a kingdom dawning (placeholder title) chapters 6-10

chapter 6

Harry spent several hours with his hand being looked over and cast over by many dverger with wrought metal staves. They hadn’t needed a full ritual circle, for which he was grateful, but they also wouldn’t declare the work done until the words had been fully erased from his skin.

Some of it had involved entreating the dverger god of blood and magic, Melkor the Unmaker, also the god of binding oaths.

The entire pantheon was fascinating but not something he’d seen detailed even in the rarer, less biased books he’d found about the Horde.

“We keep it close to the vest.” Ior admitted, as they helped a shaky Harry back into his robes. He’d only barely managed to keep his dignity shimmying into some soft black trousers and a cotton button-up that Sirius had sent front one of the vaults with Dobby.

“Where’d the robe come from?” Harry asked his elf, who grinned.

“It be a quick and dirty job.” Dobby admitted. “I be taking the nicest robes in the Black vault and putting the Potter coat of arms on the back. It be coming off easy when you be picking a kingsly coat of arms, though!”

“Great.” Harry said. It was easier than normal because the robe actually was a robe, somewhat like the dress robes he’d worn to the Yule Ball, and there were fastenings to the bits that folded against each other at his chest.

“These aren’t like Hogwarts robes at all.” Harry complained. “The school robes just go over your head like a jumper.”

“I’m thankful every day that I know little to nothing about wizarding fashion, but I imagine the style is purposefully restrictive in nature.” Ior snorted, stepping away now that Harry was put to rights.

“What?”

“He be meaning you all be too young to make more wizards, King Harry.” Dobby rocked forward and back on his heels.

“Huh? Oh, ugh– no. I mean, you’re probably right. Now that I think about it, Mr. Weasley’s robes were always open-front like this, and even Lucius Malfoy’s were a fancier version in a similar cut.”

“I quite literally couldn’t care less.” Ior said, and Harry snorted.

“Fair. Where are we headed?”

“Stay close, all the halls look the same to the uninitiated– it’s meant to be like that for security reasons. We’re meeting up with your ward and your father to arrange a portkey.”

Harry stumbled hard at hearing Sirius called that, making Ior and Dobby turn to him in concern.

“Did everyone in the magical world know Sirius Black was my third magical parent?” He growled, trying to find somewhere appropriate to place the anger and failing completely. He ended up swallowing it down but it felt like it would eat him alive if he didn’t find an outlet soon.

“Short answer? Yes.” Ior said. “Come on, we haven’t a lot of time. Your absence has already been noticed.”

They started walking again but Harry was like a dog with a bone and so Ior sighed. “Listen, anyone with half a brain– which is at most a fourth of Britain– knew that Noble families like the Potters and the Black were likely to do the traditional ritual to make Black your godfather. I’m surprised they apparently went the fully ancient method, where he was considered another parent even while your birth parents still lived, but even the more common ritual would have made the adoption permanent at the time of their demise. I believe some magicals simply declare someone informally a godparent, without any magic to it at all, which offers the godparent little to no legal standing outside of the parents’ will declaring preferred custody. When Black went to prison, it’s likely that most chose to believe it was something like that.”

“Why?” Harry demanded, even as they rounded the corner into a larger, open room, only to have Sirius himself nearly bump into him.

“I was just coming to look for you.” Sirius said, in surprise. Questions burned on Harry’s tongue and it must have shown in his face because the man’s expression turned solemn. “Later, kid– we have to go. The early morning edition of the Prophet already announced you missing– not Hermione, though, which is interesting.”

“I’m hardly front page news.” Hermione said, from the center of the room as they walked toward her. Harry sped up and caught both her hands in his, relieved to see her again– splitting the group for even something as necessary as healing had grated on him.

He looked over her much as he had with Sirius and saw the time apart had– of course– seen nothing horrific befall her. In his defense, something horrible always happened when he had to leave either of them.

“You look nice.” He said, to cover the obvious worry. Her expression told him he failed but that she’d tolerate the concern– and then the most subtle flush rose in her cheeks, a pleased reaction to his comment.

And it was true– Hermione and Sirius had both changed into clothes much like what he’d been provided. He was in comfortable looking black-on-black robes and she was in simply cut but utterly fetching blue robes that had an old-fashioned charm.

“I believe those robes belonged to your grandmother when she was young.” Sirius said, joining them. “She was a stunning witch back in her day and honestly still was when I knew her. Most of her old things will fit Hermione and, even better, the simple pieces never really go out of fashion. Not that we’ll be showing off for anyone where we’re going.”

“Right.” Harry released all but one of her hands and turned to where the Chieftan had once more joined them. “I suppose there’s nothing else to wait for.”

“We’re absconding with every single bit of the Potter and Black vaults.” Sirius agreed cheerfully. “Cheiftain Kvasir’s runemaker was cursing us out by the end of it because he eventually just gave up and invented fully portable vaults– most of it modeled after your mother’s modifications to the Potter library trunk.”

“Oh, Harry– it’s absolutely massive. They wouldn’t let me look but we’ll have to set it up as soon as we’re able. Actually, we’d better set up copies in the real library and keep the originals in the trunk– just in case.”

She looked stricken at the thought of anything happening to them and Harry couldn’t help but laugh, stroking his thumb across her knuckles.

“Don’t worry, Mi– I would never let something that belonged to my mother come to any degree of harm, much less the books.”

He shared a glance with Dobby that said forget the gold, that trunk is the priority and the elf nodded with completely sincere solemnity.

