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Chapter 68, Chapter 69, Chapter 70, Chapter 71, Chapter 72, Chapter 73, Chapter 74, Chapter 75, Chapter 76, Chapter 77, Chapter 78, Chapter 79, Chapter 80, Chapter 81, Chapter 82, Chapter 83, Chapter 84, and Chapter 85 are already available for Patrons.
Harry sat on the edge of his bed, staring at his hands as if they belonged to someone else entirely. The evening light had long since faded from his window, leaving only the soft glow of his desk lamp to illuminate the familiar space that suddenly felt too small to contain everything swirling through his mind.
Hundreds of thousands of Galleons, he thought, the number echoing in his head like a curse he couldn't shake. International distribution. The Greengrass Foundation.
Itisa padded across the room in her true form, her red/black coat rippling with each graceful movement. Without ceremony, she leaped onto the bed and settled beside him, her massive head coming to rest on his lap with a weight that was both physical and comforting. Her purr rumbled through the quiet room like distant thunder.
"I don't know what to do," Harry admitted to the darkness, his fingers automatically finding the spot behind Itisa's ears that always made her purr louder. "Almost Thirteen years old, and I'm supposed to make decisions that could affect... what? International magical politics?"
From her perch near the window, Hedwig hooted softly, a sound that somehow managed to convey both sympathy and mild reproach. Harry looked at her, noting the way her storm-grey feathers caught the lamplight.
"You think I'm being dramatic, don't you?" he asked his avian companion. "But it's not that simple. Cassiopeia Greengrass wasn't offering me a business partnership—she was offering me a golden cage. Twenty percent commission sounds generous until you realize that she will most likely find loopholes to expand that percent or who knows what."
But what if she's right? The treacherous thought crept into his mind unbidden. What if I can't do this alone? What if refusing her offer means watching my work disappear into obscurity while Minister Fudge finds new ways to sabotage me?
Harry's chest tightened with the familiar sensation of anxiety clawing at his ribs. It was the same feeling he'd had before facing the basilisk, but somehow worse because at least then he'd known exactly what he was fighting. This was different. This was politics and business and adult responsibilities that he'd never asked for but couldn't seem to escape.
"I'm supposed to be worrying about Defense Against the Dark Arts essays and whether I'll make the Quidditch team," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Instead, I'm sitting here trying to figure out how to maintain relationships with three different foreign governments while avoiding being controlled by my own Ministry and deciding whether to trust a woman who probably funded a war that killed my parents."
Itisa's purr shifted to a slightly different frequency—one Harry had learned to recognize as her version of gentle concern. She lifted her massive head and fixed him with those impossible golden eyes that held intelligence far beyond what most humans possessed.
"You've been alone for so long," he said aloud, his hand stilling on her fur. "Making every decision by yourself, never knowing if you were choosing correctly. And now here I am, complaining about having too many people who want to help me."
But even as he said it, Harry knew it wasn't that simple. The Italian Ministry wanted his innovations for their Aurors. The French wanted his diplomatic presence for their political goals. The Russians wanted... well, he still wasn't entirely sure what the Russians wanted, but Kozlova's sharp eyes had suggested it was significant. And now the Greengrass Foundation wanted to profit from his work while claiming to help him distribute it.
Everyone wants something, he thought with a bitterness that felt too old for his almost thirteen years. The question is whether any of them actually want what's best for me, or just what I can do for them.
"Except for this family," he said aloud, glancing toward his bedroom door where he could hear the soft murmur of Ted and Andromeda's voices downstairs. "They wanted me before I could do anything useful. Before I had money or fame or international contracts. They just... wanted me."
The realization hit him like a revelation. The Tonks family had taken in an eight-year-old boy with a dangerous pet and no clear future. They'd fed him, clothed him, taught him, loved him, and never once asked for anything in return except that he be himself.
That's what makes this so hard, Harry understood suddenly. I know what real love looks like now. I know the difference between people who care about me and people who care about what I can do for them. And Cassiopeia Greengrass... she's definitely in the second category.
Itisa shifted position, somehow managing to drape herself across Harry's lap in a way that was both protective and comforting. Her warmth seeped through his clothes, and her steady breathing helped slow his racing thoughts.
"The thing is," Harry continued, his voice growing stronger, "I don't actually have to decide tonight, do I?"
"But right now," he admitted to his companions, "I just feel... tired. Tired of being the boy who has to make decisions that adults struggle with. Tired of everyone looking at me like I have all the answers when I'm still figuring out the questions."
Hedwig hooted again, this time with what sounded distinctly like agreement. Itisa's purr deepened, vibrating through Harry's entire body in a way that made his eyelids heavy.
I need to talk to someone, Harry realized. Someone who understands what it's like to have a family with expectations.
