The Unspoken Ally: Part Two

Title: The Unspoken Ally
Author: bridgetlynn
Fandom/Genre: Harry Potter/NCIS Fusion
Relationship(s): pre-slash Tony DiNozzo/Sirius Black
Content Rating: R
Warnings: canon-level violence, language, fanon accepted conspiracy theories

Thursday July 26th 1979

Ollivander’s Wand Shop
Diagon Alley
London, England

“Well, here we are. Last stop of the day,” Lyra Paddington informed her eldest son, Anthony, as the two walked into Ollivander’s mid-day on a lovely Thursday afternoon. “We’ll get your wand and then head home. Your Father should be ready to leave for the coast by now.”

“Yes Mum,” Tony replied, following his mother into one of the only shops in the Alley he had never had need to enter before.

“Ahhh, Lyra Black, lovely to see you my dear. Rowan wood with a Unicorn hair core, 12 inches. I was ever so surprised to sell a wood that is normally so pure and true to a Black.”

“Yes, well. It’s Paddington now isn’t it,” his Mum seemed slightly annoyed at the older man and Tony recalled his lessons where she had instructed him to avoid letting the entire world know what his wand was made of. There were too many assumptions people would make of him due to  that information.

“Well, the Paddington’s aren’t the lightest either are they?” the older man continued, either missing or choosing to ignore typical social cues. “Who’s this then?”

“My eldest son, Anthony,” Lyra introduced him to the wandmaker in a cool tone. “He begins Hogwarts this September.”

“Ahhh, hmm, well, put up your wand arm boy,” Mr. Ollivander instructed and Tony immediately raised his right hand, assuming that’s what the older Wizard meant. A measuring tape immediately shot out of the back of the shop and proceeded to fly around Tony’s body, seemingly randomly measuring parts of him, yet going no where near his arm itself. “Interesting, let’s see what we have here,” the wandmaker mumbled and started randomly grabbing boxes and throwing them on the counter.

Fifteen minutes later, after his fourth attempt had caused a rather dangerous explosion of glass in the shop his Mum finally interjected quietly but sternly, “Mr. Ollivander. There are no muggleborns to impress or shock in the Shop at the moment. I specifically brought Anthony on a Thursday, in the morning, to avoid the usual pre-Hogwarts crowds. Could you please, without the over dramatic flair, help my son select his wand?”

The older man seemed to deflate and slightly rolled his eyes, “Well, I guess, if you want to take all the fun away from the process.”

“I don’t call watching my son drop to the floor to dodge flying glass remotely fun,” she ground out between clenched teeth. “If necessary, I will pay for a custom wand. We have more than a month until school starts.”

Mr. Ollivander nodded his head and seemed to stare Tony down, looking quite serious for the first time all morning, “It might be a better idea anyway. His magic is quite strong. But then, the Black Family Magic embraced him. Blood Adoption doesn’t normally do that. And when it does, it’s a rare thing. The last record of it happening was over a century ago. And for the Black Family Magic to accept someone less than pureblood, well…”

His Mum paled at the comment and started to speak but the wandmaker waved her comment away and continued, “Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone. It’s just strange, normally he’d be considered your son – legally on paper. But not magically. As far as I can see, he’s steeped in the legacy of the Black’s and the Paddington’s. It’ll be interesting to see what he does. It will also help because no one will even think to question his heritage if he can command the Family Magics.”

Tony glanced between the two adults in confusion; he had learned about family magic in his lessons. Had been told when he reached his maturation he’d have access to the Paddington Family Magic as was his right by birth through his birth mother’s bloodline. But the only time the Black Family Magic was mentioned was in reference to Crispian, the son his Mum had physically birthed. The surprise on her face told her she hadn’t realized the truth of what Ollivander had said until just now herself.

“Does this mean more lessons while we’re at Paddington Manor?” Tony asked, referring to the family’s historic manor home and farm in Devon, now where they normally just spent summers.

