Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

From the very beginning of civilization, humans have created and worshipped higher deities, made the concepts of Gods to easier understand the different wonderful phenomena that take place on Earth.

Four such beings sat on the higher realms of the world, discussing about the mortal plane.

The Fates – Clotho, Lachesis and Atropos – sat together, their forms glowing with feminine beauty and eyes shining with determination and controlled hardness of someone who weaves, draws out and cuts the threads of all the mortals and beings residing in the universe.

Currently, the three spotted mischievous glints in their eyes and matching smirks on their faces like they had found the ultimate reason behind their existence (and knowing them, they might actually have) and couldn’t wait to exploit it.

Death, on the other hand, had a resigned expression on his face, his skeleton shoulders slumped down, his whole body wrapped with a black cloak so dark, it seemed to consume all the shadows around him.

He opened his mouth, deciding to give arguing another go. “Why can’t you three just tell me who in all the living dimensions has got potential to be my Master again?!”, he practically whined. It really was getting frustrating on how these three could just come and drop a hypothetical supernova on him like that and skip away without any retribution.

Death had been minding his own damn business - looking at some souls and just throwing them into his realms of torture (which most mortals termed hell; there were no varieties these days in mortals’ souls, it was getting extremely boring for him getting wasted away like that) and musing about bending more rules to get more varieties of hell - when those three had literally dropped on him, muttering something about ‘manipulators’, ‘our prophecy!’ and ‘let’s tweak the threads a bit’ (he was starting to wonder about their sanity, but they had been living on for so long that it really wasn’t questionable; all of them had their occasional bouts of insanity).

Death came out of his thoughts when the Fate sitting on the extreme left, Clotho, replied, “Because, for the umpteenth time, Death, the last time we told you who could be your Master, the Peverell brothers became, well, the Peverell brothers!”

Death’s lips twitched in amusement. “I did not have had anything to do with it! It’s not my fault the then Lord and Lady Peverell decided to have triplets!”, he huffed out.

“They were not supposed to be triplets, Death!”, the Fate sitting in the middle, Lachesis, spoke, annoyed that their plans were changed because of Death's inability to accept the working laws of the multiverse. “You messed with the threads and made Lady Peverell conceive at the wrong time!”

“And then," the Fate on the right, Atropos, continued, “you decided to give them the idea to create Hallows and imbued them with your magic, thus, increasing the number of rules to be satisfied to be your Master-”

Death grinned, hiding it when the Fates glared at him. That was one of his more brilliant ideas!

“-that also resulted in the two elder brothers’ premature deaths-", Lachesis continued.

“-and also made it near impossible for us to find a suitable Master for you!”, Clotho finished. “And now, when we have finally found a suitable match for all of your requirements-”

“-we do not want you to mess around yet again-”

“-and destroy our hard work-”

“-again!”, the three spoke it together, giving Death a look that spoke of extreme pain and torture. Death was properly chastised, sighing at the three pairs of glaring eyes. He absolutely hated the way the three completed each other’s sentences.

Death did not like the idea of bounding a mortal to himself. He’d have to look after them, mentor them and teach them his Magic, just for them to either later use his powers to destroy the world and cause absolute chaos - all the while increasing his work load - or die from the absolute insanity that comes with having so much control over the types of Magic that most mortals classify extremely dangerous.

And he absolutely hated sharing control over his creatures with a mere mortal!

No, Death was not ready to grant any mortal control over some of his aspects, just because they satisfied some stupid rules. He needed to find this person and find all the reasons for them not to become his Master. He just needed to convince these three why it was such a good idea to tell him the person’s name, an endeavor in which he seemed to be failing spectacularly at.

Death gave a frustrated groan. “Fine!", he relented. "Don’t tell me the name, but at least give me some hints?”

The Fates grinned in such a way that Death regretted even opening his mouth.

“Oh, Death-”, Clotho started making him eye them suspiciously.

“-we know, you absolutely love-”, Lachesis continued.

“-Riddle!”, Atropos finished and the three burst into cackles.

Death just scowled. That bastard, Tom Marvolo Riddle! How could a single mortal cause so much chaos, Death had no idea. The man had the gall to cheat him of all things, wandering around making Horcruxes – not one, but five of them – losing his sanity and making himself some snake-hybrid, all the while increasing Death’s work with all that murder and torture. Death really couldn’t wait to get his hands on that particular mortal. He will show him what exactly happens when you mess around with Soul Magic like that. Death could just go himself and destroy the Horcruxes and drag Voldemort kicking and screaming, but the Fates had some unknown, weird-ass fascination with the bastard and would have him beheaded for even thinking about such a thing, so he really had to wait.

At last, Death sighed. “At least," he decided to ask, "say that it won’t be that Dumbledore bloke. He’s already got the wand and the Cloak, I don’t want him getting powers from me. I don’t like that man.”

The Fates shared a look and shivered simultaneously. They gave him a horrified look.

“Never!”, Clotho proclaimed.

“We won’t do that even in our insanity!”, Lachesis spoke. Death gave a relieved sigh.

Atropos shook her head in annoyance. “That man does not satisfy your requirements, Death", she assured him. "Even if we wanted to make him your Master, he won’t be accepted.”

Death gave a nod. “Indeed. Power destroys his mind and he manipulates the magical world to go as he wishes it to. It's bizarre how he went into Gryffindor instead of going into Slytherin.”

“Isn’t it?”, Clotho muttered with a sly smirk on her face, making Death narrow his eyes at her.

“Anyways," Lachesis spoke up, “we won’t give too much information-”

“-but we assure you that you will feel your potential Master soon, here, in your domain," Atropos told him.

Clotho nodded. “After all, not many who are destined to be your Master, are our Chosen and Magic’s blessed-”, the Fates gave a teasing smile and finished together, “-die from magical exhaustion!”

And with those ominous and downright weird and creepy words, the Fates shimmered and vanished away.

Chapter Text

Headmaster Albus Dumbledore of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry sat on his chair inside the office of the Headmaster of Hogwarts, reading a book on blood rituals which he’d acquired from the Potters. It was an interesting read, talking about how the rituals could be used to trace one’s family back to numerous generations, how blood could be used to make stronger wards and how blood sacrifices could create protective shields that had potential to deflect even the Killing Curse.

It was nearing the end of June, the year 1980, meaning the summer holidays had started for the students of Hogwarts.

