Regina Oppugnare

Harry woke up early the next morning, as was usual for him. Due to the weather and the state of the backyard outside, he decided to take his Firebolt and fly around in the orchard. He reflected idly that Hermione wouldn't consider this as exercise as, in the mind of the girl, all Quidditch players did was sit on a broom and fly around, thereby not doing any exercise at all. Then again, she had never mounted a broom voluntarily. Much less trained for, or played a game of, competitive Quidditch.

While the school matches were not as intense as the professional matches, the game was still demanding on the players, and Harry knew that better than anyone, seeing as he played in the house team since he was in first year. In each match the Chasers would have to perform high speed manoeuvres while throwing the Quaffle and dodging the Chasers from the other team, the Bludgers and (if they were playing against Slytherin) the other players themselves. That required a lot of upper-body strength and manoeuvrability. The Beaters, on the other hand, had it a bit easier as they only had to watch out for Bludgers and hit them in the opposite direction. However, they had to exert their arms a lot when they hit the already speeding, dense Bludgers. The Keeper needed resistance training to be able to withstand all those Quaffle hits and deflect goal shots.

But all of that paled in comparison to what was expected of a Seeker. As a Seeker, Harry had made an average of ten high speed sharp turns, exceeding ninety miles an hour per match as he flew around, dodging the Bludgers and the players. And that wasn't factoring in the stress his body experienced when diving and pulling out of a dive.

The dives were another matter altogether. They weren't as easy as he made them out to be. When he had first made Seeker, Madame Hooch had spent the subsequent First-Year Flying Classes (which were whittled down to contain only those interested in continuing) teaching him and the rest how to position the body when diving to ensure the least amount of stress was experienced by the body. Of the whole class, Harry was the only one to have picked up the concepts quickly. As a precautionary measure, Madame Pomfrey, the school matron, had insisted that all Quidditch players reported to her at least once a year (barring injuries) to ensure that there were no adverse effects. Not that it mattered to Harry. He was there often enough and long enough to cover the mandatory check-up.

Because of this, the team members (especially the Seeker) had to undergo a bit of cardiovascular training to ensure that they were in top condition to play the game. It was mainly due to this that Harry found it easier to start his training in the summer. There was the small issue of him being slightly out of shape as he wasn't on the team for most of the year, but that had been overcome easily enough.

And so it was a very sweaty and hot young man who came inside the house to have a bath after some hard flying, featuring a variation of the training he had devised for the house team which involved him experiencing quite a few Gs. He had to hurry as he had spent too much time on his broom and his Portkey was to activate in a few moments.

Once bathed and properly dressed, Harry said his goodbyes before he shouldered his bag containing his invisibility cloak, broom and the various paraphernalia he had packed for the holidays. Clutching the invitation sent by the Dowager Lady Longbottom, he was whisked away to Longbottom Manor.

He landed just outside the gates, his knees slightly bent. Looking around, Harry took in the large imposing gates with the Longbottom family crest inlaid in them. Beyond the gates was a short gravel driveway that led to the manor from whence Harry could see his friend stepping out. As Neville approached the gates, Harry took in the house. While the Burrow was haphazard and asymmetrical, the Longbottom Manor was painfully symmetrical. Just over three storeys tall, (four if Harry counted the tower like structure peeking out of the roof of the manor) the manor was flanked on either side by two identical conical roofs at the rounded corners. What was more; from what Harry could see of the back of the manor from where he was standing the back seemed to be just as identical as the front. All in all, the manor reminded him of a square with the conical roofs at the corners.

'Hey Harry,' said Neville, as he reached the front gates, getting a greeting in return from his friend. 'Sorry for making you wait...'

'It's no problem Neville,' said Harry easily as he stepped through the gates that swung inward on their own as the Longbottom boy approached. Having called a House-Elf, Neville had Harry's things sent to a guest room after which the boy proceeded to accompany his guest towards the manor.

'You have a nice house,' Harry remarked as they walked toward the building. He did not mention the fact that he found it rather ... mathematical. The feeling only grew stronger when he noticed that the windows a floor above were exactly half the size of the windows one floor below.

'Thanks,' said Neville blushing a bit. He then launched into what could only be a well – rehearsed speech talking about the architecture of the house. Most of the terms went over Harry's head, but two things did stand out. The house was a square and all the windows got progressively smaller exactly by half as the floor number increased. All of that, apparently, was specifically seen to by Neville's great-great-grandfather, Harald Longbottom, when he had rebuilt the manor after the original was damaged in a fire. It turned out that he was famous for his love of symmetry and geometry.

'That's a nice greenhouse you've got there, Neville,' Harry remarked when they neared the oaken front doors.

'Oh, thanks,' said Neville with a broad smile on his face. A light turned on in his eyes when Harry mentioned the building. The greenhouse was not as large as the ones at Hogwarts, but it was of a respectable enough size. 'It isn't much,' began Neville. 'Gran gifted it to me for my birthday you see, so it has only been here a few months. I have a few saplings and a small plant or two there at the moment. However, I plan on acquiring some other rare plants soon...' and he launched into a spiel of his future plans for the greenhouse. Harry just nodded along at the right time, only vaguely recognising some of the plants the other boy was talking about.

He definitely remembered the Mimbulus Mimbletonia when Neville mentioned it!

'By the way, thanks for the pot of Mimosa Pudica seedlings you sent me for Christmas! I had never heard of the plant until you sent it to me!' Neville exclaimed enthusiastically as they entered the entrance hall. 'By the way, this is the entrance hall,' he waved vaguely.

'I thought you might like it,' said Harry. 'It may be a non-magical plant, but still rather curious.' He remembered that plant mainly because his aunt had agonised about getting a cutting for the garden before giving up because she did not want to pay for the shipping and customs.

'Yes, Gran certainly enjoyed it. It was a good thing that you sent the additional information, otherwise we would have never guessed what made it so special!' Neville said enthusiastically. 'She's even asked me to grow more of it so she can use it in the house for decoration.'

As he exited the Entrance Hall, Harry stopped for a moment, confused, for he suddenly found himself in a beautifully landscaped garden.

Neville grinned at the surprise on his guest's face. 'Nice isn't it?' he said. 'The courtyard is the best part of the manor. The rooms on the ground floor are designed to flow seamlessly into the courtyard. So if you do not pay close attention to your whereabouts, you will suddenly find yourself in the middle of the indoor garden here.'

