Join me on Discord for discussions, character portraits, and one advanced chapter. Server code is vN7sTYhEp6.

  Or hop onto Patreon under the same penname to read an additional five chapters.

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

  “Well? Are you going to stand like a statue, or will you speak?”

  Harry ignored the bad-tempered portrait and looked around the vault. He lit his wand and smiled at the contents. There was no gold but far more precious things; A few chests in different sizes, which, after opening them, he found jewellery and other personal effects of his family. To the side was a small bookshelf with interesting-looking tomes that seemed to be in pristine condition, unlike those in the library. The most valuable discovery, however, was the bck stone set on a pedestal in a corner of the room. Touching the cube-like stone, he felt it drink some of his magic before it lit up and floated. From his limited understanding, this had to be the wardstone that controlled the defences of his manor and nds. Harry had a strong feeling it was incredibly valuable even among its kind.

  “Stop ignoring me, dammit! It wasn't funny the first five minutes, and it still isn't. You're just taking the mickey out of me.” The man had continued to spout many threats and demands for answers that Harry ignored, simply because he was just rude; that was no way to treat your ndlord… and Harry was feeling mischievous for a change, or else he would be jumping for joy at finding a possible ancestor he could speak with.

  “Harry? Are you there?”

  “I'm here, Chiara.” Harry paused and turned to see the woman look around in confusion. “Can't you see me?”

  “Harry? Are you alright? I can't see or hear you.”

  The Potter Lord walked back to the entrance and stood in front of the older girl. He waved his hand experimentally, but the girl didn't follow his hand.

  “What in the world?” Still no response from Chiara, though she could probably smell his position as she stared right at his face.

  “You have to physically move her in through the obfuscation barrier.” The portrait, which had gone silent earlier, expined in a bored manner, and Harry stared at the man’s sudden helpfulness.

  Shaking his head, he reached out to grab the older girl and dragged her in, causing her to flinch. “Sorry about that, Chiara.”

  “Don't bother thanking me. You can thoroughly ignore me.” The portrait grumbled behind him, causing him to sigh. A part of him that had to be Jon also called to give proper respect to his ancestor, and Harry decided he had had enough fun. Turning to look at the portrait, he inspected it fully for the first time. An older man, probably the same age as Albus Dumbledore, with snow-white hair and beard dressed in regal blue robes with a trophy room background where several magical beast heads were stuck on the wall. Looking downwards, Harry found a name written on the frame under the canvas.

  Henry Baxter Potter

  “Hello, honoured ancestor. A pleasure to meet you. I am the current Lord Potter, Harry Potter.”

  Harry bowed politely to the man who had his arms folded, but his gre softened at the introduction.

  “Harry, you say? Would your father be James? And Lord Potter? What happened to my grandson?”

  So this was his… great-grandfather.

  “Indeed. I am the son of James and Lily Potter. They were killed by Voldemort when I was young.”

  “That bloody lunatic got them?!” Henry Potter bristled in his portrait, his snowy mutton chops quivering in anger.

  “Aye, but he was also vanquished that night. Presumably by me if you listen to the ministry, but I’m confident it was my mother. Did you know them?”

  “Aye, I knew them alright. Your mother was a bright ss, indeed. At least my wastrel of a grandson managed to find his wits and stop fooling around to bag such a jewel. I assume it was her who named you after me, since the st I saw of James we were both cursing each other's ancestors.” The man ughed ruefully, and Harry couldn't help but chuckle along. He could hear Chiara's slight giggle behind him, and Henry Potter finally acknowledged her.

  “And who might you be, young dy? Aren't you too old to be this d’s Lady Potter?” Harry's eyebrow twitched as the man wiggled his own at them.

  “Chiara Lobosca, at your service, Mr Potter.” His attendant politely introduced herself with a curtsy before adding hesitantly. “I am Harry’s… retainer.”

  “I see.” His ancestor looked strangely at him before shrugging. “Far be it from me to judge, considering my own circumstances. Regardless, I've been locked in this vault since your rascal of a father threw a tantrum over the future of the manor.”