But Albus was far from free. He had to oversee the proper working of all the wards around the castle as the Headmaster, make preparations for the next term, and had to make sure that the Hogwarts' letters were ready to be sent out to the next batch of first years. Besides these, he was the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and the Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards which amounted to a lot of responsibilities, even for an experienced wizard like him.

It was also becoming increasingly clear on the political front that the Dark Faction in the Wizengamot was ready to take extremely drastic measures against those who dared to oppose them.

Tom Riddle, who called himself Lord Voldemort, was openly terrorizing the whole of Wizarding Britain, spreading terror across the masses with the mass torturing and killings of muggles and muggleborns, and murdering those who opposed him.

Not that it was any disadvantage to Albus. This was making it easier for him to get more followers. The terror was at its highest and soon the Wizarding World will be in a desperate need of a reliable leader who could get them out of this situation. Who will be better but him, who had already ones defeated a Dark Lord? Though admittedly, Voldemort’s Reign of Terror – as almost everyone had started to dub it - was far more horrifying than Gellert’s had been.

Albus had been doing research. He was sure Tom had performed some of the Darkest Arts on himself. The intelligent, charming, cunning young boy that Albus knew had turned into a deadly, murderous monster who killed and tortured first and planned later.

Albus hasn't found what Tom had done to himself yet, but he was sure whatever it was have made him lose his sanity. He might admit in the confines of his mind that the goal Tom initially had in mind was alright – uniting all types of Magic, complete separation from muggles, and practices of Olde Magicks and traditions – these goals were better than mass murders, but Albus was not completely certain how uniting Magic will help the Wizarding World.

The Dark Arts, Death Magic, Soul Magic and other types of magic were extremely dangerous. If found in wrong hands, these will destroy the world as they knew it and they will have none but themselves to blame.

Therefore, it was better that wizards and witches only practiced Light Magic and left the other types of magic unknown. Only those who truly knew what they were doing should know about them, like Albus himself. He knew what that kind of magic did, what harms it could do and thus, never sought to use them. He was not interested in power, just read about them to increase his knowledge and intended never to use them.

Albus was happy shaping the minds of the younger generations; looking out for those who had potential to join his cause while also keeping close eyes on the Dark witches and wizards who could cause unrest in the world in the future like Tom. He was successful in getting some truly gifted wizards and witches into his Order and was looking forward to devising plans to defeat Voldemort in, hopefully, the near future.

Albus was jolted out of his thoughts when he felt the Hogwarts’ wards allowing entrance to a witch. He had to find two professors to fill the posts of Defense Against the Dark Arts and Divination here for the next year. He had found several applicants for the post of Defense but only one person had applied for that of Divination – the great-granddaughter of the famous Seer Cassandra Trelawney – twenty-year-old Sybil Trelawney. He was not sure whether the woman even had any abilities to See the future but he did had to fill the post before the vacations ended and thus, had to give her a chance. He definitely will not envy the students who will decide to go for Divination as their elective in the future years.

Albus called out ‘Enter’ when he heard two simultaneous knocks from the door. Trelawney entered the office, a thin body wrapped in at least three shawls, brown fuzzy hair tied behind with a ribbon, glasses with thick lenses that magnified her eyes substantially, her neck and fingers adored with necklaces and rings.

“Miss Trelawney," Albus greeted her with a smile on his face. “Please take a seat." He indicated at the cushioned chairs in front of his desk with his hand. “Lemon drops?”, he enquired, waving his hands towards the bowl on his desk filled with yellow wrapped candies while the young woman sat down.

“Good afternoon, Headmaster," Trelawney greeted him before taking a piece of the offered candy with a slightly trembling hand. "Thank you."

“Good afternoon, good afternoon," Albus greeted back, nodding his head jovially. “I hope you're doing wonderful, Miss Trelawney!”

Trelawney gave an answering nod, a nervous smile overtaking her face. “I am, thank you, Headmaster," she replied softly.

Albus nodded. “Now, Miss Trelawney, if you don’t mind me asking, are you really related to Cassandra Trelawney?”, he asked curiously.

“Yes, I am, Headmaster," Trelawney answered, looking mildly offended. “My maternal grandfather was the only child of Cassandra. I'm her great-granddaughter and I assure you that I have inherited her gift of Seeing. For instance-”, she paused and stared at him with narrowed eyes, making Albus raise his eyebrows in curiosity, “-you should be very careful around emerald green color. Your future seems very uncertain, Headmaster!”, she proclaimed.

Albus was intrigued. “Indeed?”, he spoke up, feeling slightly confused. “Thank you for the warning, Miss Trelawney." He clapped his hands. “Now, then, for the interview," he intertwined his hands on his desk, “why do you want the position of the Divination professor here?”

“Well, Headmaster," Trelawney started, “I’ve been Seeing the pieces of the future since my childhood, and recently, I saw myself working here as a Professor. It is imperative that I be given the position of Divination’s professor.”

Albus gave a small smile. “Oh?”, he asked. “Are you not interested in teaching young minds, Miss Trelawney?”

“Future is a very uncertain thing, Headmaster," Trelawney spoke, either ignoring his question or not hearing it. “Fates are fickle. Even small decisions taken can have a very powerful impact on the future. I have glimpsed numerous paths, numerous ways that could lead to very different outcomes. The least disturbing was the one where I had secured this position. So, here I am.”

Albus was tempted to point out that those numerous outcomes could be just her imagination at its finest, but decided not to. Whatever he thought, this woman was a descendant of one of the most famous Seers in the Wizarding World.

“I suppose," Albus spoke up after a moment of pause. “But, Miss Trelawney, do you think-”, Albus stopped mid-sentence as Trelawney suddenly turned pale, her hands clutching his desk tightly enough for her knuckles to turn white. Albus stared as Trelawney’s eyes rolled back and she slumped forward, her face thumping down onto the desk.

Before Albus could do anything, an eerie silence settled in his office and Fawkes, his phoenix, trilled with alarm. Shadows danced around, something otherworldly reaching out, just out of his mind’s reach. He gasped, the heavy magic dancing in the office almost oppressive.

Albus watched in awe as Trelawney sat up straight, her eyes shining pure white with something beyond his comprehension. She opened her mouth with a hiss and words started tumbling out of her mouth in a voice neither feminine nor masculine, followed by a hiss-y sound. And on the afternoon of thirtieth June, 1980, at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, in front of Albus Dumbledore, Sybil Trelawney spoke her first true Prophecy of Fates in her life.

