Harry Potter: The Last Potter

As soon as Harry rang the bell, the silence in the room was shattered by a soft, almost imperceptible pop that seemed to come from nowhere. He turned instinctively, half-expecting something far grander or more magical to appear. Instead, standing before him was a small creature, no taller than his waist, with light brown fur that looked velvety to the touch. Its large, floppy ears swiveled as it glanced up at him, and its round, glistening eyes seemed to glow faintly in the soft light of the room. Harry blinked, momentarily unsure of what he was seeing. The creature had a curious, almost endearing look about it, but the way it carried itself—so humble and eager—was what struck him most. It bowed deeply in front of him, lowering its head as low as it could without making contact with the smooth tiled floor. Its ears flattened against its back as though it were waiting for a response. Harry, a little startled, hesitated for a moment before stepping forward.

"Um... please stand up. There's really no need for all of that bowing," he said, trying to keep his voice calm. He had never encountered anything like this before, and the last thing he wanted was to offend the small creature inadvertently. The creature straightened up almost immediately, her glowing eyes meeting his, and for a moment Harry thought she might smile—though the expression was more a soft, wistful sort of curiosity than anything else. The creature's manner was entirely different from anything Harry had experienced at Hogwarts so far. While the other students had mostly been distant or guarded, this little being was brimming with what seemed to be pure, unfiltered respect.

"I is Peeny, sir," she said, her voice high-pitched yet soft, as though each word was carefully measured. "I is here to be of service to ye, sir. Ifin ye need anythin', Peeny be glad to help." Harry didn't quite know what to make of that. He had heard of house-elves, of course, but this one was unlike any elf he'd imagined. There was no sense of the stern, invisible presence he'd read about in any of the history books Hermione had given him on the train ride, no mention of rough hands or torn clothes. Peeny, in fact, looked rather... well, neat. Her tunic was simple but well-kept, and there was a grace to her movements that made Harry feel oddly at ease.

"I—uh—don't really know what I need," Harry admitted, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. "I just got here, actually." Peeny's large eyes widened at his words, her small nose twitching slightly.

"Ye haven't anythin' ye needs, sir?" she asked, her voice carrying a note of genuine concern. "A bath, perhaps? Or dinner? A warm blanket?

Harry shook his head. "I'm fine, thanks. But I do have a question. The prefect mentioned something about my family being important... Do you know anything about the Potters' family tree?"

Peeny's large eyes blinked rapidly at the mention of the Potters, and she gave a quick, almost imperceptible nod. "Oh, sir, Peeny knows much about the Potters. Powerful, important family, that one is. Been around for many, many generations. Yessir." She paused, the light in her eyes deepening as she seemed to contemplate something. "Ye be wishin' to learn about your ancestors, then?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah, I think it's about time I understood what that all means. I know we're 'important,' but it doesn't feel like it sometimes. People just expect things from me that I don't understand."

Peeny stepped forward, her ears flopping with the movement as she gestured to a small, ornate wooden table beside the door. "Peeny's got things to help ye, sir. Family tree, it is. Will show ye all the things ye need to know about yer kin. Will help ye understand why yer name be so important."

She reached into a small pouch tied around her waist, pulling out a thin, leather-bound book that seemed far too big for the pouch. The cover was embossed with the Potter family crest—a lion encircled by a serpent and a phoenix—woven into a delicate pattern that shimmered faintly. She placed it in front of Harry, and it seemed to pulse with a strange energy as though it recognized his presence.

"This be the book of your ancestors," Peeny said softly. "It contains all ye need to know about the Potters, all their deeds, and all their connections. But ye must know, sir, that there be more than just blood in this book. It be a record of power, and it be a record of alliances, of influence."

Harry hesitated, but the thought of learning about his family's history was too intriguing to ignore. He reached for the book, its cool leather surface comforting in his hands. As soon as his fingers touched it, the pages seemed to flicker to life, turning on their own and settling on the first page of the Potter family tree.

The names of generations upon generations of Potters began to fill the pages, starting with a distant ancestor in the 2nd century. Harry traced the names with his fingers, his eyes scanning the brief descriptions that followed each entry: powerful wizards, great warriors, and—more notably—those who had played key roles in shaping magical history.

"This is incredible," Harry muttered, his voice barely above a whisper as the book continued to reveal more names and stories of triumph, struggle, and sacrifice.