“You’ve got everything?” The Chieftan asked. “Excellent. In the future, as this land will be part of your magical domain, you’ll have to give permission for anyone to portkey in or out of it. I’m sending four of my runemasters, including Kor Warward, who Miss Potter nearly reduced to tears today, along with you”

“He’s the head of the wardcrafting guild.” Ior said, pointedly. “He also has the most experience with the wards on the land itself.”

“I don’t know if it’s possible to seamlessly marry the centuries of protections into the ritual claiming, but magically the land does belong to you,” The Cheiftain admitted. “And if anyone is capable of it, it’s Master Warward. Do get him back to me in one piece.”

“We’ll try our best.” Sirius said, stepping behind Harry and Hermione with a hand on the shoulder of each.

“Unlike the temporary international portkeys we offer to wizards, this one is grounded in a ritual circle. It takes a minimum of three dverger to activate and can only be linked to a location with a similar circle– there are three dverger in place on your land currently who will receive you.”

“Is it even still a portkey, then?” Hermione asked curiously.

The Cheiftan grinned.

“Yes, and the mechanics of it are very interesting. You’ll feel a tug behind your navel or more specifically your magical core but unlike wizarding portkeys, the transition will be more of a phase shifting– your feet should never leave the ground. Though powerful wizards like King Harry can be thrown somewhat violently if they resist the magic of the circle.”

“Is that why I can never land on my feet from a portkey?” Harry demanded of Sirius.

“Probably, though I’ve never been there to see you fall on your face.” He rolled his shoulders. “Your mother often struggled with keeping her feet until she learned to anticipate and even permiss the magic to interact with her. Extremely powerful wizards who are trained to do so can often resist the pull of foreign magic– to either break away halfway to the destination, landing somewhere unintended, or to buy enough time before the activation to destroy the portkey itself and sever the linking magic.”

“I need to learn that.” Harry said instantly. “I’m serious– no, I get it, you’re Sirius, don’t start– as soon as we get the chance. Voldemort never would have gotten me to the graveyard if I’d known how to resist a portkey.”

“It’s training that War Mages for the ICW receive, as well as hit wizards and the like. Well beyond NEWT level, but then so is the patronus, so you might be fine. The sticking point is it’s considered beyond mastery studies.”

“I’ll have to look into the theory but it’s likely he will be able to simply overpower the connection, now that he knows it’s an option.” Hermione said stubbornly. She was capable of mastery level work and Harry had enough raw power to test any theory she could have. “Harry, don’t try it now, though. We’ll land in the middle of the ocean and drown.”

“Don’t attempt it now.” The Cheiftan agreed, a tad amused. “Much hinges on your successful arrival. In fact, you should focus on trusting the source of this magic– I, Kvasir Bloodforged of the House of Síðgrani, swear before honored Mahal, father of dvergerkind, that the magic cast here today is to take you to the land promised you, and has no other purpose, beyond your safe arrival and that of your kin, and should I break my word to you, so shall the magic inside me break, and the fire of my life be extinguished.”

Light rose and died at the oath, and Harry did not need Sirius’ quiet aside to asure him that what he’d just witnessed was quite genuine, because the magic inside him relaxed into a calm and sedate presence, as it only previously had in the suite of warded rooms Sirius had at Grimmauld place.

His magic recognized the oath and kept quiet inside him. Harry didn’t always notice how reactive and snappish his magic was, but he noticed his temper calming until he wasn’t on a hair-trigger anymore. He’d always watch corners and shadows, ready for the next threat; that was a part of him he’d likely never outgrow.

Rarely, however, he was finding he could lean into Sirius– especially in those brief moments where no one else was around to make things awful, like Mrs. Weasley or Snape or Dumbledore– and that same sense of safety settled in his bones under the Cheiftan’s oath.

How much of his temper this past year was his magic not feeling safe, after the graveyard? And how much of it was Harry’s own genuine emotions? Was there a difference between the two? Wizards were magical, to the point where your instincts were born of how your magic reacted to different situations.

Hermione would know more, but they hardly had time to talk about it. Harry nodded absently as Sirius assured him in a quiet aside that the oath was genuine, and then they were stepping forward onto the dias of the stone circle.

Three dverger in robes stood at equidistant points and began invocations in khuzdul– usually, Harry would be hypervigilant of the words, but today they washed over him, secure in the promise of the Cheiftan, who looked calm and steady like a rock in the storm.

Magic kicked up at the edge of the circle, an almost-white blue seeping through the carved line of the boundary like light underneath the cracks in a door, only it was somehow electric, erratic in its movement, and then the dias set into the center of the stone flared that same color.

–

Chapter 7

They did not move, but when the light died down, the circle was slightly different. It was another stone circle carved in the same style, on the other side of the world.

Around the stone, wildflowers spread out as far as the eye could see– literally. The land rose and fell in hilled terrain, covered all in different species of flora, instead of being flat like any prairie Harry had heard of. The carpet of uneven greenery did not break on any horizon; instead, the hills grew larger and more jagged until they became lines of forest at different elevations, which themselves became indistinguishable from the mountains that stretched off into the distance.

“It’s beautiful.” Sirius said, sounding choked. They turned to him in some surprise, both thinking it– but then, to Sirius the miles and miles of land represented more than a fresh start. It was absolute freedom.

“It’s big, is what it is.” Harry huffed. “You realize a landmass this big is going to have dozens of biomes? It’s half the size of South America. There’s probably a desert somewhere.”

He turned to the dverger with them out of curiosity. Ior had followed them– mostly because they’d run off with the entirety of the Potter vaults, and as far as Harry was able to quietly determine, ‘account manager’ now translated perfectly to ‘Horde ambassador to the king.’

