The following evening, at precisely six o’clock, the fireplace in Bones Manor flared with vibrant green flames.
Harry Potter once again tumbled out of the hearth, landing squarely on his backside in the elegant parlour.
He wore formal robes of plain, deep black that lent him a solemn air, paired with a light green undershirt.
Susan Bones was already waiting for him, just as Neville had been the day before.
She tried—and failed—to suppress a giggle at his clumsy arrival.
After repeating the same formal greetings and responses (once Susan had composed herself), she escorted him through the manor to a formal lounge where her aunt awaited.
Madam Amelia Bones proved to be every bit as formidable as Madam Longbottom, though in a different way.
Where Augusta carried herself like a regal dowager, Amelia was more grounded and direct—a “beer and pretzels” kind of witch rather than one who preferred tea and scones.
Her sharp eyes missed nothing.
The meeting followed a rhythm remarkably similar to the one at Longbottom Hall, which no longer surprised Harry.
What did catch him off guard was the depth and precision of Madam Bones’ questions about his past.
Whenever he hesitated or tried to withhold details, the Head of the DMLE sensed it immediately and approached the subject from a different angle, gently but relentlessly drawing more from him than he had intended to share.
By the end of the evening, Harry was quietly astonished at how much he had revealed.
He could also sense the controlled anger simmering beneath Madam Bones’ composed exterior.
She never voiced it outright, but her tightened jaw and steely gaze spoke volumes.
As he had done with Madam Longbottom, Harry offered her the letter from his father.
Her advice on handling the upcoming meeting with the Greengrasses mirrored Augusta’s almost exactly.
When the night drew to a close, Harry felt a deep sense of satisfaction.
He had successfully re-established the second alliance his father had requested.
He and Susan also agreed to meet on the Hogwarts Express.
Harry mentioned he would likely sit with Neville, Daphne, and her friend Tracey.
Susan smiled and added that her own friend, Hannah, would probably join them as well.
Harry’s meeting with the Greengrasses was set for five o’clock on the Thursday evening before the Hogwarts Express departed.
He took extra care with his appearance—his only concession to imperfection being his eternally untameable black hair.
He wore his sleek rimless glasses, which subtly enhanced the striking green of his eyes.
Stepping into the fireplace at the Leaky Cauldron, he emerged in the marble-floored parlour of Greengrass Estate—and, true to form, promptly landed on his backside once more.
Muttering darkly about his persistent clumsiness and forcing down a flare of irritation, Harry pushed himself to his feet.
A strikingly elegant middle-aged witch stood waiting, a gentle smile playing on her lips.
“Sorry,” he muttered, brushing soot from his robes.
“I really hate Floo travel.”
Her smile widened with quiet amusement.
She waited until he had finished tidying himself, then stepped forward.
“Allow me.”
With a few graceful waves of her wand and a softly spoken incantation, she vanished every trace of soot from his clothing.
She sheathed her wand and inclined her head.
“Welcome to Greengrass Manor, Mister Potter. I am Lady Isabel Greengrass. On behalf of my husband and myself, I extend our warmest welcome and hospitality this evening.”
Harry straightened, surprised by the slightly less rigid formality.
‘Alright… I’ll wing it,’ he thought.
“Thank you for your kind invitation and welcome, Lady Greengrass.”
He reached into his robes and withdrew a small, beautifully wrapped gift.
“Please accept this modest token as thanks for your generosity.”
Lady Greengrass accepted it with a gracious smile and slipped it into her pocket.
She then took his elbow lightly.
“Well done, Mister Potter. Would you do me the honour of escorting me to the lounge? My Lord Greengrass awaits us there.”
Harry offered a small bow. Get faster updates on g.com.
“Of course, ma’am.”
As they walked, she leaned down and whispered kindly, “Have no fear, Harry. We’re all family here.”
The simple reassurance made Harry’s shoulders relax.
He let out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding.
Upon entering the formal lounge, a tall, distinguished man rose from his armchair and turned to face them.
“My Lord,” Lady Greengrass announced smoothly, “I present Mister Harry Potter, Head of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Potter.” She stepped back slightly and gestured toward her husband.
“Mister Potter, allow me to present Lord Cygnus Greengrass, Head of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Greengrass.”
Harry stepped forward and offered his hand.
“Thank you for extending this invitation, Lord Greengrass.”
The older man accepted the handshake with a small, measured smile.
“And thank you for accepting it, Mister Potter.” He indicated the armchair opposite his own.
“Please, sit.”
Harry took the offered seat and leaned back, projecting a calm he didn’t entirely feel.
He waited until both Greengrasses were seated before speaking.
“I must apologise for not contacting you sooner,” he began.
“I was… kept from my heritage and the wizarding world for the past ten years. I only rediscovered it at the end of July and have spent nearly every waking hour since trying to understand this world and my place in it. That search led me to a letter from my father in one of the Potter vaults at Gringotts.”
He withdrew the letter and extended it across the space between them.
“It is quite personal,” Harry continued, “but I hope it helps explain my delay.”
Lord Greengrass studied him for a moment, then accepted the letter with a slight frown.
He read it carefully in silence.
When he finished, he folded the parchment and returned it.
“Thank you for sharing something so personal, Mister Potter. It does clarify several matters.”