Chapter Text

The silence that followed after the utterance of the prophecy was full of Albus’ disbelief. To say that he was astonished would be an understatement. And he was definitely starting to see why Trelawney had that certain epiphany to come here at Hogwarts. If anyone other than him had heard that prophecy, surely disaster would have ensued. And keeping Trelawney here will ensure her safety if word got out about the prophecy. Of course, Albus will make sure that nobody heard about this prophecy under any circumstances, unless he wanted them to.

As Albus waited for Trelawney to wake up from her dazed state, her body still slumped down on his table, he started making plans, his mind whirring with different probabilities.

The authenticity of the prophecy was completely out of the question. The magic he had felt, the power behind those words, the dance of the shadows had been real. Trelawney, or any other wizard for that matter, won’t be able to fake such a thing, meaning the prophecy was perfectly true.

But this prophecy had a few predictions that were bad, very, very bad. It did provide him a way to defeat Voldemort – ‘vanquishing the Dark Lord’ meant the prophesied child will defeat him. ‘Thrice defied’ meant somebody from his Order and ‘born as the seventh month dies’ implies the child will be just born after this month. And this meant either the Potters or the Longbottoms. Both the ladies were pregnant with a child each and they were expecting them at the end of July.

So Albus won’t need to go search out for the prophesied child. But he will need to plan for this prophecy to come true very carefully.

The prophecy called the child ‘Lady Magic’s blessed’, ‘Fates’ chosen’ and above all ‘the Master of Death’ meaning the child will have insurmountable power and if not guided properly, the child will cause the destruction of the world instead of protection.

And Albus really needed to avoid getting the child to become the Master of Death – this title implied too much power, powers that even he did not have any idea about. Albus couldn't have someone this powerful running around in the magical world. And, well, Albus would admit in the deepest parts of his mind under all the shields of his Occlumency that he was jealous of that. The child will have so much power!

So, yes, he will hide the prophecy, try to make it so that only the first part of the prophecy came true, not the second. The idea of ‘soulmates’ was worrying, this concept was never once mentioned in any books about Soul Magic, how could soulmates come to be now when there never had been any? Also, destruction happening because of a single person is downright horrible! Not to mention being the Master of Death! Yes, he will change the prophecy’s ending and then submit it into the Ministry's Department of Mysteries.

Also, Albus thought as a small smile came across his face, shouldn’t Lord Voldemort hear about this prophecy? After all, it was about him and, with the changes that Albus will do in the wording, it will be impossible for Voldemort to not not do anything about it. After all, Tom Riddle was deeply afraid of death.

With that in mind, Albus watched as Trelawney came back to consciousness, her eyes blinking in confusion as she sat up straight from her slumped position.

“Are you alright, Miss Trelawney?”, Albus asked pulling on his best concerned expression. He needed this woman to help him get Voldemort into action.

Trelawney groaned. “Headmaster? What? What happened?”, she asked, staring at him with a dazed look in her eyes.

“Here." Albus Conjured a glass of water and handed it over to her who drank it greedily. He tapped his right-hand finger on his desk and a tray with everything for tea preparation along with biscuits materialized on the desk. “How much sugar, Miss Trelawney?”, Albus asked as he started preparing the herbal tea. He needed her to relax and understand what he was about to explain to her.

“Three, please," she mumbled still dazed. “Thank you," she spoke as Albus handed her a cup and himself started sipping from his, while observing her. The woman wasn't strong of mind and he'd need to put her under an Oath.

Only after Trelawney had sipped half of her tea did Albus speak up. “Miss Trelawney, what I'm about to tell you is of grave importance," he told her gravely. "I need you to take an Oath for its secrecy, for the future of the Wizarding World will depend on it.”

Trelawney’s eyes had widened and she turned pale. After hesitating for a moment, she gave a slow nod.

Albus took a piece of parchment and wrote down a Secrecy Oath. Passing it on to her, he spoke, “Please take out your wand and speak this oath, Miss Trelawney.”

Trelawney took the parchment slowly, her eyes scanning the words. She pulled out her wand from under her shawl and cleared her throat. “I, Sybil Trelawney," she began, "do hereby swear on my magic and Seeing ability that I will not speak, write or communicate in any way, shape or form about what Albus Dumbledore is going to tell me now to anyone without his permission.”

A faint shimmer of light emerged from her wand and surrounded her, before soaking into her body. She placed her wand back to its location and then looked at Albus expectantly.

Albus gave her a nod. “Very good, Miss Trelawney," he began. "I must confess to you that your decision to come here was truly necessary.”

“It was?”, she asked, looking both surprised and confused.

“Indeed, Miss Trelawney," Albus said, shooting her a very serious and grave look. “You just gave a prophecy.” Trelawney’s face paled but before she could speak anything, Albus continued, “Not your small snippets or brief glimpses that you get, mind. You spoke a true prophecy, given by Fates themselves.” Albus looked at her from above his moon spectacles. “Tell me, Miss Trelawney, do you remember the words of the prophecy?”

Trelawney opened her mouth and closed it, still in shock. After a moment, she shook her head, answering, “No, Headmaster. The prophecy ones spoken cannot be remembered by the Seer. We don't remember a single thing that we speak in a trance.”

“Good, Miss Trelawney." Albus smiled sincerely at her. “This indeed means that you know about actual Seers.” Trelawney looked offended but Albus shook his head with a look of disappointment. “Now, Miss Trelawney," he chastised her. "I'm sure you know everyone here doesn't believe in the fates and destiny. The magic behind Divination is very broad and unreliable. Very few true Seers are known among us. So, I really urge you to see it from my point of view. I can’t just trust anyone claiming to be a Seer to actually be a Seer.”

“So," Trelawney hesitated, “the prophecy that I spoke-?”

“Is a real one, Miss Trelawney," Albus answered, giving her a knowing look. “You're an actual Seer and so, I want you to help me. Your prophecy talks about someone who will vanquish the Dark Lord Voldemort.”

Here she flinched, her eyes filling up with panic and her face draining off of color. Albus nodded gravely. “Precisely why we needed the Secrecy Oath," he reassured her. "You'll be joining the Hogwarts staff as the next Divination professor from the next month and the Hogwarts’ wards will protect you from any harm.”

She gave a slow, grateful nod. “Thank you, Headmaster," she whispered.

