Chapter 8 "Family" - Dominic Toretto

It was a quiet, focused morning at breakfast. Harry came down, balancing the weighty Hogwarts Curriculum Codex: 2014 Extended Edition in one hand while munching on a piece of toast with the other. He found Petunia flipping through The Decades: 2000-2010 Edition with pursed lips, each page turned sharply, as if the book had personally offended her. Vernon, meanwhile, was engrossed in Natural Phenomenon, jotting down notes in a little notebook beside him.

Dudley strode through the door, sweaty and flushed from his morning workout. He nodded at Harry before heading upstairs for a shower. Harry acknowledged him with a smile and then turned his attention back to the tome. As he read, a thought struck him, and he looked up at Vernon.

"Uncle," he began, his voice a mix of excitement and purpose, "I was thinking—maybe I could organize these spells, skills, and methods from the Codex kind of like we do with the character builds in Dungeons and Dragons. I could strategize an early 'build' to focus on. With some help from my friends, I could prioritize skills I'll need in the first year and work on a plan for developing more advanced abilities later."

Vernon listened intently, nodding along. "That's a solid approach, Harry. Starting with a structure will help. You go ahead and draft a plan, then we'll go over it together. I'll dive a bit deeper into the books we picked up yesterday, too, just in case there's anything important that might not show up directly in the curriculum. When you're ready, you can review everything again with your friends during next week's D session."

Harry's face brightened. "Thanks, Uncle! That sounds brilliant."

Just then, Dudley returned, freshly showered, and joined them at the table with a plate of eggs, toast, and a glass of orange juice. He looked at Harry with a grin. "Speaking of Dungeons and Dragons, where did we leave off last week?"

Harry smirked, clearly enjoying the memory. "Oh, you don't remember? Your barbarian decided to punch the barkeep and started a massive brawl—for absolutely no reason."

Dudley's face broke into a sheepish grin, and he playfully smacked his forehead. "Right… That brawl. Guess I didn't think that one through."

Harry leaned in with a smirk. "You're in so much trouble, Dud."

They both chuckled and launched into a low-voiced recap of their campaign, the conversation peppered with jokes and groans about past blunders.

Meanwhile, Petunia, her interest piqued by something in The Decades, slid the book over to Vernon, giving him a little nudge and pointing at a passage she'd underlined. She kept silent, but her expression said everything—something had caught her attention that she thought he needed to see.

As Vernon read the page, he found himself drawn into the dramatic account of Samhain night in 2000, its words weaving an intense and unsettling narrative. He read quietly, his voice low and steady:

It was the night of Samhain, October 31st, 2000. Professor Tom Riddle, a well-respected member of Wizarding Britain, had just left the Annual Ball at Black Manor. He was accompanied by his close friends, Lord Greengrass and Lord Malfoy, and they had decided to share a late-night pint at Brohn's Inn & Pub, a quiet establishment in Godric's Hollow.

As they chatted—speculating over the conspicuous absence of the Black heir from the ball—a loud bang shattered the calm. The pub's door was blown off its hinges, and in the opening stood Lily and James Potter. The details remain murky, as both Professor Riddle and Lord Malfoy have refused to fully recount the events to the media.

From what Ministry sources the author can find, it seems that Lord Malfoy, Professor Riddle, and Lord Greengrass initially fought defensively, attempting to subdue the Potters without causing fatal harm. However, the situation escalated. After the tragic deaths of the barkeeper and Lord Greengrass, Riddle and Malfoy reportedly retaliated with full force. No trace of the Potters was ever found in the aftermath of that night. Witnesses corroborate this version of events, though details remain scarce.

As Vernon absorbed these words, his face grew somber, and he glanced over at Harry and Dudley, who had finished their breakfast and were standing to leave. Harry gave a nod to Vernon, muttering something about heading to his room to discuss their D campaign further with Dudley. Vernon managed a faint smile and waved them off. They both left the room, still engrossed in their discussion, Dudley chuckling over the antics of their last campaign while Harry rolled his eyes.

Once the boys had gone, Vernon looked up at Petunia, who was already watching him closely, her lips pursed, her eyes sharp and alert. He knew that look well; she was deeply troubled, and he guessed that last night had brought her little sleep.

"I can tell you didn't sleep last night, Pet," he said quietly. "You've been poring over these books. Most would say I or Harry are the avid readers here, but we both know it's you. You've always been the fastest and most thorough reader in this house."

