fit to condemn him and his fellows to isolated house arrest. From this moment on, none of them would be able to communicate with each other. Furthermore, aside from family, nobody else could communicate with him, nor could he with them. What conversations he had with his family would also be monitored, effectively meaning that he would have no way to talk about anything private, and forget matters relating to the Order. Finally, he was also going to be prevented from leaving his own quarters thanks to a ward keyed into him.
It was the end: the end of the Order, and the end of their cause. Moreover, it was the end of his life. He looked up at the resolute expression on his son's face. The two of them had a blazing row before the Aurors had come in. Nathaniel had tried to tell his son what he had found, only for Jonathon to reject everything, going so far as to destroy what proof he had shown.
'I am sorry, Father, but I must do what is best for the family,' Jonathon had said resolutely as the last of the remnants of the files vanished. 'And this, this cockamamie theory and your obsession with it isn't good for the family.' Breathing hard, he continued. 'And neither are those friends of yours. You are crazy. All of you have gone senile!'
As the last of the wards were set in, Nathaniel watched as his son turned around and left the room. Somehow, he suspected that it would be the last he saw of the family or anyone other than the House Elves. Closing his eyes, he bowed his head in sorrow. If he had only thought to include Jonathon before ... the Order's secrecy would have been their undoing.
Then again, perhaps the secrecy was for the best. It did give Jonathon deniability, and that deniability ensured the continuation of the bloodline.
Wearily sinking into his seat, Nathaniel took in the sudden silence. The fight was over. He lost. All he could hope was that somewhere down the line, Flamel got his.
'We have found all of those involved in the tragedy surrounding the family.'
The old woman turned her gaze from the window looking out towards the grounds at Sandringham House to the man sitting in one of the armchairs beside her bed.
'All of them?' she whispered.
'All of them, both in the magical and Muggle worlds.' The man confirmed. He sighed. 'The previous minister for magic has died in an encounter with the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol. Percy Weasley and John Dawlish have been executed, and the other magical conspirators have been neutered.'
'Neutered?' the old woman looked at him in surprise. Despite being bedridden and having a frail body that looked as though it would give out at any moment, her eyes were still as sharp as ever. 'I take it that you let them live.'
Harry thought of the contracts he got the heads of the conspirators' families to sign before taking care of the Order of the Phoenix. 'I did not want their families affected. They are innocent. And that is something that would have happened if I had gone with my earlier decision. Besides, they are all old men who have gone bonkers. I think spending the rest of the little time they have on this earth in solitude is good enough.'
His predecessor looked at him for a long moment. 'I guess in the end, it is your decision, your majesty.' She coughed violently. 'Not that I am complaining. I would like to think that I would have made a similar decision were I in your shoes.'
'Thank you, Your Majesty,' Harry replied levelly. Taking a deep breath, he continued. 'It took them nearly a month, but our agents have managed to track down the Muggles responsible for the bombing.'
'You found them?' she questioned incredulously, 'In a month?'
'Well, technically it was three weeks. I do apologise for the delay, but the conditions weren't the best...'
'That's fine, your majesty,' she quickly replied. 'I am certain that the Prime Minister will be quite pleased with this news.' She closed her eyes. 'After all, we have been searching for that man for a really long time.'
Harry smiled in response.
For a long time, the only sound in the room was that of the beeping Muggle machine that monitored her heart. Eventually, just as Harry was beginning to get concerned, she unexpectedly opened her eyes. 'I am glad.' Smiling, she started to drift away. Suddenly gazing at him piercingly, she said with certainty. 'I don't think I have much time left. It is a blessing I suppose ...' she took a deep breath. 'I shall finally be reunited with my family ... and leave this burden behind ... the crown had always felt so heavy ... I hope the job does not take you as it took me ... and took my father ... good luck ...'
She trailed off, slipping into unconsciousness.
Harry looked at the once formidable woman. The death of her family had been quite hard on her. Her health had deteriorated rapidly after the death of her husband. Now, she was bedridden ... dying slowly. There were times when Harry felt remorse for playing his role in her condition ... even if it was necessary.
Suddenly he breathed in sharply when the beeping Muggle machine suddenly started wailing. Despite being out of touch with the Muggle world for such a long time, he knew what it meant.
Closing his eyes, he covered her cooling aged hand with his own. The mental link that he was used to feeling thanks to the Imperius Curse he had cast on her was dead.
