27

L. Success

I know what you're thinking. What the hell do you mean, 'success'? Are you telling me to just… win?

Yes. It's literally that simple.

Now I will admit that 'not losing' isn't the most helpful advice, but I believe in you. (Refrain from butting in on my turf though, thank you kindly.) You've got perhaps the finest book on villainy in the world in your hands.

And remember that some part of success is what you chose to make of it. Some commonalities- like not being dead- will emerge of course, but bring your vision to fruition.

Harry was, of course, intrigued about the whole situation regarding Greenland.

Then, of course, there was the matter of how exactly Atlantis had managed to send him on an unplanned vacation to Greenland. It certainly felt like Apparition, or perhaps some form of proto-Apparition, the questions mainly being how and why.

Hesitantly, Harry thought that the city might have been built with magic in mind. More particularly, with some sort of system in mind to gather it… the streets and roads might have served as some sort of magical conduit, like estuaries feeding into rivers which fed into a sea. Or like a body, magic pumping in and out of a heart with four chambers- or a temple complex with four buildings.

Maybe that provided all the magic necessary to perform feats of magic that would have otherwise been impossible. If so, he couldn't imagine the city at its height, full of people- including magicians- with everything in working order. It was fortunate he hadn't gotten the mother of all splinchings, to be honest… Even if an ancient artifact of untold power couldn't get distracted, he imagined it could certainly break.

That was a minor damper on testing it- he was curious, but not curious about how many pieces he could be divided into by a magical device that was probably older than most countries.

And then there was the boater he met while at Greenland. If he could ask anyone about that mysterious person, then it would be the Greenlanders themselves.

Harry had thought he had seen a Greenlandish representative at the ICW, which he was grateful for- to be frank, he didn't think he'd get as much information from a Dane who lived some three thousand kilometers away. Well, magic cut that distance down a little, but still.

"What brings you here, Mist- ah, I mean Prince-"

"Just call me Harry. Don't really care for titles." He waved his hand dismissively. "I was wondering if you could help me out with something."

It turned out that they definitely could.

If nothing else, the people were enthusiastic about wanting to help him- although Harry had a feeling that was probably due to wanting to impress him as leader of Doggerland. (He'd never escape his reputation, it seemed. He supposed he'd owe them a favor?)

Harry was eventually placed in the care of some government worker they could spare for the day: a secretary or Auror-analog, he figured.

"You wouldn't believe it- one moment I'm exploring Atlantis, the next I'm here." Harry could see the glint of interest in his eyes. Being linked to Atlantis- however vaguely- was probably a pretty good look. Prestige, and all that.

"And how did you end up here, again?"

"There was a monument of some sorts, and it transported me here."

"Really?"

"Unless this isn't Greenland…"

His babysitter for this particular adventurer was fairly knowledgeable about Greenland folklore, and anything he didn't know could be found in a fairly sized magical library.

While it was filled with a number of interesting magical tomes (Harry would have to look into getting copies), Harry found himself looking in the sections on folklore and magical creatures, for obvious reasons. It was in a book on myth that he struck paydirt.

There was an Inuit goddess called Sedna, one whose fingers, when cut off, became all the whales, seals, and the like which filled those northern seas. Now, the question was whether he had just met a god (would this be more evidence for Quetzalcoatl's potential divinity?) or whether native magicians had learned to mimic that mythical ability.

The Feathered Serpent hadn't reappeared to talk to Harry yet. Maybe it was marveling at the wonders of the modern world, or something. Maybe it had a different understanding of timescales than people did, and wouldn't come back for decades. The serpent seemed content to leave Harry to it for now. Hopefully, it remembered what human lifespans were like these days.

Or maybe the serpent couldn't find him. That would certainly be a point against the deity argument.

Whatever the case, he was pointed in the direction of some texts on magic regarding seals and whales and whatnot. Thankfully, not all of them required finger loss- although he might be able to heal normal finger loss, something told him magic like this wouldn't settle for half measures- and were actually quite useful. There might be some use for them in regards to the mermen? He wasn't entirely sure what they did with whales.

Riding whales sounded… like an experience, at the very least, although Harry would probably just stick with boats. He liked his fingers more than he liked the idea of having a dolphin familiar or whatever. Also, with no offense intended towards the whales, he had a feeling a metal ship was a bit more durable.

At the end of the day, he couldn't let sleeping dogs lie. It wasn't in his nature. Of course, he could recognize the value of preparedness before plunging in headfirst- and this would require some preparation- so he would engage in a bit of that before engaging the plan.