Peeny watched quietly as Harry flipped through the pages, her small face glowing with pride. "The Potters, sir, were tied to many great events in magical history. They be known for their bravery in battles, for their support of important causes, and for alliances with other great families. Many times, ye have stood side by side with the likes of the Weasleys, the Longbottoms, and even the Malfoys."

At the mention of the Malfoys, Harry's brow furrowed, but Peeny continued, oblivious to his discomfort. "But, sir, not all those alliances be peaceful. Some were... more hidden. The Malfoys and the Potters were bound in ways not many know. Even the Blacks, sir. Family trees are complicated, ye see."

Harry looked up from the book, his curiosity piqued. "The Malfoys? The Blacks? You mean... what, like marriages or something?"

Peeny nodded, her floppy ears twitching slightly. "Yessir, marriages, but also alliances forged in other ways. Not all be known to the public, but there be certain... joinings, sir, between powerful families to ensure their survival, to ensure their power. Some of these alliances were made public, but many, especially between the Potters and the Malfoys, were kept hidden. For political reasons, yessir. A Potter marryin' a Malfoy, well, it would've caused quite a stir."

Harry felt a pang of discomfort at the thought. His family, the name that had carried such weight, had aligned themselves with families like the Malfoys? The same family who were well-known supporters of he who must not be named. It didn't sit well to know that his family had such a link to such a family.

He closed the book for a moment, then looked back at Peeny. "What about Pansy Parkinson? I'm... I'm guessing there's something more there, too."

Peeny's eyes flickered with something unreadable, her ears drooping ever so slightly. "Ah, Miss Parkinson... Yes, sir. There be history there too. The Parkinsons, like the Malfoys, are an old family, but they too have had their share of... less public alliances. Some with the Potters, though it be kept quiet. Pansy's great-grandfather, for instance, he made an alliance with your great-grandfather, though it was not a union of blood. More of convenience, of influence."

Harry's head spun as he tried to piece everything together. "So, the Potters and the Parkinsons were... what? Allies?"

Peeny gave a slow nod, her expression shifting slightly. "Yessir. It wasn't all public knowledge, but the Potters, even in their more... mysterious dealings, were involved with many families, some for the sake of power, some for the sake of tradition. The Parkinsons were never enemies, no, but their alliances were kept to the shadows. Pansy's family, while not as powerful as others, still holds weight in certain circles."

Harry stood there for a long moment, the weight of the new information settling over him. His family was woven into the fabric of the wizarding world in ways he had never imagined. Alliances with families like the Malfoys and Parkinsons—families he'd thought of as enemies, or at least rivals to his own—began to make more sense now. But it left him with more questions than answers.

"I don't know what to think about all this," Harry admitted, his voice quiet. "It's like I'm caught in something much bigger than me."

Peeny gave a soft, knowing smile, her large eyes filled with understanding. "Ye are, sir. But ye also be part of it. The Potters are a part of it. Your destiny be tied to these families, whether ye like it or not. But ye have the power to choose, sir. The Potters always had that. The power to choose their path."

Harry looked back at the book, the names and alliances stretching far beyond what he could ever have imagined. As much as he didn't want to be tied to the politics of these old families, he knew deep down that his journey was only just beginning. And somewhere, in the tangled web of magical history, his place was waiting to be defined.

He closed the book, the faint sound of the pages settling echoing softly in the room.

"Thank you, Peeny," Harry said quietly.

Peeny smiled again, a little more brightly this time. "Anytime, sir. Anytime."

As soon as Peeny popped away with a soft crack—vanishing to wherever it was Hogwarts' house-elves disappeared—Harry exhaled deeply, running a hand through his messy hair. The room suddenly felt very quiet, the weight of everything Peeny had told him settling heavily on his shoulders. The sprawling Potter family history, the alliances with powerful wizarding families like the Malfoys and Parkinsons, and the implications of it all—it was a lot to take in. For a moment, he stood rooted to the spot, staring at the leather-bound book of his family tree on the small table where he had placed it. But the sight of it only made his thoughts swirl more, so he turned his back on it and let out a sharp breath.

He took a moment to truly take in his new room for the first time. It was enormous—easily two or three times larger than Dudley's second bedroom back at Privet Drive. The walls were paneled in rich, dark wood, and the ceiling had a subtle, enchanted glow that mimicked the light of the setting sun. Plush green-and-silver rugs covered the stone floor, and the four-poster bed was draped with thick curtains, their fabric shimmering faintly like starlight. Every detail was intricate, elegant, and unmistakably magical.