  “Must be quite the story. Would it have anything to do with the fact it was sealed by the ministry?”

  “Indeed, that fool James let those paper pushers coerce him into sealing the property after my son and his wife died. Dragon Pox my foot, it was all so they can–”

  “Not bother with reguting the Wildnd, I know.” Harry rubbed his chin as he finally realised why his father went along with the ministry's decision. He had met many wizards who lost family members to the Dragon Pox, yet not a single one of them had to seal their homes because of it.

  “Well, you're a smart cookie. Care to take me out of this dank pce and put me somewhere more bright?”

  Harry gazed at his great-grandfather for a moment before shrugging. “Sure, why not?”

  ***

  “Hmm, how about a bit more to the left? Right about… there.” At the signal, Harry waved his wand and Henry Potter's portrait stuck to the wall next to the firepce in the foyer. “Excellent, now I can have a solid vantage point to anyone entering the house from both the door and the Floo!”

  “If you say so, ancestor. I'll depend on you to warn me should any intruders appear.”

  “You can count on me, ddie. As long as you pce a few more empty portraits and cast a connection charm with mine, I'll even be able to travel around the house!”

  Harry couldn't help but chuckle at his ancestor's exuberance, much different from his earlier grumpiness. Then again, he too would be peeved if he was forced into a dark room for over a decade, which he could sympathise with when he remembered the first ten years of his life at the Dursleys. They had spent the st hour deciding where to pce the portrait, as Henry Potter was quite the picky man. Chiara had excused herself to her quarters and potions b for her work as she busily made use of the fresh troll parts, so it was just the two of them as they had a very enlightening chat.

  From what he learned from the man, he lived for over a hundred years and married twice, siring two sons. Henry also had a successful stint in the Wizengamot as Chief Warlock and managed to draft several social and economic reforms, particurly in favour of muggle-borns. Not all of them passed through, as the man confessed that, in hindsight, he had stepped on too many toes when he advocated heavily for the involvement of Magical Britain with their muggle counterparts during the Great War. When Harry asked why he bothered to help the muggles, the man shrugged and said he found them fascinating, and it was a matter of pride as they were technically all British. Not to mention the other nations were getting help from their magical communities as well, the Statute of Secrecy be damned, and the alternative was depending on the Yanks for help, which his ancestor disapproved of.

  “Speaking of portraits, why aren’t there more of my ancestors around?” Harry did not find a single other portrait in the manor, not even an empty canvas.

  “Well, none of them had the crity of their own demise. It’s a gruelling process to get your portrait made; wait too long, and you will die before it's ready or worse, the portrait will show you as half-dead. It involves a ritual that imprints a bit of your essence as you pass away to give life to the portrait, and if you prepare the portrait and ritual too early, then it wouldn't work.” Henry twitched his mouth in thought, as he pyed with his moustache. “At least, that’s the publicly known way, as I am sure some entities, such as Hogwarts and the ministry, have their own way of making such portraits.”

  “Crity? You mean, you knew you were dying and prepared yourself accordingly?”

  “Indeed. I had joined several expeditions after I retired from politics to cull the worrying numbers of Peruvian Vipertooth dragons smuggled into the continent. You see, they are the cause of the Dragon Pox, but they breed like rabbits, and their parts are barely valuable compared to other dragons, so not many willingly hunt them. Anyway, I contracted the disease several times but always managed to beat it by virtue of vigour, yet I knew that my body would not be able to handle another affliction.”

  “And thus, you prepared the portrait,” Harry finished sagely. It was interesting to hear that monster sying ran in the blood after all, though Henry was a tad too pompous in his bragging.

  Henry nodded as he reminisced. “My wife Jocelyn helped me prepare the portrait while my son, Fleamont, was busy squandering his newly found wealth in buying these nds and building his manor; the boy spent half his wealth on a famous fortune-teller from the Orient to divine him the most suited nd in the British Isles to cim as demesne. He then spent nearly the other half on warding and securing it enough to withstand an invasion.”