“You’re not wrong.” Ior said dryly. “We’re south enough you’ll have to adjust your expectations a bit, though. The further down you get, the closer you are to Antarctica, and the colder it gets. The desert is up north– closer to Australian climes, I’d guess.”

The Black account manager was in the same boat, and Sirius introduced him as Oren Underguard.

Along with Kor Warward, the three other members of his team made four runemasters– or apprentices under Master Warward? Harry wasn’t sure how their hierarchy worked and felt far too awkward to ask. Though Chiefton Kvasir had mentioned he was head of a guild, so he was definitely in charge.

Master Warward introduced his fellow dverger– underlings?– as Oren Flameburin, Nuri Runechain, and Darrah Ashborn.

They then broke the circle to speak with the three dverger who’d held the circle open on this end for their arrival. Total, there were seven warding dverger on the island– and, Harry was surprised to note, not counting the two account managers they’d brought with them, that was all.

“We have to get permission to come here,” A happy dverger with long, red hair said cheerfully. Harry was at once reminded of Charlie Weasley. “Leor Wardtamer, at your service. See, the wardnetwork here is so complicated– and it does cover the entire continent, yanno?– that it’s a post-mastery level project to add to or change even a single layer or piece of it.”

Another dwarf snorted.

“Yeah, and some of us just want to study the interactions. There’s so many layers that it’s a lifetime of work studying what’s been done.” The dwarf pushed back her hair from her face and Harry realized at once that she was a lady– probably. 

It was rude to assume, and some like Ior settled as precisely ‘neither’, but it was the first time he’d seen anyone even close to feminine among the dverger.

“Tana Glyphkeeper and this one is my brother, Dior Brightshield.” She jerked her thumb at the last dwarf. They were similar in coloring and build– dark hair, somewhere between a dark brown and a light black, and eyes a striking purple. He’d never seen the color on a human.

“Harry Potter,” He said, holding out a hand, and realized Hermione and Sirius had abandoned him to go speak with Master Warward.

Tana made a noise, and Harry realized she was similar to Ior– maybe not honest to a fault enough to get the use-name Starkhonor, but definitely not one to hold back.

“That’s not how you should be introducing yourself, I hear.” She said.

Harry frowned.

“The muggle queen uses her first name– Queen Elizabeth, and everyone knows who they mean. But King Harry sounds a bit daft, doesn’t it?”

“Could go with King Potter, I guess, though it might be Potter-Black now. Bit weird since human royals don’t use their surname, do they?” Dior spoke.

Leor Wardtamer, the red-head, laughed out loud. He seemed like the kind of person to laugh regularly– his eyes were creased with lines from it and he radiated a simple sort of cheer.

“Hell if I know what humans do.” Leor said easily. “Not my business, is it? Though if you wanna drop the surname and just be King Harry of Whatever-it’s-called, you might want to name the place.”

“The dverger don’t have a name for it?” Harry asked, curious.

“Nah.” Tana said. “We’ve been calling it the Ucharted Isle since we can’t legally do shit with it.”

“Get it?” Leor asked, grinning widely as he leaned forward. “Like deserted islands– but it’s uncharted, because they can’t chart it.”

“He gets the joke, Leor.” Tana rolled her eyes. “Now, if we could tunnel under it, that’d be a different story.”

She eyed Harry speculatively.

“That’s the plan.” He rolled his shoulders. “There’s a lot to do before then, though.”

“I think you should call it Atlantis.” Leor said, “Big, undiscovered landmass that wizards don’t know about? They’d shit themselves.”

“I thought Atlantis was supposed to be an island.” Harry said, privately agreeing that they’d lose their shit.

“Eh, fair. But it would be glorious.” Leor sighed forlornly.

Dior Brightshield clapped Leor on the shoulder.

“This is technically an island, isn’t it?” He asked, cracking a grin, and Leor lit up with obvious delight.

“King Harry Potter and the Kingdom of Atlantis.” Leor said, red hair in a bright braid going all the way down his back– he threw it over his shoulder and strands of it caught in the wind.

Harry laughed despite himself. Though they’d left in the wee hours of the morning, it was now closer to twilight. The sun was well on its way to the horizon.

“Hush, before my godf–” Harry stumbled here. He’d learned something in the last day that had turned his world upside down. He eyed the other group and they’d made their way several meters away from the stone circle, a dwarf pointing out something in the distance as he spoke.

Harry took a deep breath.

“Hush, before my dad hears you.” He decided, the words feeling strangely embarrassing in his throat. It abruptly felt like he’d lost ten years, but even when he actually was five, he hadn’t been so shy; it had been beaten out of him by then.

He’d have to work up to calling Sirius that to his face. Even the thought of having someone in a father’s role in his life made Harry’s palms break out into a sweat. He’d given up on having that years ago– back when he dreamt of someone rescuing him from his cupboard. Back when he dreamed of being adopted.

It was probably too late, anyway. He was almost grown.

He was, apparently, going to be a king. (That still felt fake everytime someone said it, much less when Harry thought it.)

When they walked up, it was like Master Warward read his mind, for the dwarf eyed him at once.

“Well, King Harry, the first thing to do is also the most important. Should any wizard look, this land must be under your magical domain. If you weren’t by all accounts a budding archmage, I’d not even attempt it– Chieftain’s order or not, I won’t help kill a child.”

Harry startled.

“It’ll be dangerous?” He asked.

Sirius looked at him.

“Harry,” He said seriously. “It’s a whole country. More than that, it’s a continent. The Potter magic is ancient and noble, so it was designed in a way to claim land like this– it’s a part of the magic itself. Nobles would claim the land and our vassals and sworn families would settle it, but it was our magic that kept the land warded and secret from muggles, before the Statute.”