Albus smiled. “None of that, Miss Trelawney," he said, waving her gratitude away. "I just need a bit of your help. Will you be willing to?”

“Yes, Headmaster," Trelawney immediately said, giving him a ready nod. "I'll be happy to provide help to you in any way possible.”

“Wonderful!” Albus smiled widely. “I need you to go home, Miss Trelawney. If anyone asks tell them I was unable to take your interview today. In a few days’ time, I will send you an owl with a location and a date for another interview. On the back side of the parchment, there will be nothing. But with the charm Aparecium you'll find there the prophecy." Albus showed her the wand movement for the Charm slowly and she gave a nod.

“You will need to learn the prophecy carefully. When we'll meet on the specified day, I'll conduct the interview the way we were doing here and in-the-midst, when I will indicate, you'll go in a trance like state and speak the prophecy. With well applied Voice-Altering Charms, the effect would be the same, and I'll record the prophecy to send it off to the Ministry for the Hall of Prophecies.” Albus looked at Trelawney over his half-moon glasses. “Do you understand what you have to do?”, he asked.

“Yes, Headmaster." Trelawney nodded.

“Very good, indeed!" Albus finished his tea and settled the cup onto the tray, Trelawney following his lead. “Now, don’t tell anyone about the prophecy, otherwise it might be fatal to your life, Miss Trelawney.”

She paled again but took a deep breath and nodded.

“Good. Now, off you go. Take care of yourself. I will send the letter to you soon." Albus indicated towards the door and with hasty farewell, Trelawney walked out.

Alone in his office with his thoughts and Fawkes, Albus started thinking. Voldemort will need to know about this prophecy for it to start unfolding. And for Voldemort to know about the prophecy, Albus could not just send him a letter. He needed to make the events unfold in such a way that Voldemort will think that he got the prophecy by one of his minions instead of finding out that Albus actually wanted him to know. And for that to happen, Albus will have to spread a rumor that he was going to interview the most famous Seer’s great-granddaughter at Hog’s Head – the least crowded of the pubs in Hogsmeade.

He was sure that at least one of Voldemort’s minions will come to spy there to get information about anything important and on hearing a prophecy, they will immediately rush to their Lord to gain his favor.

And so, the prophecy will reach him and he will, hopefully, do something for the child to get 'marked as his equal'.

Albus will need to make sure the target will either be the Longbottoms or the Potters. He will convince them to go into hiding for Voldemort to become sure that these two parents were the only ones who will birth his equal.

Knowing that Voldemort himself is a half-blood, Albus was sure that he will go after the Potters. He will need to give Lily the book he was reading on blood rituals and sacrifices. They might die, but his weapon will be safe. He will then send the child to Lily’s muggle relatives by saying that the blood wards left by Lily’s sacrifice will protect the child only if the child stayed with their blood relatives. He will advise the muggles to be a bit strict with the child so that the child will readily leave the muggle world when the time will be right and join the Wizarding World.

And Albus will present himself as a friendly grandfather figure to the child, thus becoming his mentor and provide him guidance in defeating Voldemort, all the while making sure that the child never comes across any of the Deathly Hallows.

Though if the child was indeed a Potter, the Invisibility Cloak will already belong to him as the Heir. Albus pursed his lips. He will have to be careful with his Elder Wand, then. And he himself had not yet found the Resurrection Stone, so that was one less problem to worry about currently.

Now, he just needed to change the prophecy a bit and then, start spreading the rumor.

-------

The three Fates were sitting, their work stopped to look at the events unfolding in the Headmaster’s office at Hogwarts.

“How a mortal can think that he will be able to change our decisions just by changing the words of the prophecy is beyond me!”, spoke Clotho in mild astonishment.

“Indeed!”, Lachesis spoke with amusement. “We do give them free will, to take a single path where numerous are present. But to actually change our words itself!”

Atropos snorted. “You'd think they will get smarter with age.”

All the three chuckled.

“It was a wonderful idea to intervene then," Clotho spoke up.

“Yes." Lachesis agreed. “It is better that Lord Death gets involved before Dumbledore starts the war just because he does not want someone competent to get power over him.”

“I agree, sister," Atropos spoke. “It will be better if Death became Harrison Potter’s mentor instead of Dumbledore.”

The other two nodded and with a last look at the plotting Headmaster, they went back to weaving the destiny of the worlds, all three sporting mischievously smug smirks on their faces.

“Let the game begin!”, the three muttered together.

Chapter Text

Severus Snape, the youngest Potions’ Master in the Wizarding World, could not believe what he had been reduced to. The promises made by the upper years at Hogwarts about the goals of the Dark Lord seemed like the worst prank played on him in his entire life.

The promise about freedom to practice all types of Magic, the independence to practice the rituals and traditions of the Olde Ways and total separation from the muggle world seemed like a distant dream. The reality involved working like a slave under an insane Dark Lord, getting tortured for the smallest of mistakes and running around making potions that were so much beneath his ability that they were downright insulting.

Severus had been in Diagon Alley to purchase some ingredients for a potion he was trying to develop in his free time (not that he had much of it, what with him running around like an errand boy), when he had heard Mundungus Fletcher telling some fellow thief of his about some interview by Albus Dumbledore of a Seer in the Hog’s Head that will be taking place after two days.

Severus was confused about why a thief was talking about an interview in the corner of an alley, but then he had realized that Fletcher was a little informant of Dumbledore’s – joining the Order of the Phoenix in gratitude to Dumbledore saving his sorry arse - and thus, a part of the Order and so, must be talking about something he had heard over at one of their meetings.

And thus, Severus had decided to go and see what was about that interview that involved some unknown Seer and a thief gossiping about it in the open.

It was the seventh of July and Severus found himself Apparating to Hogsmeade in the morning to loiter around Hog’s Head, waiting for Albus Dumbledore to show up for the interview.

Severus spotted Dumbledore at around two in the afternoon wearing impossibly bright purple robes with the recognizable twinkle in his eyes as he entered the pub. Severus waited for a minute, then went inside the pub, discretely eyeing him talking with a young woman with frizzy hairs and huge lenses. This was the Seer, he thought as he sneered at the both of them (hidden, of course).

He walked towards the counter and ordered a glass of firewhiskey while keeping his eyes on the talking duo.

The barkeeper, Aberforth Dumbledore, gave him a suspicious look but he ignored it, knocking down the glass of whiskey and slightly grimacing at the burning sensation that accompanied the drink. Done with that, he took a bottle of butterbeer, tossed a few sickles onto the counter and made his way to a table hidden from view.

