Sentinels' Walk

Sentinels' Walk

Chapter Four: Memories and Blood

* * *

The day had been merely warm, as opposed to the blistering heat of the past several weeks, and a relieved Harry Potter had spent the majority of it outside, taking advantage of the relative coolness to complete most of his gardening chores for the week. His uncle had just driven up in his shiny, beetle-black BMW--ironic, Harry thought, that Uncle Vernon would drive a foreign car when he's always going on about immigrants and other countries taking jobs away from good English workers--which meant it would be time for supper soon.

That in turn meant that it wouldn't be much longer after that until his Portkey would activate, sending him for his daily dose of Occlumency lessons. In the two lessons since his successful use of no-thought, Harry had yet to reach the point where he could control it; yesterday, in fact, Mr. Chang had had to resort to a rather painful Legilimency probe to bring him out of it, leaving Harry with a healthy dislike for this particular form of Occlumency.

He wished they could practice active shielding, as he actually felt somewhat proficient at that, but Mr. Chang insisted that they work only on passive forms until he reached the point where it was safe for him to practice on his own. Harry supposed it made sense, especially since the older man wouldn't be able to spend as much time with him soon, but he really wished it didn't mean he had to spend two hours a night feeling like an incompetent idiot.

If there was one good thing about his lessons the past few days, it was that he hadn't run into Cho again; he had sent a letter to Dumbledore yesterday after Hedwig returned, but he wasn't especially looking forward to reading the reply. No matter what Dumbledore decided, it seemed like Harry would lose out. If the headmaster didn't agree to let him practice with Cho, he would more-or-less lose his contact with the wizarding world when Mr. Chang became too busy to meet daily, but if he did agree, it would mean he would actually have to practice with her. This was most definitely a lesser of two evils situation.

Still, at least I'll be going to Grimmauld Place in a fortnight regardless of what happens, Harry thought, as he stood up and brushed dirt off his legs. He certainly wouldn't miss weeding around the roses; even if Aunt Petunia had apparently changed her attitude regarding him, she certainly hadn't changed her expectations of his gardening labor. Finally satisfied that he was as clean as he was likely to get, he wearily pushed open the door and stepped inside.

Unfortunately, Dudley chose that exact moment to finally step outside the air-conditioned confines of the house, where he had been lounging all day watching an endless assortment of shows. The subsequent collision did not go well for Harry; while his cousin had slimmed down considerably compared to previous years, he was still more than a match for Harry's wiry frame.

"Ungh," he groaned as he picked himself gingerly up off the walk. Dudley, of course, had barely staggered backwards, and laughed in Harry's face as he swaggered by--no doubt on his way to a friend's house to get an early start on the night's drinking. What a prick, Harry thought bitterly. I haven't even talked to him at all this summer, so what's his problem?

"Did I come at a bad time?"

The voice from behind him, instantly recognizable, startled Harry so much that he nearly fell down again. "Professor Dumbledore!" he exclaimed, turning to face the speaker.

The ancient wizard was once more dressed in a top-rack Muggle business suit, his hair and beard trimmed short just as they had been the last time he visited Privet Drive. Unlike that time, however, Harry had no idea at all what might have prompted him to visit; a simple yes or no via owl would certainly have sufficed in response to the letter he had sent the headmaster regarding practicing with Cho.

Some of this confusion must have shown in his eyes, as Dumbledore looked even more amused than usual. "Perhaps we could move this conversation elsewhere?" the aged professor asked, his lips twitching. "Certain explanations might take some time, and you don't appear very...comfortable at the moment."

Flushing, Harry nodded. The middle of the lawn probably wasn't the best place to talk about whatever matters had brought Dumbledore by Privet Drive, and he was about to invite him in when he remembered his aunt's words from the last time Dumbledore had been in the house--more specifically, her request that he leave before Uncle Vernon came home.

"Err...Professor Dumbledore, my uncle just got home, and..." he trailed off, unsure of what to say. For some reason, he found himself not wanting to bring up the conversation between Dumbledore and his aunt, despite his curiosity about how they even knew each other.

Fortunately, Dumbledore seemed to understand what Harry meant. "Perhaps, then, you could inform your aunt that you will be dining out," he said. "I know of an excellent restaurant nearby where we may speak privately--not to mention, they serve the best lemon custard I have ever had the pleasure of tasting--and I shall inform your tutor not to expect you for lessons tonight."

No Occlumency tonight? Harry wondered. This must be important, then. As he nodded and went into the house to find Aunt Petunia, he glanced at the wall clock and realized that, whatever Dumbledore wanted to tell him, it wouldn't be short. His Occlumency lessons started at seven, and it was only a little past five now, so for Dumbledore to cancel them must mean he had a lot to say--either that, or he really wanted to eat a lot of lemon custard.