'Fascinating,' Harry said in awe as they reached the centre of the courtyard where a tree of about Hagrid's height grew. 'Miniature Oak,' said Neville rapping his knuckles on the trunk of the tree. 'Purposely made to grow this small ... some Japanese technique, I forget the name. It doesn't look it, but the thing's over eighty years old!'

Harry looked back the way he had come. Now that he noticed it, he could see the gradual way the marble floor of Entrance Hall morphed into the stone pathway he was now standing on. He simultaneously noticed the open French doors that he had previously missed. The garden was unlike anything he had seen before. It was engineered so masterfully that the natural beauty of the various shrubs, herbs and the occasional miniature tree only enhanced the man-made sculptures and constructs present there and vice-versa.

'It's a lovely garden,' said Harry softly. Aside from the sounds of what sounded like a hidden brook, he could not hear anything else. The effect was peaceful.

'Yeah, there is a silencing ward around the entryways into the different rooms,' said Neville. Pointing to Harry's left, he said, 'That's the dining room. On the other side is the ballroom, and behind us are the kitchens. Except for the kitchens, the rest of the walls have a One-Way Charm placed on them. You can see out into the garden, but not into the other rooms.'

Neville then brought Harry's attention to the ceiling. 'Originally the ceiling was supposed to have the same enchantment as seen in the Great Hall, but, unfortunately, Harald Longbottom was not able to fully reproduce the enchantment despite spending ten years and a lot of galleons on funding a research team. So he went for the next best thing, he cast an illusion enchantment reproducing a cloudless blue sky in the day and a clear starry night when the sun goes down. Of course, it really isn't like the ceiling of the Great Hall.'

Harry silently agreed with Neville as he looked at the ceiling. The different types of clouds, normally found in the Great Hall at Hogwarts were absent in the periwinkle blue of the ceiling here. The effect was rather ... bland. Though he supposed that if a person had not seen the Great Hall at Hogwarts, they might have found this interesting.

Neville then led Harry past the long banquet table in an equally large dining room and up to the second floor.

'This is your room,' Neville said, opening the door to one of the rooms on the floor and showing Harry into the well – furnished guest room. Harry's luggage was already placed at the foot of the king-sized bed with his Firebolt placed on a stand set into the wall.

'Nice,' Harry commented. This was the first wizarding home he would be staying in which was not The Burrow or Grimmauld Place. While he appreciated the Weasleys, and their poor material situation did not distort his perception of them, he couldn't help but compare the room he was currently in to the Weasley household. For one, there were the switches that controlled the lighting charm set into the house. Unlike at The Burrow or at Grimmauld Place where light was provided for by candles, fireplaces or gas powered lamps, the light here permeated throughout the room, just like in the Chamber of Secrets. Though the lights in the Chamber could not be dimmed, they either were on permanently (in the case of the main Chamber) or could only be turned off or on (in the case of the vault).

'It's a new development,' Neville said, correctly interpreting the reason why his friend was playing with the light controls. He hoped Harry stopped playing with the lights soon though. All this increasing and lowering of the lights was beginning to annoy him. Not that Neville could say much. He himself had played with the controls when they were first installed, and would have continued if it weren't for his Gran.

'Really?' Harry asked his friend, abandoning the controls (much to Neville's relief). He had wondered idly why Hogwarts did not have the same charms that were in the Chamber. He had a feeling that the Founder had not shared the charm with the wider world. Apparently the knowledge had died with Salazar, only to be rediscovered centuries later.

'Yeah, bloody expensive too,' Neville replied. 'Gran got this done for the bedrooms only. Everything else is lit by candles and lamps. Our indoor garden is lit by day through strategically placed crystals that refract the sunlight from outside giving the plants inside light as you saw just a few moments back.'

'Interesting...' Harry trailed off thoughtfully. He hadn't thought of putting a lighting charm when he had first started renovating the Potters' ancestral home and Black Castle. Hopefully, Slytherin had written down how he had done the lighting charm for the Chamber. That way, Harry would be able to renew the charm in the Chamber on his own, and possibly, reproduce it in his various properties. While the candles were now encased in crystals to enhance the light they gave out, like in St. Mungo's, Harry could still see the advantages a lighting charm had over the more conventional methods used nowadays.

'Yeah, anyway, let me show you my room!' said Neville, breaking into Harry's thoughts. The boy enthusiastically led Harry to his room.

Neville's room was certainly not what Harry was expecting. For one, it did not resemble a rainforest practically bursting with members of the Regnum Plantae. 'Wow ... it's pretty clean ...' said Harry. He cast a suspicious look from the corner of his eye at his host. From his experiences in the dorm, his friend wasn't this clean! Neville was a borderline slob, just like the boys with whom he shared the dormitory with (including Harry himself).

'Why thank you,' said Neville. He quickly changed the subject, not wanting his guest to start suspecting that he had just recently cleaned the room. Walking to the window he said, 'This was where my great uncle dropped me when I was little. I bounced all the way to the road.' He trailed off reminiscently looking at the road in the distance.

Harry joined him by the window. 'Wow, that is quite a distance,' he commented after a moment. He really did not know what to say to that. He did feel a great deal of empathy for Neville though.

'Yeah,' said Neville. 'Gran was furious when she found out. She didn't allow him into the house until after I had started school. I think he really was sorry for what he did. After all, he did give me Trevor and that Mimbulus Mimbletonia.'

A house-elf with a long crooked nose and a large tuft of hair coming out of its ears popped in, interrupting the boys. 'Madame Longbottom has just arrived, master.' The elf, a male, said looking at Neville with its huge tennis-ball shaped blue eyes. 'Mistress asks that master present himself with his guest in the trophy room.'

'Thank you, Wilfred,' said Neville. The elf bowed in response and disappeared.

As soon as he entered the room, the first thing Harry saw was the head of a massive white lion staring back at him, its mouth drawn in a snarl, showing a row of deadly looking teeth with eyes glaring vacantly at the room.

'That is the head of a chimera,' said Augusta Longbottom from the entrance of the room behind him, bringing Harry out of his stupor. 'Killed it in Thirty – four ... it was really hard work ... we lost a man from our hunting party bringing that beast down. Which was quite a miracle, when you look at the number of people it had killed in the six months it had terrorised a village in Greece. We were the fifth hunting party that had gone after it, and the only, one to succeed in bringing it down. I got the head because I managed to land the killing blow.' Tearing her gaze from the trophy in front of her, the old woman turned to look at her guest. 'Lord Potter, welcome to our house,' she said formally.