Bowing his head, Harry opened his mouth, about to say something, perhaps to articulate the remorse that was plain upon his features. But he closed his mouth. Taking a deep breath, he patted her hand. Standing over her, he leant forward as if to place a kiss on her forehead.
Suddenly he straightened, smoothing his expression. Giving her one last look he nodded and turned around. Setting his shoulders, he walked towards the entrance of the room.
At that moment, the assigned nurse burst into the bedroom, followed by a Muggle doctor. Harry stepped aside as he let them do their job.
Even though the Queen had formally announced her abdication to the Muggle world a few days after her announcement to the Wizengamot (despite calls for her to continue at least till Accession Day for her to complete a full sixty years on the throne) thus making Harry the King for more than a month, the doctor still felt compelled to turn around.
'The Queen is dead,' he intoned solemnly. 'Long live the King.'
The death of the Queen had hit Muggle Britain hard. Despite the many criticisms in the past about her and the Royal Family, recent events have served to increase the outpouring of sympathy. The streets of London were filled as people came to watch the funeral that took place in March with millions more tuning in to watch the broadcast.
Harry had capitalised on this. Introduced as a member of a cadet branch, he portrayed himself as a humble young man who, until recently, had not known of his relation to the monarch or how close he was to the throne.
At the same time, his records showed that he was the orphaned son of a rich nobleman coming from an old family. His academic qualifications had been modified for Muggle's purposes to reflect the masteries he had obtained and the languages he now knew.
This, combined with tales of how he managed his family estate and expanded it through an amalgamation of smarts and hard work, made him quite attractive to the public eye.
The fact that he was good-looking did not hurt matters either. The few pictures the press were allowed to take of the new Royal Family were featured quite several times. Harry was pretty certain that he and his wife had a fan following by now (the thought that his children would have anything similar at this time was too disturbing to contemplate).
To further increase his popularity, Harry and Daphne made sure to be seen in as many functions associated with the charities the old Royal Family patronised.
While it was traditional to wait for a year to organise the coronation of the new monarch, Harry's coronation would take place in June upon his predecessor's request instead of the originally planned Diamond Jubilee Celebrations. While there had been some thought spent in postponing the event upon the death of the previous sovereign, it was eventually decided to go as planned.
Harry stepped out of the gilded Coach of State clad in the traditional crimson surcoat and the Robe of State of crimson velvet to fresh cheers and roars of the crowd. People had a lot to be happy about as the leader of the terrorist organisation responsible for the bombing of St James' Palace (and many other incidences worldwide) had been found and killed by a British task force after Harry had happily handed over the information to the Prime Minister.
Head held high, the King ceremoniously strode into the Abbey, surrounded by his retinue. It felt strange to have a train carried by people, but the endless rehearsals beforehand ensured perfect coordination.
Harry went through the motions of the ancient ceremony with an air of solemnity as he was reminded that the bloodline he had taken as his own spanned back more than a thousand years. His main worry was his sons (who were seated with their maternal grandparents as Daphne was next to him being crowned as Queen consort) and the attention they were under. A glamour charm had been placed on Edmund to ensure that the young Prince did not accidentally reveal his abilities. Between the excitement of seeing a big city and the many Muggle contraptions and the nervousness of being under the scrutiny of tens of thousands of eyes (not to mention the millions probably watching from afar), the charm was a definite necessity.
So it was with well-suppressed relief that Harry exchanged his crimson surcoat for a purple surcoat and donned the Imperial Robe of purple velvet. Wearing the Imperial State Crown on his head with the Sceptre with the Cross and the Orb in his hands he exited the chapel with his wife following as everybody in the building sang the national anthem.
In a show of magnanimity, he had borne the costs of the ceremony, reducing the amount of taxpayer's money used by ninety per cent. While some had problems with it (especially since Harry had sprung for a Coronation Banquet – the first to do so in decades) most agreed that it was a nice thing to do.
'The Prime Minister to see you, sir,'
Hearing the King's answering voice to enter, the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom walked through the opened door.
'Prime Minister,' the King said as he shook the man's hand.
Even though this was not his first meeting with the King, the man still found his breath being taken away by the monarch's presence. Even though he was a tall and slender man with a swimmer's build, the new King seemed to just fill the room in a way that nobody he had met ever could. And the Prime Minister knew that it wasn't a magical thing, as the Minister of Magic did not have the same air about him. What was more, the Minister's eyes definitely did not glow like the King's.
'Please, sit.' The imposing man said as he took a seat himself.