“Just a few,” his Mum assured. “You just need to be brought up to speed on a few extra things. Now go with Mr. Ollivander to the back. I’ll wait here.”

Tony followed the older man past the counter and into the back, surprised to suddenly come out into a brightly lit and quite organized room. His surprise must have shown on his face because Ollivander laughed and commented, “Now, don’t tell anyone what you saw back here. I have an image to maintain.”

Tony smirked and asked, “So…what do I do?”

“That shelf has drawers of wood,” the wandmaker started, pointing at a cabinet in the corner. “The smaller one next to it has the cores I use,” he continued his explanation. “Have your parents instructed you on feeling your magic?”

“Yes,” Tony replied simply, knowing the man meant the tug at his core when he was meditating.

“Good. Go to the wood first, close your eyes and run your hands along the drawer. Stop when you feel that tug. Tell me which drawer number your hand was on. You’ll then continue along, stopping if you feel a second tug; if you do, once again tell me what the number is. We’ll continue this until you reach the end of the wood selections. Then we’ll repeat the process with the cores.”

“Will I have more then one of each?” Tony questioned, surprised.

“Probably not more then one of each,” Ollivander explained. “You have access to two different magical family lines; two sets of magics that have their similarities, but also stark differences. It’s more likely to be two cores and one wood, but it could be the other way around as well.”

When all was said and done Tony left Ollivander’s Wand Shop with his Mum an hour later, with the words, “Well, that is interesting isn’t it?” ringing in his ears and the knowledge that his Walnut and Poplar wand with it’s core of Dragon Heart-string would be ready three days before the Express left for school.

Friday July 27th 1979

Paddington Estate
Devon, United Kingdom
The next day he looked through the Manor’s library and found a book on wand lore and couldn’t help but agree that it was interesting. According to what Tony read a walnut wand seeks intelligence and should the wielder be brilliant enough, the wand will perform any task it’s owner wishes. Meanwhile, a poplar wand would seek a wielder with ‘integrity and clear moral vision’. The core of dragon heart-string seemed to only mean one thing – sheer power.

When he asked his Father whether he should be worried about the absolute deadly weapon he was apparently being gifted with the man just laughed until he realized that Tony was genuinely worried. That’s when he explained it in simple terms, “This is why your Mum doesn’t want you telling anyone what your wand is made of. Regardless of what some people think, it’s actually difficult to guess based on just looking at a wand.”

“But the book says, a walnut wand will do anything the wielder wants!”

“The Walnut worries you? Then consider the fact that the Poplar will balance it out. Afterall, I doubt you’re planning on going on a mass murdering spree anytime soon? Right? Same with the core, power is power. It isn’t good and it isn’t bad. The truth of it Anthony is that the wand might chose the wizard; but the wizard chooses what to do with the wand. You have a wand with the potential to help you do amazing magic; but it’s still just a tool. I don’t buy into the mysticism of it all. Muggle guns, even well made muggle guns, don’t shoot people on their own. A wand will only do as much damage as the caster wishes it to.”

“It’s just worrying…I can’t help it. I’m going to Hogwarts with a wand that’s going to scream, “potential dark lord” at people,” Tony grumbled and slouched in the chair across from his Father’s desk.

“I doubt anyone is going to look at you and think you are a potential dark lord; they’re too busy worrying about the one we’ve got running around the country at the moment,” Clive replied distractedly having gone back to his papers; which should have told Tony that his Father considered the previous conversation finished.

“I know,” Tony admitted very quietly and drawing a tired sigh from his Father who looked up from his papers again.

“What’s wrong? None of this bothered you before you got your wand.”

“Am I going to be treated differently at Hogwarts once people realize I’m, apparently, actually a Black?”