He observed Dumbledore and the woman talking, narrowed his eyes as he saw how afraid and shaky the woman was. This must be an interview for the Divination position at Hogwarts. The man who had been teaching before must have retired, seeing as he was very old when Severus had last seen him dining at the staff table in the Great Hall during his seventh year.

And who would this woman be for half the Light side population to be gossiping about her? A Seer who could See the future or the one who spoke prophecies or the one that had glimpses of all the possible outcomes?

As Dumbledore and the woman made their way behind the bar and up through the stairs for some privacy, Severus stood up and, taking note of no one observing him, cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself and followed after them. He climbed the dimly lit staircase covered with dirt and grime and stepped into the hallway that had three doors leading to what he thought must be small rooms.

Severus let his magic uncoil a little and felt for privacy wards around any one of the doors. To his astonishment, there were none. His eyebrows rose up in surprise. He slowly walked towards the first door and, hearing muffled voices, cast an Eavesdropping Charm on the door to listen more closely to what they were talking about.

“-be able to teach children, Miss Trelawney?”, Albus Dumbledore was speaking.

“Of course, Headmaster!”, Miss Trelawney spoke. Severus’ brows furrowed. Trelawney? As in Cassandra Trelawney? This woman was related to that famous Seer? That would explain the fuss going on with the Light Sect then. “I'll love to help children find and understand their Inner Eye. It’s not-”, Trelawney paused and Severus moved closer to the door.

What was happening? There was silence for a full minute and Severus was thinking the Headmaster had finally remembered and applied a privacy ward or something, when he heard a very different sound – a voice neither feminine nor masculine. Severus froze in shock when he realized a prophecy was being spoken.

-------

Everything was going perfect, Albus thought as he felt a presence settling behind the door and an Eavesdropping Charm being cast. He had just asked Trelawney a question and she was answering it when he gave her the hand-gesture he had instructed will be the signal for her to start her prophecy. She paused while Albus cast a Voice Altering Charm to make her voice sound both feminine and masculine.

Trelawney took a deep breath and started slowly speaking the prophecy that he had sent her just three days ago.

“the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches……..born to those who have thrice defied him…born as the seventh month dies…….." There was a commotion at the door, but Albus gestured for her to keep going. He was recording the words and couldn’t let the distraction destroy his plans. "and the Dark Lord shall mark him as his equal……..but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not………and either must die at the hand of the other…..for neither can live while the other survives……the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…."

As Trelawney stopped and looked at Albus, he gave her a nod and then stood up to go check out about what had happened outside.

He found his brother standing outside the door with an annoyed expression on his face. “What happened, Aberforth?”, he asked.

“A wizard from the Dark Faction was spying on your meeting with the lady, Albus. Good thing I found him early and threw him out," he replied. “You should put up stronger privacy charms while conducting important meetings." With narrowed eyes, Aberforth climbed back down the stairs.

Albus gave out a frustrated sigh. He knew he was forgetting something! He should have told his brother to expect a spy and let them listen to his meeting with Trelawney. Now, he was not sure the man will tell Voldemort the two lines that he had heard. He could only hope, otherwise he’d need to arrange for the prophecy orb to be taken to Voldemort or something.

With annoyance, he returned into the room and told Trelawney her job was done.

“You are supposed to join the Hogwarts’ staff a week before the term starts, Miss Trelawney. I will see you then. Have a good day." With that, Dumbledore swept out of the door, ready to Apparate to the Ministry. He had some Unspeakables to speak to.

----

Severus cursed himself. He had been caught by Aberforth bloody Dumbledore, of all people, spying and had been thrown out like a sack of bricks. He was so much in shock on hearing an honest-to-Merlin prophecy that he had forgotten to curse that damn man to hell and back. How dare he throw him out like that?!

But that was currently not the most pressing problem. The problem was the prophecy! He was in a dilemma. Either he inform the Dark Lord about the two lines he had heard and get cursed to the next year for not being careful enough to listen to the whole of it. Or he not tell the Dark Lord and get away with it temporarily, but sooner or later, that man will find out and he will be tortured to insanity.

So, really it was either tell and be done with it or wait and then be done with it. And Severus decided to be done with this issue as soon as possible.

Severus sighed. Now he needed to contact the Dark Lord. The man was a genius when it came to magic but apart from that he was utterly insane. Quick to judge, recklessly taking actions without any plans and killing so many witches and wizard that if he continued his killing spree like that the magical world will surely come to extinction.

But how to contact him - directly or through some senior Inner Circle Death Eater? Severus was in the Inner Circle – in fact, he was one of the favorites of the Dark Lord besides Bellatrix (who was half insane due to her involvement with so much Dark practices; and adored the Dark Lord so much that it bordered on unhealthy obsession) but he was not ready to just march into the Dark Lord’s base with half the information. The Dark Lord will kill him!

So, Severus Apparated outside the gate of the Malfoy Manor from where the Dark Lord could be contacted. He made his way through the lavish gardens, almost rolling his eyes at the white albino peacocks stuttering around as if they owned the place and knocked on the massive door. The Malfoy Manor was made of dark polished marble with huge rooms, Victorian windows and large chandeliers which had thousands of candles burning to give a beautiful luminescence around the whole of the Manor.

A house-elf dressed in a white pillowcase greeted him at the door and took his cloak to hang it on the rack. He gave it a stiff nod and then followed it to the large drawing room where Lucius Malfoy was waiting for him, sitting on a dark-green plush armchair, drinking tea. The man’s wife, Narcissa Malfoy was not present, definitely resting and getting annoyed to hell with taking care of a month-old Draco, his godson, and since the Dark Lord was really not much fond of kids, he had shifted his base to one of his own possessions, the Slytherin Castle.

But all the Death Eaters were not allowed to go there and hence they had to contact one of the Inner Circle Death Eaters if they wanted to give him some information. It was also a safer bet for Severus to first contact him this way.

“Lord Malfoy," Severus greeted, nodding his head.

“Mr. Snape." Lucius gave his own nod. “Do sit. What brings you here?”, he asked, indicating to one of the armchairs.

Severus did not move from where he was standing beside one of the chairs. He pulled all his Occlumency shields and spoke, “I need to contact our Lord. I have some important information to give him.”