The next several minutes were spent talking about events in the country, just as it had been done with the late Queen.
'I have a question,' the King finally said after they had finished with the last item on their agenda. 'I believe, Prime Minister, that you have been informed of the existence of magic?' seeing the Prime Minister nod, he continued. 'And also, you do know that I am a wizard as well, I take it?'
'Indeed, sir,' the Prime Minister said carefully, wondering where this was going.
The King took a moment to gather his thoughts. 'What if I told you that I had a way we could increase production in farms, produce better tasting, healthier food and keep it all fully organic?'
That got the Prime Minister's attention. 'What do you mean?'
'Unlike my predecessors, I am in a better position to understand and use magical methods to help the Muggle world. My background does allow me to understand and compare the methods used by both worlds. I own farmland myself too. So I do know that the average magical farm can produce up to three times more than an average Muggle farm.'
Harry smiled internally. He knew he had the other man hooked now. 'Wizards don't use chemicals to keep out pests, employing magical wards instead.' He continued casually. 'Additionally, magical fertilizers which are mainly dragon dung, are far more potent and hold more nutrients. Other charms and potions can be employed to facilitate a quicker harvest, meaning that the land can be used sooner for another batch of crops.
'In the end,' he gestured at a fruit bowl. 'Our produce is healthier, tastier, completely organic, and most importantly, cheaper. Livestock produces better and tastier meat and other products as they too are fed high-quality food. And the land isn't affected since we have druids bless them before starting, ensuring that the land is enriched and continues to be enriched.'
'Sorry, did you say "Druids"?' The Prime Minister asked in wonder.
'Yes,' Harry replied absently. 'Druidism is a field in magic dealing in nature. After leaving school, some choose that as a subject and a profession. I believe that they can even make the most barren lands fertile.' He pushed the bowl towards the Prime Minister. 'Here is some produce from one of my family orchards. Have a taste.'
Hesitantly, the Prime Minister picked up an apple. He noticed that it was far bigger than expected. From what he knew, the organic stuff tended to be small and shrivelled.
Harry smirked when the Prime Minister's eyes flew open involuntarily as he took the first bite.
'Better than anything you've ever tasted?' he said in light amusement, picking the Prime Minister's thoughts directly out of his head. 'Of course, this is only scratching the surface.' He paused to ensure he had the Muggle's full attention. 'Did you know that with magic, one can increase the interior dimensions of a building or container? Wizarding tents, for example, can fit an entire house while still having the outside dimensions of a regular Muggle two-man tent. So that is a ratio of potentially one to ten. More, actually,'
Reclining in his chair, Harry continued in a low hypnotic voice. 'Now, imagine something like ... say a greenhouse that is roughly five thousand acres large. Now multiply that area by ten ... a conservative estimate ... so for a relatively small greenhouse, we have an interior space of something that can rival the greenhouses in Spain. Couple that with the harvesting techniques mentioned earlier and the fact that charms can be used to create individual temperature-controlled environments inside ...'
'... and we could possibly grow exotic fruits and vegetables that we normally have to import.' The Prime Minister said in a dazed voice.
'Think of the reduction in costs.' Harry said softly. 'Of course, I realise that it isn't that much of a problem. After all, Muggle Britain does produce sixty per cent of what they eat, but what if you could reduce that forty per cent, even by one? I think that would be beneficial, especially considering the barely avoided economic disaster that happened a few years back. I just cannot imagine what the state of the country would have been had things not worked out. As it is, we barely avoided a recession.
'And you won't have to stop at food crops. If this takes off well, we can move onto cash crops ... stuff like rubber, jute or cotton ... things that you can't really grow normally thanks to climate, space and time restrictions.'
Harry smiled, looking into the distance. 'Ah well, it would be a great idea. However, there is that small catch about the International Statue of Secrecy, not to mention that electronic items can't really be used since magic and electricity don't mix. Basically, that would mean that only wizards and witches could tend these hypothetical farms.' Looking at the Prime Minister, he sighed wistfully. 'Ah well, it was nice to dream of having a nation that is one step closer to self-sufficiency. Of course, we would never be an autarky, but we would be just that much closer.'
'Why hasn't any other country thought of this?' The Prime Minister asked suspiciously.
'Because, Prime Minister, nobody in the other countries has the responsibility to, or the knowledge of, both the magical and non-magical worlds as I do.' Harry replied calmly. 'If I am not mistaken, our Cousins keep themselves wilfully ignorant and removed from magical affairs.' Abruptly getting to his feet, shortly followed by the other man, he continued. 'As it is, I think I have taken too much of your time. Till next week, then, Prime Minister.' He held out his hand.