* * *

More than an hour later, Harry still wasn't sure which was the case. Their supper had been excellent, but he couldn't help but feel a bit annoyed when the headmaster refused to say anything at all about why he had come to Privet Drive to fetch Harry. That wasn't to say their conversation hadn't been interesting, of course; somehow, he had a feeling that conversation with the greatest living wizard on the planet couldn't help but be interesting. Said wizard seemed to be taking an inordinate amount of pleasure in savoring every spoonful of his custard, however, and it was starting to worry Harry.

"Ah, that was truly fantastic," Dumbledore sighed contentedly, startling Harry out of his quickly developing paranoia. "And now, since you have waited so patiently for an old man to enjoy one of his few remaining pleasures in life, I should return the favor by telling you the reason I invited you here."

That would be nice, yes, Harry thought but did not say. He was sure Dumbledore knew what he was thinking even without resorting to Legilimency, and it had nothing to do with patience. Still, the headmaster's "poor old man" façade was rather entertaining, especially given the way Harry had seen him duel at the Ministry. Nobody could witness that and think Dumbledore anything other than a power to be reckoned with.

"First of all," Dumbledore said, "I want to assure you that you may continue your Occlumency training with Miss Chang. I regret that Alexander's abilities are in such demand that he will not have the time to instruct you himself, but his daughter possesses the same talent, if not yet the same skill in using it. The experience will be beneficial for both of you, I believe."

Harry nodded, still not sure whether to be pleased or disappointed. What Dumbledore said was true, he knew--Occlumency was far more of a practical discipline than a theoretical one, and the more he practiced, the more skilled he would become--but the idea of practicing something so revealing with Cho still bothered him a little. He didn't know if it was real unease, though, or just the idea of it; their talk the other day hadn't gone anything like what he had expected, and he had to admit he liked that Cho rather better than the one he had briefly dated last year.

Guess the only way to find out is to try, he decided, after thinking about it for a few moments. With any luck, it wouldn't be too bad.

"However, that was not the reason I wished to meet with you, Harry." Dumbledore's voice startled Harry, and it took him a moment to recover.

"Then...why, sir?" he asked curiously. Just then, he remembered the odd letter from the Ministry and the copy of it he had sent to Dumbledore. That had to be the reason, and the headmaster confirmed it with his next words.

Looking unusually serious, Dumbledore frowned for a moment. "It is somewhat difficult to explain, Harry, as you do not have either the historical or cultural education that most people in your situation would. Another reason to regret leaving your upbringing in the hands of your aunt, I suppose, but I must do what I can to correct the mistakes I have made.

"Enough of that, however. From your time at Hogwarts, I am sure you are well aware of the various distinctions people make on the basis of blood--Pureblood, Halfblood, and so on. In your History of Magic classes, you should also have learned about the Sixteen and the Sixty, the great families of British wizarding tradition."

Harry vaguely recalled something along those lines, but as with anything else related to History of Magic, he couldn't remember the details at all. "Professor Dumbledore," he said, "I'm sure you know what my History of Magic OWL score was. Even though part of it was because of the vision from Voldemort, I had already given up on the exam by then, so I think you should just assume I don't know anything about what you're talking about."

Dumbledore nodded slightly, looking a bit disappointed--not with Harry, he somehow guessed, but with someone else. He wanted to ask about it, but couldn't think of a good way to do so.

"Very well, then, Harry," the old wizard said, his demeanor altering slightly. "It really is fairly straightforward, at least at a basic level. The Sixteen are those noble families with ties to magic who can claim their origins before the era of the Saxon kingdoms, while the Sixty are those whose origins come from later periods--up until the end of what Muggles term the Hundred Years' War, to be specific.

"With a few exceptions, I doubt the names of the Sixteen would mean much to you, as more than half of those lines have died out over the centuries and most members of the remaining seven as a rule have little to do with greater wizarding society. Among the Sixty, however, are such names as Abbot, Malfoy, Black, Spinnet, Lestrange, and quite a few others you would recognize, including the four founders of Hogwarts."

The familiar names already set Dumbledore's little lesson above lectures from Professor Binns, in Harry's opinion, but he couldn't really see where this was leading. One point did stick out in his mind, however. "You said 'with a few exceptions' I wouldn't recognize the names of the Sixteen, Professor...what are the exceptions?"

The expression on Dumbledore's face changed to one of approval. "Precisely the question I had hoped you would ask," he said, smiling genially. "You would not recognize any of the nine families which have died out, but among the seven remaining, I believe you are at least passingly familiar with three.