'It is a pleasure to be here, Lady Longbottom. Thank you for inviting me over.' Said Harry equally formally as he took the hand she had offered him and gave it a little shake. 'I see that you too have received news of my ... change in status. And please, ma'am, call me Harry. After all, I am a friend of your grandson's. Not to mention, sixteen.' He tacked on the last bit in a respectful tone.

Augusta Longbottom gave Harry a deep assessing look before nodding satisfactorily. 'Polite,' she remarked. 'And modest too ... I think I might just end up liking you, Potter.' she suddenly smiled at him. Had he not seen her hunting trophies and heard of her exploits, Harry would have thought that she looked rather kindly and harmless.

'As for your status,' she continued. 'Only those of the Wizengamot know. For now, at least ... While under normal circumstances, that would be the end of that, I expect that your celebrity status would ensure that the general populace will soon be made aware of the fact in as public a manner as possible. Especially, since you are the subject of the infamous Black-Greengrass contract. A shame really, I was looking forward to searching for a girl for you ever since your father once mentioned it in passing after your birth...' she trailed off. 'Anyway, all is not lost.' She gave Neville a quick look as she said the last bit. Both boys blushed at the subject, not meeting each other's eyes.

'Well, gentlemen, I do believe that it is time for lunch, so if you would follow me...' With that the formidable woman led the two boys downstairs, smiling to herself. Sometimes it was just too easy to embarrass teenagers. She was looking forward to introducing the young Potter to her friend Griselda. Now that woman was a pincher.

They were soon seated at the table and served. Halfway through the meal, Augusta asked the boys about their plans for the rest of the holidays. Seeing an opportunity, Harry mentioned his meeting with the Queen that was to take place in two days.

Both grandmother and grandson looked up at this and stared at their guest. 'Blimey,' said Neville while Augusta frowned, giving Neville a fleeting glance before focusing back on Harry, 'And why did you see fit to inform us of this now, young man?'

'Well, I only received notice of the meeting yesterday afternoon,' said Harry. 'So since I was anyway going to be here in a few hours, I thought that it would be better if I told you in person.'

'Very well,' said Lady Longbottom, nodding in acceptance after a pause. 'I hope you have worded your acceptance correctly?' she said suddenly after another pause.

'Acceptance?' said Harry blankly, completely caught unaware.

'Yes, your acceptance, you know, the letter informing the Queen that you will indeed be attending?!' the woman said somewhat impatiently. Looking at the younger clone of her late godson, she had an epiphany. 'You didn't send one did you?'

'Erm, no, not really, I didn't exactly know what to say. After all, it's not as if I can send her a short note saying "I'll be there!" now, is it?'

Augusta Longbottom just looked back at him, not saying a thing while clearly indicating to Harry, by her expression, how much she appreciated his attempt at humour.

'Right,' she finally said after watching him squirm for a few minutes. 'After lunch, you are coming with me to my study. I still have Neville's old desk, so you can sit there. I will give you the appropriate parchment, a quill and some ink. Then you are going to write down, word for word, exactly what I tell you, and you are going to do it neatly and legibly. Understood?' seeing him nod, she continued 'Good boy, now I hope you have the proper attire for this meeting? Or were you planning on visiting her wearing trousers, trainers, and a t-shirt?' she pinched her nose and said, 'Merlin save me, children these days I tell you...'

'Actually, I was thinking about a pair of formal trousers, a shirt and formal shoes.' Harry said slightly defensively.

'Fair enough,' said the old woman as she thought about it. 'I guess that will do in a pinch. However, I would prefer that you wear a coat at the very least to go with the shirt, if not a proper suit with a tie. We can try searching for a suitable enough coat to buy tomorrow. Somehow, I get the feeling that you don't have a coat or tie with you.'

After they were done with lunch, Neville watched amusedly as his Gran practically dragged Harry to her study where she directed him to sit at a desk that was obviously Neville's when he was much younger. The desk, while made from good quality wood, was still rather smaller than the school desks Harry was used to at Hogwarts.

Augusta supplied him with the necessary writing materials and then proceeded to dictate the proper words he should write. Thirty minutes later, Augusta finally approved the third draft, much to Harry's immense relief.

'This is ... passable,' the formidable woman sniffed as she looked over her reading glasses at her guest. 'The handwriting leaves much to be desired, however. I would have insisted on you writing another draft if I had the time to inspect it, but I am strapped for time as it is. Be sure to practise on your handwriting. I think I shall send over some of Neville's old exercise books to you for this purpose. It is disgraceful that the head of two Ancient and Noble houses has such an atrocious handwriting.'

Harry coloured slightly at this and did not say a word, opting to settle for a grimace instead. Taking the letter from his friend's Gran, he hurried off to the owlery to send the letter to the Queen. Idly he wondered what Her Majesty would think of getting post in such a quaint manner written in material not seen for nearly two centuries now.

Harry would have loved to use paper, but unfortunately, the Longbottoms had just run out of paper and the next order was expected to arrive in January, a fact that Lady Longbottom had bemoaned. While paper was readily available in the Muggle world and was pretty cheap as a result, in the magical world the stuff was a trifle expensive compared to parchment. Somehow, magic interfered with the process of making paper, necessitating that it be hand-made without magic unlike parchment. And machine made paper that was mass produced by Muggles tended to react unfavourably to magical atmospheres, and was especially volatile when combined with Muggle produced ink and exposed to potion fumes. Something that Hermione had experienced firsthand, to her greatest dismay and disappointment, in her first year, when all her carefully written down notes had quite literally gone up in smoke during her first potions class at around the same time Neville had found out that one should not add porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire. She was lucky indeed that her textbooks had a minor fire – retardant spell on them.

Harry only knew of this when the bushy haired girl had told him that much later after they had become friends. He, like his other classmates, did not have the privilege of seeing the incident in question, seeing as he was firstly trying to keep the potion from burning a hole through his shoes like the rest of his class and secondly seething at the unfairness of the git that was Severus Snape.

He doubted that he would have known of this regardless because he really had not bothered with getting any Muggle supplies with him.

'Harry, you ready yet?' Neville said as he knocked on the door to Harry's room.

'Yeah,' said his friend from behind the door. There was a sound of muffled footsteps before the door opened to reveal Harry Potter wearing dress robes that looked to be jet black at first glance.

'Spiffy,' said Neville. He suddenly noticed that when the light played over the robes, sections of it would suddenly shine a deep poisonous green.

'Thanks, you too,' said Harry looking at his friend's blue and grey robes.

The two boys made their way down to the ground floor to the entrance hall where Augusta was there in her signature hat with the stuffed vulture.

