“It is the antidote to an Ageing Potion.” Without further ceremony, Harry uncorked the vial and drank the entire contents in one gulp.
Before their eyes, the transformation began.
His strong, mature features softened.
His eyes grew larger in proportion to his face.
His body shrank, and his clothes adjusted to fit the new form.
In moments, the commanding young man was gone, replaced by a boy no older than eight.
“Wha—?” Jacob stammered.
Sunny was speechless.
“This is the primary reason I cannot yet take my seat on the Wizengamot,” Harry said calmly.
“I was born on the thirty-first of July—just eight years ago. Appearing as an adult would raise far too many dangerous questions.”
Jacob sat stunned.
The revelations were coming too fast.
He had considered many possibilities for the mysterious Lord Slytherin—a distant descendant, a bastard son, perhaps even a carefully hidden heir—but never this.
One thought rose above all others.
“So… I just had my arse thoroughly handed to me by an eight-year-old?”
Harry’s smile was equal parts innocent and wicked.
“Yes, Jacob. Yes, you did.”
Sunny leaned forward, voice trembling with curiosity.
“How, Harry? How did the family magics recognize you so early? You shouldn’t have come of age for the title until your majority. And why now?”
“That is a Slytherin family secret,” Harry replied.
“But I can tell you how I claimed the Lordship, even if I cannot fully explain the timing.”
They both leaned in, hanging on his every word.
“Before I continue, you must understand something,” Harry said seriously.
“My name is Harry. Not anything else. Agreed?”
They nodded.
Harry pointed his wand at himself and murmured, “Finite Incantatem.”
“John Potter!” Jacob bolted upright, fury surging through him.
“Lord Greengrass!” Harry snapped.
“What did I just say?”
Jacob froze, then slowly sat back down, feeling thoroughly embarrassed.
“My apologies.”
Sunny stared intently at the boy who now looked identical to the Boy-Who-Lived, as if trying to solve an impossible puzzle.
“My name is Harry. I was born on the thirty-first of July, 1980. I have a twin brother. I believe you can see where this is going.”
Jacob’s eyes widened in disbelief.
“You’re the brother of the Boy-Who-Lived? I’ve never heard of you. Never seen you. Not once.”
“That is because, after Voldemort’s attack, my parents abandoned me.”
“What?!” Sunny cried, horrified.
“How could they? Why?”
“Tell me,” Harry said calmly, “what are the ways one can claim a Lordship?”
Jacob thought quickly.
“One must be male and related by blood within three degrees.”
“Other ways?”
“Blood adoption… but that is now considered Dark magic and illegal.”
“Correct. Any others?”
Jacob fell silent.
Sunny spoke softly.
“Right of Conquest.”
Harry leaned back, his smile cold and sharp.
“Exactly.”
Her eyes widened, her breathing quickened.
“No…” she whispered.
“Yes,” Harry confirmed.
“What?” Jacob asked, completely lost.
“Dear,” Sunny said, turning to him, “who was the last known member of the Slytherin line?”
“Rumour always pointed to You-Know-Who.”
“And what does Right of Conquest state?”
“That the line passes to the conqueror of its last member, provided the final heir initiated the conflict that led to their death.”
“So?”
“But Harry didn’t defeat You-Know-Who—John Potter did.”
“Oh, come on, Jacob!” Sunny exclaimed.
“Can’t you see it? If John had truly defeated him, he would be Lord Slytherin. He isn’t. Harry is.”
Jacob’s eyes bulged.
“John Potter isn’t the Boy-Who-Lived…? You are?”
Harry let out a tired sigh.
“Yes.”
Sunny looked devastated.
“Why would they abandon you? Especially someone as clearly powerful as you? How could any parent do that?”
“Three answers,” Harry said grimly.
“Dumbledore, Dumbledore, and Dumbledore.”
Sunny’s eyes filled with tears as Harry recounted the prophecy, Dumbledore’s fear of another Dark Lord, and the cold calculation that had condemned him to a life of weakness and isolation.
Jacob sat in stunned silence, trying to reconcile the eight-year-old boy before him with the overwhelmingly powerful young man who had just dominated him in a duel.
“It’s… a lot to take in,” he finally managed.
Sunny wiped her eyes.
“We should start with the winter solstice session of the Wizengamot and work from there.”
“Agreed,” Jacob said, still reeling.