“That being said, the king— King Arthur, to us– claimed all of the land of Magical Britain, Albion in older texts, and we each had a piece of land within his larger domain. It was also like that in the muggle world– the king owned everything, the dukes split up the land, and their land was further split up by the barons, earls, counts and viscounts, etc.”

“You think Harry can claim this whole land himself.” Hermione said, suddenly realizing the scope of it. “But– if you’re wrong it’ll kill him.”

“Magic recognizes intent.” Sirius said heavily. “Legally speaking, Harry owns this island. It doesn’t matter how large it is. There’s no one to contest it, and it is Potter land. He should be able to claim every single bit of it, and what’s more– it’s the only Potter land right now, after the cottage was destroyed. The family magic will be primed and ready to claim more and I know he’s powerful enough to survive it.”

“I believe you wouldn’t risk him.” Hermione said, squeezing her hands into fists. “It’s so dangerous, though.”

Harry looked from Sirius to Hermione, to the master dwarf who watched passively back.

“Magic is all about belief.” Harry said, stepping forward. “I trust Cheiftan Kvasir. This land belonged to the dverger, whether or not they could settle it properly, and they sold it to me. Every single bit of the ground under our feet is Potter land, paid for with Potter gold, out of the Potter vault– they wouldn’t take any Black gold, just to ensure it.”

He looked to Ior.

“You have the map?” He asked.

The dverger nodded and Sirius conjured a temporary table. Ior put the map down and unraveled it. And unraveled it. And unraveled it. It was huge even at this scope.

Harry pointed out the stone circle they’d portrayed to.

“We’re close to the cost, here.” He drew out the central-eastern coastline. “I imagine it’s where the last few years of ward study have taken place. To claim the island, I want to be as dead center as possible.” 

“Here.” Hermione said, trailing down and west. “The map isn’t filled in as much as it could be, since any dverger staying here would have to camp aboveground– distasteful at best– but the mountains and major rivers are marked, at least. About halfway up the landmass, the continent narrows in, and this area is only… what’s the scale on this map?”

Ior reached out and activated a part of the map in the corner, and a small scale guide appeared. It drew golden lines up and down the map, similar to latitude and longitude but clearly the dverger version, because Harry didn’t recognize the distances.

Sirius leaned in.

“The narrowest part of the country is still five hundred kilometers across?” He laughed, part disbelief and part delight at the nonsense. “Hey, pup, you wanna know something fun?”

“I heavily doubt it’s going to be as amusing for me as it is for you, Sirius.” The man pouted so Harry sighed. “Alright, share the joke.”

“The UK is about five hundred kilometers at its widest.”

“Move the map, I need to knock my head on this table.” Harry said, but nobody accommodate him. Clearly, being king wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

“There, there.” Hermione said, far more shock than amusement in her voice. “It’ll turn out alright, you’ll see.”

“Out of curiosity,” Harry said to his father, “How big was Albion when Arthur claimed it?”

Sirius paused. So did the dverger.

“Well, Arthur wasn’t an archmage.” The man finally said. “Let’s move on. How are we going to get there?”

Harry’s eye twitched, but he let it go.

–

Chapter 8

They certainly weren’t going to walk. That was clearly off the table. The central point they’d identified was around 1500 kilometers away (almost a thousand miles), which would take weeks or months at any reasonable speed given the unbroken wilderness, and while they weren’t on a strict deadline it was imperative they get the land claimed before the Ministry– or anyone– found out about the treaty being violated and rendered null.

They had to found the kingdom, if not the enclave, and fulfil the ICW requirement for the branch of Gringotts to be here, or the Horde would have to re-establish the contract with Britain. 

They’d throw an absolute fit at Probably-not-Atlantis stealing the branch, but nobody could contest the kingdom’s legitimacy if it was  fully under his magical domain.

If Harry was able to do it, that is.

They decided on brooms. Naturally, brooms were a wizarding invention, and few dverger ever chose to partake in the sport. The people lived underground by their own preference so it wasn’t strictly speaking a surprise, but the ones here all still knew how to fly at least.

“Don’t think too hard on it.” Ior told him. “Those who study runes don’t usually come out this far, even for their mastery work. It’s unsettled wilderness by far and we like our caves. The ones who do come out here are crazy enough to get on brooms.”

“Don’t be so sour!” Leor Wardtamer laughed, mounting his easily and rising into the air. “You’ve just as good a chance of being born to the wind as fire.”

“Categorically false.” Ior said, raising an eyebrow. “Mahal blessed us, you brat, and there’s five times as many fire-natured as wind-natured dverger.”

“You’d think so,” Oren Flameburin said. “I’d thought so too, but though many of us choose the forge and are called to our craft, the individual natures of us are more even than you’d think.”

Harry could feel Hermione’s curiosity, though her face was pressed into his back most assuredly as she sat behind him on his firebolt. They rose to a height and began to fly, so he pressed on for her sake.

“Natures?” He called out over the wind.

“Aye!” Dior Brightshield came alongside him. “You’d not normally be told this, wizard that you are, but dverger are much closer to the elements than wizards are! Fire, Air, Water, Earth, and Spirit! There’s dozens of full elementals among us, but there hasn’t been an elemental born among wizards in two hundred years!”

“Even then, they were rare among your kind.” Leor Wardtamer shouted, coming up on the other side of him.

They flew in a loose formation toward their goal, more roundabout than anything. Sirius had declared that as soon as they put Harry in charge of the ward, he’d be able to show their exact locations on the map– the Maurauder’s map was his charms’ final in his seventh year, along with Harry’s father. Well.