Harry had been staring at his ceiling for what felt like hours when he finally gave up on sleep entirely. The conversation with Cassiopeia Greengrass played on repeat in his mind, each word dissected and analyzed until it lost all meaning. Hundreds of thousands of Galleons... twenty percent commission... real distribution...
He slipped out of bed as quietly as possible, careful not to disturb Itisa, who had claimed the majority of his mattress with typical feline entitlement. Hedwig opened one golden eye as he moved toward the door, but apparently decided his midnight wandering wasn't worth investigating.
The house was quiet as Harry made his way downstairs, his bare feet silent on the familiar wooden steps. He'd intended to grab a glass of water and perhaps raid Andromeda's hidden stash of chocolate biscuits, but warm light spilling from beneath the kitchen door suggested he wasn't the only one having trouble sleeping.
He pushed the door open to find Andromeda sitting at the kitchen table, still dressed in her evening robes, with a steaming mug of tea cradled between her hands. Her dark hair had been released from its elegant chignon, falling in waves around her shoulders in a way that made her look younger—more like the sister Nymphadora might have had rather than her mother.
"Can't sleep either?" she asked without looking up, her voice carrying the sort of knowing warmth that mothers seemed to develop through some mysterious alchemy of love and worry.
"Not really," Harry admitted, hovering in the doorway. "I keep thinking about... everything, I suppose."
"Sit," Andromeda said gently, gesturing to the chair across from her. "I'll make you some tea. Chamomile might help settle your mind."
Harry settled into his usual spot at the kitchen table, watching as Andromeda prepared tea for him.
"You're overwhelmed," she said as she set a mug before him. It wasn't a question.
"Is it that obvious?" Harry asked with a rueful smile, wrapping his fingers around the warm ceramic.
"You have the same expression Ted gets when the Ministry sends him seventeen different forms for something that should require one signature," Andromeda replied, settling back into her chair. "That particular combination of frustration, exhaustion, and the desire to set something on fire."
She's not wrong about the fire part, Harry thought, remembering his impulse to demonstrate exactly what basilisk-skin talismans could do when properly motivated.
"I just..." Harry began, then stopped, unsure how to articulate the tangle of emotions in his chest. "I feel like everyone expects me to have answers I don't have. Decisions I'm not ready to make. And I'm almost thirteen, Lady Andromeda. I should be worrying about whether I'll pass my tests, not whether I should sign contracts worth more money than most people see in a lifetime."
Andromeda was quiet for a long moment, her gray eyes studying his face with the sort of careful attention that suggested she was seeing past his words to the fear beneath them.
"You know," she said finally, "I was about your age when I first realized that being born into a family with expectations could be its own kind of prison."
Harry looked up sharply. Andromeda rarely spoke about her life before Ted, before Nymphadora, before the warm and loving family she'd built from nothing. He knew she'd been a Black, knew she'd been disowned, but the details had always remained carefully unspoken.
"Growing up as Andromeda Black wasn't quite the fairy tale people imagine when you say you were born into a rich, and powerful family," she continued, for a moment, speaking like she was talking to someone far away. "Oh, we had money, certainly. Power. Respect. But we also had rules. So many rules, Harry. Rules about who we could speak to, who we could befriend, who we could love. Rules about blood purity and family loyalty and the proper way to torture Muggles."
The casual mention of torture made Harry's stomach clench, but Andromeda continued as if discussing something casual.
"I had two sisters, you know. Narcissa, who's two years younger than me, and Bellatrix, who's five years older. Before Hogwarts, before... everything... we were close. Especially Bella and I. She used to sneak into my room at night and tell me stories about the great Black family witches who came before us. She made it sound magical. Romantic."
"What changed?" Harry asked quietly.
Andromeda's smile was bitter as winter wind. "Hogwarts. The moment Bellatrix was sorted into Slytherin, she found her calling. Not magic, not learning, not even power in any traditional sense. She wanted to hurt people, Harry. She wanted to watch them suffer and know that she was the cause. By her third year, she was openly talking about the glory of serving the Dark Lord, about building a mountain of corpses at her feet and having someone tell her she'd done well."
A mountain of corpses, Harry thought with revulsion. And Andromeda had to call this person sister.
"The pressure to follow in her footsteps was... intense," Andromeda continued. "Mother and Father were so proud of Bellatrix's dedication to the cause. They expected Narcissa and me to be equally devoted. To marry appropriate pure-blood wizards, to raise proper pure-blood children, to support the Dark Lord's vision of magical supremacy."
"But you didn't," Harry observed.
"No," Andromeda agreed, her voice growing stronger. "I didn't. Because in my third year at Hogwarts, I met a brilliant, funny, kind Muggle-born wizard named Edward Tonks who made me laugh until my sides hurt and treated me like I was remarkable for who I was, not what family I'd been born into."