“This is about the Family Magic then is it?” Clive questioned and sat back in his seat, carefully considering his words. “Everyone who has found out about you thought you were both a Black and a Paddington anyway. Now you’ve just got a smidgen of the power to back it up. Your mother is far enough removed from the main line both by birth and circumstance that it shouldn’t be an issue either magically or socially; despite Bellatrix running around in public and making a mockery of her supposed good breeding.”

“But, Sirius said he was disowned…and Regulus and Orion are both dead now,” Tony continued, the worries that had been building since Orion’s funeral two months earlier spilling over. “I’m technically the oldest male heir – everyone else is dead, disowned or a Potter.”

Clive outright laughed at that final comment and Tony found himself scowling, not appreciating the dismissal of what he felt were completely valid concerns.

“Pax son,” Clive said upon spotting the expression on Tony’s face. “You aren’t the oldest male heir. Sirius is. And while James and Charlus might stubbornly like to forget that Dorea was ever a Black because it might tarnish their shining example of a light Dumbledore worshiping family; especially now that she’s passed on and isn’t there to both remind them of it and slap them with some common sense self-preservation every once in awhile, it doesn’t mean the young man doesn’t understand familial duty. If Arcturus, that stubborn goat, doesn’t outlive us all and it really came down to it James would take up the mantle of Lord Black even if he hated every second of it. His magic would compel him to do so,” Clive explained to his son, leaving out the fact that at Orion’s funeral Arcturus had quietly informed him that Anthony was now second in line behind Sirius following Regulus’ mysterious death, not James. Arcturus had adored his cousin Dorea, but was not quite as fond of her former Auror husband or their painfully short-sighted and dangerously apolitical son who thought anything even slightly leaning towards ‘grey’ was a travesty to magic itself. He certainly wasn’t going to tell his son, all of eleven, that the Black Patriarch had felt Anthony hook onto the magic three years earlier; therefore, the current Lord of Blackmorland knew the boy had been magically adopted and the reason Anthony was in line following Sirius was the sheer natural power required to be fully magically embraced with that ritual. Arcturus had been covetously impressed. Even if Arcturus did pass on before Sirius had an heir himself; Clive doubted anything would happen to Sirius himself – he had proven himself more than capable with a wand prior to and since his graduation from Hogwarts.

“But Sirius said he was disowned,” Tony responded looking confused. “He said his Mother blasted him off the family tree.”

“And what makes you think that putting a burn mark on a tacky tapestry is the legal process to disowning a child of a middle-class muggle let alone the heir of the current Earl of Blackmorland?”

“Cause Sirius said so?”

“Oh boy,” Clive muttered and shook his head. “This crush has just as of this moment become unamusing.”

“I do not have a crush on Sirius,” Tony sputtered, forcing down a blush.

“Right. Of course you don’t,” Clive teased his son back. “Where were we? Right. Even if that was the process, and let me assure you it is not, even Orion couldn’t have done it. Arcturus selected Sirius as his heir when he was eleven years old and was sorted into Gryffindor. He removed Orion as his heir because and I quote, ‘finally a Black that remembers what it is like to think for himself’. Do you really see him disowning the boy for refusing to be branded like cattle?”


“Exactly. Now, get to bed. It’s late. Think on what I said earlier about choices. If you’re still blasting this around your brain in a few days we’ll talk about it again then.”

Saturday September 1st 1979

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry
Gryffindor Castle
Hogsmeade, Scotland

The Great Hall of Hogwarts was even more amazing to see in person than anyone had been able to describe to him with words. Tony couldn’t help but let his eyes wander around the room and take in everything around him as his fellow first years names were called up to wear a raggedy hat. He was so lost in his visual exploration, in fact, that he missed his name being called the first two times.

“Anthony Paddington!” a sharp, aggravated, voice finally broke through his daydreaming and he quickly spun to face the front where the teacher who had introduced herself earlier as Professor McGonagall was staring him down and doing a credible impersonation of a dragon.

