Possessiveness and Other Such Oddities

Facetious Pt. 1

a/n: hey everyone!! i hope you're doing well. this chapter (as you can see i've split it into multiple parts T-T) was a monster to write so i'm sorry it was late. i didn't expect this story to be such a big undertaking, in general, but i'm actually pretty proud of it and i'm so happy everyone else seems to like it!!

c/w for verbal/emotional abuse

Standing at the gates of Potter Manor, Harry took a sharp breath in, and on the exhale, pushed open the wrought iron door, letting the familiar copper magic bathe him in a wash of rust and citrus.  It should be comforting, but Potter Manor had never felt like home.

Harry brushed his fingers over the sloppily trimmed bushes -- the family magic and ground enchantments had weakened over the years, and the house-elves had wasted away with the deaths of Grandmother Euphemia, Grandfather Fleamont, Great-Uncle Charles, Great-Aunt Dorea, and Mother.  Cousin Rhodesia was married to Heir Ingram Nott, so she was ineligible to inherit, and her magic had been pulled from the Potter Family at her marital rites, though her blood let her still perform remembrance rites.  Harry and his father were the only Potters left. 

Despite Minister Peverell's best attempts, the old houses were dying, and their family magic weakening.  The war and subsequent punishment of light families left most houses with one or two surviving members (or none, in the case of the Prewetts and Selwyns).  Families were forced to blood adopt or marry mundane-borns to keep the name alive, but it was really no use. 

The leaves and trees were colorful and wild, all fire and sunshine, on the cusp of change and death.  Harry meandered down the grimy cobblestone path till he stopped at the imposing cherry wood doors.  Harry fixed his hair, and without his influence, the doors swung open to reveal James. 

The man looked just as he always did: entirely put together, save for his thumb-print eye-bags, and the stale smell of fire-whiskey that perfumed his being. 

"Harrison." 

"Father." 

"Welcome home."

"Many thanks." 

"Good to see your manners are still salvageable despite all the rumors I've heard about you.  Come in; you're letting the cold and warm air mix."  

Harry stepped in, and the door slammed shut behind him.  He willed himself not to flinch and made indirect eye contact with James. 

"We have been invited to the annual bonfire and rites this year, as well as the Black family rites, in addition to the--" James paused and swallowed, "Our familial rites." 

Harry nodded in acquiescence and followed his father down the hall.  It was quite lovely at first glance, with its marble floors, and gaudy cherry wood, crimson velvet, and burnished gold decorations, but if one looked closely, the wood was rotten, the velvet faded and moth-eaten, and the gold tarnished. 

James continued as they walked.  "Sirius and Remus will be coming over for the mourning ceremony of our darling Lily, but they will be leaving after so we may perform the ancestor mourning rites.  Cousin Rhodesia will be there for both -- she's decided that Young Cousin Aquila will not be performing in the Potter rites despite her recent 7th birthday, so Young Cousin Aquila will not be coming.  Tomorrow, on Samhain, we will meet up with Cousin Rhodesia, Heir Ingram Nott, and Young Cousin Aquila to head to the annual bonfire and rites. On Sunday, you will be attending the Black rites with Heir Solumn Sirius Black instead of alone as the norm." 

"Any questions?" 

Harry had many questions, but he knew better than to ask them, so he just said, "No, Father."