Harry felt warmth bloom in his chest at the obvious love in her voice, even after all these years.
"It wasn't easy," she admitted. "I knew what choosing Ted would cost me. My family, my inheritance, my place in pureblood society. Everything I'd been raised to value. But Harry, when I looked at my alternatives—marrying some You-Know-Who's son and spending my life pretending to believe that Muggle-borns were less than human—the choice became clear."
"How did you manage it?" Harry asked. "The wedding, I mean. Your family must have been watching you."
Andromeda's laugh was soft but tinged with old pain. "We eloped. A tiny ceremony, with two strangers as witnesses. It was the most romantic and terrifying day of my life."
"But your family found out?"
"Oh yes," Andromeda said, her expression growing darker. "The Black family has a tapestry, you see. Ancient magic, woven into the very fabric. It hangs in the drawing room of the family mansion, and it shows every member of the Black bloodline. Names, birth dates, death dates, causes of death, children, marriages—everything."
Harry leaned forward, fascinated despite the obvious pain this memory caused her.
"The tapestry doesn't recognize marriages immediately," Andromeda explained. "It waits for... consummation. For the magical bond that comes with truly joining your life to another's. Ted's name didn't appear until the morning after our wedding night. And when it did..."
She trailed off, staring into her tea as if it held answers to questions she'd stopped asking years ago.
"What happened?" Harry prompted gently.
"Mother Floo-called me at six in the morning," Andromeda said with a bitter smile. "Screaming. Demanding to know how I could betray everything our family stood for. Father was... quieter. More disappointed than angry, which somehow made it worse."
"And your sisters?"
"Narcissa cried," Andromeda said simply. "She was always the gentler of the three of us, more concerned with maintaining family harmony than with ideology. I think she genuinely mourned losing me."
"What about Bellatrix?"
Andromeda was quiet for so long that Harry began to wonder if she'd heard the question. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper.
"Bellatrix looked at me with such hatred, Harry. Such complete loathing. Not the kind of anger you feel toward an enemy, but something deeper. Something that comes from feeling personally betrayed by someone you trusted. She wanted to kill me in that moment. I could see it in her eyes—the desire to hurt me in ways that would make death seem merciful."
No wonder she rarely talks about her family, Harry thought, his chest aching with sympathy for the young woman who'd had to choose between love and everything she'd ever known.
"They disowned me that same day," Andromeda continued. "Blasted my name off the family tapestry. Removed me from the will. Made it clear that as far as the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black was concerned, I had never existed."
"I'm sorry," Harry said quietly. "That must have been horrible."
"It was," Andromeda agreed. "But Harry, it was also the best decision I ever made. Because choosing Ted—choosing happiness over expectation, love over duty—gave me everything that truly matters. A husband who adores me, a daughter who makes me proud every day, and a son who came to us when we didn't even know we needed him."
The casual reference to him as her son made Harry's throat tighten with emotion.
"The point is," Andromeda continued, reaching across the table to cover his hand with hers, "just because people expect something from you doesn't mean you owe it to them. Your talents, your innovations, your future—they belong to you, Harry. Not to the Ministry, not to foreign governments, and certainly not to ambitious witches who see you as a profitable investment."
"But what if I make the wrong choice?" Harry asked. "What if I turn down opportunities that could help people because I'm too proud or too scared to accept help?"
"Then you'll make mistakes," Andromeda said with the sort of practical wisdom that came from experience. "And then you'll learn from them and make better choices next time. That's what growing up means, darling. Making decisions based on your values rather than other people's expectations. I understand the weight of expectations. The pressure to be what others demand." She reaches across the table to grasp his hand. "But here's what I learned—you can meet every expectation, do everything they want, and it will never be enough. Because those expectations aren't really about you. They're about what you represent to them."
"But people are counting on me," Harry protests. "Aurors' lives—"
"Are saved by your talent and hard work, not by you sacrificing your youth on the altar of their demands." Her grip tightens. "There's nothing wrong with what you're doing, Harry. Your innovations are brilliant. But just because people expect something from you doesn't mean you owe it to them."
"Then how do I choose? How do I know what's right?"
Andromeda's smile is gentle now. "You choose happiness, love. Every time. When the day comes that you have to decide between meeting expectations and following your heart—always, always choose happiness. The people who truly matter will understand."
Harry feels his throat tighten. "Like you chose Ted."
"Best decision I ever made. Led to Nymphadora, to this life, to you." She squeezes his hand once more before releasing it. "We weren't sure about taking you in at first, you know. A boy with a Nundu for a pet? Ted thought I'd finally lost it."
"But you did anyway."
"Because you needed us. And because that terrifying ball of death and claws clearly adored you." She glances at Itisa, who had walked into the room. "Though I'll admit, I slept with one eye open for the first month."