Tony forcefully ignored the snickers of the surrounding students, especially that of the older ones sitting at the tables, and drew himself up to his full height. He straightened his shoulders, tilted his chin and strolled up to the stool – giving for all the world the impression that they were to wait on him, not the other way around. He gracefully took a seat on the stool and frowned when the hat was unceremoniously plopped on his head, covering his eyes and blocking his view of the room.

“Ahhhh, Mr. DiNozzo…nice of you to join us,” a scratchy voice suddenly filled Tony’s ears and he only just managed to not jump in surprise. Before he could open his mouth to reply, the voice continued, “No need to answer aloud lad.”

“Okay…but it’s Paddington,” he, instead, thought his answer.

“Yes. But it’s also DiNozzo. After all, you still think of yourself as one,” the voice of the hat continued. “And you should, from what I can see your birth parents are the reason you are who you are; your Aunt and Uncle just polished it.”

“Yea, well…Paddington is safer.”

“Very sadly true,” the hat admitted. “Now, let’s see what you have in here,” the voice continued and this time Tony did jump as the occlumency shields his Uncle had drilled him into learning were peeled back like flimsy paper and he felt his mind being rifled through. “Oh ho! You will be fun won’t you,” the hat’s voice nearly cackled in his head. “Cunning and intelligence at the forefront…and stupidly brave for those you are loyal to. Huh. Well, that eliminates the lions and badgers.”

“It does?” he asked the hat, mostly because his Uncle had jokingly told him he was the quintessential Gryffindor only a week earlier after he nearly gave his Mum a heart attack using his broom.

“Indeed young man,” the hat continued. “Hufflepuffs of late are only loyal to other Hufflepuffs…and have been teaching that to each subsequent class. Gryffindors like to think they are brave and chivalrous…and maybe they were at one point. Maybe they still are deep down. But it’s become more recklessness, and a kind of mirrored prejudice, that defines them as of late. You don’t have a reckless or prejudiced bone in your body. And you have the potential for loyalty the likes I haven’t seen since Helga herself. You treat everyone you meet with respect until they prove themselves one way or the other. That’s almost unheard of in these halls anymore. Your strength is your mind. It’s your intelligence and cunning that drives your decisions. It’s those traits that will keep your bravery from becoming reckless and your loyalty from being abused. You read people like they’re made of glass.”

“Okay? So, uhh…Slytherin is probably a bad idea?” Tony decided to interject before the hat made a decision, as he mentally chewed on the words that he had been given. As much as he adored his Aunt, his Mum for the last three years, he couldn’t see himself socializing with Slytherins regularly in the current political climate. Without the war he could have cared less; because, despite what the hat said about his lack of immediate prejudice – there were some facts that were hard to refute.

“Probably,” the hat agreed, though it seemed disappointed by that. “So, better be,” the voice continued in his head before cutting out completely.


Tony jumped as the hat was removed from his head and the name of the house of Eagles was shouted into the dead silent room. He glanced around and took in the stunned faces of the students and, even, teachers before a table to the right of room began clapping and cheering. Tony hopped off the stool and walked down in the direction of the table, accepting handshakes and greetings from the other Ravenclaw first-years, strangely all girls, that had been placed before him.

As the next student was called forward Tony couldn’t help but quietly ask the dark-haired girl sitting next to him why everyone was so quiet when he was sorted and was more than a little shocked when she replied, “You were under there for over seven minutes. One of the older kids said it was one of the longest hat stalls on ever.”

Tony’s first two years at Hogwarts were tension filled as students quietly fought their own battles in the halls – mimicking the state of the Wizarding World outside of the school. Lines were drawn inside the castle; house against house and all against Slytherin, teachers included.

Even at a such a young age Tony found it ridiculous. He had seen, on more than one occasion, muggleborn students being harassed by students of every house. Though, the one time in his first year that he attempted to quietly report a 6th year pureblood Gryffindor to Professor McGonagall for hexing a 2nd year muggleborn Hufflepuff he, and the ‘Puff, had wound up with detentions for falsely accusing one of her Lions. Because, of course, a Gryffindor wouldn’t support “he who must not be named” stance.