Harry crossed the room slowly, letting his fingers graze the soft fabric of the bed curtains. It was fancier than anything he had ever seen—not just at the Dursleys' house, but even in the old black-and-white movies Uncle Vernon liked to watch on Sunday afternoons. He tried to reconcile the idea of this—this grand, almost royal bedroom—with the cupboard under the stairs where he'd spent so much of his life. The contrast felt surreal.

On the far side of the room, his eyes fell on the door Peeny had pointed out earlier. Beyond it, she had said, was his private bathroom. The idea of having a bathroom all to himself still felt like an indulgence he wasn't quite ready to believe. Curiosity got the better of him, and he walked over, pushing the door open.

The bathroom was no less luxurious than the bedroom. A gleaming, clawfoot bathtub dominated one side of the room, large enough that Harry suspected it could fit at least two people. Beside it was a walk-in shower enclosed in glass, the tiles shimmering faintly with an enchanted cleanliness that made the space feel fresh and new. Shelves along the walls were lined with neatly arranged toiletries—everything from toothbrushes and toothpaste to small vials of potions labeled with things like "Soothing Skin Tonic" and "Peppermint Elixir for Oral Hygiene." Harry raised an eyebrow at the labels, but he couldn't deny the strange sense of comfort they gave him.

For the first time in what felt like hours, Harry allowed himself to relax, if only slightly. This was his space now. For better or worse, it was his. The weight of his family's history, of the connections and alliances Peeny had described, was still there, but for now, he pushed it aside. Tomorrow would come soon enough, and with it, the inevitable questions about what it all meant—for him, for his place in the wizarding world, and for the people around him.

He stepped back into the bedroom and shut the bathroom door behind him. His gaze wandered to the family tree book again, and for a moment, he considered opening it once more. But he dismissed the idea just as quickly. He needed time to think—time to let everything sink in before he delved any deeper into the tangled web of magical history that had been thrust upon him.

Instead, he crossed to the bed, kicking off his shoes and sitting on the edge of the thick mattress. The feel of it beneath him was unfamiliar—soft, supportive, luxurious in a way he'd never experienced. Harry let himself fall back, staring up at the enchanted ceiling, which now mirrored the twinkling stars of the night sky.

For the first time in his life, he had a space that was entirely his. And for now, that was enough.

Harry blinked a few times as the soft light of the room filled his vision. Peeny was standing at the foot of the bed, her small form silhouetted against the morning glow. The moment she noticed his eyes open, she dropped into a deep bow, her floppy ears brushing the edge of the rug.

"Good morning, Master Harry," Peeny said in her high-pitched, gentle voice.

Harry sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and stifling a yawn. It took him a moment to process her presence and then another to notice her attire—she was wearing the same neat but simple dress from the night before. It wasn't tattered or dirty like the elf clothes he'd read about in Hogwarts: A History, but it was plain and seemed well-worn.

"Do you have nothing else to wear?" Harry asked, his voice still groggy from sleep.

Peeny's large eyes widened, and her ears perked up slightly in surprise. She straightened just enough to meet his gaze, though she still kept her head slightly bowed in deference. "I has a few others, sir," she said cautiously, her voice carrying an odd mix of hesitation and earnestness. "But you hasn't ordered me to wear somethin' else. So I be wearin' this one."

Harry frowned, feeling an uncomfortable pang in his chest. The idea of someone needing permission or an order just to change their clothes felt... wrong. "You mean you're waiting for me to tell you to wear something else?"

Peeny nodded, her ears twitching slightly. "Yes, sir. That's how it is for elves. We does what our master wishes. If you doesn't minds..." She hesitated, her gaze lowering as though afraid of upsetting him. "You don't minds, does you? Me wearin' this dress?"

Her voice was soft, and the way she looked up at him—her glowing eyes wide and questioning—made Harry feel a twinge of guilt. He didn't want her to think she had to rely on his approval for something as basic as her clothing.

"I don't mind, Peeny," Harry said quickly, shaking his head. "But you don't have to wait for me to give you orders about things like that. If you want to wear something else, you should just... do it. You don't need my permission."