Petunia gave a small, tight smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. Her gaze drifted back to the open page, her fingers tracing the words as if willing some other truth to emerge. Her shoulders slumped slightly, and she leaned forward, still caught up in her thoughts.

Vernon took a slow breath, placing his hand gently over hers. "What did you find out from those other books you picked up yesterday?"

Petunia sighed, her expression one of weary frustration. "It's all… so strange, Vernon. There's so much reverence around the so-called 'power' players of the magical world. Riddle, Greengrass, Malfoy—they're described as if they were trying to protect the community, respectable figures somehow under siege. But the more I read, the less it adds up." She closed her eyes briefly, clearly recalling passages she'd gone over in the early hours of the morning. "This Contemporary Geopolitics book almost paints them as these noble protectors… yet no one explains why James and Lily would attack them out of nowhere. It's all so one-sided."

Vernon nodded, thoughtful, his brow furrowed. "And the Potters? What do the books say about them?"

"Not much," Petunia replied, her voice tinged with irritation. "They're portrayed as radicals, Vernon. But the reasons… they're glossed over, almost suspiciously so. I don't believe that they'd just attack without cause." She glanced back at the text. "There's something off. This version of events—it feels like it's meant to stir a specific narrative. And even if James and Lily made mistakes, this reads as if they were just… reckless criminals."

Vernon leaned back, processing her words. He felt a surge of unease, a sense that they were missing crucial pieces of the puzzle. "Maybe," he ventured slowly, "this world Harry's stepping into has some deeper conflicts… not just good and bad but layers of alliances, motives, and power struggles."

Petunia nodded, her expression bleak. "Exactly. And this," she tapped the book, "this sanitized version of the past—whatever happened between the Potters and those powerful families—it stinks of politics. Someone has rewritten history."

Vernon rubbed his chin, feeling the weight of her words. "Then it's good we're reading, digging, questioning things. Harry needs to know what he's stepping into." He straightened, his resolve hardening. "We'll get to the bottom of this, Pet. One way or another."

Petunia met his gaze, her eyes dark with a mixture of determination and worry. "I just hope we're not too late to prepare him for what he's about to face."

As Vernon watched Petunia's expression grow increasingly serious, he leaned forward, sensing that she was still digesting the information herself. After a moment, she began, her voice careful, as though each word held a weight she was reluctant to disturb.

"That book on politics—it paints a picture that's… complex, to say the least." She shook her head, frowning. "Wizarding Britain's political scene seems to be tangled with a mess of old loyalties, fears, and hidden motives. From what I've read, there are four main factions that have emerged over time, and it's not as simple as one side versus another."

Vernon nodded, prompting her to continue, his curiosity piqued.

"Firstly," Petunia continued, "there's a larger group made up mostly of muggleborns, as well as some progressive half-bloods and purebloods. They're the ones pushing for an inclusive, open society where muggle-borns can join the wizarding world without barriers. It seems to be a modern, optimistic stance."

Vernon tilted his head. "Makes sense—sounds like the decent lot in all of this."

"Perhaps," Petunia replied, though her expression grew more troubled. "But then there's another group, powerful purebloods, wealthy half-bloods, and muggleborns who are already established, often successful. They're resistant to change, afraid that this push for inclusivity could weaken their influence or upend the structures that keep them in control. They call it 'preserving tradition,' but it sounds more like protecting their privilege."

"Sounds a bit familiar," Vernon muttered, a wry smile on his face.

"Yes. And it gets stranger." Petunia's eyes narrowed as she described the next faction. "There's a group entirely separate from the first two—some of the muggleborns, half-bloods, and purebloods who are more concerned with the rapid technological advancements in the muggle world. They're uncertain, fearful, even, of how quickly things are changing outside their world. They're almost… paranoid, as if technology could undermine their magic or expose them. These individuals have roots in both the pro-inclusion group and the conservative one, so they overlap here and there."

Vernon nodded along thoughtfully, beginning to grasp how tangled the web was. "All these groups mixing and crossing paths… makes it hard to know who's truly loyal to whom."

Petunia gave a weary sigh. "Exactly. And there's a fourth faction, though it's almost laughable in comparison. They're a bunch of young radicals, mostly from old, declining pureblood families. They're angry and defiant, but from what I gathered, they lack the power or even the influence to be taken seriously. They're more of a nuisance than a real threat. It seems they lash out in desperation, but everyone else dismisses them as unimportant."