If nothing else ever had, the Headmaster backing her decision had proven his Father’s opinion of the man to Tony. Tony understood loyalty to your family, or in this case to your House, but he didn’t understand willful blindness. Also, the situation made all those stories the older students told about the pranks the infamous Gryffindor Marauders had gotten away with before their graduation in ‘78; pranks that students in other houses would see themselves expelled over, ring a bit more truthful.

Despite having only ever actually met Sirius, his Mum’s younger cousin, out of that quartet – Tony had been convinced the stories were exaggerated simply from knowing him. That opinion had been reinforced because he hadn’t ever met James, his mother’s other younger cousin, who avoided anyone connected to the Black family, other than Sirius, because of his supposed hatred of anything even slightly leaning towards the ‘dark’. If sheer family loyalty wasn’t enough to get James around blood relatives; then how could he possibly condone any type of bullying violence against others?

In fact, the first time he had met Sirius, only two weeks after arriving in London for Tony and just about to enter his 6th year at Hogwarts for Sirius, the teen had been nothing but kind and respectful to Tony’s new parents. He had seemed to adore both of them; though he apparently didn’t get to see them as often anymore. His Mum had told him after the older teen left that Sirius was getting ‘too old’ and it just wasn’t ‘cool’ to make time for family members. His Father had instead made a passing comment about Charlus and judgemental fools.

For the next three years up until two weeks prior to Tony picking his wand, Sirius had stopped by the London townhouse every few months for at the very least a few hours, if not a whole day, and told Tony stories about Hogwarts and secret passages and Hogsmeade trips that made the young boy more and more eager to head to the school and make his own best friends.

He was given a much different impression of things upon arriving at the school and hearing about the Marauders’ from older, non-Gryffindor, students who found out about his familial connection to two of the pranksters.

He really hadn’t been sure what to think after that detention.

And he hadn’t been able to ask either. Since his graduation Sirius had only visited Paddington House on a few occasions and always while Tony was away at school. Between the war, the Auror Academy and something his Father referred to as The Order of the Flaming Turkey the older male was far too busy to come around socially anymore just to entertain a child. Tony had been able to read between the lines enough, if a visit was even mentioned, to realize that Sirius was only coming by to keep Tony’s Father apprised of whatever was going on with Dumbledore’s organization.

Sunday November 1st 1981

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry
Gryffindor Castle
Hogsmeade, Scotland

Sunday’s since Tony entered Hogwarts had become a depressing ritual of eating breakfast, watching black envelopes be delivered to devastated students and then reading the Prophet in order to suss out the names in those envelopes and the why, how and where the Death Eaters had gotten their weekend entertainment.

This Sunday was very different for the third year Ravenclaw.

At about ten-thirty the night before Tony had found himself becoming violently ill in his room, beyond grateful not for the first time that he was somehow the only male Eagle in his year and therefore on that technicality had his own room (though, he figured it also it didn’t hurt his eventual dating prospects that he was regularly surrounded by the nine girls who had been sorted into Ravenclaw house his year). It wasn’t until he called Kip, his house-elf, in hopes of avoiding the infirmary that he realized something strange was going on.

Normally, his Mum wouldn’t mind sending the elf with simple potions for a cold or flu – she was a licensed potions mistress, even if she didn’t technically work, and trusted her own brewing over any school medical supplies – to be administered under the Elf’s care. This time all Kip would say, as he fretted over the boy, was that Young Master Tony had to just ‘get it out’. When his magic started blowing things around his room and visibly sparking on his body at eleven o’clock Tony knew something was seriously wrong beyond a general illness. His magic finally stopped reacting at eleven thirty, but he continued to get sick long into the rest of the night.