"Professor Snape, while not in the primary line of succession, does have the right to wear the Snape device on his robes. He is, I believe, a second cousin of the current head of the family, and is named after the Roman governor who founded his line."

Harry's jaw dropped. The bitter, spiteful Potions professor was descended from one of the oldest families in wizarding Britain? It seemed hard to believe for so many reasons, not least of which was why he was teaching at Hogwarts if it was true. Snape obviously loathed teaching--Harry had heard him mutter more than once about how he wished he could devote himself wholly to Potions research rather than "waste time on insolent brats"--and with the resources of a family that old, surely he could find somewhere just as well equipped as the Hogwarts laboratories where he could do his research in peace.

"I believe the second family would be familiar to many people," Dumbledore continued, apparently not noticing--or at least not commenting on--Harry's astonishment. "Even Muggles have heard of Morgan LeFay, though as is the case with so many prominent figures from that time, they have made a hash of the details associated with her."

If Harry had thought Snape was a shock, he was positively stunned upon learning that a near-mythical figure, probably the first name many Muggles would say if someone asked them to name a witch, apparently had living descendents. "But I thought she was evil," he thought aloud, remembering scattered bits of primary school literature classes, "and didn't her only son die, anyways?"

"She was young, Harry, and made a number of mistakes, but one can be mistaken without being evil," the headmaster replied, his eyes intent upon Harry, as though trying to communicate something beyond the simple words he was speaking. "And in the end, she redeemed herself in full, but her story is a long one and best saved for another time."

"I believe you are most familiar with the third family, if only by name. During the fifth century, the ruler of a certain kingdom in what we would now call southern Wales had a remarkably large family--a dozen sons and two dozen daughters, according to popular legend. One of those daughters, Arianwen, showed signs of being gifted in the old ways, but King Brychan was a pious man who believed deeply in the teachings of a new religion called Christianity. According to those same teachings, his daughter was cursed, her developing gifts an unholy abomination.

"Brychan loved his children, however, believing them blessings from a generous God, and he could not bring himself to reveal Arianwen's talent to the priests. Neither could he allow her to remain at his court, for he knew she would inevitably perform some act of magic too obvious to be concealed, and so he sent the eight-year-old princess along with a small retinue of servants to one of his smallest and most remote holdings--a place called Cwm Crochenydd, after its rich clay soil. The story grows unclear at that point, but we know that some time later she returned to her father's court, where she married and remained for several years before returning to the holding, which had been gifted to her and her husband."

Harry waited for Dumbledore to continue, as the story--admittedly more interesting than endless recitations of goblin rebellions--seemed to have nothing whatsoever to do with anything Harry recognized. He was quite certain they had never covered fifth century Welsh princesses in History of Magic, and the subject didn't particularly lend itself to extracurricular reading. The headmaster, though, appeared perfectly content to sit in his chair and sip his tea while smiling genially at Harry.

"Err...so, what does that have to do with my question?" Harry finally asked. He was convinced Dumbledore did this on purpose, apparently because he enjoyed seeing Harry confused. Harry, on the other hand, simply wished he would find someone else to confuse.

"The kingdom in question was eventually overrun in the late ninth century by Saxon armies from Mercia," Dumbledore continued, looking inordinately pleased with himself at having evoked yet another inane question, Harry thought. "By that time, however, Arianwen's descendants were thoroughly enmeshed within the magical world, which was growing more and more estranged from the Muggle world with each passing year. The Mercian armies were unable even to find Cwm Crochenydd, and so a single branch of Brychan's family continues to survive to this day."

"What this has to do with your question, Harry, is rather simple. Arianwen's descendants took their surname from the name of their estate, which in English translates roughly to 'the potter's valley'."

* * *

Someday, something normal is going to happen to me, and I'll be so surprised that Voldemort will just be able to walk up and kill me without me even noticing, Harry mused as he lay on his bed. Today, however, had not been that day; at least, he was fairly certain that finding out one was descended from a witch-slash-princess who had lived in a kingdom that disappeared more than a thousand years ago was rather firmly not in the category of normal.

Dumbledore had continued speaking for a while after that particular revelation, but Harry hadn't been in much of a listening mood at that point. Fortunately, he was now in possession of a thick sheaf of papers spelling out all the pertinent details, which were apparently the forms mentioned in the letter from the Ministry--with copies in both English and Welsh, something that explained the ones with completely unidentifiable titles.

A quick glance through them revealed that most only needed his signature, but he supposed he really ought to read what he would be signing. He thought he remembered Dumbledore saying something about how each of the Sixteen had somewhat different rules about how family affairs were conducted, and he didn't particularly want to find himself agreeing to anything unpleasant. The headmaster had given him two weeks to go through all the forms before he needed to take them to the Ministry, but there was also a specific spell--a Kinship Charm, according to the letter--that he needed to learn during that time.