Lucius stiffened, a slight tensing of his shoulders not visible to others who were not Slytherins. “Very well," he spoke up as he stood up and fetched a parchment from a side table. “Write what the information concerning is here, Severus.”

Severus gave a nod and Conjured a quill. He dipped it into the offered ink and wrote down – 'My Lord, I spied Dumbledore taking interview of a Seer. She might have spoken something crucial.'

With the message written, he handed the parchment back to Lucius and watched as the man walked to one side of the large room, opened a black box and dropped the parchment into the box. The box glowed, transporting the parchment to its linked one at the Slytherin Castle.

As they waited for the reply, Severus spoke up, “Do you know any witch related to Cassandra Trelawney alive today, Lucius?”

Lucius looked intrigued, his eyebrows raising minutely. “I'm not completely sure, Severus," he replied. "But I do believe that one of her only living granddaughter recently passed away. She had a daughter, I think.”

“That means a great-granddaughter related to Cassandra Trelawney is alive," Severus muttered.

But before Lucius could say anything else, the Contacting Box glowed with a reply. Lucius pulled a parchment out, reading the message with his usual blank Pureblood mask and spoke, “The Dark Lord wishes to meet you.”

Just as Lucius finished speaking, Severus’ Dark Mark burned. With a nod of thanks to Lucius, Severus pressed the Mark with his wand and Apparated away to the Dark Lord’s Castle, preparing himself for the inevitable torture.

Chapter Text

The Dark Lord Voldemort was sitting in his study room in the Slytherin Castle, planning for some more raids to subjugate the rising rebellions that were being caused by that fool Dumbledore’s Order, while also reading a highly advanced book on Dementors and their magic. He had won their allegiance just a year ago by promising them more victims, but they were also extremely powerful and causing major problems with his Death Eaters, some of whom came from abusive families.

His familiar, Nagini – a mix breed between a deadly python and a basilisk – was lying beside the warm hearth, occasionally hissing in her sleep.

He had just reached the part where the book speculated how the Dementors actually came to be, also while thinking about taking some muggles hostage to test some of his theories regarding the Dementor’s Kiss, when a soft popping sound interrupted his musings and greatly soured his mood.

“Master?”, a squeaky voice spoke timidly.

Voldemort resisted the urge to Crucio the elf to insanity. Instead, he gave it a sneer.

"What?”, he spat out harshly.

The elf flinched while holding out a parchment, its hands trembling. “This message came from the black boxy, Master," it informed him.

Voldemort glared at the parchment, wordlessly and wandlessly Summoning it to him. He read it – a message from his favorite minion. Severus had spied Dumbledore taking an interview of a Seer? Interesting.

He wrote down a ‘Meet me immediately’ and gave it to the elf, ordering it to quickly send the message back. The elf squeaked and then popped away.

Voldemort then opened his mind link to the Dark Marks, found the one linked to Severus Snape and Summoned the man.

A few moments later, he felt the wards surrounding the castle buzz with the entrance of his Potions’ Master. Voldemort waited impatiently for the said Master to make his appearance into his study. A soft knock came from the door and Voldemort impatiently flung the door open with his magic, the wood colliding with the wall to make a loud bang.

“Come, Severuss," Voldemort spoke up in his sibilant voice, beckoning his minion inside as Nagini came out of her slumber to level an unwavering stare at the Potions’ prodigy.

“~Should I eat him, Master?~”, Nagini asked, flicking her tongue towards the young man who had entered and bowed his head down in submission to Voldemort with a soft, ‘My Lord.’, without even flinching at the Parseltongue.

“~No, Nagini. Go back to ssleep~," Voldemort hissed at his familiar who hissed back in displeasure but went back to her peaceful nap. Voldemort turned his attention back to the bowing minion of his. “Risse, Severuss," he commanded and the man straightened himself. “SSpeak.”

“My Lord,” the man spoke, “two days prior I was in Diagon Alley for a personal project and heard an Order member talking about Dumbledore conducting an interview of a Seer in Hog’s Head today. I was initially doubtful but decided to see myself what this talk was all about.”

Severus paused for a moment, before quickly continuing, “I found Dumbledore talking with a young woman in the aforementioned place. It was an interview for the vacant position of Divination at Hogwarts.”

He took a deep breath. “The woman turned out to be the great-granddaughter of the famous Seer Cassandra Trelawney. She spoke a true prophecy, My Lord.”

Voldemort froze, a blank expression still on his face. “A true prophecy? Are you ssure, SSeveruss?”, he almost hissed.

“Yes, My Lord," Severus answered, bowing. “But-”

Voldemort felt his anger spike. “But?”, he prodded.

“My Lord, I deeply apologize," Severus bowed more deeply. “Before I could hear the whole prophecy, the barkeeper, Aberforth Dumbledore caught me spying and threw me out of the pub.”

Before Severus could even twitch, Voldemort pulled out his wand and cast a strong Crucio at the man, enjoying as the man twitched under his curse for being an absolute lunatic. How dare he not listen to the whole prophecy?! Voldemort will kill him for his inability to be useful to him!

After a little less than a minute, Voldemort lifted the curse and spat, “How utterly idiotic, SSeveruss! You got discovered by that fool’s brother!”

Severus’ body was twitching, but he pulled himself off the floor, wisely staying silent while Voldemort fumed. “That utter muggle loving imbecile! How much I loathe him! Now he will use that damn prophecy against me.” After imagining some creative ways to torture that old, manipulating Headmaster, Voldemort beckoned Severus closer to his desk.

Severus walked over, his body still twitching due to the after-effects of the Torturing Curse.

“SShow me the prophecy, SSeveruss," he commanded.

The man nodded, and looked Voldemort in the eyes. Voldemort dived into his mind and watched as the memory of the prophecy played out.

Enraged again as he heard the initial two lines of the prophecy, Voldemort tore painfully away from the Potions’ Master’s mind who winced and threw another Crucio in his rage.

The man screamed, falling back down onto the floor with a thump while Nagini looked at the young man with pity, “~If you turn him insane, what will be the point of chasing him across the castle and eating him, Master?~”

Voldemort snarled but lifted the curse. “Get losst!”, he spat out. Severus quickly got up, his muscles spasming as he bowed and quickly walked out of his office.

Voldemort sat stiff on his chair, his mind in chaos.

‘The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches. Born to those who have thrice defied him. Born as the seventh month dies.’, the initial two lines of the prophecy spoke.