'Oh, and feel free to take the bowl. Consider it a gift...'
Harry smirked internally as the distracted man left the room, barely remembering to follow protocol as he did so. He knew he had the Muggle hooked.
The very next day, the Prime Minister requested more details, prompting Harry to hand over the details to the Ministry of Magic as he concentrated on his duties. Being the King of both worlds and a magical one at that meant that his days were busy. He barely had enough time for his family. Something needed to be done...
Part of his duties involved meeting dignitaries from foreign Muggle nations as well as the foreign Ministers of Magic.
The magical territories were vastly different from Muggle countries. From the research Harry had done in the archives of the previous Royal Family, he knew that the various Kings and Queens of Europe had used the growing tensions between Muggles and wizards to their advantage. In exchange for secrecy, they had bound the magical populace of their various kingdoms to themselves using magical contracts.
As their realms annexed various other dominions, the monarchs had brought their ideas with them and bound similarly wizards and witches of Asia, Africa and the Americas.
Even later on, as the power of the various monarchies had dwindled in the Muggle world, their hold on the magical world was still absolute.
So while the various Muggle colonies had gained independence, magically speaking, countries were still more or less divided according to the kingdoms and empires of old even if they were known by the names of their Muggle counterparts.
The House of Bourbon, having annexed the magical nations of France, Italy, Spain and Luxemburg and most of their colonies, was the most powerful in Europe with the House of Windsor (now the House of Potter-Black) coming in at a depressingly, to the current King of England, far second.
The former Russian empire was divided amongst the relatives of the erstwhile Romanov dynasty (one of which was incidentally, Windsor, through Queen Victoria's relation to the extinct family).
While Africa was still controlled by European powers, Asia was another story altogether. Most of the Asian magical countries that did not fall under European rule were divided between the Emperor of Japan, the King of Thailand and the Imperial House of Osman.
The magical communities of Pakistan, India, Sri Lanka and Bangladesh were divided amongst the Maharajas of Mysore, Jammu and Kashmir and Baroda, the Nizam of Hyderabad and the Nawab of Pataudi.
Except for magical Canada, the Americas were in the hands of the King of Spain, who had taken over all the former French colonies and had later negotiated for the remaining British colonies.
Harry also found out that the only reason that the various Muggle governments had allowed this was because of the contracts themselves. As most of the countries had moved onto democracy, it would be hard for such a contract to stick with an elected official instead of a bloodline.
Basically, any nation that was a member of the International Confederation of Wizards was controlled by a Muggle. There were a few free magical communities, but they were tiny isolated groups deep within South America that took a dim view of outsiders and lacked representation in the ICW.
What he had read in the archives was enough to get Harry's blood racing. Those oaths could not be voided. They could only be transferred from one monarch to another. Rebellion was almost impossible since anyone who held even a smidgen of authority in the magical world was bound to the Muggles. And there was no way to use numbers to their advantage as the Muggles made sure to curtail the influx of new blood.
Many laws that discriminated against Muggle-borns were tacitly endorsed by the various Muggle royals, encouraging those with non-magical parentage to move back to the Muggle world and leave magic behind to isolate the wizarding world and keep the chance of a rebellion low. If it wasn't for the power afforded to them, Harry was sure that the Muggles would have bred the magic out. The worst of it was that nobody really knew of this conspiracy. The royal families were happy with supplementing their privy purses from the taxes levelled upon the various magical communities. And occasionally, they kept the Muggle economies afloat. Were it not for the gold the current head of the House of Osman had taken from magical Greece and other nations, Muggle Greece would be in dire straits now.
It did a lot to alleviate any guilt he felt over blowing up the British Royal Family.
But war was not an option right now. The Muggles were too numerous, and most of the magical world was in their control.
Of course, it wasn't all so bad. The goblins too were under a similar magical contract. The monarchy would step in every time the many goblin rebellions got out of hand and ensured that the rebellions were called "rebellions" and not "revolutions" or "wars of independence".
The treaty with the magical beings was vastly different. After his forces had conquered the race, King Arthur forced the Goblin King to sign the rather biased treaty that all but enslaved the goblins.
It was a wise move. Harry knew about their ruthlessness, the various goblin rebellions only proved that while they still had to obey the King, they had no compunctions in killing other wizards. It took but one meeting with the Goblin King for him to be certain that they would be planning another rebellion soon. The resentment was quite tangible.