Vernon's brow furrowed as he absorbed her words. "And the Potters? Riddle, Malfoy, Greengrass? Where did they stand?"

Petunia's lips pressed into a thin line. "That's where things become so peculiar. Both the Potters and Riddle's group seemed to be in the first two factions, if you can believe it. They supported inclusivity and were, by all accounts, on friendly terms. They moved in the same circles and even collaborated on certain issues—at least until that incident. According to the history books, even they admit the whole encounter is nonsensical. There's speculation, repeated in several accounts, that the Potters were somehow mentally compromised on that night." She gave Vernon a significant look. "Snape mentioned that as well, you remember?"

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"Yes, I remember," Vernon said, his eyes darkening as he recalled the conversation with Snape. "It seems odd, though—if they were such allies, why would the Potters attack so suddenly and so violently?"

"That's what no one can explain." Petunia's face was clouded with suspicion and confusion. "Some of the history books merely hint that the Potters' mental state was questionable at the time, as if that somehow made them turn on their own allies. But it feels like a convenient excuse. Something happened that night… something that goes far beyond what the books are willing to say."

A long pause stretched between them as they considered this.

Vernon broke the silence, his voice quiet. "Sounds like Harry's stepping into a world filled with far more than spells and classes. There's a storm under the surface. And if even history books are hiding things, then he's going to need our help figuring out who he can trust and who he can't."

Petunia nodded, her gaze distant. "We'll watch out for him, Vernon. We'll make sure he's ready."

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Daphne Greengrass sat in the quiet, dim light of her family's study, her sharp grey eyes scanning the letter held in her slender hands. The handwriting was elegant but filled with the lively energy of her maternal grandmother, who was anything but typical. Daphne's lips quirked into a rare, subtle smile as she read through each vivid description of her grandmother's latest exploits. It seemed her grandmother had somehow managed to charm her way into the heart of a shamanic tribe deep within the Amazon, gathering all kinds of knowledge on spirit-related magics, potions, and other mystical discoveries. Daphne admired her grandmother's fearlessness; it wasn't often that a person her age was traipsing through jungles, gathering stories and magic alike.

Absorbed in the letter, Daphne barely noticed her mother, Seraphina, entering the room. Seraphina Greengrass was striking, her blonde hair framing a face that was at once warm and sharp. She wore a vibrant dress, in a cheery coral hue that stood out against the cool, dark tones of the study. Though approaching her late thirties, Seraphina carried herself with a youthful energy that gave away her natural enthusiasm.

"Reading your nana's letter, are you?" she asked with a grin, her bright blue eyes twinkling as she crossed the room toward Daphne.

Daphne looked up, her smile widening just a little as she passed the letter to her mother. "Yes. She's making her way through the Amazon now, of all places. Says she's met a tribe of shamans with an extensive understanding of spirit magic. It's fascinating."

Seraphina leaned over, reading a few lines with obvious delight. "Oh, I can't wait to hear about all of it—imagine the charms and potions she'll bring back! Did she mention if she's learned any of their dances yet? She's always picking up some wild ritual or song wherever she goes."

Daphne chuckled softly. "No mention of dances this time, though I wouldn't put it past her. She says they have insights into the afterlife that she wants to explore further, which, well, sounds like something she'd try to coax me into learning."

Seraphina laughed, nodding. "She's probably hoping it will appeal to your 'dark inclinations,' as she calls them. Remember her last trip to Egypt? She wouldn't stop going on about those funerary rites for ages."

"Oh, I remember," Daphne replied, her eyes flashing with amusement. "She practically tried to convince me that embalming spells would be the next trend in potion-making."

They shared a knowing look, both of them well aware that her grandmother's enthusiasm bordered on the absurd sometimes. Still, Daphne felt a quiet thrill at the thought of such knowledge. Her grandmother's letters were like tiny windows into a world filled with mysteries and ancient wisdom, pieces of a dark and beautiful tapestry that fed her own fascination with death and the spirit realm.

"Well," Seraphina said with a smile, placing a gentle hand on her daughter's shoulder, "I suppose we'll hear all about it when she comes back. For now, though, why don't we go down for lunch? I've had Logi make those little pasties you like."

Daphne stood, folding the letter and placing it carefully into the drawer of her desk. "Alright, Mother." Her voice, calm and poised, didn't quite reveal the warmth she felt in the moment, though her eyes softened as she followed her mother from the study, the echoes of her grandmother's adventures lingering in her mind.