'It's a Scottish Phoenix,' the woman said when complimented on it. 'It looks like a vulture to the untrained eye, but in reality is a close cousin to the Irish Phoenix also known as an Augurey. General opinion is that this bird, before it was stuffed, was one of the last of its kind.'

'Anyway, that shade of purple looks very good on you, ma'am,' said Harry trying to change the topic. He really did not know what to say to the fact that the woman in front of him had basically admitted to having hunted down the last member of a species down.

'Why, thank you, dear,' said the woman kindly patting his hand. 'And for future reference, it is mauve.'

Harry looked at Neville who only shrugged and shared a commiserating look with him while Augusta nodded her approval at their attire.

'It's made of basilisk skin, ma'am. From the thousand-year-old pet of Salazar Slytherin's I killed with only a sword when I was twelve in Slytherin's own Chamber of Secrets. I have had the head stuffed, and am currently searching for a place in my house to mount it.' Harry told the woman as the first few guests arrived when she asked about the material. 'Of course, it isn't the hide, more like the shed snakeskin that I had collected within the Chamber.' Grinning at her, he left the stunned woman behind as he stepped forward with Neville to greet Daphne who had arrived by Portkey with her family.

'Lord Greengrass, a pleasure, as always,' Harry shook hands with his future father-in-law after Neville was done welcoming them into his home.

'The pleasure is mine as well, Lord Potter,' the man said with a smile. 'May I introduce my wife, Alana?'

'Lady Greengrass, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. It is more than obvious where your beautiful daughter gets her good looks from,' Harry greeted suavely as he gave a short bow of his head ignoring the looks of slight disgust he was getting from Astoria.

'Lord Potter, it is a pleasure to finally meet the young man whom my daughter is betrothed to. The girls have told me many things about you,' replied the Baroness Greengrass.

'Should I be worried?' Harry asked with half a smile, causing his future mother-in-law to let out a tinkling laugh.

'No, no, dear boy, not at all! Now why don't you and Daphne here run along? Don't let the three of us keep you!'

'Indeed, ma'am,' said Harry giving a slight bow. After waving at Astoria to which he received a fake smile, he took Daphne's hand and escorted her into the ballroom among the other guests that had arrived.

'Ah, Harry, there you are!' said Augusta Longbottom in a warm voice interrupting the conversation Harry was having with some of his schoolmates that had also been invited.

'Lady Longbottom,' said Harry respectfully standing up from the table he was seated at and turning towards his hostess after excusing himself from the group. Just then he noticed a brown haired man with a square jaw standing inconspicuously behind the woman.

'Allow me to introduce Healer James Anderson,' said Augusta Longbottom indicating the square-jawed man behind her. 'He is a rising star in St Mungo's, one of, if not the best healers in Great Britain. Mr Anderson, the Earl Potter.'

'Lord Potter,' said the man, clasping Harry's hand as he shook it once, his grey eyes surveying the teenaged celebrity through a pair of rimless rectangular glasses perched on top of a strong nose spoke of a keen mind. Though his long-fingered hands were unnaturally soft, making Harry's own hand feel rough, his grip was strong without being crushing.

'Mr Anderson,' Harry smiled. 'You will have to forgive me, but even though I have vaguely heard of you before, I am not very familiar with your work.'

'Oh, I would be surprised if you had heard of my work, Lord Potter' the man replied airily. 'I am what a Muggle would call a scientist. I am primarily a researcher, so my name is famous only in certain circles. Of course, I do practise at times,' he rambled on. 'But I am more of a private Healer. Not your average Wizarding National Healthcare Healer. Not that I have anything against my colleagues who work for the W.N.H.S., of course,' he said hastily, suddenly realising the implications of his last statement.

Harry somehow found himself liking this odd man. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that the man had not searched out for the scar on Harry's forehead, or perhaps it was because he was not like the average witch or wizard that Harry had met so far.

While Harry had understood (after a great deal of introspection and observation) that people held him in awe mainly because, firstly, it was really not known to them how a person had managed not only to survive, but reflect the un-blockable Killing Curse back at its caster (who just happened to be the most fearsome and terrifying Dark Lord of modern times) at the tender age of one year. Secondly, in the eyes of the people, he was the one responsible for the peace the Wizarding World had experienced for a decade and some years. Any one of those reasons would be enough to justify the feelings of awe and fascination the Magical Population of Great Britain (and indeed other countries, if the World Cup was any indication) had for him.

However, it was still unnerving and a bit off-putting to have people stare at you so; something that the man was not doing. It was this factor that had Harry liking this man.

'So what is it that you research?' Harry asked the man.

'Well, we, that is, my team and I, are looking into a way to regenerate limbs using magic. So far, my colleagues and I have been successful in regenerating noses and ears provided serious Dark Magic hasn't been used that is.'

'Sounds rather complicated,'

'Oh, you have no idea! Are you familiar with the Skele-Gro potion?'

'Intimately,' said Harry dryly, as he swirled his glass of Knotgrass rum, still remembering the taste and experience from second year.

'Well it was designed by my mentor,' said the healer, taking a sip from the glass of elderberry wine he was holding in his hand. 'Anyway, I am looking into combining that with a nerve regenerating potion. Now the potions tend to interfere with each other, so that is a major problem right now. After that, we plan on using the skin regeneration spell as well as a muscle-generating potion to finally be able to get a whole working limb.'

'Interesting,' said Harry, and he meant it. Suddenly he cast a shrewd look at the other man as he sampled some of his drink. 'Would you be looking for funding, Mr Anderson?'

The older man had the grace to look sheepish. 'Was I that evident, my lord?'

Harry just shrugged. Making a split-second decision, he said, 'Well, it does sound interesting. However, I cannot commit to a decision right now, you understand?'

'Indeed, Lord Potter!' said the man enthusiastically. 'I'll send a proposal to you detailing the work I plan on doing. You can read it and then tell me what you think.'

'Fair enough,' said Harry. 'But don't expect a reply very soon. With schoolwork and everything, I think I may be free only by the summer holidays.'

'Summer is fine! Anyway, I am finalising my paper on the regeneration of cartilaginous tissue. I won't be starting research till into the middle of next year!'

'Ah Harry, I do believe you should meet Madam Griselda Marchbanks. She is rather interested in meeting you.' said Augusta as she approached the two men with an ancient witch that Harry recognised very well walking next to her. 'Griselda,' she said to the ancient witch while gesturing towards Harry 'The Earl Potter. Oh, and James, Lord Gladstone was looking for you, if you have a few moments?' saying this, she escorted the healer with her, leaving Harry all alone with the ancient witch.