Along with Harry’s other father. He still struggled to wrap his head around that.

Sirius was having a time on a broom, clearly the first time he’d been allowed to fly since Azkaban. He stopped short of being actually reckless, but otherwise let completely loose, complete with loud “Woo-hoos!” that echoed for miles.

Nuri Runechain with his copper beard was apparently a flying enthusiast. He quickly got into a series of contests with Sirius, from short races to stunts that– thankfully– didn’t go too far.

It was after a lengthy bout of ‘who can fly upside down the longest’– Nuri, mostly due to having a hardier constitution than the wizard– that Master Warward called for a descent.

Night had well and truly settled in by the time they landed and Harry was careful to catch Hermione, who wobbled like a newborn calf. She shivered and Harry realized next time they flew he should cast a warming charm for the wind, even if the weather was otherwise fair.

It was chilly now that he thought about it, and he was glad for it when Sirius started a fire. The older wizard was about to summon some deadwood from the nearby grove to sustain it when Hermione shook her head.

“H-here.” She said, teeth chattering. “It’s bluebell fire. Keeps you warm but doesn’t burn.”

She had to cast it twice. Harry immediately shrugged off his outer robe and threw it around her. Suddenly, he was much colder than he was before, and Hermione looked up in surprise.

“Oh, this has robust warming charms.” She said, examining the material like she could derive its charmwork from the threads. Maybe she could.

“You didn’t cast a warming charm on yourselves?” Sirius demanded.

Harry frowned at him.

“We can’t cast underage magic.” He said, and Ior Starkhonor huffed.

“Three points. Firstly, you legally emancipated yourself the moment you put on the Lord’s ring. Secondly, the British Ministry is nowhere near capable of detecting underage magic cast outside the country. Thirdly, even if they could, we’re both well “off grid”, so to speak, and under so many centuries of wardwork that I doubt outside magic could determine you’re alive, much less whether you’re casting magic or not.”

Hermione’s mouth dropped open.

“Oh, you know the headmaster probably has some sort of monitoring on you. Surely, right? I wonder if it all went dead.”

Harry blinked a bit.

“Oh, no. I’m suddenly glad we don’t get the Prophet out here.” He said faintly.

“I’m not.” Sirius said. “I want to see exactly what kind of panic we left behind, and what people are doing about it.”

“Agreed.” Oren Underguard grunted. “People get stupid when they can’t control a situation. We don’t want to be in range of the fallout.”

“Well, we’re not.” Dior Brightshield said pragmatically. “Thankfully, nobody in that country knows where we are, and if they did, they couldn’t get to us.”

“Some of us have family back in Britain.” Darrah Ashborn said sharply. It was the first time Harry had heard them speak. “We need to make all haste so your ministry doesn’t take drastic measures to bind the horde into a new treaty.”

“Peace.” Ior said. “We have at least a few days before the truth is known, if not longer. When it does come out, they’ll have to get the ICW involved– we’ll have locked the bank against outsiders. It’ll likely take weeks before the situation is resolved.”

“Let’s not push it that far.” Sirius interuptted. “We flew perhaps four hours today. I imagine we’ll get to the central location in two or three more days of flying if we keep the current pace– or go faster.”

“I don’t think I can handle ‘faster’,” Hermione said, pale.

“Well, this isn’t a quidditch match.” Sirius said. “We can use warming charms and safety features like a wind shielding spell. The firebolt doesn’t have such measures– it’s purely a sports broom– but mine does and you can ride with me.”

Hermione frowned, obviously weighing the choice of staying with Harry versus a more comfortable ride. Harry nudged her.

“I won’t mind.” He said practically. She frowned pointedly at Sirius.

“Alright, Sirius Black, but you’d better not do any of that racing or– or– flipping nonsense if I’m on your broom.” She directed a finger at him, all threat, and he laughed.

“On my honor,” He promised, then turned to the makeshift campsite. “I have the shrunken trunks here. Let’s open them up and get the tents.”

“Like at the world cup?” Harry asked, perking up.

“Oh, wizard tents.” Ior looked on curiously. “I’ve heard of the trend, but not seen it. Surely you don’t need a whole house in a tent just to sleep?”

“Wizards don’t sleep rough.” Oren said, looking something like horrified. He might as well have called them all pansies outright.

“The tents are pretty new,” Sirius agreed. “I think maybe ninety years ago? No, it’ll be a full century now. Someone figured out the spellwork, I think maybe a Boot. We’d had the trunks for ages, of course, but around the turn of the century people started stretching the spells to the max. It wasn’t long before they worked out the slightly more complicated variant with the tents– bit more difficult because the material is more flexible, of course, and they can’t contain quite as much, but they were the next logical progression and quite popular. Once you start being able to put quidditch pitches in a  trunk, you start questioning what else you can do with it, right? ”

“There’re trunks with quidditch pitches in them?!” Harry demanded, thinking of how being able to escape to such at the Dursleys would have been a fantasy come true. He could even afford one!

“Yes, though they’re fairly expensive.” Sirius said absently as he enlarged several trunks. “Not something the average witch or wizard could buy, at any rate, and usually made to order. Shops don’t just have them laying around too often.”

“I guess I wouldn’t have found one on diagon, then.” Harry said. 

“Of course, trunks with a few bedrooms or even a flat are much more common. Still a few hundred galleons, mind you, it’s basically a house– but there’re some that have dozens of compartments and a few rooms. We’ve got some here, actually. No quidditch pitches but more than a few flats. They were popular for Hogwarts for a while before the school banned them– course, some people still brought them, just locked the extra rooms with blood magic so they looked normal to the eye.”