Avalon was everything Jean Paul had ever dreamt of. Sure, there was the whole blessed land of plenty thing, which was nice, (although not completely impossible to replicate) but his interest was Arthur. How could he let all that storied history just sit there? The more he thought on it, the more he wanted to know. What stories could Arthur tell? He'd have to learn Britonic to find out, but the truth of the fall of Camelot was quite attractive…

Sure, there was some magic that was presumably keeping him on ice until he was 'needed', whatever that meant for Britain, but it had been more than a thousand years. If modern magic couldn't provide one damned way to break a glorified box open, then modern wizards would have even more reason to be ashamed than usual.

Maybe he'd have some luck if he could manage to get some iron to the island? Sure, charms could make a wooden tool just as effective as a metal one…. But there must have been some reason to keep significant amounts of the metal from getting to Avalon.

Jean Paul stopped for a moment, struck by a revelation. He had about 5 liters of very iron rich liquid with him all the time, didn't he?

Potter had enough blood replenishment potions to drown a large animal… surely he wouldn't mind if a few were appropriated?

Once again, Harry found himself investigating the room in Atlantis- trying not to accidentally trigger it this time, though. Sure, he could get back pretty quickly, but it would be inconvenient. They were trying to record all the runes in the room, just so they wouldn't run the risk of another unplanned vacation while trying to figure out how it worked.

There was also the matter of the roof- it was something Harry had initially overlooked, but it was certainly intriguing. It curved upwards, turning into a fairly shallow dome. In an odd change of pace, it wasn't a mosaic this time around, instead some sort of bas relief or carving that had been made before being overlaid with silver and the occasional spot of gold.

Although the silver had clearly tarnished, leaving rare spots of gold as the only lustre, the design was still striking. A spiral, like a whirlpool, hung above the center of the room, thin lines of gleaming gold spinning in towards a small circular hole. Perhaps in the city's glory days, it would have let skylight stream into the room, almost like the Pantheon, but now it just opened up to inky darkness.

However, the roof just wasn't one big spiral, instead taking up a relatively small portion of the center of the room. Past the spiral, there were any number of scenes: even under the tarnish, Harry could see delicate details depicting leaves and bark of trees; thin lines of gold tracing the corded muscles of growling predators; not to mention gold-faced human figures.

Men held back nundus with spears, galloped through plains, and stood in front of verdant groves of bamboo. And that… was interesting. Where, exactly, did the Atlanteans encounter these things? Why carve them here?

Thinking on it, having a magical transport system that only served to transport you to Greenland seemed quite unlikely. Harry didn't have anything against the island, of course, but it didn't seem like the sort of place that the rulers of Atlantis would be exceedingly interested in.

While the idea of some ancient, Atlantis era civilization with colonies or magical artifacts in Greenland was super rad, the idea of designing this entire city around magical transport to Greenland in particular seemed overkill. But if it was a more general purpose system that just happened to be set to Greenland… that made a bit more sense. It could take you anywhere depicted on the roof.

The question, then, was how exactly to use it and adjust the destination without being turned to a reddish smear on the far end. Learning how exactly the Atlanteans built and powered such a device would also be interesting…

He had the feeling- that alongside any number of other projects- Atlantis could keep them occupied for years. Although he had better things to do than just sitting around and fiddling with the controls of a teleporter. Like analyzing the bas-relief carvings near the edge of the room, which showed strange landscapes and stranger creatures, ones that he had never even heard of…

Some time later…

Dudley Dursley liked to think he had done pretty well for himself, all things considered. He had regrets, of course, who didn't, but he liked to think he had grown past how he had treated Harry. The way he treated Harry still made his stomach churn sometimes, but slowly they had mended the gap. At least, that was what Dudley hoped. If this was some sort of elaborate long game revenge scheme…

Well, if nothing else, Harry didn't seem like the sort of bloke who could catch up innocents in any schemes for vengeance, so Dudley figured he was in the clear. Surely Harry wouldn't be cruel enough to orphan children, after his childhood…

His kids were his pride and joy. Well, his and his wife's. Frankly, Dudley still thought it was sort of miraculous that he had managed to get this far. How Elaine could have possibly settled for someone like him… well, Dudley wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. She was remarkable in a lot of ways, but having magic was not one of them- as far as he knew, she was a… what was it, muggle? Yeah, he thought that was it.