'Ah, young Harry Potter,' said the old woman, peering up at him through her wizened face.

'Ma'am,' said Harry respectfully, speaking slightly louder in deference towards her hearing. He did remember her interacting with Umbridge after all.

'There is no need to shout, young man. I am not deaf,' said the woman in an irritated tone.

'Oh, sorry,' said Harry, in a normal volume. 'It's just I remember the difficulties Professor Umbridge had when speaking to you...'

'Oh, yes, I remember now. You were there with one of Arthur's spawns and that slightly high-strung girl when I was asking Dolores about Albus,' said the woman with a look of sudden understanding on her wizened face.

Harry snorted a bit at the old witch's description of Hermione. 'Wait a minute, you mean to say that you were purposefully acting deaf in front of Umbridge?' he said suddenly.

'Well, I never did like the woman much,' sniffed Marchbanks in disdain. 'So full of herself ... and an utter failure at magic too ... Her father was also just as obnoxious, you know. It was because of him that she managed to get a passing grade in her N.E.W.T.s and O.W.L.s despite the honest work my colleagues and I put into evaluating her.'

'Now, you on the other hand,' she peered up at him, a penetrating look in her eyes. 'Have a lot of potential. Brilliant mind ... and rather cute,' she suddenly reached up a hand and pinched his left cheek, painfully. 'But a bit lazy, I think.' She lightly smacked him on the same cheek as she said that.

'I did alright,' said Harry rubbing his abused cheek. Did that woman have to pinch so hard?

'Yes, only "alright",' huffed Madam Marchbanks. 'I was expecting "great" actually. I had such high expectations of you when I saw your name among the list of students taking their O.W.L.s ... had to twist Tiberius's arm to get the pleasure of examining all of your answer papers! And that man put up a good fight, he did! Now, you did do quite well in Transfiguration, Charms and very well in Defence, I won't deny that. But you really need to improve your handwriting and put in more detail in your answers ... and study more.' She added the last bit, giving Harry a sour look, 'Because I had a hard time distinguishing that History of Magic paper of yours from a Jabberwocky!'

'I'm sorry?' said Harry not knowing what she was talking about.

Madam Marchbanks sighed, 'I saw the last few lines of your, erm, "answer paper" boy. At the end, the words started slurring as your last answer mutated into a rant. The most I could make out was something about opening windows before it became just a set of scribbles. Did we indulge a bit much on the night before?' she gave him a piercing look.

'What? No, I didn't!' said Harry indignantly. Mention of the History of Magic examination brought back memories of that day and consequently that night. It wasn't something he wanted to think about.

'If you say so, dear,' said Marchbanks slightly unconvinced. 'Just be sure to study more for your N.E.W.T.s.' Saying that, she turned to go. Suddenly she turned back. 'I remember what happened that night ... Were you planning on exposing that disagreeable fellow from the beginning of the day before you wrote that exam?'

'I may have...' Harry lied. No you hadn't a voice sounding like Hermione's said in his head. Oh will you shut up! He said to that first voice.

'Well then, I think you need to learn planning and prioritisation. After all, you were given advance notice when the exam was to start,' said Marchbanks. Pinching his cheek one more time, she left with a 'You take care now dear, get a homework planner.' Leaving Harry pretty confused and rubbing his smarting cheek.

Just then food appeared on the buffet tables that stood on the sides of the room. Filling his plate up, Harry slowly made his way back to the table, reclaiming his seat

'So, how was Professor Marchbanks?' asked Daphne. The knowing smirk on her face told Harry that she had seen everything and had an idea of what was said even though she hadn't heard anything.

'Great,' said Harry with as much dignity he could muster with a smarting red cheek.

'You have the same look on your face that dad had when he once spoke to her,' giggled Daphne. 'Apparently the professor takes joy in talking about people's examination results with them and telling them how much she expected of them. So far nobody has met her expectations. I can imagine that it would be rather embarrassing.'

'You have no idea,' said Harry rubbing his cheek.

'I think she likes you.'

'Really?' asked Harry sceptically. 'Because I was sure that she is convinced that I am some sort of irresponsible tippler.'

'But she still likes you,' disagreed Daphne. 'She only pinches the cheeks of people she likes, you know. It is quite funny how she does that to dad a lot.'

'Right ... how about a dance?' Harry said rather bravely in his opinion just as the band started playing.

'You know how to dance?' Daphne questioned speculatively as she took his hand.

'A little,' hedged Harry.

'Right,' said Daphne fixing him with a piercing gaze. 'Just try not to step on my feet, Potter.'

'Sure thing,'

It took a bit of trying, but soon enough Harry got comfortable enough with Daphne. Over the course of the evening, he did manage a decent amount of time on the floor to satisfy his wife-to-be. He even felt confident enough to take on Lady Greengrass, Lady Longbottom as well as the Minister and later on, her niece. He wasn't one of the best dancers around, (he tended to be a bit stiff) but he was competent enough. At the very least he did not step on any important toes.

Later on, Harry joined the other teenagers and followed Neville upstairs to the games room, passing the courtyard where some of the guests had drifted to.

'You know Potter, you aren't half bad company,' said a seventh-year from Hufflepuff named Jonathon Smethwick who stood across Harry after he finished his turn at the pool table.

'Glad you think so, Smethwick,' said Harry as he bent over with the cue and lined up a possible shot.

'Yes, you are certainly tolerable ... now that you don't have Weasley and that jumped up Mudblood hanging around you.'

The comment caused Harry to miss the ball and nearly dig the cue into the table while the other occupants in the room went silent.

Shocked and furious, Harry rose to his full height to face the other boy who was leaning against the wall, fire in his eyes. However, before he could open his mouth, Neville stepped in.

'There is no need for that sort of language here, Smethwick. I insist you apologise.'

Smethwick just shrugged nonchalantly and said, 'very well, if you insist...' he turned to Harry and said formally, 'I apologise for my use of language, Potter. It certainly was uncalled for in the present company.'

Harry knew that it wasn't much of an apology. After all, he hadn't exactly apologised for insulting Hermione like that. But before he could say anything, Neville silently gave him a look telling him to drop it.

'Apology accepted,' Harry said stiffly, shooting Neville a dirty look as he turned away from the table and to the far end of the room and helped himself to a drink.

'What was all that about?'