Voldemort snarled. Someone with the power to vanquish him? The greatest Dark Lord the world has ever seen? Vanquish him, of all things? It was not possible! Voldemort had made numerous well-hidden means so that no one will be able to kill him. He had ensured his immortality by dividing his soul itself and hiding them at places where no one will be able to find them. Then how will a mere baby, who was not even born yet, be able to vanquish him?

Will the child have knowledge of his horcruxes after being born? Will it have some power that will make it able to kill without destroying his horcruxes? How was that even possible?!

Before he could spiral into wilder ideas, Voldemort pulled himself out of them. He needed to find the child as soon as possible and destroy it before it could kill him.

Decision made, Voldemort opened his link to his Mark and summoned his most trusted Death Eaters immediately. He summoned Augustus Rookwood, who worked at the Department of Mysteries, to make him get information about any new added prophecies and to ask discreetly to his spy-network about any such rumor, while he summoned Bellatrix Lestrange, Rudolphus Lestrange and Narcissa Malfoy to get information about any families in the Order who were expecting any child at the end of July.

Voldemort paced as he impatiently waited for his followers to answer his summons, all the while thinking about how Dumbledore had now gotten a perfect weapon to use against him.

As Voldemort felt the wards buzz simultaneously with his followers’ entrance, he sat down on his chair, crossing his fingers beneath his chin to give off a relaxed posture when he was anything but. After all, it wouldn’t do to make his followers know anything about the prophecy. Lord Voldemort trusted no one but himself.

Voldemort watched as Bellatrix entered his study with a crazed smile on her face, bowing to him in an almost worshipful way. Voldemort loved the way she worshipped him but absolutely loathed the obsessive love that shone in the woman’s eyes for him. He wanted followers, not lovers, for Salazar’s sake!

Bellatrix was followed by her husband, who worked at St. Mungo's as a Healer – and Narcissa Malfoy, who had an uncanny ability of knowing everything about everyone. They bowed to him as well.

"~Ah, Master~," Nagini hissed as she opened her eyes and stared at his followers. "~More of them. Should I eat them all?~"

"~Nagini, no~," Voldemort reprimanded her softly. "~All of my followers are not for your meal. If you are hungry, go out and find some prey in the forest.~" Voldemort threw a glare at his followers as they all flinched at the Parseltongue.

“Risse, my faithful followerss," Voldemort spoke in a whisper and the three strengthened, their eyes still lowered in respect. “Today I have ssummoned you three for I need your expertisse in getting ssome very important information for your Lord.”

Voldemort looked at Bellatrix and Rudolphus, internally smirking at the way Bellatrix looked ready to please him. “Rudolphuss, Bella. I need you two to discreetly investigate in St. Mungo'ss about any witchess expecting a child at the end of July," he told them. “SSpecially those who are affliated to the Order. Am I clear?”, he asked, looking at them with narrowed eyes.

“Yes, My Lord," both of them spoke and bowed, Bellatrix more excitedly than was strictly required.

“Good. Narcissa, same for you. Use your connections to find out about any child that will be born at the end of July.”

“Yes, My Lord." Lady Malfoy bowed too.

Voldemort nodded, looking at Augustus Rookwood as the man entered in his Unspeakable attire and bowed. He turned his attention to the three. “Meet me with the information within two dayss," he ordered them. "And do not disappoint. Dismissed!”

The three bowed again and exited the office as Voldemort looked at Rookwood. “Augustuss," he spoke.

“My Lord." The man nodded, bowing.

“Have you gotten anything interessting from the Minisstry?”, he asked.

“Not much, My Lord," Rookwood spoke. “The Imperiused Ministry workers are working perfectly and no one has noticed any difference. The work at the Department of Mysteries continues to be on the same pace. Though it is speculated that Bartemius Crouch Senior will soon get the position for the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement which might cause us some problems.”

Voldemort nodded. “Anything elsse, Augustuss?”, he inquired.

Rookwood hesitated for half a second, but then spoke up, “My Lord, Dumbledore came to the Department of Mysteries today requesting for a meeting with the Head.”

That had Voldemort tensing, a minute twitch of his muscles that no one would notice. “What wass it about?”, he asked.

“He did not get much into detail with any of us, My Lord. Just spoke to the Department Head," Rookwood replied. “Rumor has it that he came with a recorded prophecy of some sort, to have it registered for the Hall of Prophecies.”

Voldemort felt an excited rush zip through him. “Did you get any chance to see the prophecy?”

“No, My Lord, unfortunately," Rookwood answered. “I asked around. One of my colleagues said that Dumbledore took back the orb because of some security concerns. The Headmaster has the prophecy, if it is true.”

Voldemort gave a tight nod as rage built up inside of him once more. That Dumbledore! He could not wait to kill that old coot!

He waved his hand to dismiss the man. As soon as Rookwood was out, Voldemort let lose his magic to let out his anger, barely managing to shield Nagini from the magical whiplash.

That old manipulative bastard, Voldemort snarled as more Dark magic poured out of him in his anger, breaking glasses, destroying the parchments and books and snuffing out the fire burning in the hearth.

Chapter Text

James, Lily, Sirius, Remus and Peter had come down from their high of welcoming a new member into their pack just a few days ago, when Albus Dumbledore had come knocking at their door in Godric’s Hollow looking as grave as anyone could look.

It was the fifth of August, their baby only five days old, lying in Sirius’s arms like a cute little thing that he was. James felt such an over-protective urge whenever he looked at his wife and his little baby, he felt like he should take them away from the world and hide them away in some safety bubble forever.

It was sad that Lily had become pregnant at the time of war, but they really didn’t have the heart to go with what Lily had called ‘abortion’ – a baby was a blessing and no one in the Wizarding World would ever think about removing them even before they came into the world.

So, it had been more a question of what should they do, where should they go? James’ parents had died just a year ago due to Dragon Pox and James was still not really ready to take up the mantle of Lord Potter – he was still the Potter Heir, and had decided to stay at Godric’s Hollow for the time being, though they were contemplating moving to Europe, or to possibly leave and settle in the Americas.

But the idea had taken a backdoor the last few weeks and preparing for baby Harry’s arrival had taken precedence. And now that Harry was born, they needed to decide whether they should leave Britain (which James absolutely did not want to do) or stay here hidden (which was extremely dangerous).

Before they could focus on those issues though, they needed to make sure that Harry and Lily were healthy and well-rested.