He finally dragged himself out of bed around nine, still feeling ill but no longer physically demonstrating it and headed to the Great Hall for breakfast. He was more than surprised to walk in and see half the people cheering and laughing and the other half in tears. A glance around the room showed what looked like the entire school in the Hall – though Tony couldn’t help notice quite a few students, from all houses, quietly glaring at the newspaper rather than celebrating.

He silently took his seat at the Ravenclaw table and slid a copy of the Prophet over to him reading the headline in shock. “He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named Killed! Potter Heir Only Survivor! Harry Potter is Boy-Who-Lived!”

“Tony?” a soft voice broke into the fog his brain had become as he read the article detailing the deaths of Lord James and Lady Lily Potter, the Earl and Countess of Strathearn, in their Godric’s Hollow vacation home. There weren’t many details in the article; the whole thing read more like wild speculation instead of fact. But one thing was clear – the cousin he had never met was dead and his son had, supposedly, managed to stop the darkest wizard ever known. “Tony? Are you okay?”

He finally turned and looked at Kate Byrne; the same dark haired girl who had first spoken to him the night of his sorting, a muggleborn witch from Dublin who sometime in the last two years had decided to be his shadow.

He actually couldn’t speak.

“Tony?” she tried again and he swallowed compulsively as he realized just what his illness the night before had probably been.

“I’ll be fine,” he finally managed to choke out. “It’s just, James Potter was my cousin. I wasn’t expecting this.”

“Oh! I’m so sorry,” she began rambling and he didn’t have the energy to stop what he could guess, knowing Kate, would most likely be a socially awkward, probably inappropriate and definitely culturally insulting comment that he would be expected to ignore since she was a muggleborn and ‘didn’t know better’ according to Professor Flitwick. “I always forget how all these ridiculous Pureblood families are interconnected and how much stock they put into it. But I mean, your name is Paddington…so you weren’t closely related right?”

“Actually,” he mumbled, still staring at the paper and the picture of the exploded house. “James’ mother was my Mum’s Aunt. My grandfather’s older sister.”

“Oh…Oh! So, like actually closely related,” Kate mumbled, her eyes filling with tears. “Then I really, truly am sorry and you shouldn’t have had to find out like this.”

“Yea,” he agreed, nodding. “I’m gonna go…I have to write…or maybe see if I can firecall home. Anyway, I’m going to go talk to Flitwick,” he finished talking and stood up and began walking out of the Great Hall in the opposite direction of the teacher’s table. He’d approach the professor later – after the initial uproar had begun to die down. For now he had things to think about before he’d be fit to talk to anyone else.

His Mum and Father had spent part of his education before Hogwarts catching him up on the theories behind ritual magic and family magic – things he normally would have started learning as soon as he could speak if he hadn’t been brought into the Paddington family so late. His illness, the thing he had to ‘get out’ the night before, hadn’t been a flu…it had in fact had all the symptoms of his own hook of the Black Family Magic being ripped at and forcefully used to power a ritual. He had gotten sick because he had been an unknowing participant in a ritual conducted by someone who both didn’t have the authority to call upon it in whole, so not Arcturus or Sirius, and someone who had obviously never even meditated on said Magic. If they had, they would have been able to anticipate the level of violent power contained within it. They would have known, and hopefully cared, about what they were doing to their other family members.

Tony was trying very hard not to think about what shape his baby brother, all of five years old as of the day before, was potentially in. The only reason he wasn’t in a fully blind panic was that no matter what their own Family Magic wouldn’t kill them outright.

The paper said his youngest cousin Harold had, somehow, destroyed Lord Voldemort; but Tony’s very core said James had somehow used the entirety of the Black Family Magic, and presumably the Potter Family Magic as well since he’d have access to that first and foremost, to power a ritual to eradicate the Dark Wizard.