Neville licked his lips as he turned to face Harry. While Harry was still perfectly sociable after the incident, seeming to have shrugged everything off, Neville could see that beneath it all he really was seething.

Indeed Harry had good reason to be angry with almost everybody there. It had not taken him long to realise that nobody in the room seemed to really care about the Mudblood comment. While Harry understood nobody openly saying anything outright against the usage of such a word, he could not help but notice that nobody actually genuinely cared. It wasn't easy to notice, but notice he did. It was almost as if they were silently agreeing with Smethwick. The conclusions he had drawn from this were disturbing at the least.

However, he kept his temper in check for the remainder of the party, acting like the perfect guest, much to Neville's relief. However, nobody except Neville noticed the dangerous and intense flashes of green that would be seen in the famous teen's eyes every now and then when Harry thought nobody was looking.

And so Neville was very nervous indeed when he realised that he was facing a very angry Harry Potter. Even though Harry had used a neutral (and some would even call it calm) tone, the green glow present in his eyes that was now very prominent in the low light of the room showed how pissed off Harry was.

'Well, I was kind of hoping that I had enough time to tell you about this and that you did not find out this way, but I guess it cannot be helped now,' Neville sighed.

'Tell me what? that everybody here is just the same as Malfoy or one of Voldemort's Death Eaters, that they all think that they are better than the so called "Mudbloods"?' Harry snarled. 'I thought you were different, Neville. But from what it looks like you are just like Bellatrix –'

'I am nothing like that, that, woman!' Neville snarled back shaking in suppressed anger as the cabinet next to him rattled. Taking a deep breath, the blonde haired boy continued. 'I – we have no problem with Muggleborns. I get along just fine with Justin and Dean. Even Jonathon gets along well with Muggleborns! The bloke's got a Muggleborn and a half-blood for parents, for Merlin's sake!'

Harry's eyes dimmed somewhat as his face showed confusion. 'Then why did he –'

'– Call Hermione a Mudblood?' Neville cut in, snorting. 'It's because nobody in the room, me included, can stand her.'

'But ... why?'

'Why? Really, you need to actually ask that?' said Neville intensely. 'Alright, I'll tell you why. It's because she thinks she is better than everybody else. I, hell everybody has noticed that about her. The number of times she goes on and on acting like she knows everything just because she read a book or two on the subject. The way she seems to feel that she is the alpha and the omega when it comes to any subject under the sun and that everybody around her is wrong, going so far as to ignore others' opinion on a subject while forcing her opinions down people's throat without giving a damn whether it is needed or not. And most of all, what annoys me the most, is how she spits on our traditions and beliefs! I personally had no problems with her existence till fourth year and that stupid spew thing of hers! Yes, calling her a Mudblood is over the top and I personally feel that Smethwick was over the line, but at the same time, how dare she go around insinuating that we, all of us and our ancestors, are a bunch of barbarians!' Neville was fairly shouting by the end. Taking a deep breath he continued in a much softer though no less heated voice, 'While none of us will actually call her that name under normal circumstances, at the same time, you will not see us defend her as we just don't care.'

Harry just stood there looking at his normally quiet friend in shock. Finally finding his voice, he slowly spoke to his heavily breathing friend. 'I – I didn't know you felt this strongly, Neville.' He cleared his throat. 'Why didn't you say something before? Come to think of it, why hasn't anybody said anything?'

'That is mainly because of you, mate,' seeing Harry's confused look, Neville sighed tiredly. 'You really have no clue, do you? Well, let me put it this way. The reason nobody says anything outright to Hermione is because of the fact that she is your friend. Your status and influence in school, not to mention the rumours of your past exploits, have protected her. Of course there are people like Malfoy who are not shy of letting their opinions known, regardless. Though personally I think that Malfoy does what he does to get attention.'

'Oh please,' Harry snorted. 'My influence cannot be so great! After all I wasn't exactly popular for a few months in my second and fourth years and was pretty unpopular for the whole of fifth year.'

'Maybe,' said Neville as he headed towards the door. 'But think about this: nobody, including Malfoy, has ever said anything about your blood status or your mother's blood status. To us, you are considered to be one of us ... After all,' he smiled at Harry from the doorway. 'Both your parents were magical.' So saying this, Neville left the room leaving Harry deep in thought.

The old woman adjusted her yellow suit as she heard the light knock on the door as she stood next to her armchair, her face neutral.

The door opened to reveal a finely liveried butler who stepped in and announced, 'The Earl Potter, and Madame Amelia Bones are here to see you, ma'am.'

The butler stepped aside and gestured behind him, allowing a woman with short iron grey hair and a young man to enter. The men gave a short bow and the woman dropped into a curtsy.

'Minister Bones,' the woman greeted as she walked forward and held out her hand as the door closed behind them.

'Your Majesty,' Amelia Bones, the Minister of Magic replied giving another curtsey as she lightly grasped the proffered hand.

The Queen then turned her attention to the tall young man. Holding out her hand, she said, 'Lord Potter.'

'Your Majesty,' the young man said as he gave a short bow at the neck and briefly shook her hand.

'Please, do take a seat,' said The Queen with a pleasant smile as she herself took her seat around a low coffee table. 'Would you like some tea?' Seeing them nod as they sat down on the wingback chairs opposite her, the attendants came forward and poured three cups.

After the drinks were served, the Queen silently observed her guests. The Minister, as was usual for her, was dressed in an austere trouser – suit in charcoal grey. The young man on the other hand was fashionably dressed in a pale blue shirt, cream trousers and a light blue linen lounge jacket. Casual, but not overly so, was her silent observation. She supposed she could allow that. At least he hadn't come in dressed like a slob.

'How is Cornelius Fudge?' She addressed Amelia after a moment of silence.

Amelia's eye twitched for a moment before she replied, 'He is fine.' Privately she was planning on removing the bungling idiot as soon as possible.

'One hopes that he comes here again as a liaison,' The Queen said idly. She certainly could use the slip-ups the man made on many occasions. It did help give her a more complete picture of what was happening.

Suddenly remembering something else, the monarch turned to Amelia Bones. 'And how is Bartemius Crouch? I recall he preceded you as the head of the Dee Em El Ee, if I am not mistaken.'

Setting her cup down, Amelia said carefully. 'Nobody really knows. The man has been missing for over two years now. There is speculation that he has been killed, but without a body, there really is no solid evidence.' She mentally lamented that Fudge hadn't disappeared in a similar fashion. It would have things so much easier.

'Is there something you wish to add, Lord Potter?' The Queen had noticed the rather peculiar look cross the boy's face at the mention of Crouch. It was minute and any normal person would have missed it, but she had enough experience to notice.