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As lunch came to an end, Seraphina set down her napkin and looked at Daphne, her blue eyes twinkling. "So, looking forward to getting your Hogwarts letter next month?"

Daphne's expression turned serious, and she gave a small nod. Noting her daughter's demeanor, Seraphina leaned forward with a gentle poke. "And what's with the dour face?" she teased.

Daphne looked away, her expression contemplative. "It'll be… difficult, being away from here. Surrounded by so many strangers. And Tori will be here alone, too."

Seraphina let out a light laugh, clearly amused. "Are you forgetting me? Astoria will have me here. Besides, darling, you can't keep hiding in books forever. You need to make more friends, and Tracey and Pansy will be there, too."

Daphne rolled her eyes, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. "That's not what I meant," she replied. "I just meant it'll be hard to keep in touch with everyone. And… some of those friendships are more about obligation than anything else."

Seraphina's smile softened, though there was a hint of sadness in her eyes as she looked at Daphne. Standing up, she walked around to where her daughter was sitting and wrapped her arms around her from behind, resting her chin on Daphne's shoulder. "Don't you worry, love. I'm here, and I always will be."

She pulled back, a playful glint returning to her eyes. "In fact, I have something for you—a little gift that I think will help ease your mind. Come with me."

Daphne looked up, intrigued, as she stood to follow her mother, a flicker of curiosity momentarily dispelling the weight on her mind.

Seraphina led Daphne into the master bedroom, moving with a sense of purpose as she approached the vanity. She opened one of the drawers and pulled out a dark purple, almost black, velvet box. With a warm smile, she handed it to Daphne. "Go on, open it."

Daphne's curiosity flickered as she glanced at her mother before carefully lifting the lid. Inside, nestled against the soft fabric, lay a pair of cross-shaped earrings made entirely of rich, dark amethyst. Daphne's lips quirked up in a small smile; the deep purple matched her aesthetic perfectly, its subtle elegance aligning with her understated, gothic style.

Seraphina beamed, clearly pleased. "I knew you'd like the design—very goth, right?"

Daphne rolled her eyes in mock exasperation, though her tone held a hint of amusement. "Don't misuse the word, Mum. But while I do appreciate both the gift and the style, I'm not quite sure how this is supposed to ease my mind."

Seraphina simply shook her head with a knowing smile. "Don't be impatient, Daphne. First, put them on."

Sighing but unable to suppress her curiosity, Daphne slipped the earrings into place. She crossed her arms and looked at her mother expectantly.

Seraphina, with a glimmer of mischief in her eye, lightly touched the sapphire teardrop earrings she herself was wearing and said, "Daphne."

To Daphne's surprise, her earrings gave a gentle buzz, and Seraphina's voice resonated in her ear, even though her mother stood a few feet away. Daphne raised her hand, fingers brushing one of the amethysts. Following her mother's cue, she whispered, "Lumos."

Seraphina moved toward the hallway, stopping just outside the door. In a quiet voice, she asked, "You can hear me, right?"

Daphne's eyes widened in surprise. "Yes," she replied, her voice tinged with wonder.

Seraphina returned, looking quite pleased with herself. Daphne, still taken aback, glanced at her mother with a curious expression. "Why 'Lumos'? That's the Wand-Lighting Charm, isn't it?"

Seraphina nodded, explaining, "You can change the activation code to whatever you like. Right now, 'Lumos' is both the phrase to open the channel and to deactivate it. But feel free to personalize it."

Daphne's intrigue deepened as she tested the connection in her mind. Seraphina's smile softened. "There's one more set, you know. I had a pair made for Astoria, and I'll always be wearing mine. So now you don't have to worry, right?"

Daphne's usual composure faltered just slightly; her eyes grew a touch watery as she wrapped her arms around her mother in an unexpected, tight hug. Startled, Seraphina's eyes widened for a moment before she returned the hug warmly, her own heart swelling with affection. She stroked Daphne's back and thought, perhaps her serious daughter had been under more stress than she'd realized, carrying the weight of separation and worry about the future.

And, for the moment, neither mother nor daughter said a word. They simply stood together, the quiet assurance of their bond stronger than any charm.

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Harry and Dudley stepped through the front door, still buzzing with excitement from their weekly Dungeons & Dragons session. As they kicked off their shoes, they heard Petunia's voice coming from the dining room.