  “Such a waste!” Harry was aghast at such insane extravagance from his grandfather, as he now knew why his wealth was so meagre in comparison to what he expected. Looking at Henry, he found the man did not judge his son, but rather felt proud yet exasperated.

  “Waste? Have you not noticed the benefits already? On the contrary, this had been Fleamont’s smartest decision yet, especially with that lunatic hunting down witches and wizards with impunity!” Harry nodded, remembering how many families were wiped out due to Voldemort’s bloody war. “Furthermore, the Wildnd’s appearance must be a blessing from Mother Magic herself and a lucrative business if you are smart and capable. Not to mention, a ley line nexus is running under the nd, simir to the one Hogwarts is built on, if smaller.”

  Harry clicked his tongue grudgingly, reminding himself that this was magic and things that he would attribute to superstition in Westeros could very well be real. True seers reminded him of the Greenseers of old, and if half of what he heard of their powers was true, then Jon had no doubt the Starks of old would have also paid great heed to their words.

  “You mentioned your wife, was she…”

  “Oh, Jocelyn isn’t your great-grandmother but my second wife and the mother of Charlus. Have you heard of him?”

  Harry nodded as he remembered reading about the tragic demise of his family and recalled Narcissa mentioning him. “They all died in ‘76 from what I hear, though there are conflicting reasons on how.”

  “My grandson, Gerald, did indeed die from the pox earlier that year. The poor d was always sickly, and I bme his mother’s genes for it.” Henry smiled sadly, and Harry thought he was missing an old joke. “The Bck family had their good and bad apples, but Dorea was a lovely young dy. Unfortunately, like the rest of her family, she had difficulty having children due to some sort of curse that pgued the women of her generation in the House of Bck.”

  His ancestor eborated upon seeing his confused look, and Harry nodded in thanks. “What about your wife and the rest of your family?”

  Henry’s lips twisted into a sneer. “Jocelyn and Dorea were killed in Diagon Alley by that mad cunt that married into the Lestranges.”

  “Who?”

  “Beltrix Bck, one of Cygnus’ daughters. Your father and his friends were with them for their school shopping, and they barely got out alive, but the horrors they saw that day and the people who died in the crossfire…”

  Harry could feel rage brewing in his blood, but he quickly tempered it. Such rage was impotent, for none of its targets were alive or free for him to get justice or vengeance on. “What happened then? I’m sure my grandfather would not stay quiet at Death Eaters targeting powerless women of his House.”

  “Powerless? My dear boy, don’t you ever say that to a witch, especially a Bck Witch, or you will discover what it feels like to have your intestines crawling out of your arsehole to wring your neck!” The vivid threat caused him to grimace, and Jon had to remind himself that he was no longer in Westeros but in a world of magic. “That pathetic leech calling himself Voldemort gave Beltrix a test for her loyalty from what Charlus discovered after capturing one of the assaints alive. My poor boy… he was never the same after the death of his son, and this was the st straw. After the tragedy, he could not hold in the rage and had nothing to lose when he went on a rampage that reduced the members of House Lestrange to a mere three. He did not survive the Dark Lord, and your grandfather was barely able to retrieve his body with the help of our cloak.”

  The sombre story reminded Harry of the wlessness of the seventies and how the ministry and its Aurors were powerless to do anything about the conflict. Whether they were stretched too thin or allowed the atrocities to happen due to political reasons, one thing was clear.

  The strong did whatever they wanted, and the weak endured.

  “The invisibility cloak?” Harry was surprised at the sudden mention of the cloak and produced it from his pocket. “This one?”

  “Ah yes, I’m gd you have inherited it. Take good care of it, ddie, for it does more than make you invisible. The Cloak of Invisibility is a precious heirloom given to us as a dowry when Ionthe Peverell married into our house.”