Blindly reaching over to his desk, where he had stacked the pages alongside the ruins of his latest attempt at a Transfiguration essay, he grabbed the first sheet and set it in front of him on the bed. At least it's in English, he thought, propping his head up and beginning to read the vaguely-titled "Summary of Requirements (Form 117-Potter)."

Apparently, the requirements for being an heir of the Potter family were rather forgiving in most respects, and Harry was fairly certain he qualified. Fully human wizard or witch, check. Blood-related child of the Head of Family who still retains the Potter name at the time of inheritance, check. Physically capable of siring or bearing a child...err, check...I hope, at least. Though I really don't want to know how they're going to test that one.

With a slight feeling of embarrassment at the last condition, he set aside the form and picked up the next one, which was a comprehensive yet fairly short listing of the various Potter family properties and holdings. Aside from the family estate at Cwm Crochenydd, the Potters owned a townhouse in London--currently being leased out, according to the form--which made Harry wonder why his parents had been living in a cottage in Godric's Hollow if they had had access to two perfectly good places to stay already. Other than those two properties and a Gringotts vault holding a fairly modest amount of money, the Potter family did not appear to own much, at least not when compared to families like the Blacks or Malfoys.

Then again, Dumbledore had said the Potters were an old family, not necessarily a rich one, and he also remembered what Cho had mentioned about land being its own form of wealth in the wizarding world. In any event, it wasn't like he really needed any more money anyways, and he had no desire to end up fixated on gold and status like Malfoy. Shrugging, he reached over for the next form in the stack.

* * *

Harry stood on the Changs' front porch, wondering if for some reason his lesson for that night had been canceled as well. After getting back from meeting with Dumbledore the previous evening, he had sent Hedwig to Cho with a note saying he would be able to start practicing Occlumency with her, but he hadn't gotten a reply back by the time his Portkey activated. Now, he had been standing out on the porch in the dark for nearly ten minutes, with no sign of anyone even being home--though the lack of windows on the exterior of the house made it impossible to say for sure.

And my Portkey still has more than an hour and a half left before it'll be recharged, Harry grumbled to himself as he knocked on the door for the fifth time in as many minutes. He hadn't ever thought he would actually regret not being able to have his Occlumency lesson, but it beat standing around with nothing to do. At least the grove's magic kept the temperature cool, and the faerie lights were pretty to watch as they looped and danced through the tree branches.

Finally, after a few more minutes, the door opened. To Harry's surprise, though, Mrs. Chang was the one who motioned him inside. "I'm sorry, Harry," she said as she closed the door behind him. "My husband is out tonight, and I'm afraid I forgot what time you would be coming over. I do hope you weren't waiting too long."

Harry shrugged. "Not too long," he said noncommittally, following her along the hallway to the study. He had expected to have a few more lessons with Mr. Chang before starting with Cho, but at least this way he would be able to find out right away what she was like. Fortunately, Mr. Chang had given him the option of not practicing with her, if they weren't able to get along well enough.

Though, considering the alternatives, that should probably be a last resort, he decided. Neither lessons with Snape--once he got back from wherever Dumbledore sent him, at least--nor leaving his mind open to Legilimency assaults particularly appealed to him. When they reached the study, though, Cho was nowhere to be seen.

"That girl," Mrs. Chang sighed. "Sometimes I think I should ask Alex to put a tracking spell on her. Have a seat, Harry, and I'll go find her so you two can get started."

Harry nodded, bemused, and sat down in his usual place as Mrs. Chang swiftly walked away. He couldn't exactly blame Cho for not waiting eagerly for him; she was probably looking forward to this as little as he himself was.

A few minutes passed, and neither Mrs. Chang nor Cho had returned yet, so Harry got up and walked over to the large bookshelf standing against one wall. Many of the books on it were in some language other than English--gee, maybe...oh, I don't know, Chinese? he thought sarcastically--but of the ones he could read, most seemed to be about potion-making, with even a few on alchemy. All of them looked to be well above his level, so he reluctantly turned away and sat back down again to wait.

You know you're bored when reading Potions books sounds like a decent way to pass the time, he thought, drumming his fingers idly on the table in front of him. Fortunately, he was saved from any further acts of desperation by the sound of the door opening behind him.

"Sorry about that, Harry," Cho apologized as she dropped into the seat across from him, curling her legs up underneath her. "I thought you wouldn't be coming, though, with Father gone. I guess you heard back from Professor Dumbledore, then?"

