The Safest Place in England (Unless Red Is Awake)
"That was weird," Harry muttered the moment they appeared back in his house, thanks to Gris' help. Around him, the others looked just as confused, though a bit less impressed.
"A little," Hermione admitted, adjusting her robe with one hand as she tried to process what had just happened.
Daphne, for her part, merely shrugged like it wasn't a big deal.
"Arthur Weasley… I know him," Draco said thoughtfully, breaking the brief silence. "My father used to argue with him the moment they crossed paths. Intense arguments—though always started by my father, of course. I think I once overheard him saying they were part of Dumbledore's group."
"Dumbledore? The headmaster of Hogwarts?" Hermione asked, eyes lighting up with interest. "They say he's the most powerful wizard of this century. Some even call him the second coming of Merlin." She sounded excited, almost like she was talking about a celebrity from her favorite books. In fact, Harry thought that enthusiasm reminded him a lot of how people talked about him in those books: like a legendary hero, even though all he had done was survive.
"Yes," Daphne replied in a neutral tone. "But remember, we're part of the neutral faction. We're not enemies of Dumbledore, but we're not his allies either. You're our friend, and a student of Wanda, so by transition law, you're under our faction's protection." She cut off Hermione before she could reply, and those words were enough to make her close her mouth and process the new information.
"I saw him once," Harry said with a touch of satisfaction. "It was the first day Mum took me out of that awful place. He looked scared of her." He said it with barely concealed pride. If the most powerful wizard alive feared his mother… then maybe she was actually the most powerful.
Draco and Daphne exchanged a quick glance. Not long, but enough for Harry and Hermione to notice.
"What?" asked Harry, raising an eyebrow.
"Well... I hope you don't get offended," Draco began slowly, "but pretty much all of magical Britain is afraid of your mum." He paused, then quickly added, "I mean, almost every pure-blood family saw her split a mansion in two during etiquette class. And the Parkinson estate? Same thing."
Instead of being upset, Harry smiled even wider. His pride was practically glowing.
"And that's not all," Daphne added more seriously, crossing her arms. "You may not know this, but heirs like us are always at risk. Greedy wizards see us as walking lottery tickets. Dark wizards see us as test subjects. And rival factions? They'd rather we never grow strong enough to inherit anything."
"That's why we usually walk around with hidden bodyguards," she explained naturally. "Well, at least in my family and Draco's. You and Hermione? You're actually safer than you think."
"Hermione and me?" Harry asked, surprised.
"Yes. At first, my father thought you two might become targets after joining the neutral faction, so he sent Uncle Sil to watch over you for a while. But… any wizards who had bad intentions toward either of you just vanished. And after Aunt Wanda showed her power that day, everyone got the message." Daphne smiled with amusement. "Now, whenever we're with you, our bodyguards don't even bother showing up. We're literally in the safest place in all of England."
Hermione's eyes widened in astonishment.
"Still, Harry, just in case, you should learn more about what it means to be the heir of an ancient house," Draco suggested with a softer tone. "We're taught from a young age to observe people—see when someone's hiding something in their gaze. I only started recently, by my mother's order. Before that, my father thought I wasn't ready."
For a moment, his voice dimmed, weighed down by the memory of his father. But he quickly shook it off.
"Isn't etiquette class enough?" Hermione asked, genuinely curious.
"Etiquette is for manners, sure," Draco replied calmly. "But if you're up against someone trying to manipulate you—or if you need to manipulate someone—good manners won't cut it."
"Exactly," Daphne agreed. "Astoria and I practice Occlumency every weekend. It's a pain, but Dad says that way no one can read our minds."
"Occlumency…?" Harry echoed, confused.
"It's the art of closing your mind to block spells like Legilimency," Hermione explained quickly, with that spark she always had when she knew something others didn't.
"Is that like mind control?" Harry asked.
"Um… no," Hermione said. "Mind control is something else entirely. And I think the only real mind control spell is one of the three Unforgivable Curses."
—
After dinner, once his friends had gone home, the house fell into a peaceful hush.
Harry walked over to Wanda, who was sitting comfortably on the couch, reading a thick book with scarlet-glowing letters on its cover.
"Mum, I want to learn mental magic," he said, his expression so serious it looked like it belonged in a dramatic film.
Wanda looked up from the book and met his eyes, evaluating his request with quiet calm.
"Alright," she replied simply, with the same casual tone someone might use to offer another helping of mashed potatoes.
Harry blinked. Was that… a yes? He opened his mouth, already excited, but Wanda turned another page and added calmly:
"But maybe we should wait until your punishment is over, don't you think?" she said, her smile sweet and sing-song.
"Ugh… you found out," Harry groaned, flopping down on the couch like all the magic in the world had just been drained from him.
At that moment, Red —the family's pet dragon— made his grand entrance through the lower hatch of the door. Well… lower hatch was a diplomatic way of saying "half the entire door had been cut just so he could pass without destroying everything."