"Go have a shower, both of you, then come down for dinner," she called.

"Yes, Aunt Petunia," Harry answered with a grin, nudging Dudley as they headed upstairs. After a quick wash, they came back down, the familiar aromas of spices wafting from the kitchen. Petunia had prepared an Indian feast tonight, and as they sat at the table, Dudley eagerly scooped a serving of chicken curry onto his plate, while Harry loaded up on rice and naan. Petunia and Vernon were engaged in a quiet, focused discussion across the table, but Harry and Dudley were too wrapped up in reliving the events of their D game to notice much.

As the meal wound down, Petunia cleared her throat, glancing meaningfully at Vernon before she turned to Harry. "Harry, Vernon and I wanted to talk to you about something."

Harry's fork paused mid-air. He looked at them both, uncertain, as he nodded, his excitement from the game waning.

Petunia's expression was careful, thoughtful. "Vernon and I were going through some books we bought last time, and… well, initially, Professor Snape's story seemed fairly consistent with what we read in different histories. But when I looked deeper—into a section on the old families, in a geopolitics text—I found something unsettling."

She took a steadying breath. "The Potter family, currently, is highly disreputed in the wizarding world. Many families have severed ties with them, and… well, it doesn't end there. Vernon and I went back to Diagon Alley and visited the Daily Prophet's office. We reviewed articles from the last fifteen years, and nearly every mention of the Potter name was derogatory or controversial."

Harry's face grew more serious as she spoke, his hands tightening slightly around his fork. Petunia looked at him with concern as she continued, "Many of these articles… they hinted that the Potters were not stable that night, that your parents' mental state was questionable. Some even dismissed them as fanatics."

Harry's expression darkened, his anger flickering under the surface. "Well, we didn't expect anything good after Snape said they were declared terrorists," he muttered, his voice low but tense.

Petunia and Vernon exchanged a brief look. Vernon cleared his throat, picking up the conversation. "It's just that… we wanted to gauge if this might affect you at school, once everyone knows you're a Potter."

Harry looked up, a flash of surprise crossing his face. He hadn't considered this before, but their concern was evident, and it struck a chord with him. His frustration softened slightly, touched by their willingness to look out for him, even as they navigated these strange discoveries about his family.

Vernon cleared his throat and continued, "Well, Petunia and I wanted to be prepared for any possible situation. After talking it over, we figured the easiest way to avoid scrutiny at Hogwarts would be to… well, change your last name temporarily. Just to keep people from focusing too much on the Potter name." He watched Harry's face carefully, gauging his reaction to this rather bold suggestion.

Harry's eyes widened in surprise. Vernon, sensing his hesitation, hurried on. "Of course, you can't take 'Evans'—that was Lily's name," he said with a nod to Petunia. Then, looking at Harry with a glimmer of hope, he suggested, "But if you wanted, you could use Dursley."

Harry remained silent, taking it all in. Vernon shifted nervously, now backtracking a bit. "Or, if you'd rather take another name, we'll support that too. Whatever makes you comfortable," he finished, clearing his throat.

Harry surprised everyone by standing up and wrapping his arms around Vernon in a tight hug. Vernon's face softened, and he hugged Harry back, his eyes misting over. He took off his glasses to dab at them, his usually gruff expression completely softened. Petunia smiled, her own eyes bright with tears.

Pulling back, Harry gave them both a watery smile. "I'd be proud to take the Dursley name," he said, his voice thick with emotion. Dudley slapped him on the back with a grin. "Told you, we're thick as brothers anyway!"

Everyone laughed, the mood turning lighter, and Harry felt a warmth settle in his chest—a certainty that he belonged with them.

After a moment, Harry turned to Petunia. "How do we go about this?"

Petunia straightened, gathering herself. "Well, we're not entirely sure, but we can start by writing a letter to the Deputy Headmistress, explaining that there's a… sensitive issue that could affect your admission."

Harry nodded thoughtfully. "All right. But how are we going to send it? We don't even have an owl."

Vernon chuckled, his face brightening. "Actually, we realized we should've gotten one on our last trip. So, when we visited the Daily Prophet, we picked up an owl for the family. She's a large barn owl named Photon, and she's upstairs in the master bedroom."

Harry's eyes lit up, and Dudley was already bounding up the stairs, calling out, "You bought an owl and didn't even tell us?!"

Everyone chuckled, the room filled with a comforting sense of excitement as they prepared to take this next step, together.