Peeny's ears twitched again, and for a moment, she looked as though she didn't quite know how to respond. Then she gave him a small, grateful nod, her expression softening slightly. "You is kind, sir," she said. "But elves like Peeny is happier when we knows what our master wants. I'll be changin' if you says so, but if you doesn't minds, I'll keep this one for now. It's a good dress, and it's proper."

Harry sighed, realizing he wasn't going to win this argument easily. Peeny seemed genuinely content with the arrangement, even if it still didn't sit quite right with him. He didn't want to force her to act differently if this was how she preferred to live, but he made a mental note to learn more about elf customs and maybe find a way to make her feel more independent.

"Alright, Peeny," he said at last. "You can wear whatever you like. Just... let me know if there's anything you need, okay?"

Her ears perked up, and she gave him a deep bow. "Peeny thanks you, sir. You is kind and thoughtful. Now, breakfast is ready for you in the common room. Shall I take you there, or is there somethin' else you be needin'?"

Harry stretched and swung his legs over the side of the bed. "Breakfast sounds good. Thanks, Peeny."

As Peeny led the way, Harry found himself wondering about her life, her role, and the strange bond between wizards and house-elves. He was determined to learn more—not just about her, but about the world he was still discovering. For now, though, the scent of breakfast wafting through the air promised a much-needed distraction from the complexities of his thoughts.

As soon as Harry and Peeny stepped into the common room, the atmosphere shifted noticeably. Conversations that had been humming along moments before fell into an awkward silence, and every eye in the room turned toward them. Most students seemed taken aback, their expressions ranging from confusion to outright disdain. Harry's stomach tightened uncomfortably under their collective gaze, though Peeny seemed unfazed, walking beside him with her head held low but her demeanor calm.

It didn't take long for Draco Malfoy to saunter over, his usual smirk firmly in place. As he approached, Harry noticed the faint gleam of superiority in Draco's eyes, though his tone was smooth and practiced. "Harry," Draco began, clapping a hand on his shoulder with exaggerated familiarity, "you really do need to learn how to act. It's one thing to have an... elf about in your quarters," he said, his hand gesturing vaguely toward Peeny without even looking at her. "But bringing one out here, among your own kind? That's a bit much, don't you think?"

Harry blinked, his discomfort giving way to irritation. "My own kind?" he repeated, his voice sharp enough to cut through the murmurs beginning to rise among the other students. He glanced down at Peeny, who stood silently at his side, her large eyes darting between him and Draco as though waiting to see how this confrontation might unfold.

Draco sighed, as though explaining something painfully obvious to a small child. "Witches and wizards, Harry," he said, his tone dripping with condescension. "There's a proper way to do things. House-elves belong in the background—keeping to their duties, out of sight and mind. You should read up on etiquette. Honestly, it's embarrassing."

Harry's jaw clenched, but before he could snap back, a new voice cut through the tension. "What Draco means," Pansy Parkinson said smoothly, stepping between the two boys, "is that there are rules, Harry. Traditions. Laws, even. If you don't follow them, you run the risk of the Ministry charging you with a crime. Nobody would want that for you, of course," she added, her voice tinged with a hint of false sweetness.

Harry turned his glare toward Pansy, who met his eyes without flinching. Her expression wasn't exactly hostile, but there was a distinct air of superiority in the way she stood, her arms crossed and her chin tilted upward.

"Is there a law against treating someone with respect?" Harry asked, his voice steady but tinged with frustration. He gestured to Peeny, who was standing as still as a statue. "Because if there is, maybe that's the real problem."

Draco rolled his eyes. "It's not about respect, Harry. It's about appearances. The Potters are an old family—your family—so people expect you to act a certain way. If you're parading around with an elf like... like she's an equal, people are going to talk. And not in a good way."

Harry's eyes narrowed, but Pansy spoke again before he could retort. "Draco's right, as much as you might hate to hear it," she said, her voice softer now, almost as though she were trying to reason with him. "People are watching you, Harry. You're not just some regular student. You're the Boy Who Lived, the heir to one of the most prestigious families in the wizarding world. Every little thing you do will be noticed and judged."

For a moment, Harry felt a pang of doubt. He hadn't grown up with this world, hadn't been raised to care about its rules or expectations. But now, standing in the middle of the Slytherin common room, surrounded by judgmental stares, he felt the weight of his new reality pressing down on him.

Still, he wasn't about to let Peeny be treated as less than what she was. "If being proper means pretending she doesn't exist," Harry said quietly, his voice cold and firm, "then I don't want any part of it."