'Um, no, nothing at all,' the teenager said quickly.

The Queen gave him an assessing look. 'So you are Harry Potter. Cornelius certainly spoke a lot about you over the past few months when we have met him. One does wonder why the Minister of Magic is so interested in pressing the services of a sixteen-year old schoolboy to bolster his image. Of course, I have heard about your story and what made you famous before you could walk or talk. It explains your popularity, but it does not explain why Cornelius and Scrimgeour are interested in using you to bolster the image of the Ministry. Nor does it explain why they feel that you are the person this conflict hinges upon.'

'Well,' Harry began slowly. 'I really have no idea why these two men are interested in me either, ma'am. They have not approached me for anything, so I guess that only they can answer the question. And I don't have any idea as to why they feel that I am instrumental in this conflict as you call it.'

The Queen looked at him as if he had failed a test involving a very easy answer.

'I see,' she began slowly. 'By the way, I received your letter the other day giving your acceptance.'

Nonplussed by this sudden change in topic Harry shrugged. 'That's, um, nice. Ma'am' he added in hastily.

'Yes, well, normally we communicate with the Minister of our magical realm through the use of a portrait.' The Queen continued idly. 'However, as of the last few months, I have become rather accustomed to owl post.' Putting her cup down, she picked up a folder from a side table. 'After all, it is the way your newspaper, The Daily Prophet, if I am not mistaken, delivers your papers.'

Still continuing to speak in a normal tone, and pointedly ignoring the looks of surprise on both their faces, The Queen opened the folder. 'Now, after we heard about you, Lord Potter, we did research of our own. After all, to suddenly hear about the resurrection of a long thought dead individual is a great concern to us. Especially considering that Cornelius in his tenure as Minister has seen fit to rarely, if ever, interact with us. So I have spoken to some of my sources.'

Putting on her glasses, she muttered to herself while flipping through the pages in the folder, 'Let's see...' finding the page, she looked up and said, 'Care to explain why a newspaper that has spent quite a bit of time and energy ridiculing and slandering you over the past one year has suddenly changed its stance and has taken to calling you the "Chosen One", Lord Potter?' not bothering to wait for a response, the monarch continued while flipping more pages, 'I have also unearthed some rumours surrounding you over your years in Hogwarts. There are some interesting rumours of you and a "basilisk", whatever that is, as well as you being capable of driving away a hundred of those vile creatures that you people insist on using as security for your prison at the age of thirteen.'

Closing the file and putting it down, The Queen looked at the boy sitting across from her. 'I am well aware that there is something you know, Lord Potter, and I also am aware that you, Minister, are hiding something regarding the state of our Magical Realm from us. Now, why don't you both stop tiptoeing about and tell me what you know. We demand it. We have reached the end of our patience. And you can start with Bartemius Crouch.' Saying so, she set them with an imperious and expectant look on her face.

'Yes, your majesty,' Amelia responded quickly causing Harry to momentarily glance at her curiously. She really had no idea how The Queen knew what she knew, but it seems that the monarch was wilier than previously thought. To think that she had managed to unearth so much in the past few months ... it was worrying. 'As I said earlier, what the Ministry knows is that Bartemius Crouch has been missing for nearly two years now and is presumed dead.' Turning to Harry she took a deep breath and said, 'Lord Potter, it seems that you know about what actually happened to Barty, could you please share what you know with us?' she had initially been hoping to ask the boy in private, but with the way things were going, that answer was going to come out now and there was nothing that she could do about it.

'You actually don't know?' Harry asked the Minister a bit incredulously. Seeing no change in her expression, he continued, 'I thought this was classified information, but wow ... you really had no idea ... well ... this is awkward.' Not knowing what else to do, he took a sip of his tea. He could feel a bit of perspiration forming on his upper lip from being under intense scrutiny from both the formidable women.

'We are waiting, Lord Potter,' The Queen said with a hint of curiosity and a touch of asperity when Harry looked her way.

Clearing his throat and feeling slightly fatalistic, Harry recounted what he had learnt of Barty Crouch's actions regarding his family. '...And so the body of Barty Crouch Sr. is currently buried in front of Hagrid's hut transfigured as a bone...' he said in conclusion, to a shocked audience. 'Provided Fang hasn't found him yet,' he added.

'And why am I hearing of this right now, Lord Potter?' Amelia finally asked, her brow digging painfully into her monocle as she frowned at the teen. This was a serious offence if the boy was found to have been holding back such important information from the Ministry.

'I have no clue. After all, Barty Crouch the Death Eater was unmasked by Professor Dumbledore, the Chief Warlock and the Supreme Mugwump, and the evidence was consequently presented to Minister Fudge who by the way had Crouch Kissed post-haste. All that happened two years ago.'

That – that – bloody imbecile! Amelia raged mentally. Perhaps she should consider making him disappear. It certainly would be easy considering the current climate.

'"Kissed"? I am afraid I do not understand.' Said The Queen.

'Oh, that's when a dementor sucks your soul out,' Harry said conversationally. In the span of ten minutes, he had not only revealed a major cover up done by Fudge, but had also revealed the secrets of a dead man who was thought to be a respected individual. For that reason, he felt slightly giddy from the adrenalin rush he had experienced in telling his story.

'Dear God!' the Queen exclaimed softly. Quickly composing herself, she fixed a calculating look at Harry. 'You definitely do seem rather involved in the goings on of the Magical realm, more specifically about the threat this Voldemort poses. There may be substance to these rumours after all.

'So, tell me what you know of him.' She finally stated after a few moments of silence.

'Is everything ready?' Faizaan asked his friend and comrade, Yusuf.

'Yes,' Yusuf said nervously.

'Alright then, let's move out.' While outwardly calm, the slight twitching of his fingers showed how nervous Faizaan was.

Mouth suddenly dry, Yusuf followed his brother – in – arms out of the utility room and stepped into the house, reflecting on the past.

Nearly ten years back, Yusuf and Faizaan were completely different people with different names. That was until they had met a man they only knew as The Master. The older man had enthralled the then nineteen year old Joseph and Jerad with his fiery speech and impassioned sermons. The Master had soon taken a special interest in the youths when he found out their chosen professions. In time, he had opened their eyes to the reality of the world, exposing the corrupting influences of the West to them. At first, they had wanted to quit their training and pursue a new career as they did not like the idea of being protectors of such a society. However, The Master had discouraged this, saying that they would be able to further the cause by continuing. He even gave them additional instructions regarding their initial dream.