A perfectly normal muggle life with a perfectly normal muggle wife and twins. Maybe a bit of magical spice on the sideline, in the periphery of his world, but otherwise, things would be blessedly normal. At least that was what he figured until the moment when the twin's birthday cake exploded.

Thankfully, they were having a smaller celebration, just the four of them, meaning the Ministry or whomever didn't come crashing in when the slice of vanilla cake the twins were squabbling over burst into a shower of purple sparks and smoke. Smoke which set off the detector…

After barely managing to handle that mess, Dudley let out a long sigh. "I need to write a letter."

"A letter?" She squawked. "Who-"

"My cousin."

"Your cousin?" Elaine blinked. "You never told me about a cousin…"

"His name's Harry, and he's…" He inhaled sharply. "He's like the twins. He can do… things. Magic."

"Magic? Dudley-"

"You saw what happened to the cake. Things like that happened all the time when Harry was young. Hell, where do you think the owl came from?"

"Your owl? You mean to tell me some magician waves a stick over that bird and made it stalk you?"

"Yes!" She gave him a disbelieving look. "Do you know anyone who's ever managed to domesticate owls?"

Admittedly, while having an owl to mail Harry was certainly useful, it was conspicuous. Dudley couldn't exactly send letters when someone who wasn't in on the whole deal was around, but it was also very good proof.

Opening the window, he gestured toward the owl and began to call to it. After a moment or two, it glided down to the open sill before sticking its leg out expectantly, revealing a delicate golden thread wrapped around it.

He decided to keep it short and to the point. No use in delaying the in person meeting they'd probably need.

Harry, my kids have magic. Could you visit soon?

-Dudley

He rolled up the paper, taped it closed, and scrawled Harry's name on the front before tying it to the owl's leg. (He was in a rush, sue him.) The owl stayed remarkably calm even as he tied the letter to its leg, and after he was done it sprung into the air, heading east.

He could almost feel Elaine's confusion.

When Margaret handed him a letter from Dudley that looked as if it had been written in about five seconds, Harry couldn't help but feel a bit concerned.

Opening it, he felt a surge of relief that he wasn't dying or being held for ransom, although he knew he had to visit very soon. They hadn't seen each other much in person, but still kept in touch through letters- enough that Harry knew Dudley had kids. And now, he knew those kids had magic.

Of course, he knew exactly where Dudley lived. There was the fact that the owl Harry had sent to loiter around Dudley- a sturdy creature named Rupert- had some extra tracking charms on him, but there was also the fact that Harry had visited his house to install some wards.

It was a bit of a challenge, actually, creating wards which were powerful enough to… significantly inconvenience anyone with ill will while also making them basically undetectable to the Ministry. There were even a few he had installed to warn him of major injuries or fire and whatnot… but not accidental magic. What were the chances that two generations of a muggle family would produce magical children?

Actually, he didn't know the odds. It would be interesting to look into, he thought, but he did know that whatever chance it was, it had evidently happened again. While Dudley didn't have the Evans name, the same line had produced another magician… and that got some part of Harry worrying.

Thankfully, Dudley seemed a changed man since their childhood, as far as he could tell through letters and the occasional in person meeting, but it wasn't something Harry could forget completely. Harry certainly didn't want to force separation unless absolutely necessary… but if such a thing ever came to pass he certainly had the means to take some magical children in.

"Margaret, can you look into magical children being raised by muggle parents? See if we could check on them?" He imagined she could understand why he thought that sort of issue was important. She nodded and scratched away in a notebook for a few seconds as Harry went for his coat.

"Good master? Art thou heading out?"

"I'm going to visit my cousin. And could you cut it out with the master thing?" She gave him a smile that seemed to promise she'd never cut it out. Harry was half convinced she was exaggerating the old timey accent on purpose by now.

"Prithee, do not be too long-!"

If Dudley's owl- or the owl that Harry had somehow got to loiter around him- had a name, he didn't know it. He supposed that he could ask Harry personally when he arrived for dinner.

Its return, along with a letter, only served as more proof for his wife. He wasn't entirely sure if she was sold, or if she thought it some kind of elaborate joke, but she did concede to making dinner for five.

It was when they were cutting the vegetables that he took an idle glance out the window. "Damned odd time for fog, isn't it?"

Elaine looked up as well, shocked by the sudden thickness of the fog, which had snuck in and suddenly become so thick they couldn't even see across the street. Surprised, his wife lost concentration and accidentally cut her finger.