  “Interesting.” Harry rubbed his father’s– no, his family’s cloak with his fingers, only now noticing how silky, smooth and ethereal it felt compared to the other invisibility cloak he had taken from the creep at the funeral. “How long ago was that?”

  “About seven hundred years ago or so,” Harry’s jaw dropped as he looked at his cloak in a new light. “Our family tree should be in one of the rooms in the basement. Fleamont had spent a lot of effort moving it from our old cottage in Godric's Hollow. The Peverells were also an ancient and famous house of their time that lived in that vilge before they died off. Traditionally, Godric's Hollow was our burial pce, but Fleamont had dug a crypt nearby for future members. It's where he and my family are buried, but with the property sealed, I believe your parents should still be buried in Godric's Hollow.”

  His parents' tombs… The Boy Who Lived had never thought about it, and suddenly, he had a strong urge to drop everything and visit it, but he easily curbed that thought. It was not yet time, and a significant part of him was reluctant to see the solid proof of their deaths.

  “So we’ve talked a lot about myself, but how come you don’t know anything about your family? Tell me about yourself, d, and bring me up to speed on what happened after I was sealed here.”

  Harry shrugged and figured his ancestor had the right to know about his life. He did not hide anything and told him all about Harry Potter, but not Jon Snow nor about what happened in the Chamber. To say he was upset about his upbringing would be an understatement. Henry Potter had spent the past ten minutes cursing in ways he did not think were possible; the amount of vitriol could have drowned Voldemort and his Death Eaters, the ministry, then Dumbledore when Harry gave him more details before finally calming down and shrugging about the whole affair.

  “I still don't understand why young Sirius didn't take care of you instead of your muggle retives,” Henry groused as Harry sat on a tea table and spread out his letters. Dobby had silently dropped in a pot of tea for him, and Harry sipped in content as he opened Tracey's letter. In addition to a long roll of parchment, there was a picture of Daphne, dressed in a ragged attire fit for servants, scrubbing the floor by hand while supervised by an excited Astoria and a tired-looking Tracey.

  “Sirius? Sirius Bck, you mean? He's in Azkaban for betraying my parents and murdering a wizard as well as a dozen muggles.” Harry answered absentmindedly as he read the letter with a smile; there were three different styles of handwriting on the parchment, and Harry could easily guess who the words belonged to. Tracey was polite as she asked about his weekend and hoped to see him at the ministry ball. Daphne was whinging about getting punished by her parents for her drunken stunt on the train, which may or may not result in her missing the ball, depending on her parents. Harry could almost see Astoria's face brimming with excitement due to the chicken scribbles that were her handwriting; the energetic girl warned that Daphne didn’t know about the picture and to keep it secret, before harping on about how cool his photos were, and Harry even learned that the article's author was their cousin.

  “What?! Sirius? In Azkaban?” Henry's shout broke him out of his thoughts, and he frowned - he did not need a reminder about that traitor.

  “Yes, in Azkaban. Suffering horrors untold from what I hear, though If it were up to me, I would have the man killed rather than prolong his suffering.” Producing a roll of parchment, Harry prepared to pen a reply letter to the Greengrass sisters. It was time to see if the enchanted quill he bought from that speciality store worked as advertised. Opening an ink pot, he pced the quill in the pot and watched as it sucked the ink, its white feathers turned bck from the base to midway, showing how full it was.

  “He's your godfather, d.” His ancestor sounded distraught, but Harry didn't turn away from his letter as he quickly penned the reply, finding himself writing quicker than usual with Jon’s neat handwriting.

  “And he betrayed my family.” The letter was nearly done when he sensed Hedwig nudging him. Looking inwardly, he huffed in amusement as his owl had wrestled a copy of the Daily Prophet from an aggrieved-looking barn owl. It was a good thing he paid his subscription in advance, instead of per delivery.

  “He couldn't have, he swore to be your godfather.” Harry was beginning to feel frustrated by his great-grandfather’s denial of reality, even as Hedwig warned him of another owl entering his territory, and she raced to get ahead of it.