“Isn’t blood magic incredibly illegal?” Hermione gasped.

“Short from a few adoption rituals that the ministry would very much like to ban? Sure is.” Sirius said cheerfully. “Course, I expect King Harry to be much more discerning when he’s deciding what magic is and isn’t legal.”

Harry frowned.

“I know you’re taking the piss, but that’s not exactly a hard question. I’m not going to ban any magic.”

“What?” Hermione looked to him, surprised. “None? Not even the Unforgiveables?”

“If I had to make a law, it’d be about the consequences of the spell, not the spell itself. I actually thought a lot of the laws the Ministry made were stupid at best. Look at the classification of ‘light’ magic– I could kill someone with a cutting charm, and it’s still a charm.”

Hermione frowned primly.

“That’s a weak distinction. Killing with magic even in self-defense is gray.”

“I know,” Harry placated her. “But by the ministry’s logic, you’d ban the cutting charm.”

“I think I see what you mean.” Sirius said slowly, working it out. “Ban the killing, not the killing curse.”

“Ban tortuing someone, not the Cruciatus.” Harry said. “Granted, I can’t think of a legal use of that spell, but maybe someone will surprise us. Anyway, it covers more bases. The Imperius is unforgiveable but love potions are on the shelves, and they do the same thing.”

“Most love potions that do any genuine coercion are banned.” Sirius was quick to point out. “Class one potions encourage attraction and interest but don’t change the emotions directly.”

“To what end?” Harry demanded, surprising Hermione. “Do you think it’s any less of a violation to be subtly lured to someone you’d have no interest in otherwise? What if I charmed someone to find me attractive, why is that manipulation any different? Wizarding britain seems to treat it like gaining a wizard’s attention, akin to using a nice perfume or a pretty outfit, but it’s a direct influence you can’t fight. It’s impossible to give true consent under the influence of a love potion.”

“You’re saying it’s rape.” Hermione said. “That any use of a love potion, no matter how mild, is a form of sexual coercion or assault.”

“Voldemort could use a perfectly legal, off-the-shelf, class one attraction potion on me and I’d want him.” Harry said, irritable. “I fail to see how that’s not a complete violation of your mind, body and magic.”

“Never say that again.” Sirius said, horrified. “Why would you even think that?”

“They can make you want your worst enemy!” Harry said. “It’s subtle but it’s exactly the same effect as the Imperius– except I can fight off the Imperius.”

“He’s right, you know.” Ior Starkhonor said, grimly. “Among the Horde, there’s no greater crime than rape– and the violation of the mind with the Imperius legally counts as such. It’s a mental rape; the assault of your innermost self.”

“What’s the punishment?” Hermione asked.

“Death.” Ior said, shrugging. “You’ve proven you’re no longer safe to live amongst us and we’re not going to exile a monster to attack someone else’s loved ones. Additionally, amongst the horde, attempting to commit a crime is the same as successfully comitting one– across the board. If you try your hardest to murder me, you’d not get a lighter sentence for being incompotent about it.”

Oren Underguard snorted hard.

“Right, well, that’s cheerful.” Sirius said. “Hopefully, it won’t come up any time soon. Look, here’s the tents. I’ll set up two of the small ones instead of hunting down a mansion that has room for all of us.”

“You’ve got a tent in there with twelve rooms?” Hermione demanded.

Sirius barked a laugh.

“Hermione, I’ve got a tent in there with a courtyard. I think the biggest we’ve got is twenty-five bedrooms.” He whistled. “Some Potter ancestor spent a pretty penny on that one. No, wait, it was Black– I recognize the initials. Might have known it was one of mine.”

“Wizards.” Ior said with disgust.

“I, for one, welcome my new sleeping arrangements.” Leor Brightshield said, standing up and stretching. “You four haven’t roughed it out here for these past few months. We’re not due a replacement crew until six weeks from now.”

“You sound like you’re going to commission one of these tents from the wizards.” Tana Glyphkeeper said. “Dior, talk some sense into him.”

“I’m reserving judgement until I see the tent.” Dior Brightshield said. “We’ve been using their trunks for centuries, though not to that… extravagent… of an expense. I got amad one that has three different compartments for potions ingredients storage and one for the cauldrons.”

Tana’s mouth dropped open.

“You did not.”

“Oh, yes I did, for her nameday. Granted, I wouldn’t give Britain my money even if they would take it; I had it commissioned from a half-dverger bloke in South America.”

“Ugh.” His sister said, and they continued going back and forth, but Harry lost track of the conversation as he followed Hermione into the tent Sirius erected with a flick of his wand.

Inside, he was immedaitely hit with the smell of warm beef stew and fresh bread. It was such a contrast that he stopped in his tracks, causing Ior Starkhonor to walk right into him.

“Oi!” Said the dverger.

“Sorry.” Harry’s instincts kicked in and he moved out of the way, but not before walkign through the sitting room and foyeur to the dining room. He hadn’t found the kitchen yet, which was absurd, but he did find the source of the smell.

“Dobby?” He asked blankly

The elf lit up.

“Master King Harry Potter, sir!”

–

Chapter 9

Dobby was in the process of bringing what looked like half a maedieval feast into the dining room, set for 15, but upon seeing Harry he dropped manual control over the hover charm. The other half of the feast was already on the table, and even without active direction the platters slowly drifted over to join their brethren without spilling an ounce of food.

For his part, Harry found himself tackled about the legs in a hug as the elf ran across the carpeted tent floor.

“But– how?” Harry asked blankly. “You didn’t take the portkey with us.”