"Damnit!" She hissed- but before Dudley could rush to grab some bandages there was a knocking at the door.

Suddenly sweating, Dudley rushed to the door and opened it to reveal Harry. He hadn't changed that much since the last time they had seen each other. After a moment of hesitation, Dudley went for a handshake, Harry's glove- some rough, almost scaly material- scraping his hand.

"Harry." Dudley looked behind him to see Elaine, who clutched at her finger with a reddening towel. "And this is Elaine, my wife. Sorry, you caught us right in the middle of cooking-"

Harry pulled a wand from one of his pockets and despite the fact that he had seen it before, he started to sweat a little. Would he…

Idly, he waved his wand, and Elaine gasped, pulling away a suddenly stainless towel to reveal a completely unwounded finger. No blood, no cut, no scar. "Oh my goodness…" Elaine clenched her hand, checking to see if it was really functioning as she saw it.

She looked up at Harry dumbstruck. "Magic."

"Yep." Harry popped the 'p', grinning.

"Uh. Thank you-"

"No problem. You're my… is cousin in law a thing?" He shrugged. "Whatever. I had the means, so of course I'd help."

Harry hung up his coat- Dudley was sure he didn't have a coat rack there before- and followed them inside. Noticing their partially cooked meal, he waved his wand, and the pans and knives began to move by themselves, chopping and dicing with ease.

With the cooking handled, there was the matter of introductions. Rose and Daisy- Elaine had taken quite a liking to the flower naming motif on the Evans side of the family, although Dudley had managed to shoot down the name Lily. That would have been far too awkward.

The twins were surprised- pleasantly, of course- to see that they had this mystery relative they had never heard of before. This surprise was replaced by sheer elation when Harry spawned a cloud of butterflies from an open hand and informed them of magic.

Thankfully, the butterflies did eventually poof away. He didn't want his house littered with the things.

After they had finished up with dinner, Harry asked him where he could find a closet. Not entirely sure what he was up to, Dudley guided him to one. Harry pulled out that wand of his, tapped the closet's corners while muttering something or other, and when the door opened, there was anything but coats on the other side.

Elaine gasped, as did the twins. Dudley followed Harry into an open, breezy sitting room which was most certainly not contained in his house.

Looking out from a balcony covered in arches, he saw, very far below them, the churning sea. On that sea a number of ships bobbed- including, if his eyes did not deceive him, an aircraft carrier. His head was having a hard time grasping the sudden change in altitude.

Elaine seemed similarly put-off, although Daisy and Rose were gazing off with looks of sheer amaze. After a few moments, they followed Harry, who led them away from the view.

There were two doors in succession- to keep cool air in, maybe?- leading to a sort of old fashioned parlor, filled with furniture carved of dark, rich wood. The thick carpet dampened sound, meaning that he and Elaine jumped when a figure emerged from the dark and came to Harry's side.

The first thing that came to mind was vampires, like old fashioned horror movie stuff… and while some part of him thought there was no way that could be accurate, his cousin was a magician. If it (or rather, she) had pale skin like a vampire, lived in the dark like a vampire, and had fangs like a vampire, she was probably a vampire.

"Greetings- you must be the Dursleys? This humble servant's name is Margaret." Dudley sent a questioning look Harry's way, who was currently wearing a look that seemed to show that this was a long-running trend. Margaret herself gave a sanguine smile- making her fangs more than evident.

They were then given a tour of… this Doggerland place, alongside a brief explainer as to what Hogwarts was like. The vampiress tagged along, of course.

If looks could kill- a disturbingly likely possibility, with magic- then Dudley would probably be dead. Margaret would occasionally glower at him with remarkable venom. For what it was worth, her ire was seemingly reserved for him alone, although that wasn't much comfort when faced with a bona fide bloodsucker. The reason behind it… well, Dudley could guess.

At the very least, she was much gentler with children than with him, kneeling down and pulling out sweets for Rose and Daisy- after sending a questioning glance Elaine's way.

Looking up at Harry, Dudley hesitantly asked a question. "Is… is any of this like that toffee?"

Harry chuckled. "No Ton Tongue Toffees here… although I still think Weasley Wizard Wheezes makes them?"

"I'll have to give them a piece of my mind." Dudley huffed. "It was the two of them, right? Those twins?"

Harry's mood suddenly soured. "Yeah. It was the two of them."

Damnit, there was the war! "Harry, I'm sorry-"

"You couldn't have known."

The silence that followed was painful.