  “They say when they caught him, he was ughing madly in the crater he made when he killed those muggles and a man named Pettigrew. Muggles on the scene witnessed him screaming for all to hear how he killed my parents. I'm sure that's as damning a confession as you can get.” That should hopefully satisfy his ancestor. Harry waved his wand at a block of wax he had prepared earlier, causing it to melt, and poured it over the folded letter he had penned. Bringing out his new signet ring, a snarling wolf’s head, he pressed firmly into the wax and waved his wand again, sealing it and casting a charm he learned that would infuse his magic in the seal. If the seal was broken and a wizard attempted to repair it, the wolf sigil would melt away, leaving only wax.

  “And you think that's enough proof? Muggle testimony to magical events? I don't buy it. Sirius was practically raised by our House, and he hated everything to do with that Voldemort fellow.”

  And so was Theon, yet he did not hesitate to betray the House that raised him and murder his brothers in all but blood. “I have heard that members of that House have madness in their blood. Perhaps the madness just struck him te in life.” Jon would know all about madness in the blood; the Targaryens had plenty of it. Harry skimmed through Neville's letter, an update on his holiday and the many exotic pnts he found, and a promise to talk during the Ball. The young lord smiled as he penned a polite reply, urging the boy to keep up with his training and to take up swimming as well, since he was by the Mediterranean.

  “Boy, you have no idea what you're talking about.” The sudden change in tone had Harry frown as he opened Nymphadora’s letter and turned to the scowling portrait. “Don’t forget that my son, Charlus, married Dorea Bck and the so-called madness are mere bouts of passion that would not spontaneously change their nature. You did not know Sirius, nor any member of House Bck for that matter; there has to be some sort of mistake with his incarceration.”

  The words had merit, but Harry did not think all of wizarding Britain would be mistaken about Sirius Bck. Even Hagrid believed his godfather was guilty, though he did meet a daughter of House Bck, two if he counted Tonks, and Harry would admit he found them both charming and not at all mad. Before he could voice his thoughts, the two owls arrived; one of them dropping a copy of the Quibbler courtesy of Luna, while Hedwig nded boldly on his shoulders, clutching the Daily Prophet.

  “Hold that thought for a moment.” Something on the front page grabbed Harry's attention, and unfurling the paper, he found himself staring at a massive headline that had him burst out ughing at the irony of the timing.

  Sirius Bck Escapes Azkaban!

  More information on the Right-hand man of He Who Must Not Be Named on page–

  Harry’s fingers flexed, searching for the hilt of a sword that was not there, for Gryffindor was pced on the wall of his sor as a trophy. With a shake of his head, he suppressed the feeling of fury rising in his chest.

  “Well, if you firmly believe that Sirius was innocent, then here’s a silver lining.” Harry exhaled and showed the paper to the stunned Henry. In the end, it did not matter. The man escaped prison, and whether he was innocent or guilty, there was no doubt in Harry's mind he would come to him to either see his godson or to kill his Lord's vanquisher. Hear the truth from the horse’s mouth, so to speak.

  That did not mean he would not train harder in case he had to kill the man if he truly proved a traitor.

  A*L*S*M

  The next day,

  Wednesday the 16th of June,

  Leaky Cauldron.

  Tracey gracefully stepped out of the Floo and took a quick gnce around the pub. It was more crowded than usual as many of the denizens of the Alley visited for lunch. Turning to the firepce, the eldest daughter of Apollo Greengrass waited patiently for her sister to join her. Soon, Astoria stumbled out of the green fmes but managed to recover her bance swiftly.

  “Alright! Let's go see if Harry's still here.” Tori ran off to the bartender and hopped on one of the stools. “Hi, Mr Tom! Is Harry here?”

  Tracey sighed in exasperation at her youngest sister. Astoria had been far more energetic ever since Harry's blood transfusion. On the bright side, it was great that she was feeling better and had yet to show signs of stopping. On the other hand, Tori was already a handful normally, but with that energy boost…

  “Ah, sorry, ss. You just missed him. He woke up this morning and moved away to his new home.”