And Harry hadn’t noticed, though he’d thought about the elf a few hours afterward when they were in the air. He’d thought ‘it’s a good thing Dobby isn’t here, he’d struggle a lot on a broom’.

Granted, at the time he’d also thought, ‘We left Dobby in Britain, and I can’t summon him across the planet any time soon, since I need to save my magic for the claiming.’

“Dobby was in the tent!” Dobby announced cheerfully. “Dobby be getting dinner ready for you alls tonight!”

“Er, thanks, Dobby!” Harry said, and the elf beamed even brighter. He might need to invest in sunglasses, at this rate.

“How’d you know when we’d be done?” Harry said, watching Hermione and Sirius come in from the kitchen. Sirius held two bottles of wine and Hermione was floating out the silverware, wand held aloft. She’d clearly taken to the end of their underage magic restriction like a duck to water.

“Dobby guessed!” The elf laughed. “There be a time difference, but yous be up all night before this. Now it’s bedtime and yous is sleepy! And also hungry!”

“He’s not wrong.” Sirius said. “For our internal clocks, it’s about ten in the morning– we’ve ‘stayed up’ the whole night. Mind you, it’s about nine pm local time, so it worked out in the end.”

“No wonder I’m knackered,” Hermione said with a laugh. “I’m going to eat my weight in stew and pass out.”

“Not to mention all the chaos and excitement.” Harry said with a frown. “We had massive amounts of adrenaline running through us at the Ministry.”

He took a seat and the dverger all piled in, looking around with mixed excitement and disgust.

“This is the most wizard dragonshite I’ve seen in a while.” Tana Glyphkeeper declared. “Someone pass me the bread, I’m going to eat my feelings.”

Her brother laughed and obeyed. In short order, they all had bowls full of delicious, hearty soup, warm enough to ward away the chill– though the tent was well-warmed inside– and hot bread, and seconds, and even some dessert which Dobby shamelessly brought out and foisted on Harry.

“You had healing today too, Master King Harry Potter sir! It be making the body extra tired.”

“Dobby, please, just ‘Harry’.” Harry begged, but it was too late– Sirius had coughed red wine six feet across the table in a cartoonish spittake, and was now laughing as he hadn’t laughed since Christmas.

“Dobby can be managing a ‘Master King Harry’… maybe.” Dobby said slyly. Hermione didn’t know whether to be appalled or amused and it showed on her face.

“Master Harry, then.” Harry decided, grudgingly agreeing, but with bad grace. Hermione patted his shoulder in comfort.

“Master Harry!” Dobby grinned, in a way that Harry knew meant this had been the elf’s goal all along. “Okay, now you be eating lots of sugar to recharge yous magic.”

He nodded like this was the best idea ever and Harry sighed.

“We do need more sugar than muggles,” Hermione said, cheerfully cutting into a ten-layer chocolate cake. “Listen to the elf, Harry.”

“I’m listening; I’m listening.” Harry rose both hands in defeat. Grumbling to himself, he said “King this, king that. It was only ever a sham.”

“Hey, don’t give me that.” Sirius said. “You’re still our king. Just also my son. Which means I get to make up for years and years of not being able to spoil you behind your mother’s back. Here, have another bit of dessert before dinner.”

“I already ate dinner.” And seconds and thirds. Turns out healing had made him starving. Hearing Sirius call him ‘my son’– in so many words, even!!!– made his stomach flip over. It wasn’t, however, in a bad way.

“Semantics.” Sirius said, beaming.

Harry ate the extra cake, too.

–

Chapter 10

When they parted for bed– half the dverger to the other tent, the account managers and Master Warward to stay with the wizards– Hermione surprised Harry by following him into his room.

He’d pretty much accepted that he’d deny her nothing at this point, though, and Ron wasn’t even around to kick up a fuss about it. He always got weird when Harry was willing to give Hermione whatever she wanted, mostly within reason but sometimes not, so Harry often put up a token resistance just to keep the peace.

Now they were alone and Harry didn’t have to pretend shit, so he threw open his blanket and let her crawl into bed with him. He expected to feel his cheeks heat up, or for thoughts to intrude on the moment, but he was warm and full and simply happy she was there.

She laid down right next to him and Harry let the cover drop, spilling over them both, and she shimmied up close. He pulled her into a loose hug and she dropped her head onto his shoulder with a little sigh of contentment.

Her feet were bare, which somehow made the whole thing feel obscenely intimate, even with her full-coverage pyjamas. They were a matching little set of soft silk and made her look so cozy.

Harry almost felt underdressed in comparison, wearing an oversized shirt of Sirius’ and a loose-fitting pair of lounge pants.

“Hey, you.” he said into her hair, and she laughed, sounding so tired.

“Hi.” She said, fingers clenching into his shirt. He pressed a kiss to her temple and she relaxed a little.

“This is nice.” She said. “It’s crazy, right? We should be– something. Freaking out, maybe. I should be freaking out about the exams, but instead we broke into the Ministry and fled the whole country.”

“Oh, sweetheart– we didn’t run from them.” Harry tucked his chin into her hair. “Or if we did it’s a tactical withdrawal, pulling back from the battle to win the war. They’ll think we ran, and chase us– and the jaws of the trap will snap shut.”

“It’s weird not to be at Hogwarts.” She admitted, after a few minutes of him just idly playing with her hair.

“Hmm?” He was half asleep. He didn’t know if it was the healing or the emotional gauntlet of the night before– of leaving Hogwarts, possibly for the last time though he hadn’t know it then– and thinking he’d lost Sirius twice.

“Well, we’d have gone back, right? Back to our beds and pretending we’d never left. The ministry attack would show up in the Daily Prophet and we’d get our exam results. We’d have had to go home for yet another summer– and I wouldn’t be seventeen until sixth year started.”