When Tony was called home later that afternoon and arrived in his Father’s home office via the Headmaster’s fireplace he was pulled into a tight hug, reassured immediately that Crispian was fine and seconds later felt himself burst into tears of grief for someone he had never met but could physically feel the loss of as keenly as that of his birth parents.

Sunday November 8th 1981

Paddington Townhouse
27 Pembridge Square
Notting Hill
London, England

What followed was a surprisingly calm, if grief stricken, week. All three members of the household with Black blood were slowly putting themselves back together and learning to cope with having a member of their family, literally, ritually ripped from their magic.

His Mum instructed him not to tell anyone what he had felt that night. If the ‘Light-side’ wanted to speculate that a fifteen-month old baby had destroyed Voldemort, let them. If muggleborns wanted to talk about how it had to have been the ‘greatly powerful Lily Evans-Potter’ since she died after James based on the DMLE forensic report, let them. There were no more Potter’s old enough to have noticed anything with their magic; James had been the Patriarch for six months and as a result the only one to have any command over the Potter Family Magic. And not one Black was talking. But anyone who had at least a Black great-grandparent would have felt something that night – felt it stronger the closer their claim on the Family Magic was. And if they had felt it at all and had been properly educated they would have known what it was; even if they chose to pretend they didn’t and would rather believe Dumbledore’s explanation of a mere babe being able to deal the killing blow due to his mother’s sacrifice.

And if Arcturus was now in a coma, possibly for the rest of his life according to Healers, no one was going to allow that news to leak either.

“As if a mother has never thrown herself in front of a killing curse, or any curse, for their child before,” his Mum had snapped as she read the paper the day after the funeral. “If that was all that was needed then Voldemort would have been killed years ago! James called the family magic, both magics he had even an ounce of claim to and ritually smited the bastard. He had to have had it planned for months to get the calculations right. He just had to wait for the right circumstance. But Merlin forbid we give any credit to Pureblood history and ritual. We might make the ‘Dark Side’ look like they had a leg to stand on,” she continued ranting throughout breakfast while Tony, Crispian and their Father looked on indulgently. “And do not get me started on this bull-shit with Sirius!”

“Yes dear,” Clive responded. “I’ve already gotten a barrister looking into Sirius’ case. Unfortunately, I’m being stonewalled on all sides. Crouch and his ilk are running with the ‘popular opinion’ that Sirius was disowned and therefore doesn’t have the protection of his House. Without Arcturus to throw his weight around as well, I’m not certain what I’m going to be able to do.”

“Are we going to get a new baby Mum?” Crispian suddenly asked with the innocent curiosity of a five year old. “The one whose Mummy and Daddy died?”

“No Cris, we aren’t getting a new baby. Harry has closer relatives than us,” Clive answered his younger son. “Perhaps we should continue this conversation in private,” he added to Lyra, gesturing at the two boys sitting next to them.

“Right,” she mumbled and shook her head. “Anthony, you’ll be heading back to school today so go make sure you’re all packed. And please take your brother upstairs with you,” she added, obviously dismissing the two children.

The next few years followed as textbook an example of a Hogwarts education as possible for Anthony Paddington. He played Chaser for Ravenclaw’s Qudditch team starting that same third year after an injury over the winter holiday grounded a 7th year for the rest of the year.

He became Prefect in his 5th year and Head-boy in his 7th; graduating with the highest grades in both his entire year. He never did get those ‘best friends’ that Sirius once had him aspiring to find – sticking mostly to Kate’s somewhat forced companionship. And even that fell by the wayside after their OWLs with a combination of Tony receiving an internship he couldn’t talk about and her finally realizing he wasn’t interested in dating.

He never forgot what his Mum told him that first day at Paddington House; they had a role in society. They had responsibilities that went beyond just being Witches and Wizards. And by the time he graduated he had taken those to heart leading him to enter the Auror Academy in September of 1986 following his graduation from Hogwarts with a career plan that had been begun being outlined for him two years prior.


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