At first the two had no idea what The Master was talking about but had followed the instructions given to them, joining the SO14 branch of the London Metropolitan Police. As soon as they had joined, The Master then had directed them not to initiate contact with him or talk to any member of their brotherhood without being extremely discreet.

After a few years of silence, where the two had continued to follow their faith and the beliefs of their brotherhood, going so far as to unofficially rename themselves Yusuf and Faizaan respectively, The Master had called, giving them their assignments.

It had taken a few months to arrange everything, but now they were ready to carry out their assignment: To assassinate the Queen of England. Their secondary objectives were to take out any other members of the Royal Family as well if they could manage it. This, The Master had assured them, would show the world their power, especially as it would be two years after the events of 2001 had humbled America.

'I heard a rumour that she is meeting "the Minister",' Yusuf said in a low voice as they slowly made their way through the corridors of Sandrigam House and towards the study. 'It could be the Prime Minister.'

'It couldn't possibly be the Prime Minister,' Faizaan said dismissively. 'We would have known beforehand.

'It would be nice if it was, though.' Yusuf replied. 'Then again, the details of this meeting and the identity of the guests have been rather vague, so it is a possibility that it is someone very important.'

'Perhaps, but don't get your hopes up. You're up now.' Said Faizaan as he veered off, letting Yusuf go forward to where a guard was standing outside a door.

The guard simply nodded to him and left his post, not questioning Yusuf's presence. After all, it was Yusuf's shift.

Once the coast was clear, Faizaan joined the other man. 'You ready?' he asked.

His breath quickening, Yusuf just nodded. 'Allah huakbar,' he said as he drew his gun

'Allah huakbar'

Harry had just finished talking about the Chamber of Secrets and was putting on his jacket after showing his sceptical audience the scar that was the remnant of the basilisk bite when the doors opened quietly. Turning around, he noticed two armed men in suits stepping in. Seeing the drawn guns, he instinctively held his hand out and mentally yelled Protego while willing a shield to form just as the first shots were fired.

The Protego shield creates a barrier of magical energy that acts to deflect and dissipate high concentrations of energy sent towards it. The effectiveness of the spell depends on the caster's strength. The spell was mainly designed with minor to strong hexes and jinxes in mind, the energy output of which is significantly higher than what is seen in a 9x19 mm bullet fired by a Glock 17 which is standard issue for the Royal Protection Force.

The difference between a bullet fired by a gun and a spell is that the latter is pure energy while the former is basically a piece of metal hurled forward by energy. As the shield Harry formed at the moment was not the structured spell of a wand, the magic reacted unexpectedly and reflected the energy back on the two would – be assassins while the bullets, now devoid of energy, stayed suspended for just a moment before falling down to the ground, slightly warped from the sudden changes in motion.

Yusuf had five seconds to register the bullet literally come to a halt as it sped towards the black-haired boy in front of him, before he found himself pushed back a few steps, tripping on his own two feet and falling on his arse. Faizaan, on the other hand had managed to keep his balance. However that was short – lived when he suddenly saw a jet of red light courtesy of Minister Bones hit him, violently ripping the gun from his hand and sending him flying out of the room and into the corridor where he skidded to a halt a few feet away.

Harry's shield wasn't as potent as it would be with a wand, making him stumble. The combination of this, the sudden drain of consciously casting something significantly higher than a banisher without a wand and the coffee table just behind him had the cumulative effect of sending Harry crashing down as his shins painfully collided with the small table.

The ruckus created by the breaking china and coffee table was more than enough to attract the attention of those in the immediate vicinity who hadn't heard the gunshots.

As he heard the footsteps of the security team rushing in Faizaan realised that their attempt had somehow, inexplicably, failed. Not wanting to go through the questioning that would immediately follow, he bit down on the hollow tooth containing enough cyanide to end his life.

Andrew Smythe, the security chief burst into the room, his team a few short feet behind him to find Her Majesty bending over a groaning young man sprawled over the remains of the Louis XVI antique coffee table while a formidable-looking woman who looked remarkably like Judy Dench with a monocle was standing and pointing a stick of all things at one of his men, Joseph, who was sprawled at the entrance, clearly unconscious while Jerad was outside twitching occasionally in what Andrew recognised as the effects of cyanide poisoning. Quickly coming to a conclusion, as only a man of his profession could, he brought his gun to bear on Joseph, correctly interpreting that the unconscious man was responsible for the gunshots.

Harry on the other hand was dimly aware of being helped to his feet. He felt slightly light headed and disoriented. Everything from the back of his head down to the back of his knees was dully throbbing.

'Get him over here,' said a voice, while another called for a doctor.

A pair of hands removed his jacket and undid the top two buttons of his shirt as he was laid down on a sofa while another thrust a glass under his nose tipping the contents into his mouth. He reflexively drank it. Only to start coughing as the liquid, clearly brandy, burnt his throat as it went down, clearing his head a bit.

'There's a good lad,' said an old man who Harry recognised as the Duke of Edinburgh holding the glass of brandy.

The next half hour was spent in confusion as the chief of security kept demanding answers and wondering what exactly had happened in the room. Things were eventually smoothed out when Amelia had someone from the Obliviator Squad to take care of the issues. The Queen had also decided to place a gag order on the incident. As far as she was concerned, there was no need for anybody to know of this incident. It would definitely raise too many questions.

Not that Harry had anything to say about it. He just sat on the sofa clutching an ice pack on the lump on the back of his head as the royal physician examined him, occasionally sipping from the large glass of brandy. Other than a tender back, and a splinter in one arm that was removed as soon as it was found, the doctor declared that Harry was fine. He was ordered bed rest for the remainder of the day, however.

The real casualty of the incident was his jacket which was ruined beyond repair, what with the amount of tea spilt on it and the long gash on the left sleeve where it had ripped on the table.

Just before he was led by Amelia to the private chamber where he would be taken back to Longbottom Manor, Harry remembered something.

'Tom Riddle only thought he was the heir of Slytherin,' he told The Queen and the Minister privately, with the security staff standing a bit away, watching the conversation. 'The truth is that somehow, I am the one who is the heir, and now the head of House Slytherin. I have proof.' Saying so, he handed the Letters Patent signed by King Alfred the Great recognising Salazar as the Earl of Grantabrycge.

'I'll have these looked at,' said The Queen as she put on a pair of glasses and glanced through the document.

With a final goodbye, Harry was whisked off to Longbottom Manor with the Minister of Magic.