Draco sighed dramatically, clearly exasperated. "Suit yourself, Potter," he said, shaking his head. "But don't say I didn't warn you when people start whispering behind your back. Come on, Pansy, let's leave him to his... misplaced sense of righteousness."

Pansy hesitated for a moment, her dark eyes lingering on Harry. Then, with a small shrug, she turned and followed Draco, though not before giving Harry a pointed look that seemed to say, You'll regret this.

As the other students slowly returned to their conversations, Harry glanced down at Peeny, who was still standing silently at his side. "Are you alright?" he asked her softly.

Peeny looked up at him, her large eyes glimmering faintly in the dim light. "I is fine, Master Harry," she said, her voice steady but quiet. "Peeny is used to such things. But you... you is kind to speak for Peeny. It makes me... proud to serve."

Harry's chest tightened at her words, and he gave her a small, reassuring smile. "You don't have to put up with this kind of treatment," he said. "Not from anyone."

Peeny tilted her head slightly, her expression unreadable. "That is not for Peeny to say, sir. But Peeny thanks you."

Harry nodded, his determination hardening. The more he learned about the wizarding world, the more he realized how broken some of its traditions were. And if he was going to navigate this world, he'd do it on his terms—not theirs.

It wasn't long before Peeny returned, balancing a silver tray of food and drinks with an ease that belied her small stature. She set it down on the table before Harry with practiced precision, arranging the dishes neatly before taking a step back and bowing low.

"Does Master Harry need anything else?" she asked softly, her large eyes peeking up at him from beneath her floppy ears.

Harry shook his head, offering her a small smile. "No, Peeny, this is more than enough. Thank you."

Peeny nodded, a faint flicker of satisfaction crossing her features before she straightened and, with a soft pop, disappeared. The moment she was gone, the atmosphere of the Slytherin common room seemed to shift again, as though the tension Peeny's presence had stirred hadn't fully dissipated. Harry could feel the weight of several pairs of eyes on him, but he forced himself to ignore them, focusing instead on the meal before him.

He was halfway through buttering a slice of toast when a tall, dark-skinned boy approached, moving with an air of quiet confidence. The boy's robes were immaculately pressed, the green and silver trim catching the dim light of the common room's enchanted lanterns. Without a word, the boy pulled out a chair and sat across from Harry, fixing him with a calm, calculating gaze.

"Brave of you," the boy said after a moment, his voice low and even, "but foolish." He reached for a roll from Harry's tray, tearing it in half with an almost lazy grace. "That sort of nonsense might win you allies with the lions upstairs," he continued, his lips curving into a faint smile, "but here? In Slytherin? It only wins you enemies."

Harry frowned, setting his toast down. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, his tone sharper than he intended.

The boy didn't answer right away. Instead, he took a slow bite of the roll, chewing thoughtfully before leaning back in his chair. "Not all battles should be fought," he said at last, his dark eyes never leaving Harry's. "That's a lesson you'd do well to learn sooner rather than later."

Harry felt his irritation flare, but there was something in the boy's calm demeanor that made him pause. He wasn't mocking Harry, nor did he seem hostile. If anything, his words carried a note of genuine advice, albeit delivered with the detached air of someone who wasn't particularly invested in whether or not Harry chose to heed it.

"And what would you have done?" Harry asked, folding his arms. "Let them look down on her? Pretend like I don't care?"

The boy's smile widened, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "I would've considered the consequences," he said simply. "People in this house value strength, Potter. They respect power and cunning. Standing up for a house-elf might seem noble to you, but to them? It looks like weakness. Like you're more concerned with ideals than strategy."

Harry's jaw tightened. "Maybe I don't care what they think," he said firmly. "If standing up for what's right makes me enemies, then so be it."

The boy chuckled softly, shaking his head as he rose to his feet. "You've got fire, I'll give you that," he said, brushing a few stray crumbs from his robes. "But fire can burn you if you're not careful." He turned to leave, but paused after a few steps, glancing back over his shoulder. "Oh, and Potter? The name's Blaise Zabini. If you're going to make waves, you might as well know who's watching."

With that, Blaise walked away, leaving Harry alone at the table. For a moment, Harry simply sat there, turning Blaise's words over in his mind. He didn't regret standing up for Peeny—not for a second—but Blaise's warning lingered, a quiet reminder that the world he'd been thrust into was far more complicated than he'd ever imagined.