Something would need to be done about that too.
Ambassadors had been dispatched to the various magical colonies now under Harry's rule to strengthen ties as the Royal family went on a tour around the various dependencies, Commonwealth Realms, and member nations of the Commonwealth of Nations. These magical ambassadors were also tasked with the responsibility of spreading the news that there was now, for the first time, a magical King.
Invitations were also sent to many of the dignitaries of the various magical nations to witness the coronation ceremony Harry promised to the magical world. It was a far simpler ceremony, carried out in a magical cairn where one of Arthur's castles was said to have stood. This ritual held far more meaning for the monarch as he could feel the magic surrounding him, and spoke of values he agreed with, namely the preservation of magic and the people gifted with the force.
Only three pieces of jewellery were used in the ceremony, namely the Sword of State of Scotland (which Harry had found out was originally Caliburn, one of the legendary swords that Arthur had used before the more legendary – and still missing – Excalibur was forged), The Crown of Arthur (which in actuality was a crown commissioned by an ancestor of the current Duke of Azkaban for King Alfred the Great) and the sceptre of Merlin (said to be made of the pieces of Merlin's own wand, after the death of the legendary wizard).
Minerva McGonagall made her way through the hallways of the Potter ancestral home, following the guard to the drawing room.
Even nearly two years after Harry's (and he still would be Harry to her and the other senior professors at Hogwarts) accession to the throne, Minerva still marvelled at the fact. To think that the boy she had once taught was now the first magical King since Arthur!
'Come in,'
'Your majesties,' Minerva said as soon as she entered the door, dropping into a short curtsy.
The last time she had seen the King and his wife was when she had attended their wedding. She had never met the young lady who was the Queen personally, only recalling that she was a good student during her days in school.
However, it was still shocking to see two people she remembered as children, on the cusp of adulthood, looking so grown up, so adult. It was a feeling that was always newly felt by Minerva, no matter how many years and how many people she taught.
'Professor McGonagall,' the King said with a smile as she took his hand, shortly followed by Daphne who greeted her softly.
The next few minutes were spent with the Queen pouring tea for the three of them from the tea set that was already laid out on the table in typical wizarding pureblood custom.
'I have to say, I am quite surprised that you asked for an audience in an official capacity,' Harry commented once they were settled. 'After all, it is going to be a few more years before my children will be of age to go to Hogwarts.'
With her hands placed neatly on her lap, the black-haired witch answered in her usual brisk tone. 'Well, Your Majesty, by your statement, I am right in assuming that you plan on sending your children to be taught at Hogwarts?'
'Of course,' Harry replied, nearly scoffing as if the very thought of doing otherwise was preposterous.
'Ah, then I think it would be a good idea to discuss their stay at Hogwarts now. After all, it would give us more time to prepare for the young princes' arrival.' Lips twitching minutely, the headmistress continued. 'I, and the Heads of the four Houses, agree that perhaps a fifth house should be created for your sons and any other future children of the royal bloodline.'
Harry started chuckling slowly under his breath. 'It's certainly funny how things work.' He said with humour dancing in his eyes.
Seeing the confusion in his wife's face, he elaborated. 'The last time Professor McGonagall and I met, she was trying to convince me to have a portrait of me hung in her office and a bust placed in the Sirius Tower. You know about that tower, of course.'
'Of course I do, dear,' Daphne replied dryly. 'How could I forget the old astronomy tower which you basically turned into every star gazer's dream home? Were it not for father, I think mother would have permanently moved in there.'
Harry just smiled winningly. 'Anyway, getting back to the topic, naturally, I objected.'
Daphne snorted in wry amusement. She had a good feeling that her husband had thrown quite a fuss in reality.
'So I told his majesty about the alternative decision of creating a fifth house in his name.' Professor McGonagall said with a small reminiscent smile. 'Needless to say, it stopped his objections.' Eyes twinkling in humour, she leaned forward and in a stage whisper said, 'You should have seen his face then.'
'If you ladies are quite done...' Harry said in a dignified tone, though his eyes were sparkling in mirth. 'I do believe we have some business to attend to.'
Expression turning thoughtful, Harry continued speaking. 'I don't think it is necessary to have another house just for my children and further descendants. Hogwarts has had four houses historically. True, there is that unofficial fifth house for day scholars, but officially, it has always been Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Slytherin, and Ravenclaw. I don't want to change a thousand-year-old tradition. Not when it isn't necessary. I may be the monarch, but I did not find this school.'