Dudley really hoped Harry would keep a good eye on the magical world. Did he do that anymore? Could you retire from hero-ship?

Getting back home was as simple as stepping back through the door. Unsurprisingly, they found themselves visiting more, to get introduced to the magical world before Hogwarts. Harry, it turned out, wasn't too bad of a teacher, and whatever he couldn't teach could be taught by others.

Harry, it seemed, had accrued quite the cast of people- including a number of other Hogwarts alumni- who were more than happy to introduce the twins to the world of magic.

As for children around their age… Harry's kids were a fair bit younger than the twins, with the exception of Teddy. Technically, he was just Harry's godson, but the parental fondness was obvious. And it seemed that Teddy was quite excited at the idea of playing the older brother role to children who actually knew how to speak.

"So…" Dudley gulped. "The elephant in the room?"

Harry sighed. "Yeah. His mum and dad died in the war. The very last battle." His hands clenched tight.

There was also an Astoria Greengrass, who seemed quite close to Harry. Dudley supposed there might have been a fancy word for it, but she seemed focused on living, emphasis very much intentional. She and Elaine seemed to get along quite well- Elaine was happy to learn more about the magical world, just as much as Greengrass wanted to learn about their world.

Lovegood was, as far as he could tell, a bit off her rocker, well aware of that fact, and content with it. Still, she had a fondness for magic creatures she was more than willing to share, and a certain… acuteness. Very observant, that one. Thankfully, the general nuttiness made her feel less creepy.

Then were simpler moments. Dudley had a few drinks with this bloke named Dennis. He was a photographer and a writer and had a pretty good sense of humor- he had even submitted a few of his stories, although heavily edited, to conspiracy magazines and tabloids. "Drives them positively mad, you know?"

It also helped that he was a muggleborn who lived a life slightly less interesting than Harry's. Dudley hoped his cousin's life was unusual, as wizards came. Sure, Dennis had magic, but he was as fairly normal as a war survivor could get.

Still, it was hard not to feel a little disbelief, a voice in the back of your head saying none of this is remotely normal, even if he was visiting often enough to have meals at Doggerland. He took a moment to look around the room, looking at all the people who had gathered to eat. There were the ones who were obviously inhuman, of course, with tails or clouds of cold air floating around them, but Dudley's eyes eventually wandered to a duo of people in one corner.

One of them was a comparatively younger man scratching away at a sheet of notes while interrogating the other man, who was much older and seemed a little out of it, not helped by the bombardment of questions he was subject to. He would occasionally stroke at his chin or fiddle with graying hair. His clothes looked new, but he seemed unused to them.

"Who's that?"

"Oh, that's Jean Paul and Arthur."

"Arthur?"

"Pendragon."

It took Dudley a few moments to connect the dots there, and when he did he nearly choked on his pumpkin juice. Honestly, choking would have probably been a net improvement of the experience. He couldn't fathom how wizards guzzled the stuff, although there was a slightly more pressing concern in front of him.

Later…

Draco slipped on some appropriate fashion and picked up the slip of paper with his address for the day. He recognized it vaguely, but grabbed a map to be certain. If nothing else, the people at Hogwarts were well prepared.

As it turned out, he didn't quite have the talent for the apothecary business that he had hoped, but he had, painfully, slowly, embarrassingly managed to earn Daphne's approval. Enough to get a job as her aide at Hogwarts. Unfortunately, as a 'junior' teacher, he got shafted with jobs like introducing muggles to the world of magic.

Some part of him imagined that his father would be quite upset if he were to know Draco was helping to introduce Muggleborns to the magical world, but it was part of his job now (as doubtful as the other teachers had been of his ability to pull it off…). There had been some mumbling about hiring someone for the sole purpose of introducing Muggleborns to the magical world and generally being a liaison, but the budget had not agreed.

So he went. He would Apparate there, and use Portkeys to bring the family to Diagon and back, as he had never managed to grasp the intricacies of muggle automobiles. (That was one of the few things Greengrass couldn't mock him about, though- she couldn't either.)

After disillusioning himself, he… well, he already disappeared, he supposed, but he Apparated fairly close to the address he was looking for. He made sure to double check, of course. This particular collection of muggle houses were stunningly uniform and regular, completely lacking in distinguishing characteristics. Barring the young magicians held inside one of them, of course.

He approached the door, rang the doorbell, and after a few moments a woman opened the door, looked him up and down, and shouted back into the house.

"Honey, the Hogwarts man is here!"

What.