  “Ugh, rats!” Astoria smmed her fist on the counter with a scowl, yet it looked like a pout, and Tom clearly found her adorable, judging by his indulging smile. “I knew this was going to happen, Trace. Dad can be so mean when it comes to his punishments. I wish he were more like Luna’s Dad.”

  “Really? Mr Lovegood of all people?” Tracey sat on the stool beside her and deadpanned, causing Astoria to shuffle uneasily.

  “OK, maybe not that bad, but still.” Her sister whined piteously, causing her to sigh again.

  “We'll have whatever you’re cooking for lunch, Mr Tom.” The pub owner smiled and disappeared into the kitchen, “would you rather still be scrubbing the toilets with Daphne?”

  “No, thank you, having Daddy's elf shadowing us and shrieking like a banshee every time we miss a spot is an experience I don't ever want to have again.” Astoria shivered theatrically before ying her head on the counter. “I barely even had a sip of that stuff before it knocked me out. It didn't even taste good, yet I still got punished like you. Ugh, so unfair.”

  Any further compints were shelved in favour of eating their newly arrived meal, a shepherd's pie, which was more plebeian than what they were used to. Tracey enjoyed it, nonetheless, reminding her of Hogwarts, and once she paid, she dragged her sister to the Alley.

  “So, ready to shop for the ball?”

  “Heck yeah! We're gonna buy all the cute things for ourselves and get something super funny for Daphne to wear.”

  Tracey grinned as she waved her wand at Astoria’s face, whispering a spell to clean some st remnants of her meal stuck on her cheeks before tapping the bricks with her wand. While she was technically breaking the underage magic w, her father gave her permission, and if any ministry official made a fuss, she was to send them to him. Tracey would normally frown at such a hedonistic dispy of favouritism, but she agreed with her father on this matter. That w was a whole load of codswallop.

  As the archway melted into the wall, Tracey frowned as she could feel something was off with the view in front of her. The main road was crowded as usual, but the older folks seemed apprehensive as they checked behind their shoulders and gnced uneasily at every side alley. Aside from that, everything else looked normal, with little kids running around excitedly, and she even spied a few students from school. Her gaze nded on the wanted poster of Sirius Bck stuck to a shop window, and it now made sense as she uncomfortably shivered at the manic eyes of the man.

  Shaking her head, Tracey checked her watch before turning to her sister. “We still have an hour or so until our appointment at the tailor. Where do you want to go first?”

  “Ice cream!” Astoria's fists were in the air as she shouted, causing many eyes to wander over them.

  “To Fortescue then.”

  .

  .

  .

  “Why, this is such a pleasant surprise! How do you do, Tracey? Astoria?”

  Tracey frowned as she looked up from her ice cream to find Susan Bones standing with a younger boy, probably one of her brothers. He had wide blue eyes and strawberry-blonde hair; Tracey couldn't help but smile at his adorable red cheeks, and her smile turned into a grin when he shyly hid behind his sister as he noticed her gaze.

  “Now, now, Eddy. Say hello to my friends from school.” Susan nudged her brother forward, and the boy shyly wrung his hands.

  “I-I’m Edward Bones. A-A pleasure to beat y-you–”

  Tracey managed to stifle her snort as the boy bit his tongue, but Astoria was less tactful as she guffawed over her ice cream. Susan's smile turned wooden, and her eyes fshed as she gred at her sister, who noticed poor Edward almost in tears.

  “Ah, I'm sorry, er, Edward, was it?” Astoria jumped from her seat and hurried to the shy boy with a disarming smile. “I'm Astoria Greengrass. Nice to meetcha!”

  “Tracey Davis, this little troublemaker’s older sister. A pleasure to meet you.” She nodded from her seat and smiled at the boy, who finally gathered the courage to greet them again.