The King took a breath. 'No, all my children, and their children, and so on and so forth, shall be sorted like every other student when they go to Hogwarts. They shall experience the anticipation and nervousness that comes from not knowing how the Sorting process takes place. They shall feel the relief of knowing about the simple task of putting on a magical hat, and the apprehension of having a thousand-year-old relic of the Founders on their heads, a relic designed by their ancestor, and mine in front of a large audience. And they shall be sorted into one of the four houses. They shall eat at their house table, and their merits and follies shall be appropriately reflected in their house points. And, should they so desire, they shall represent their house in an extracurricular activity of their choice. I, Henry the ninth, King of Great Britain, do declare this.'
Harry's erect posture and uplifted chin gave him quite a regal air as he finished his miniature if somewhat pompous speech. When he concluded with the declaration, Minerva found herself unconsciously straightening her already straight posture as her chest filled with emotion.
After a few moments of silence, the King seemed to deflate a little. 'Of course,' he said in a normal voice. 'They shall have their own dorms to sleep in, naturally, for security reasons. They shall also have a two-person guard. Heaven knows that Hogwarts could do with some security.'
McGonagall visibly bristled at this.
'With all due respect, Your Majesty,' the headmistress said in a carefully controlled tone. 'The school's security was, is and always will be unparalleled.'
Harry raised an eyebrow. 'Except for my seventh year, all of my years at that school were fraught with some form of danger or the other. I've had a possessed Defence teacher, a basilisk, dementors, a Death Eater, a Ministry thug, and again, another Death Eater after me respectively in those six years.'
'And yet, at the same time, most if not all of that danger could have been avoided,' Professor McGonagall replied steadily. She continued speaking despite the look of incredulity on Harry's face. 'If my memory is correct, you went after Quirrel in the first year of your own volition. The same can be said of the basilisk in your second year. Had you asked for help from a competent member of staff, I doubt you would have found yourself in trouble.'
'I did do that,' Harry said. 'In fact, I distinctly recall telling you that the Stone was in danger the night Quirrel made an attempt at it.'
The professor gave him a stern look. 'You told me that "somebody" was after the stone, your majesty ... "Somebody". I am afraid that everybody was after that artefact. In fact, if it wasn't for our sense of morality, I and the rest of my colleagues would have been after it too. We certainly dreamed of using it many times over the years. So you'll forgive me when I didn't find it too shocking that "somebody" was after that stone.
'Also, did you really think that the three of you were the first to find out what it was that was being hidden in the school? Fred and George Weasley knew what it was from the November of that year! Half our Seventh Year batch knew or suspected what was behind the forbidden corridor! In fact, there had been no less than twenty instances where a student or a group of students opened that door and encountered the three-headed dog. The guard dog was more than enough of a deterrent. It couldn't harm the students since it was too large to fit through the doorway, forget the wards that prevented it from breaking said door down. The fact that the school was guarding the Philosopher's Stone was an open secret by the end of the year! Granted, Professor Dumbledore had no business bringing Stone into the school in the first place, but at the same time, none of the students had any business going after said Stone either. You cannot blame the school after knowingly putting yourself at risk.
'Also, I've never got the opportunity to ask you this, but you took Gilderoy Lockhart down that Chamber with you. What, pray to tell, were you expecting the outcome of that brilliant decision to be?' Professor McGonagall exclaimed with a particularly incredulous look on her face. 'Were you expecting that incompetent fool to take down a thousand-year-old basilisk, despite knowing beforehand (by his own admission no less) that he was a fraud?! Oh and let's not forget that he was disarmed by you before the three of you went in there!'
There was a long moment of silence.
'She's got you there, dear,' Daphne finally said sounding quite amused.
'Very well,' Harry said, even though neither his expression nor his tone changed. 'There's still the issue of the dementors,'
'Who was inflicted upon Hogwarts by the Ministry,' Professor McGonagall rebutted smoothly. 'And barring the unfortunate incident at that Quidditch match, the only other time Your Majesty came in contact with them was when he was supposed to be in bed. In fact, his majesty is very lucky that he is out of school and the King, and that I wasn't the headmistress at the time, because, were I the headmistress, any normal student would still find himself in detention for that particular instance of idiocy if not expelled outright.'