“It’s horrible that they deny us wand rights until we’re 17.” Harry said. “I hate it. No other country does it like that. Students are restricted to spells they’ve already learned at school, and that’s it.”

“Even then they rely on the parents to make sure they keep to that list.” Hermione whispered. “Muggleborns and muggle-raised don’t have that safety net. They could try out spells too advanced for them and suffer the consequences.”

“A seventeen-year-old in Britain could do the same and have the same consequences.” Harry pointed out. “Or an underaged wizard could break the rules and try out a spell he’s never tried– he’d be in extra trouble for the underage magic, but he’d go to St Mungo’s like the other two and get it sorted.”

“Fair.” Hermione sighed. “How do you want to handle it here?”

“I think forbidding a wizard to use magic is barbaric.” Harry admitted. “People keep saying I’m unusual, that I’ve got a lot more magic than other wizards. I’m starting to believe it. I always felt so fucking restless away from Hogwarts and only some of that was the impatience to get back. I need to cast magic or it builds up in me, a pressure that fights to get out.”

Hermione frowned.

“I didn’t think about it but you’re right. I feel the same– it’s uncomfortable at best. I have a confession to make.”

He brushed her hair back from her ear.

“Your secrets are safe with me, always.”

“I know.” She leaned against him, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. “I memory charmed my parents in diagon alley.”

“I knew you must have done something.” Harry murmured. “There’s no way they would have just let you spend so many weeks away during the summer. Not after being at Hogwarts all year. Was it before fourth year?”

She nodded into him.

“Yes, just before the World Cup. They weren’t going to let me go, you see, and I was… I can’t stand the thought of missing out on so much. At Hogwarts we’re almost completely isolated from the wizarding world, and in the muggle world doubly so. It’s like they don’t want us to learn anything outside of school.”

“I didn’t even know what an auror was until this year.” Harry said. “How are we to call for help? They don’t consider it because they don’t expect us to interact with the wizarding world at all until we’re 17. Just short supervised trips to Diagon and Hogsmeade. It’s no wonder why most muggleborn retreat to the muggle world once they’re shoved into the chaos after graduation. After Hogwarts, there’s no one around to explain any of it to them. Had you ever been to St Mungo’s before this year?”

“No, I’d barely even read about it.” Hermione frowned. “It didn’t occur to me at all what wizards did for healthcare which is incredibly short-sighted. Well, I knew what potions were used for and that ‘healers’ used them, but I couldn’t have told you the difference between a healer or a mediwitch like Madame Pomfrey before this year.”

“It’s like they don’t even care.” Harry said. “They don’t want to teach us about the world we’re suddenly a part of and they don’t care at all if we leave at seventeen.”

He took a deep breath.

“I have a confession, too.”

“Is it about your ring?” Hermione found his hand and trailed a feather-light fingertip around the stone. “It was a surprise.”

She paused. “But not to you.”

“No, not to me.” Harry admitted. “Sirius told me in secret over the break that he doesn’t think Dumbledore wants to see me as Lord Potter. I found out about my inheritance and my estate in third year when I was left on the alley. Nobody would let me go into the muggle world but they didn’t care at all if I spent half my afternoons in Gringotts.”

“When would you have been able to claim the title?”

“At seventeen, when I became a legal adult.” Harry said. “The ministry has laws about minors inheriting. It’s why Neville’s not Lord Longbottom despite… well…”

“His parents.” Hermione agreed. “I suppose that makes you Lord Potter then?”

He shivered to hear her say it, but…

“Yes, technically, but not from you.” He rested a hand on her hip softly, thumb tracing little circles in the bone there.

“My lord?” Hermione tried and he groaned.

“You’re ridiculous.” He told her, grabbing for the cover and tucking it more firmly against her back as she grinned impishly. “Yes, as a ward, that’d be the form of address. I’m legally your lord, in the same way that Sirius is my lord and patriarch as heir Black.”

“Do you want to talk about that?” She asked. He heard was she was really asking: did he want to talk about Sirius adopting him, not even now but fifteen years ago, apparently.

“Not tonight.” He said. “I’m so fucking tired.”

“Harry Potter.” She admonished, lightly, for the language. He slid an arm under her and rolled until they were no longer facing each other; she yelped in surprise that turned into laughter as he laid on his back and pulled her close. She splayed a hand across his chest and rested her head on his heart, tucked into the crook of his arm.

It was the most comfortable he could ever remember being.

“Hermione Potter.” He said, just because he could. It sounded exciting and just a little forbidden, like the best kinds of things.

She shivered.

“King Harry.” She tried and he sighed.

“It doesn’t feel real, you know.” He told her, jumping when she pressed her freezing cold toes against his leg. “Menance.”

“Yours, now. Legally, even.” She dug the cold toes in and he pinched her side, which didn’t faze her.

“I guess I can’t be too awful a…”

“King, Harry.” She prompted, because she was cruel and rarely pulled her punches in any scenario.

“King.” Harry sighed. “I can’t be too pants at it, with only two subjects, at least.”

“Dobby will be heartbroken to not be counted amongst your loyal subjects.”

“Fine, three.” Harry corrected himself, and seeing her open her mouth to speak again: “Stop trying to add more before I’ve even done the thing properly.”

“Fine.” She settled against him with a pout. Finally, she seemed to relax and it had a corresponding effect on Harry. He felt the worry drift out of her, and abruptly the only thing keeping him awake was his own mind, because his body was utterly and completely relaxed.

He managed one more blink before falling under, sleep hitting him like a bludger.