Harry laughs wetly. "Thank you. For... for taking that chance. For giving me a real family when you didn't have to."
"Oh, my dear boy." Andromeda stands and moves around the table, pulling him into a fierce hug. "You gave us just as much. The family we choose is always stronger than the family we're born to."
Something warm and rough touches Andromeda's cheek. They both freeze as Itisa, balanced on Harry's shoulder, gives Andromeda's face a deliberate, sandpapery lick.
"Did she just—" Andromeda touches her cheek in wonder.
"First time for everything," Harry says, amazed. In five years, Itisa has never shown physical affection to anyone but him and Tonks.
She accepts you, Harry realizes. Really accepts you as family.
They sat in comfortable silence for several minutes, Andromeda continuing to pet Itisa while Harry processed everything she'd told him. The parallels between her situation and his weren't exact, but the underlying principle was clear: sometimes the most important choice you could make was to choose your own path, regardless of what others expected from you.
"What do you think I should do about Mrs. Greengrass's offer?" Harry asked finally.
"Honestly? I think you should tell her you need time to consider all your options," Andromeda replied. "You have three international trips coming up, Harry. Who knows what opportunities might present themselves? What allies you might find? What alternatives might emerge?"
"You think I should wait?"
"I think you should gather all the information you can before making any decisions that could affect the rest of your life," Andromeda said practically. "Cassiopeia Greengrass isn't going anywhere. The Foundation has been around for decades; it'll survive another few months without your business."
Harry nodded, feeling some of the tension leave his shoulders. She's right. I don't have to decide everything tonight.
"Can I ask you something else?" he said after a moment.
"Of course."
"Earlier, when Mrs. Greengrass was asking about your inheritance and mentioning Sirius Black... what was that about?"
Andromeda's expression grew carefully neutral. "Cassiopeia is a greedy witch, unfortunately a smart one. Sometimes I'm surprised Charles Greengrass married her, though I suppose her intelligence serves their business interests well enough."
That's not really an answer, Harry thought, but something in Andromeda's tone suggested this wasn't a topic she wanted to explore further.
"Is it true what she implied?" Harry pressed gently. "About House Greengrass giving money to Voldemort during the war?"
Andromeda sighed. "That's one of those things we have no proof of, Harry. Cassiopeia didn't exactly confess to funding Death Eaters—she merely pointed out that even Dark Lords need financial backing. Which is true. Grindelwald needed supporters with deep pockets as well."
"But you suspect they did?"
"House Greengrass has always been the smartest of the pure-blood families," Andromeda said diplomatically. "They understood that backing the winning side—whichever side that turned out to be—was more important than ideological purity. House Black decided to fully support You-Know-Who, and look what happened to them. There's no one left except the ones rotting in Azkaban where they belong."
The venom in her voice when she mentioned Azkaban made Harry flinch. He'd never heard Andromeda speak with such hatred before, not even when discussing Voldemort himself.
"You really hate this Sirius Black," he observed quietly.
"I hate what he chose to become," Andromeda corrected. "The Sirius I knew as a child was... different. Rebellious, yes, but not evil...." She shook her head. "What he did to...That's unforgivable."
"Thank you," Harry said. "For telling me about your family. For helping me understand. For accepting me into yours despite knowing that Itisa could level half of London if she put her mind to it."
"Harry," Andromeda said seriously, "there is nothing about you—not your past, not your unusual companions, not your complicated future—that would ever make us regret bringing you into this family. You've brought us joy, pride, and more love than we knew we had room for."
Itisa chose that moment to purr, the sound rumbling through the quiet kitchen like distant thunder. Harry felt his chest warm with a happiness so pure it almost hurt.
"Now," Andromeda said with renewed briskness, "I suggest we both try to get some sleep. Tomorrow we begin preparing for your French adventure, and I am sure Newt Scamander will decide to reveal himself sooner or later."
"Right," Harry agreed, standing and stretching. "International diplomacy waits for no one."
"Especially not for almost thirteen-year-old boys who think they can change the world through sheer stubborn determination," Andromeda added with fond amusement.
"I prefer 'focused optimism,'" Harry replied with a grin.
"Of course you do," Andromeda said, rising as well. Itisa flowed from her shoulder back to the floor. "Sleep well, darling. Tomorrow begins the next chapter of your extraordinary adventure."
As Harry made his way back upstairs, Itisa padding silently beside him, he reflected that he felt lighter somehow. The weight of Cassiopeia's offer was still there, but it no longer felt crushing. He had time to think, space to explore his options, and most importantly, a family who would support whatever decision he ultimately made.
Choose happiness over expectations, he reminded himself as he settled back into bed. Good advice from someone who knows what both cost.
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