Harry looked at her quizzically. "You mean you didn't get my owl?" he asked. "I sent her out last night with a message for you, but I guess she took the long way or something. But yeah, Professor Dumbledore said it would be fine if we practiced together."

"Weird. Post owls don't usually get delayed," Cho said, then shrugged. "It's probably nothing, though--my father's cousin once had an owl go from San Francisco to here by way of Antarctica, so strange things do happen to them sometimes. Anyways, want to get started?"

"Well...I'm as ready as I'll ever be, I guess," Harry replied. He focused his attention inward, spinning out a tiny amount of magic to form a barrier against the probe he knew was coming, and smiled to himself as he felt a tough, flexible layer form around what he pictured as his mind. Mr. Chang had suggested early on that he try something like this, but it hadn't been until his first success at clearing his mind that Harry had been able to feel his magic enhancing the techniques of concentration and visualization he was studying with the older man.

Across from him, Cho bowed her head briefly, then brought it up and narrowed her eyes in concentration. Harry felt a by-now familiar hammer blow of force smash into his mind, but unlike every previous one, it failed to send his thoughts scattering into easily perused fragments. Instead, he could almost see the probe glance off the barrier he had created, and he let out a cry of excitement.

"It worked!" he exclaimed happily, grinning at Cho, who for her part was looking at him curiously. "I was hoping it would, but I hadn't had a chance to try it out until now."

"That felt...odd," Cho mused, a thoughtful expression on her face. "Like hitting my hand against a rubber wall, almost. I could try a stronger probe, but I'm afraid it might hurt you if I did. Though, I wonder if...let's try it again, Harry."

Her dark eyes held a challenging gleam now, and Harry laughed to himself as he made sure his mental "wall" was still intact. This just might turn out better than I thought, he decided.

When it came, the next probe was not a blunt force but a slender, razor-sharp knife that Harry felt slice cleanly through his barrier and into his mind. Memories began to bleed out in great droplets, and he barely had time to wonder what had happened before he was swept into one of them.

"Wake up, Harry! It's Christmas!" Ron's voice, shortly followed by the rest of him as he pulled back the hangings around Harry's bed and poked his head in, a wide grin on his face...

Strands of plastic holiday lights splashing garish colors across the antiseptic whiteness of the Dursley living room, while Harry peeked around the edge of the doorway to watch his cousin shred the paper off yet another of his innumerable presents...

"God rest ye, merry hippogriffs!" Sirius singing loudly, causing everyone around him to wince even as their laughter echoed his own...

Snap. That memory linked to another, as dark and awful as the previous one was joyous, and Harry screamed in his mind as he watched the flapping black curtains of the Veil swallow his godfather without a trace.

Harry felt the mental connection break with a painful jolt, and he rested his head on the cool surface of the table as he fought to control both his breathing and the tears that shimmered in his eyes. After a long moment, he looked up, his eyes widening as he saw Cho curled into a ball on the other chair, her knees drawn up tightly against her chest and her face invisible behind the curtain of her hair. Her shoulders were shaking, and her hands were clenched into white-knuckled fists.

"Cho?" he asked, his voice thick with emotion. Harry had replayed that moment a dozen times in his dreams, but no dream could so accurately recapture the expression of pained surprise on Sirius's face as he fell. Seeing that memory had been like living through the moment of his godfather's death all over again, and he wanted to curse and shout at the girl sitting across from him for bringing it to the surface.

That impulse died a moment later, though, when Cho raised her head. Her eyes held a haunted look, and silent tears streaked wet trails down her face as she stared seemingly into nothingness. Harry watched her for a moment, wondering what she was thinking, before she began to talk.

"I hate this bloody effing gift," she whispered, startling Harry again--not so much because of her words, but because of her tone. She sounded...broken, for lack of any better words, and pronounced "gift" as though it were something indescribably filthy.

"More like a curse," she continued, so softly Harry had to strain to hear her, "and I don't give a damn what Father says. All it's ever gotten me is pain, but just hurting me isn't enough now, it seems. I felt what you felt during that memory, Harry, and I know what it means to you now. For what it's worth--nothing, probably--I'm sorry."

Her gaze had shifted to him at some point, the look in her eyes one that Harry instantly recognized. Sorrow and guilt were two emotions that this summer had forced him to become intimately acquainted with, and he found himself speaking before he even realized it.

"It's not your fault," he said quietly, feeling the last of his anger from before drain away. "You didn't mean to see that, and if you really did feel what I felt...that's more punishment than anyone deserves."

Cho nodded once, still not seeming convinced, but at least the pain in her eyes seemed to lessen a little and she had stopped crying. "Do--do you still want to do this?" she asked in a more normal tone of voice. "With me, I mean. I know you still need to train with Father, but I can't seem to do anything right where this is concerned."