Diagon Alley lost some of its omph after seeing Doggerland, unfortunately. Sure, it was appropriately dazzling, and Malfoy seemed quite proud of the place, but he imagined it was more impactful when you were plunging in for the first time.

Malfoy proceeded to walk them through the basics: opening an account at Gringotts and transferring muggle money into wizarding currency, some basic explainers on law and customs as they headed towards that Ollivander place, and finally wand selection.

When they came in, Draco seemed unusually watchful, which seemed a little odd, considering the only person in the store seemed to be a slightly bumbling young man. After a few moments, they were noticed. "Oh, good afternoon! If you'd give me a moment…"

The shopkeep- one of the apparently quite distinguished Ollivander line- was happy to take way more than a moment of their time, blabbering away about any number of things. Apparently, he wasn't quite as experienced as his grandfather- who had retreated from public life to focus on more unique projects like staves, you see- but Dudley could testify that he was in no way lacking youthful vigor.

They bought wands- unicorn hair!- and continued going through Diagon Alley. If Dudley hadn't known a thing about magic, he imagined he would have been very shell-shocked by it all, a bombardment of the new. There were some surprises, of course, but Dudley knew some of these things already.

Dudley was surprised to see Harry's name in the bookstore. There was a guide to Parseltongue, whatever that was, along with books like Fighting with Staves or An Abridged Guide to the Magical Creatures of the World, although the latter was co-authored by a… Rubeus Hagrid?

In a back corner of the bookstore, there was a section labeled Modern Magical History. There was a particularly thick, impressive volume entitled The Heroes of the Second Wizarding War. Hesitantly, Dudley took it. There was a simple dedication: For Colin, before a table of contents that just stretched on and on, starting with a Cedric Diggory and never seeming to stop.

Dudley flipped through, but slammed it closed when he saw the pictures. They moved. After a moment, he worked up the courage to reopen the book and flip towards the back- the chapter grimly marked The Battle of Hogwarts- and he went through page after agonizing page until he saw the laughing face of a Weasley.

Quickly, he put the book back on its shelf, feeling a little lightheaded. He wandered back towards his family, where it seemed that Elaine was interrogating that Malfoy fellow about the Potions curriculum, or some such.

Fittingly enough, they went to the apothecary afterwards, where Elaine seemed to have a minor fit trying to figure out the logic behind the collection of seemingly random ingredients. "But why belladonna? Why eel eyes or rat spleen or anything else?" She eventually seemed to calm down, or at least she begrudgingly conceded that magic was confusing and perhaps not completely beholden to logic.

The apothecary had a sign proudly informing them that their ingredients were all sourced through the Greengrasses. It took Elaine pointing it out for Dudley to realize that was Astoria's last name.

Doggerland also bore the rather unique distinction of having their representative at the Wizengamot also playing on their Quidditch team, at least for a while.

Harry handled his eventual dismissal with grace- he could recognize the unfair advantage his weather manipulation gave him, especially when he got 'in the zone', so to speak. Buffeting winds weren't good for the game, and the emotions so inherent to the sport inspired that sort of thing when Harry played.

It was rather dispiriting to know you could never truly play your favorite game the way it was meant to be, completely fair (or as fair as Quidditch ever got, but whatever).

By most accounts, the incident that finally provoked this was the Doggerland-Britain match, and the fierce competition between Potter and British Seeker Ginny Weasley. While a masterclass in seeking- leading to the naming of the Dogger Dodge- the match had the most inclement weather in a century.

And of course, the Potter-Weasley match-up on the Quidditch pitch was not the only place where Doggerland's sovereign interacted with his former schoolmates. In time, as the Magical Ministry was slowly reshaped by a new generation, many of the figures Harry came to interact with were either his classmates- or a new generation of major fans.

This would eventually lead to a loosening of the more draconian restrictions on supposedly dark creatures- although by this point many werewolves had decided their place was Doggerland- and them falling in line with Potter's policies more generally. This cooling of tempers (on one side, at least) saw a noted improvement in relations between the two states, in addition to a flood of goods from Doggerland flowing into Magical Britain.

(And of course, what sort of spoilsport would raise concerns about pesky things like tariffs? Harry Potter and Doggerland were their friends, after all, and things from the island were so in fashion!)

And while Potter may have had his own little island, he certainly didn't forget the country he came from- his relationships with folks from the British ministry were typically quite cordial, if he didn't already have an established relationship with them. There were several photographs of Potter embracing Hermione Granger shortly after her appointment as Minister. While that sort of thing did drive the rumor-mongers mad, it also served to show a much stronger relationship.

