Harry sneaked a look around the rest of the room – sixteen Heirs of varying ages from twelve to twenty and five related siblings of a similar age. The large conservatory of Longbottom Manor just about held the space for them all and the tea table set out with drinks and cookies. He tried to bear up under the collective weight of so many eyes. He was Lord Potter, Heir to the House of Black, he reminded himself. He had a duty to get to know everyone and at least he knew Neville, Susan and Hannah who had all grouped around him protectively. He glanced at Bill, another Heir in attendance that he knew; but Bill was there in service to the House of Potter as a guard for Harry and the House of Weasley wasn't formally part of the old Potter alliance.
"It's OK, Susan," Harry smiled at her gratefully though, "I don't mind answering."
Neville shifted beside him. "So long as people remember that you don't have to answer anything you don't want to – none of us do."
Jeremy nodded. "Fair enough."
Robert Ogden, a Hufflepuff who'd be entering his final year at Hogwarts that September and Tiberius's grandson, motioned at him. "So? Death threat? Yes or no?"
"Yes, there was an implied death threat on my birthday as the Prophet reported." Harry said. "No, I don't know what it said exactly. Sirius wouldn't tell me."
"You don't seem that freaked out." Alicia Doge said quietly. She was the oldest, a grand-niece of Elphias and his only living relative.
"I'm a target." Harry said bluntly. "Thanks to this." He lifted his fringe and revealed his scar.
"Are the rumours true about you killing Quirrell?" asked Terry Stebbins, eighteen, newly graduated and a Chaser for the Brighton Broomflyers. Harry had been hoping to talk to him about Quidditch.
Twelve year old Connor Sapworthy dropped his glass.
"Terry!" Albert Marchbanks, nineteen, and related to Griselda in a fourth cousin twice removed kind of way that made Harry's head hurt, dealt with the mess while Marcus Belby poured Connor another drink.
Michael Corner cleared his throat. "It's a valid question. I mean, we are supposed to be following the House of Potter and we need to know if, well, uh…"
"I killed someone?" asked Harry dryly.
"Yes." Michael said.
"Well, we already know he killed someone! He killed You-Know-Who," pointed out Lydia Inglebee, smiling at Harry sweetly while her twin brother, the Heir, made a gagging gesture behind her; they were both a year behind Harry at Hogwarts, "and he's a hero. If he killed Quirrell it's because he was a Dark Wizard."
"Quirrell?" Robert snorted. "He couldn't find his own arse without stuttering!"
Connor dropped his glass again.
Bill walked over and spelled the glass impermeable. He cast a look at Harry that asked if he needed help but Harry shook his head a touch to decline. As much as he wanted to tell Michael and Terry to shove it, they had a point. And he had to get used to dealing with these types of questions; he'd already had variants of them at the dinners with the Heads of their Houses although Sirius usually ran interference.
"Quirrell was possessed. That's what killed him according to the Headmaster." Harry said simply. "My friends and I just stopped possessed-him being able to steal something from the school."
"It was still very brave of you to go after him." Lydia said – and was she actually fluttering her eyelashes at him?
"Actually my friends and I thought it was Snape." Harry admitted sheepishly.
Terry grinned and raised his glass to him. "Balls of steel then! Not many of us would have faced him down!"
"I'm sure after You-Know-Who Snape is nothing." Lydia said.
Harry shot Neville a 'save me' look but it was Susan who stepped in.
"I'm sure Harry doesn't want to dwell." Susan said sharply enough that Harry was reminded of her aunt.
"Do you remember that night when you offed You-Know-Who?" asked Michael.
Harry felt the horror and revulsion of having to even think about that night arrow through him again but before he could respond…
"Corner!" Bill's hard voice resounded across the room. "That's enough!"
"Exactly," Neville glared at Michael, "you wouldn't ask me if I remember the night my parents were tortured so why would you ask Harry that?"
Michael went bright red and he muttered an apology.
But Robert scowled at Bill. "We are supposed to be getting to know him, Weasley."
"Getting to know him, yes, Ogden." Bill said with the same hardness to his tone that warned the boy not to push him. "Satisfying your prurient curiosity about certain events in his life, no." He pointed his wand at Harry. "For instance, nobody's asked him about what he fancies doing as a career. Or what his favourite subject is. Or what his views on the Quidditch league are."
The group turned in a mostly chastised mass back to Harry who shot Bill a look of thanks.
"And there was I thinking we'd gotten rid of the Harry guards." Terry said in a loud whisper.
"Guards?" asked Harry confused.
"Ron and Hermione." Neville supplied.
Susan nodded. "They're very protective over you."
"Although," Neville said, glaring at Michael again, "if that's the type of crap questions you have to put up, who can blame them."
"I said sorry!" Michael retorted huffily.
"I guess they are quite protective of me." Harry acknowledged, thinking of his two friends. "The first few months at Hogwarts everybody kept staring at me, and in second year, there was the whole thing about me being a parselmouth."
"Yeah, sorry about that." Susan exchanged an embarrassed look with Hannah.
"I think parseltongue sounds sexy." Lydia said, inching closer.
Harry tried to shake the feeling of being trapped. "It all sounds like English to me."
"Really?" Michael asked. "That's fascinating. I read a book that theorised that parseltongue couldn't be taught because it was a magical interpretative charm that Salazar keyed to his blood that automatically changed the hissing into speech. It sounds like the book might be right."
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