What does she mean? Harry wondered. The memory of Sirius had been terrible, but it didn't seem like the sort of thing that would provoke such a strong reaction, especially from someone who had never known him. Judging by the look on her face, though, any questions on the subject would not be thought of kindly, so he shrugged internally and marked it down as something to puzzle over later.

"Err...sure, I don't mind," he said after a few moments, when it became clear that she was waiting for him to answer her. Part of his brain was telling him to take the way out she had just provided, but the Snape-avoiding part won handily when it pointed out that the memory of Sirius's death was just the sort of thing the cruel professor would take particular pleasure in making him relive over and over. At least Cho seemed genuinely upset about having triggered it, which was a definite mark in her favor.

"Okay," she said. "Are you ready to try again?" Her voice was calm now, betraying nothing of her emotions, but Harry was sure he saw something like gratitude flash across her face, almost too quickly to see.

* * *

Finally, Harry groaned to himself as he scrawled his signature on the last of the stack of forms Dumbledore had given him. All of them had been surprisingly straightforward and easy to read, but there had been a lot of them, not to mention the ones in Welsh which he hoped were just copies of the English ones. Tossing aside his quill, he leaned back in his chair and massaged his temples; all of the recent developments in his life were giving him a headache, though the lion's share of it had nothing to do with the Potter heir issue.

On the surface, his Occlumency lessons were going perfectly. In his last session with Mr. Chang, he had finally managed to bring himself out of no-thought without any assistance, and the older wizard had said he would soon be ready to start practicing on his own again. By using his magic, he was able to keep Cho out of his mind every time, and his shield was now a permanent fixture in his mind rather than something he had to concentrate on creating.

Souring his pleasure, though, was the suspicion--grown to near certainty over the past week and a half they had been practicing together--that his remarkable success in that area was only due to the fact that she wasn't really even trying to challenge him. Oh, she said she was just worried about causing permanent damage to his mind if she pressed him any harder, but he hadn't forgotten their first session together or the knifelike probe that had so effortlessly cut through his shield despite feeling no stronger than the bludgeoning attacks that were all she used now. He wanted to confront her about it, but after the way she had reacted during that session, he was afraid to bring up the topic.

Harry wished he could talk about it with someone--specifically, Hermione, who rang him up once a week or so "to make sure those relatives of yours are treating you right," she said--but Dumbledore had stressed the point that he couldn't tell anyone who he was having his Occlumency lessons with. It made sense from a secrecy standpoint, but he suspected his friend knew more about the theory behind Occlumency and Legilimency than he himself did. After his disastrous lessons with Snape last year, she had probably read everything in the Hogwarts library on the subject, and that level of understanding was something he could very much use right now.

Because, he reluctantly admitted to himself, I'm getting a little worried about Cho. She hated her Legilimency talent yet felt obligated to help him with his lessons, for some reason, and he hadn't forgotten the half-glimpsed look of gratitude on her face when he had said he would keep practicing with her. It just didn't make sense, and if there was one thing Harry couldn't stand, it was a mystery--though Sirius's death had reminded him that some mysteries were better off left unexplored.

While he didn't think this situation was anything like the one that had led up to that, he did wonder if he really had any right to go prying into something that seemed rather personal; Cho hadn't ever mentioned the events of that first practice together, and Harry didn't feel comfortable bringing it up. The two of them were getting along well now, but they still weren't exactly what one could call close to each other.

Oh well...something to think about later, he decided. Right now, I need to practice the Kinship Charm. Dumbledore would be coming by in three days to take him to the Ministry, and he needed to be familiar with it by then. Somewhat annoyingly, the description of the spell stated that it had to be cast on a small amount of blood from both the heir and the previous Head of Family, and he didn't exactly have a way of getting any of his father's blood. The Ministry would have some, but he couldn't be absolutely certain he was casting it properly until then.

Fortunately, it didn't seem to be a particularly complicated spell, and he didn't mind the preparation; he was in favor of anything that allowed him to do magic legally over the summer. Glancing over the sheet of instructions again, Harry lifted his wand and took a moment simply to enjoy the weight of it in his hand before beginning to practice the spell.

"Consanguinus revelare," he chanted, dipping his wand slightly before hooking the tip up and to the left. According to the description of the spell, if properly performed it would cause the two vials of blood to glow gold if they were from parent and child, but without any blood on which to focus itself it should simply produce a shower of reddish-silver sparks.