'Also, his majesty should note that nobody knew that Bartemius Crouch had managed to spirit his son away from Azkaban. A son who was so good at acting that he passed smoothly for Alastor Moody. It was a security breach, but not all security systems are perfect.'
'Dolores Umbridge was an agent of the Ministry,' Professor McGonagall continued. 'And she, along with the Death Eaters in Your Majesty's sixth year had Dumbledore in their sights as their primary target. Not you.'
'You make a compelling argument, Professor,' Daphne finally conceded after a few moments of silence. 'I believe that my husband shall be taking your words into consideration. But at the same time, I think you can agree that one cannot have too much security, especially when our sons will be a much more enticing target than the King ever was in his school days.'
The formidable woman inclined her head. It was the closest she would get to an apology from the King.
'Now, I suppose we can use one of the smaller towers in the west wing for the princes,' the headmistress said briskly. 'It will suit our purposes. I suppose all that is left to do is select a portrait to guard the entrance.'
'How about a blank stretch of wall that forms an opening when the password is given?' Daphne commented. 'I never did see the point in having a chatty portrait as a guardian.'
She was met by stony looks from two Gryffindors.
'It's the truth!' Daphne said defensively. 'Gryffindor is the only house with a portrait guardian. The Hufflepuffs and Slytherins have far more useful and practical entrances. Of course,' she amended. 'That portrait is a bit more practical than what the Ravenclaws have.'
Harry was the first to speak. 'Well, a blank stretch of wall won't be able to alert teachers of any trouble.' He said loftily.
'That is what ward schemes are for.' Daphne replied primly.
Silence followed that proclamation.
'As I understand it,' Harry finally spoke up. 'Right now, there is one vote for a portrait, from the professor, and one for a blank stretch of wall, from you. That leaves me.' He paused for a moment. 'I vote for portrait. They are far more colourful and less boring than a wall. So, majority wins, portrait it is!' he beamed at her.
Suddenly realising that he was going against his wife (who was giving him flinty looks) Harry got rid of the grin. 'Besides, this way, we can use my portrait that is sitting in the headmaster's office. So at least one of us will be there to keep an eye on our children after a fashion. Wouldn't you want that?'
Daphne took a really long time to nod her head. While she still thought that it would be better to copy the Slytherin entrance, she could see the advantages of having a portrait of her husband guarding the entrance. Once they made a linking portrait, keeping in touch with their children would get so much easier. Though, she suspected that the boys wouldn't be terribly thrilled with that fact.
'Good!' Harry said cheerfully. 'It's settled then.'
'Actually,' McGonagall started hesitatingly. 'I think it would be a better idea to have another portrait.'
'What's wrong with mine?' Harry said with a raised eyebrow.
'Oh, absolutely nothing, your majesty,' She said quickly. 'It's just that ... your portrait is ... free-spirited.'
Minerva cringed inwardly at the term. The portrait of Harry Potter was practically the painted version of Peeves.
When it wasn't annoying the other old headmasters and headmistresses with petty arguments, the painting was off gallivanting through the hallways, waving the sword of Gryffindor around, almost always getting into a sword fight with the portrait of Sir Cadogan (who in turn was quite delighted to have someone to insult and be insulted by).
The days when the painting wasn't sword fighting or arguing were spent flirting shamelessly with the paintings of women. Minerva was equally thankful and disappointed that portraits couldn't take their clothes off.
On one hand, Minerva couldn't bear to think about how many times she or the rest of the school would have been treated to a "show". The thought itself was nauseating. Yet on the other hand, she did not have a credible enough reason to remove that portrait (despite complaints from the other former headmasters) as the painting's antics barely affected school life and were quite entertaining to the staff and students. Of course, that all paled in comparison to her pride (which she would never admit to being the real reason why that portrait was still in her office).
Besides, it wasn't anything that a silencing spell couldn't fix.
However, now that the King had suggested relocating it...
'Actually, come to think about it, yes, I do believe that it would be a good idea, Your Majesty.'
Minerva responded to the King's smile with one of her own. She couldn't wait for the day when the two princes came to the school.
It would just be two more years.
John Hodgkin took a deep breath, looking at the house that was sitting in front of him.
'You're late,' were his wife, Sarah's opening words as soon as he opened the door.
'What?' she said bemused when she saw the funny look on his face.
'Nothing, dear,' John replied, working to remove the grin on his face.
She looked at her husband of nearly one year for a long moment. 'OK,' she finally said slowly. Turning around, she moved into the kitchen. 'Long day at work, dear?'