Admittedly, the role of British representative to the ICW was not the most prestigious- in fact, you were likely to be the butt of a number of jokes (a favorite was something to the effect of 'who's the real dog in this relationship?'), or at the very least the subject of condescension, if they were asked about their policy aims at all. There was something of a running assumption they'd vote in line with Potter. Well, they usually did, but it was still annoying.

Unknowingly, Harry had acquired some respect from a number of aspiring Dark Lords- or edgy teenagers who liked to consider themselves as such- for his feats. Sure, it wasn't quite as direct as dueling a wizarding hero in the very halls of the Ministry like Voldemort (who Potter had notably struck down) but acting as if Potter hadn't sunk his hooks deep into Britain was lunacy.

His friends and classmates filled the government, and the next generation were raised on tales of his exploits, his courage and kindliness, if not explicitly taught by teachers who fought alongside the man. Schoolchildren (and a good number of adults) read from books written by him or his associates in their classes, and every self respecting library held books made on Doggerland presses.

(Luna insisted that the villainy guidebook was parody, and Potter begrudgingly allowed an extremely limited run, largely distributed as a joke to friends. Copies still spread.)

Sure, no one was bold enough to compare Hermione Granger to Pius Thicknesse- as that was a sure way to get yourself hit with a hex that hadn't been used in a good five hundred years- but outside of Britain, it was widely believed that Potter had succeeded where Voldemort had failed. Sure, he gave Britain the illusion of a fair, progressive wizarding government that had grown beyond pureblood pretensions, but that was obviously part of the plan- he had clearly realized the problems inherent in hanging over a puppet government like some sort of malignant presence.

Sure, members of the Magical British Government would swear up and down they were independent and answer any allegations of working for Potter with a shocked "What the bloody hell are you talking about?" …but wasn't that the sort of thing he would want them to say? Clearly, Potter was that charming.

These rumors were not helped by the fact that any attempts by foreign Dark magicians to hone in on Potter's turf in Britain met with… messy results. Who was Potter kidding, especially when it was a well known fact that these 'protectors' of magical Britain were overwhelmingly vampires and werewolves?

(Of course, Potter still knew almost nothing of what was going on in regards to his people's more… subtle activity. It wouldn't do to cause any unnecessary fuss, after all.)

He also had an almost irresistible panache. There were the creatures who gathered under his command, of course, but there was also the whole making your own country thing. It was a very attractive idea to anyone who had a bone to pick with their government, after all, and it did raise a question: was there something he wanted to hide?

Public information about the island did trickle out, of course. The great tower that stretched into the sky, narrowing to a single terrible point thousands of feet above the sea, wrapped in wards and playing host to any number of incredible creatures… everything but dragons, according to the rumors. It was said they never stopped building upwards, either. The idea of somehow capturing the tower would be lunacy, of course. Perhaps the tallest structure on the planet, in the middle of a very hostile sea, with the best weather wizard on the planet guarding it? No thanks.

While the idea of assaulting the tower was the sort of thing that made hard-working strategists want to take a long walk off a short pier, the idea of visiting it was much nicer. The easiest way was somehow lucking your way into a friendship with Potter, as if you couldn't do that you were left to undergo analysis by his aides and staff, who could be… anal-retentive when it came to the defense of their island home.

Even then, a visitor would never see the whole of the tower. Sure, there were the parts which were proudly displayed: the paddocks, the tunnels, some of the gardens, the mermen, even a few carefully curated exhibits… but with some accounts suggesting dozens of other floors, there had to be something there!

That something depended on what particular flavor of conspiracy theory happened to be your favorite. A Philosopher's Stone, or even several, were a favorite object of speculation, on top of any number of possible artifacts. The Thirteen Treasures of Britain? Of course. Excalibur? Probably, if you looked enough. Heaps and heaps of treasure? Well, what sort of self respecting potentate wouldn't?

The Weasley family had gained a bit of a reputation for being prolific. Not completely unfair- perhaps even something to be a bit proud of- and while George didn't exactly replicate his father's… feats, he sired a few children of his own. A few children who were, of course, beloved parts of the Weasley family, in spite of what more narrow-minded people might have thought about any surplus appendages.

They were actually some of the first beneficiaries of a number of laws intended to protect people such as them- pushed by Hermione Granger during her rise to the top, of course. Admittedly, these laws would never really reverse the flow of werewolves into Doggerland, but they did a lot for anyone who managed to stick it out long enough.