Bugger. The sparks were a disgusting shade of puce, and he sighed. Apparently this would not be as easy as he had hoped, and he picked up the sheet of instructions again. It was going to be a long couple of days, he had a feeling, between learning the spell and beginning to practice his passive shielding again, not to mention trying to figure out what was going on with Cho.

* * *

"Well, Harry, are you ready?"

Dumbledore's voice startled Harry, who hadn't even realized how tightly he had been gripping his wand. They were standing in front of the door to the Department of Heraldic Registries, and even though he tried to tell himself that none of this really mattered, he was still more than a little nervous about it. He didn't especially care about the "Potter name" or the various other things that came attached to it, but the idea of finally having a real connection to at least one side of his family filled him with a strange sort of tension.

Would they have been proud of me? he wondered. His father, his grandmother, all of the Potters stretching all the way back to that first princess so long ago...what would they have thought of him? He wanted to think they would understand the pressures he was under and forgive him for the mistakes he had made, but the memories of Sirius's face and the crumpled forms of his friends who followed him to the Ministry gave the lie to that hope. It was too late to do anything about that now, though; all he could do was try his best not to make the same mistakes again.

"Ready," Harry said finally, pushing open the door and walking into an ornately yet tastefully decorated room. The floor was covered in a deep blue carpet so thick he could feel his feet sink into it, forming a pleasant contrast to the pale wood paneling that covered the walls. Light was provided by a number of silver candelabras placed at intervals around the room, and the walls were hung with several strikingly beautiful tapestries. It certainly didn't resemble any of the other Ministry offices he had glimpsed along the way, but he supposed the usual Pureblood visitors must expect a certain quality of décor.

What a waste of money, he thought to himself, then shrugged. There were so many things wrong with the Ministry that a little over-decoration was hardly the most pressing of issues, and he had to admit it was quite attractive. Something about the room suddenly struck him, though--something missing, surprisingly enough.

"Err...Professor, shouldn't there be someone here to meet us?" he asked, looking around the room to make sure he hadn't missed seeing anyone. Just then, though, a door set in the back wall between two candelabras opened and a middle-aged blond wizard with a pleasant face stepped into the room.

"Mr. Potter, if you would please come with me," he said in a softly accented voice, gesturing towards the door he had just come out of. "My name is Thomas White, and as the department liaison for all families of Welsh origin, I'll be handling your case today. Mr. Dumbledore, I'm afraid I will have to ask you to wait here until we are finished."

After an encouraging nod from Dumbledore, Harry walked into the room, which was much smaller than the outer one yet appeared to be decorated just as richly, and sat down at a table made of the same pale wood as the walls. White stepped in after him and closed the door, then sat down at a desk piled high with papers. After briefly shuffling through one stack, he pulled out a sheet of parchment and tapped it with his wand. Frowning slightly at something on the sheet, he then looked up at Harry.

"I apologize, Mr. Potter," White said, "but it seems the elves are exceptionally busy today and have not yet delivered the vial with your father's blood. If you would care to wait a few minutes, I can begin looking over your forms while they bring it up. I have asked them to bring the necessary components for the Legacy ritual as well, which will save you another visit here."

Legacy ritual? Harry wondered. He didn't remember any of the papers mentioning anything called that, and wished Dumbledore was here to ask about it, but he merely nodded and handed over the stack of forms before settling back in his chair to wait. It wasn't too much longer before a house elf dressed in a crisp yellow tea towel popped into the office and set three objects--two small glass bottles, one empty and the other partially filled with a red liquid which was presumably his father's blood, along with a curiously etched silver cylinder--on the table in front of him before popping back out.

White looked up from the papers he was reading. "That wasn't so long, was it?" he said. "Your forms appear to be in order, Mr. Potter, so let's proceed with the Kinship Charm."

Harry nodded and drew out his wand. "Lacerare," he murmured, causing a thin cut to appear on the ball of his left thumb, which he held over the empty vial until enough blood had trickled out to cover its bottom. Taking the bandage White held out to him, he wound it around his thumb and tied it, then drew a breath, hoping he wouldn't mess up the charm.

"Consanguinus revelare," he pronounced clearly as he waved his wand, and breathed an audible sigh of relief when the blood in the two vials briefly glowed with a rich golden radiance.

"Very good, Mr. Potter," White said, smiling as he signed one of the forms and stamped it with a golden seal. "Please accept the Ministry's congratulations on your new position. Shall we proceed with the Legacy ritual?"

"Err...this is probably a stupid question, but what exactly is the Legacy ritual?" Harry asked, hoping he didn't sound as dim as he felt. Judging by the man's tone, it was probably yet another part of wizarding culture he should know but didn't, due to growing up with the Dursleys. Score another for Dumbledore.

