Harry Potter:Raised by Wolves

"Are you two coming or not?" Ron called impatiently.

Harry and Hermione hurried to follow, Hermione's books knocking against their knees.

Perhaps Harry would buy her a bag from Twilfitt and Tattings for Christmas.

They returned to the Leaky Cauldron with Ron's rat tonic, Hermione's new cat—or possibly a small tiger, Harry wasn't sure—and both Ron and Hermione in foul moods. Harry was already thinking wistfully of his solitary days. Of course, the rest of the Weasley family were waiting for them when they arrived, and Harry was sucked into the chaos as though he'd never left. It was good to see them again, but after so long on his own, it was all a bit overwhelming.

After dinner, Harry was relieved to retreat to his room, drowsy from both the food and the sheer amount of social interaction. Through the walls, he could hear the muffled sounds of Ron and Percy finishing their packing. Just as he went to unbuckle his boots, his door swung open.

Fred and George slipped inside, shutting it quickly behind them.

"Hiya, Harry, old chap. Mind if we hang out in here for a bit?" Fred asked, plopping down beside him on the bed while George took the other side.

Harry eyed them suspiciously. "What've you done?"

Both twins clutched their chests in mock offense.

"Us? Do something? Never," they said in unison.

"You're not going anywhere until I find my badge!" Percy's indignant voice carried through from next door.

The twins exchanged a look, and Harry raised an eyebrow.

"…We might've stolen Percy's Head Boy badge," George admitted.

"But we've been improving it," Fred added, rummaging in his pocket. "Look!"

He pulled out the red and gold badge, which now read Bighead Boy.

Harry snorted. "He's going to kill you."

"Probably," Fred agreed cheerfully.

But Harry didn't toss them out.

As he gathered up the various things that had spread across his room during his three-week stay, he nearly forgot about the book he'd been reading before bed—until Fred picked it up from the bedside table.

Oh no.

"Wizarding Traditions and Pureblood Rites," Fred read aloud, brows furrowing as he flipped through the pages.

Harry's heart stopped.

"Not your usual bedtime reading," Fred remarked.

"I, uh—" Harry fumbled for an excuse, but George smirked, plucking the book from his twin's hands.

"Is little Harrikins learning about his place in the world?" he teased. "Noble and Most Ancient Heir of Potter."

Harry flinched. "How do you know about that?"

"Not like there are any other Potters about, is there?" George pointed out. "We just didn't think you knew."

"The, uh—the goblins told me," Harry admitted, praying they wouldn't ask too many questions. Surely it was normal for goblins to inform someone about their inheritance, right?

Neither twin seemed particularly surprised. They nodded as if it made perfect sense.

"They're probably keen to have the Potter vaults open again," Fred mused.

"Don't worry, Harry," he added, clearly sensing the tension rolling off the younger boy. "We won't tell Ron. Our little brother's a mite sensitive about these things."

"We can write to Bill and Charlie if you like," George suggested. "They're the ones dealing with the lordship stuff in our family. Weasley and Prewett might be Sacred 28, but we've let a lot of the traditions die out. Not sure how much help they'd be."

"Sacred 28?" Harry had seen the term in his books, but no one had ever actually explained it.

"The twenty-eight wizarding families who were considered true purebloods back in the 1930s," Fred explained, rolling his eyes to show exactly what he thought of that nonsense.

"It was decided by some ponce who wrote a book about it," George added. "There are others, of course—the Potters are as pure as it gets, but they're not on the list because the author had it out for them. Said they didn't count because they weren't technically English purebloods. As if they were any less English than the Shafiqs or the Shacklebolts."

"But it's basically a list of old wizarding families," Fred continued. "You can probably find a book about it if you want. A better one than the original—there's bound to be one that covers all the old blood families, all the Wizengamot seats. You could owl-order it to Hogwarts."

Harry, who had been trying desperately to find exactly that kind of book, looked up hopefully. "I've never owl-ordered anything before."

"Oh, it's easy," George assured him. "Just find the reference number in a catalogue, send an owl with the money, and they'll send it straight to you. Angelina's got a Flourish and Blotts catalogue—she'd probably let you borrow it at school."

"And if you ever want to order something without putting your name on it," Fred added.

"In case it's not something little Harry Potter should be looking at," George said knowingly.

"We'd be happy to put our names down for you," Fred finished, grinning.

"No one even bothers questioning what we buy anymore."

Before Harry could answer, the door swung open again.

In a flash, George had the book hidden behind his back.

"There you are, boys," Mrs. Weasley greeted, sounding harassed. "Have you seen Percy's badge?"

"Not since he was flashing it around earlier, Mum," Fred said earnestly.

Mrs. Weasley eyed them suspiciously.

"I haven't seen it, Mrs. Weasley," Harry piped up, doing his best impression of wide-eyed innocence.

Mrs. Weasley's stern expression softened, and she gave him a fond smile.

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