I am 15 chapters ahead on my patreón, check it out if you are interested.
https://www.patréon.com/emperordragon
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Chapter 19: Threads of Belonging
Harry barely had time to protest as Dorea and Lily each grabbed an arm and began pulling him toward the fireplace.
"What's going on?" Harry asked, bewildered.
"We're taking you to Madame Violette," Dorea announced with a tone that brokered no argument.
"Who?" Harry asked, frowning.
"The best tailor in wizarding Britain," Lily explained with a grin. "Trust us, you need this."
Harry pulled back slightly, trying to resist. "I don't need new clothes. I'm fine with what I have."
"Oh, don't be ridiculous," Dorea replied, her voice sharp but affectionate. "Conjured clothes? Those might do for a vagabond, but you're a Potter. It's time you dressed like one."
Before Harry could object further, they pulled him into the Floo Network.
The shop was a blend of elegance and magic, with glowing orbs of light illuminating racks of luxurious fabrics. Enchanted mannequins stood on pedestals, modeling robes that subtly shifted colors and patterns as the light hit them.
A tall, thin witch with sharp eyes and a tape measure draped around her neck approached them. Her graying hair was pulled into a tight bun, and her wand was tucked neatly into a pocket of her own exquisitely tailored robes.
"Madame Potter," she greeted warmly, inclining her head toward Dorea. "It's been far too long. And Mrs. Potter, always a pleasure. To what do I owe this visit?"
"We need a full wardrobe for my grandson," Dorea said briskly, motioning toward Harry.
The tailor blinked, her expression faltering briefly as her gaze shifted to Harry. "Your grandson?" she asked, glancing back at Dorea with subtle confusion. "I wasn't aware..."
Dorea's smile didn't waver. "Yes, my grandson," she said firmly. "He's come to stay with us, and we need him properly outfitted."
Madame Violette hesitated for only a moment before her professional demeanor returned. "Of course," she said smoothly. "Well, young man, let's get started. Step up here, please."
Harry sighed, stepping onto the small raised platform in the center of the shop. "This really isn't necessary," he muttered under his breath.
"It absolutely is," Dorea countered, settling herself into a plush armchair with Lily beside her. "You're part of the Potter family now, and people will judge you accordingly. Appearances matter, Harry."
Madame Violette flicked her wand, and a measuring tape sprang to life, darting around Harry as she muttered to herself and jotted down notes.
The fitting took over an hour. Dorea debated fabric choices with Madame Violette, suggesting fine silks and enchanted dragonhide, while Lily advocated for more practical materials. Harry stood silently, enduring the process with a mix of bemusement and resignation.
By the time they were finished, Dorea had placed an extensive order: formal robes, casual wear, winter cloaks, and even a custom Quidditch uniform.
As they prepared to leave, Madame Violette glanced at Dorea once more. "You must be so proud," she said carefully, her tone laced with curiosity. "Your grandson is quite the striking young man."
"I am," Dorea said firmly, her gaze softening as she looked at Harry. "More than I can put into words."
Back at the Potter estate, Harry sat by the fire, staring into the flames. The day had been overwhelming, but not in a bad way.
He thought of Dorea's fierce protectiveness, Lily's gentle encouragement, and even the tailor's polite confusion. For so long, he had been alone—fighting, surviving, existing. Now, he had a family who wanted to care for him, who insisted on it.
A small smile tugged at his lips. He hadn't realized how much he missed this feeling—being wanted, being part of something bigger than himself.
For the first time in years, Harry felt a glimmer of peace.