  “Nice to meet you, too.” The boy stole a gnce at his older sister, who smiled encouragingly before turning to them.

  “Do you mind if we join you? There's hardly any empty seats, and we would rather not sit with strangers.” Tracey and Astoria were seated at a four-seated table, and a gnce told her the parlour was overflowing.

  “Certainly, Astoria? Why don’t you make room for Edward?”

  Susan nodded genially and sat on her left, with Edward joining on his sister's left, where Astoria was quick to strike up a conversation with the younger boy. Tracey watched in amusement as the blushing boy was first hesitant to talk for more than one-worded replies before gradually opening up to her as they shared ice cream.

  “I'm gd Edward clicked with your sister. I worried he would have trouble getting over his shyness.”

  “Astoria always craved more friends. I don't think she has any other friends aside from Luna. When is your brother joining Hogwarts?”

  “This September. He's been excited for it all year and is anxious about the sorting ceremony.”

  Tracey giggled at the red-haired girl’s mock whisper. She didn't know what Edward expected, but she was eagerly awaiting his face during the sorting, just as she did for Astoria; God, that was hirious. A comfortable silence settled as they all focused on their ice creams, and watched their younger siblings with amusement.

  “Looking forward to the Ball?” Susan asked suddenly, causing Astoria to perk up.

  “Oh yeah, we're gonna get dresses made after this. It's a shame we missed Harry. It would have been fun to have him judge our dresses and carry our bags.”

  “Harry, you say? My aunt asked about him a couple of days ago. He left quite the impression on her. Do you know where he is now?” Tracey did not like the gleam in the other girl's eyes or how she licked her lips.

  “Oh yes, cousin Era was there when he made that mess. Her photos of him were so cool! ” Her sister squealed in excitement before adding smugly as she wiggled her eyebrows at the older girl, “And not all of them made it to the papers.”

  “I see, so he isn’t in the Alley today?” Tracey smirked inwardly when Susan ignored Astoria’s weak attempt at goading.

  “He was staying at the Leaky Cauldron but left this morning for his new home.” Her sister shrugged, clearly bored with the topic, before returning to her conversation with Edward as they compared chocote frog cards.

  “Potter has only grown more interesting of te, don’t you think so, Tracey?” At some point, Susan had pced her hand over hers, and Tracey noticed the girl’s cheeks were growing red as she licked the mango/pecan ice cream off her spoon. An exotic choice compared to her standard vanil.

  “I suppose he is.” Tracey shrugged, trying to look nonchant, but she did not like Susan’s sudden interest in Potter.

  “Well, I am sure he shall grow splendidly in the future. My, but wasn't he just dashing in the papers?” Susan continued to rub her hand soothingly, and Tracey scowled. That was her spoon hand, and her ice cream was starting to melt.

  “Do you mind letting go of my hand, Susan?”

  The red-haired girl flinched as if just noticing the close contact, her eyes widening in shock. To Tracey’s surprise, Susan recoiled her hand away as if she got burned, a fiery blush creeping up her cheeks as she mumbled a stuttered apology.

  Seeing it was genuine, the Slytherin witch accepted it with grace.

  Still, the amount of sudden attention Susan Bones was pcing on Harry irked her. An awkward moment of silence settled between them as they listened to their siblings bonding easily while they focused on their snacks. With an inward sigh, she pulled up Astoria once they finished with the ice cream and said their goodbyes before heading to Andromeda’s Celestial Couturiers; the strange attitude of Susan Bones slipping away from her mind as she looked forward to dressing up for the ball.

  And the mysterious Potter portrait troupe is here! Exposition and a typical summer day for the girls.

  Susan and Tracey meet and sparks are ignited before getting snuffed by the power of ice cream. How will the drama unfold? Susan is quite the special girl, huh?

  Yes, the tailor is whom you are guessing to be. I've already hinted that the Greengrasses have a good retionship with Ted Tonks as he is Astoria's physician. Naturally, it would make sense for Andromeda to have her own job as well.