Now he had a harder time suppressing the guffaw that was threatening to break out. If only she knew how ironic that statement was...
The young couple sat down to have dinner. Sarah watched in confusion at the rather unreadable look she was getting from her husband.
'Is the food alright?' the way he was staring at her and not touching his food was slightly worrisome. Come to think of it, he was acting rather strange. She couldn't put her finger on it, but there was something different about her Johnny.
He started, as if waking up from a dream 'What? Oh yeah, it's great.' Then he started wolfing down his food in record time.
By the time she was halfway finished, he was already done, his dishes were magically washed and put on the draining board.
After a moment of looking at him staring at her, she shrugged and turned her attention to her food. If he had something on his mind, he would eventually tell her. Badgering him was his mother's job, not hers. She had tried already.
Getting up, she went to the sink. It gave her additional time to think.
Feeling a presence behind her, she whirled around to see her husband standing just behind her.
'Oh,' she said softly. Now that he was up close, she could see the look in his eyes.
The last time she had seen that particular gaze was nearly eleven months back during the first night of their honeymoon.
It was a look of deep carnal hunger. And lust.
The next thing she knew, she was naked on the dining table, gasping as he brought her to orgasm.
An indeterminate amount of time later, she collapsed on the floor of their bathroom.
'Please,' she pleaded. 'I can't go anymore.'
As pleasurable and as impressive as her husband's sudden stamina was, she really couldn't continue. She ached in too many places to count.
Chuckling, John picked her up, causing her to squeak in surprise.
'So,' she finally said when they were ensconced in bed. 'What was all that about.'
There was a long moment of silence, by which time she started to drift off.
'I just missed you,' he said, watching her. 'I missed you so very much.'
Sarah thought that the longing in his voice was a bit odd. However, her tired body wouldn't let her mind process that thought before she was out like a light.
Wrapping a possessive arm and leg around her, John breathed in the smell of her hair as he soon followed her. She really had no idea how badly he had missed her.
After all, it had been thirty years...
Sister Chloe looked out from her perch atop a skyscraper.
Actually, "sister" was a misnomer now. She was no longer a member of the Church, in fact, having been excommunicated years ago.
People in her chosen profession couldn't be called "Religious Sisters," after all.
As she unsnapped the locks in her briefcase and took out her personalised Dragunov, she reflected that she probably was the first and only one to take up this line of vocation.
Then again, not many Sisters would ever think of doing what she was caught doing before she took up her current profession.
She expertly assembled the weapon, completing her task in seconds.
The sudden burst of static made her look down at the body of the policeman lying at her feet.
'All clear,' she said, picking up the radio. The voice synthesiser strapped around her throat perfectly mimicked the deep tones of the man she had just killed. To the person on the other end, it was as if he was talking to his colleague.
Lifting the rifle and securing it on the ledge, she looked down at the anti-glare sights.
She found her target easily enough, just out of range but heading closer.
Like any other competent person in her line of work, she had read the background information on her target and had been thoroughly briefed.
To the public, especially those in Britain, he was a great man. And they had good cause to believe that, as he had started many movements that had brought great prosperity to the country. However, she also knew that behind that veneer of goodness lurked a devil.
She had been informed of his abnormalities. And the hidden threat he and his kind posed to humanity. And for that, he would have to die.
Though, she wouldn't be able to enjoy her kill as much as she would like to. Chloe had seen the photograph that came with the folder and as a connoisseur of everything beautiful, she hated to see such a fine specimen be destroyed.
Those green eyes and that black hair ... what she wouldn't give to be able to shag such a man. If only he was normal...
But she was here on business, not pleasure. And her employer had promised a handsome reward if she put a bullet into his brain. It wasn't her job to care about what her target had done, even if she actually did.
A firm believer that closing one eye was for amateurs, Chloe looked through the scope with both her eyes open. Anyone observing her would be quite disturbed by the sight of her right eye slowly drifting to the side.
The anticipation built up as her target neared the range of her gun, but she kept calm, unwilling to let her heart spoil her aim.
She silently started to count down as he came closer and closer.
Ten...
Nine...
Eight...
Seven...
Six...
She deliberately started to take deep breaths...
Five...
Four...
Three...
Two...
One...
Her view was obscured suddenly by the recoil. The specialised bullet that was chambered in the rifle was shot out at speed, covering 1,300 metres in seconds as it drilled through thick armoured glass and into its target.
The assassin smiled when she saw the results.
Another perfect shot...