"It isn't something typically spoken of outside one's own family," White said, sounding somewhat discomfited. "I realize you have grown up in somewhat unusual circumstances, however, so I suppose allowances must be made.

"You must understand, I am literally unable to tell you precisely what the Potter Legacy entails, as it is only revealed to the heirs of the family. Even the method of transmission is a closely held secret; someone will Obliviate me after we finish today, to ensure your confidentiality."

Harry blinked, surprised. "So you can't tell me anything about it at all?" he asked. It sounded fairly important, if the Ministry used memory charms on its own employees to keep it a secret.

"A Legacy is knowledge, Mr. Potter--no more, and no less," White said, adopting a lecturing tone. "More specifically, it is a repository for knowledge that a Head of Family deems important or interesting enough to remain permanently within the family line. It could include anything from spells to ward keys to particular passages of literature that a Head found especially meaningful."

Sounds like a lot of trouble to go through for a giant scrapbook, Harry thought, somewhat amused at the whole concept. White seemed to find it much more significant, however, so he simply nodded and said he understood.

"Excellent. Please place your hand on the container, then," White instructed, gesturing to the silver cylinder sitting on the table. "It is charmed to respond only to a Potter's touch."

Harry did so, then jerked his hand back as a white glow spread along the designs etched into the cylinder's surface. The glow died away just as quickly, revealing that the top of the cylinder had loosened. Pulling it off, he saw that the interior was hollow and held what appeared to be two more glass vials, along with a sheet of parchment. At a nod from White, he reached in and removed them, setting the vials on the table and unfolding the parchment.

To my future son or daughter, it read in clean, masculine handwriting.

Wow, that feels weird to say, but at least now I think I've got a pretty good chance of having a child. It's strange to think of children at a time like this, but your mother (at least, I hope she's your mother) is probably the only reason I've gotten through this whole thing as arguably sane as I am. I wish you could have known your grandparents, whoever you are, and I hope I was as good a parent to you as they were to me. Maybe you're married and a father or mother yourself by now; if not, I hope you find someone to love as much as I've come to love your mother. You deserve nothing less.

Enough of that, now. To receive the Potter Legacy, mix five drops of blood from the gold-banded vial with a half-spoon of soil from the green-banded vial. Then add five drops of your own blood back into the gold-banded vial, cap it, and place the soil mixture on your tongue (yeah, ick...don't blame me, I'm just following directions too). Oh, almost forgot: write your own note before you do, and be sure to burn this one. Mum said receiving the Legacy doesn't leave you in the best of shape afterwards. I'm sorry I had to leave you with this.

Your loving father,

James Edward Potter

Harry stared at the note for what felt like forever. After seeing Snape's memory in the Pensieve last year, he hadn't known what to think about his father. Everyone said Harry resembled James so much, but despite how Sirius and Professor Lupin had tried to reassure him after the Pensieve incident, he had come to see his father as a bullying showoff more than anything. Now, this letter upset everything yet again. The James Potter who had written it sounded like the father he had always imagined, and nothing like the arrogant boy from Snape's memory. And then there was that one line: I hope I was as good a parent to you as they were to me.

Ruthlessly suppressing the urge to break down, Harry asked White for a parchment and quill, hoping his voice wasn't trembling as badly as he was afraid it was. He scribbled a quick note with the same directions his father had written, along with an apology for not writing more, then folded it and placed it inside the silver cylinder. A whispered Incendio turned his father's note to ashes which he swept from the table, ignoring the prickling of tears in the corners of his eyes.

Following the directions took only a minute, and soon Harry was staring at an ugly-looking blend of blood and earth, mixed together on one of White's tea saucers. Bottoms up, he thought morbidly, and scooped the mixture onto his tongue. Surprisingly, it didn't taste like much of anything, though he thought he felt a quick shudder run through his body.

Well, I don't feel any different, he mused, swallowing the soil with a slight grimace. It would be nice if I had some idea of what to expect, though. After he placed the two vials back into the cylinder, it sealed itself with another brief flash of white light, this one bright enough to leave purple afterimages when he blinked his eyes.

"Thank you for coming by today, Mr. Potter," White said as he stood up and opened the door back into the outer room. "Please don't hesitate to owl me if you have any additional questions."

Harry nodded and thanked him mechanically before walking over to where Dumbledore appeared to be admiring one of the tapestries hanging on the walls. "Can we go now, please?" he asked. "I really--ooh," he groaned, forgetting what he was going to say as a flash of heat seared through his body and left him wavering dizzily on his feet.

"I don't feel so good..." With that, he felt himself pitch forward onto the plush carpet as his vision dissolved into swirls of reddish darkness, then pure black as everything faded away.