Rumors say that the prospect of educating Weasley children who were also half trickster foxes was almost enough to make McGonagall quit her job. Almost. (Having to deal with the Potter brood might have pushed her over the edge, but thankfully Potter decided to homeschool. This homeschooling was, notably, part of a curriculum which would be the envy of magical schools the world over.)

Another rumor which should not be believed was that of unusually intelligent foxes stealing unattended food near Ottery St. Catchpole. No such foxes have ever been caught by the muggles, and should be considering a local myth, fit for loons and small children.

? ? Later…

Doggerland had, by most accounts, been there longer than most countries, as steady and unshakeable as the sturdy rock which composed it. War and unrest simply could not touch it- famine was not nearly as common a thing anymore, courtesy of year after year of almost perfect weather worldwide, but it didn't touch Doggerland either.

Exact population numbers are… uncertain. If a census has been conducted- or if magical means have been used- it's never been mentioned, but the number is large. Natural population growth, complemented by lots of people "retiring to Doggerland" led to a large population, living in what had to be one of the largest magical nations on the planet, in terms of area.

Rumors say that the sheer amount of space expansion charms contained within the area was enough to significantly impact muggle observatories around the North Sea through its influence on spacetime. (Although wizarding understanding of muggle science was not always the greatest.) If that wasn't enough, it was said that the tunnels under Doggerland stretched for hundreds of thousands of miles.

Despite this, it remained largely isolationist. Potter, it seemed, still liked to be left alone, and would typically relegate his duties at the ICW to trusted subordinates or descendants. He tended to have… strange effects on magic outside of his island. No one would refuse him visiting, necessarily… but the prospect was sort of frightening, in the same way one might feel hesitant in playing host to a living, breathing atomic weapon.

The few times Potter felt the need to leave Doggerland and intervene in the affairs of the rest of the magical world were infamous. Anyone else with ambitions to dark-lordship quickly found themselves taking a vacation in the cloud-rack, and he was noted for taking a particular pleasure in the destruction of Horcruxes.

(This was considered by some as strong evidence that Potter would never stoop to using Horcruxes for longevity- there were several large betting pools around the world devoted to the mysteries of Doggerland, including whatever means kept Potter and his citizens hale and hearty. Horcruxes, it was believed, required too much murder to sustain a large population… Unless they made Horcruxes with anyone who tried to intrude on their turf!?)

Omake

The room had been drained, ancient rituals pieced back together.

A circle of liquid quicksilver poured from a purified crucible- not widdershins, though, never poured widdershins- a dozen earthenware bowls of fragrant incense. An auspicious moment, months of planning, and half a dozen back-ups. Showtime.

In another world, gale force winds lifted a figure from the sea. He checked the time. His schedule would have to be tighter than he liked.

A sea crow pecked at a dead snake near an abandoned shack.

Rumors spread of a panther prowling the streets of Grimmauld Place.

Albus Dumbledore met a stranger at the gates of Hogwarts, one with a pair of burning green eyes. "Horcrux in the castle."

"Whatever do you mean?"

"There's a horcrux in your castle. I need to destroy it."

"I assure you-"

"Okay, I suppose you need proof: Snape's a double agent. There's a prophecy about Voldemort, which I can quote verbatim, if you'd like." The stranger put on a Trelawney impression. "The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches…"

Three days later (the schedule was damned tight what with the break-in, but he pulled it off) the ashes of one Tom Marvolo Riddle blew away under a stiff wind.

The figure proceeded to jailbreak a few vampires in a castle before getting to work engineering his return to home.

He took a small break from handcrafting the vessels (because, of course, they had to be handcrafted) to grab some ice cream at Diagon Alley. Deciding to see if the Daily Prophet had descended into raghood yet, he bought a copy.

When he read the words "Harriet Potter" he nearly choked.

Smaller Omake

There was a certain stage in some children's lives when they are just fascinated by horses. Horses are pretty cool, after all. This fact of life is inescapable, even in Doggerland.

Of course, invisible flying horses, as cool as they might be, were rather lacking in one notable department. Unfortunately, the visible horse they did have had its own problems.

The Cheval Mallet remained testy. Part of this was probably just not getting out much, but it seemed… intelligent. Intelligent enough to realize, in its own sort of way, when the attention such a glorious specimen as itself was due was being misdirected.

Put frankly, the horse was almost constantly pissed.