He walked in with proud, martial steps, tail swaying like a parade flag, and a pair of butterfly wings clenched triumphantly in his jaws —as if he had just defeated his lifelong nemesis.
The moment he saw Harry sitting in a corner with a pair of donkey ears on his head, Red lit up with excitement. He trotted over happily and dropped the butterfly at Harry's feet like a prized offering, clearly expecting an epic celebration in his honor.
Harry looked up from the alchemy book he'd been lazily flipping through and, seeing Red's enthusiasm, gave him a sly smile.
"You took it down all by yourself? Very well, Commander Red," he said in a solemn tone, giving the dragon an improvised military salute.
Red puffed up his chest and let out a small cloud of smoke in response.
Just then, Wanda walked out of the kitchen with a towel in one hand and one eyebrow raised.
"Why are you wearing donkey ears?" she asked, eyeing him with obvious confusion.
"Style," Harry replied with a mischievous grin. "Punishment with personality."
That got a light chuckle out of Wanda, who shook her head as she walked over.
"Alright. You can go out. But leave your wand behind. If you want to carry it, you'd better learn to use it properly first," she said, patting him gently on the head before walking away.
"Thanks, Mum!" Harry said, springing to his feet and grabbing both his book and Red, who was clearly ready to follow him anywhere.
Just as they were heading out, Red spat out the butterfly onto the floor with pride, as if to say, "A gift, for you, great sorceress."
Wanda narrowed her eyes at him, her expression a mix of tired patience and quiet judgment.
Red froze under her gaze for half a second… then bolted after Harry like his life depended on it.
…
"Hi, grandparents!" Harry called cheerfully as he stepped out of the fireplace, magical dust still floating in the air around him. Red followed behind with as much elegance as he could manage… which wasn't much. He got stuck in the frame for a second, growled in indignation, then popped through with a loud fwump, shaking himself off like nothing had happened.
"Hello, my beautiful grandson!" said Euphemia warmly, giving him a soft smile, while Fleamont raised a hand in a more reserved greeting—though the pride in his eyes was unmistakable.
"Here for more golem research?" Euphemia asked, sounding delighted, like Harry was a young scholar on the rise.
"Yep," Harry replied, clearly excited. "We're thinking of arming them this time. And instead of using simple commands, we want to try controlling them directly. We might even set up a tournament. Hermione's handling the rules, I'm upgrading the structures with Draco, and Daphne… well, she's going to stress-test them the punchy way."
"And the other girls?" Euphemia asked, amused.
"Luna and Astoria… they're finding ways to make them prettier. They say aesthetics is also power." Harry rolled his eyes, then paused. "Although… if we made a battle ballerina that could kick your face while spinning gracefully… actually, that'd be pretty awesome."
Fleamont let out a short, proud laugh. "I love how into alchemy you are. Maybe you should try contacting Nicolas Flamel."
Harry looked up, intrigued. "Flamel? The legendary alchemist who created the Philosopher's Stone? I thought he died after Grindelwald's fall. That was the last time anyone saw him."
"Do you really think someone who created the Philosopher's Stone would die that easily?" Fleamont said conspiratorially. "The man went into hiding. He holds something every wizard in the international magical world would kill to have. He's no fool."
"Interesting," Harry murmured. "I saw the recipe in one of our ancestors' books..."
"Yeah, but having the recipe isn't the same as baking the cake," Fleamont replied, folding his arms. "Flamel is the real deal. Maybe you should write to him. If he's as wise as they say, he'll recognize a true prodigy when he sees one."
"'Prodigy' is a bit much," Harry said, scratching his cheek modestly.
"Maybe. But write the letter anyway. Worst thing you'll lose is a bit of time," Euphemia added with a gentle, motherly smile.
Harry nodded. "I'll do it. And if I can make really cool golems… I could make one of you two!"
"Hahaha! Now that, we want to see!" Fleamont laughed heartily. "Make me strong—but make sure I still have hair!"
"And give me long eyelashes and a lovely gown," said Euphemia, giggling alongside him.
Just when everything seemed peaceful, Fleamont frowned and glanced around. "By the way… where's your idiot dragon?"
"Red?" Harry said, turning.
And then it began.
CRASH!
BLAM!
"Hey! Stop that!"
A picture fell from the wall. A vase exploded into a thousand pieces. Liz screamed like she'd seen the devil himself.
"RED!" Harry shouted, bolting down the hallway.
Meanwhile, Red was sprinting at full speed with a rug tangled around his tail, paws sliding across the marble, and a chandelier stuck to one of his horns. As he zoomed past, Fleamont just sighed.
"One day… that dragon is going to blow up the whole house," he muttered.
"And Harry will be right there, taking notes for his next golem weapon," Euphemia added with a smile.
The two exchanged a look, shrugged… and went back to their tea like it was all perfectly normal.