Only Sirius was present currently - Remus afraid for the baby to contract something from him due to his little furry problem, while Peter usually preferred to stay at his home - as both James and Sirius had taken one week leave from their Auror duties to take care of their son and godson, respectively, and to help Lily adjust.

It might also be possible that they had dabbled in a blood ritual that had made Sirius the third parent of Harry. Sirius had discovered a book in the Black library during one of his hiding escapades from one of his mother’s screeching rants. The book contained very old rituals, some as old as the time when the Olde Magicks flourished. And since, Sirius had wanted a child of his own but his interest was in someone who was clearly afraid of having a child, he had asked Lily and James whether he could blood adopt Harry when Sirius had found out Lily was pregnant.

Lily had been contemplative, not horrified as they had initially thought. She had asked for the book and when they were unable to acquire it, had marched into Potter library to see whether any information could be found there. And to everyone’s immense surprise, they had found several books there, hiding away, collecting dust. James had then found out his ancestors had actually been neutral in the ‘war’ between Light and Dark – it was only he who had decided to join the Light side. His parents, Charlus and Dorea Potter nee Black, had been Neutral all along, unbeknownst to him.

After that discovery, they had read several books to make sure the ritual wouldn’t harm Harry or Lily and after making extremely sure, when Lily had entered her seventh month in pregnancy, they had done the ritual and Lily had drunk the potion which contained Sirius’ blood, thus making Harry the child of three parents.

But they had decided not to tell about this to anyone, not even Dumbledore. The man was good, but he had this really strong belief that only whatever he considered okay could be right, and nothing else. He was vehemently against any practice that involved the use of human blood and so, will not agree to the step they had taken. So, only the three of them knew, and maybe in the future they will tell Remus and Peter and of course, later, Harry.

James smiled at his child and his best friend as Sirius rambled to baby Harry about some of their pranks they had done while at school while Lily prepared tea in the kitchen with a look of annoyance.

“You might be his blood adopted father, Sirius, but I will eviscerate you if I found out you have been teaching him your ridiculous pranks!”, she threatened.

“Oh, come on, Lily!”, Sirius whined. “Where’s your idea of fun?!”

“Died when it saw you," Lily deadpanned.

James laughed at Sirius’ pout. “Come on now, Pads!", he said. "Let’s wait for Harry himself to decide whether he wants to be like us or like his mother.”

“He'll definitely be like me." Lily sniffed from the kitchen. “You two just wait and see!”

Sirius opened his mouth to retort back but paused when they heard the doorbell ring. “Who’s that?”, Sirius asked, first looking at James then at Lily who had come out of the kitchen with a raised brow. “You guys were expecting someone today?”

“Nah," James replied, standing up to go look who had decided to greet them with their presence at this time of the night. “Let me check," he spoke as he strode out of the living room and into the hallway – which had stairs leading up to the first floor at one end and the front door at the other. He opened the door to reveal Albus Dumbledore standing in all his glory in yellow robes with stars shifting around at the hems.

“Albus!”, James greeted his old headmaster in surprise. “We weren’t expecting you to come here today! Come in! Come in!”

Albus smiled, though a bit sadly. “James, my boy," he greeted. "How are you?”

“I’m excellent, Albus!” James laughed as he guided Albus into their sitting room. “Just welcoming the little tyke," he said pointing to Harry who was lying in Sirius’ arms with his thumb in his mouth while Sirius unsuccessfully tried to remove it, staring at Albus with emerald eyes that glowed like the Killing Curse.

“Ah, young Harry!”, Albus exclaimed, smiling at the baby before taking a seat on an armchair. “He looks delighted!”

James and Sirius laughed as baby Harry continued staring at the old man with an intensity that was a bit worrying. Albus’ smile visibly strained a bit.

Lily walked in then, a tray of tea and biscuits floating behind her. “Headmaster. It’s been a while," she greeted, smiling.

Albus smiled too, but it quickly disappeared and the adults in the room straightened up, looking at Albus with worry.

“What is it, Albus?”, Lily asked, a slight tension coming into her voice.

The war was getting more bloody as the days progressed and they were losing so many of witches and wizards fighting for the Order that it was now becoming a habit of theirs to expect a bad news weekly.

Albus sighed, looking like he had aged in just a minute. “It is grave, my friends," he spoke up, looking at them one-by-one in the eye. James and Lily had sat down on their couch, Lily taking Harry into her arms, while Sirius stood beside Lily with a frown.

“Lord Voldemort has decided to target young Harry and Neville Longbottom because of some unknown reason," Albus told them with a resigned sigh.

James and Sirius gasped while Lily frowned. “But why will a Dark Lord decide to target our babies?”, she asked incredulously.

“That, indeed, is the question, Lily," Albus said, shaking his head in disappointment. “I don’t know. My informant told me that Voldemort has asked his very close followers to search for something. And then-", Albus hesitated.

Lily narrowed her eyes, pulling Harry closer to her as James wrapped his arms around her and Sirius leaned closer. “What?”, she snapped.

Albus sighed. “A friend of mine who works at St. Mungo’s told me that Rudolphus Lestrange and his wife, Bellatrix Lestrange, have been discreetly asking around about babies born at the end of July. Nobody knows why they are specifically searching for Harry and Neville but it won't really be for something good, my dear.”

James and Sirius exchanged a look, both of their faces pale, while Lily’s frown deepened.

“But wouldn’t there be hundreds, if not thousands of babies born at the end of July?”, she asked.

Albus stared at her for a moment, then shook his head. “No, Lily," he spoke. “Voldemort will never search for any muggle child or muggleborn one. He is specifically searching for either a half-blood or a pureblood. And I have discreetly asked around," he nodded at Harry. “Only Harry and Neville are the magical children in Wizarding Britain born at the end of July.”

“But why?”, Lily murmured. “Why our baby?”

“You really have no idea, Albus? Why he’s searching for Harry?”, James asked, pulling Lily and his baby closer. Sirius Summoned a chair from the dining table kept in the kitchen close to Lily and sat on it, his hands resting on James’ hands lying on Lily’s shoulder in visible support.

Albus shook his head. “I'm really sorry, my boy," he replied softly. "But I currently have no idea. I have asked my informant to find more information about it. But until then, I’m afraid, we need to take some safety measures.”

James exchanged a look with Lily who nodded while Sirius squeezed his hands. “We will move to the Americas," James declared. “Voldemort is busy trying to capture the Ministry and so will not follow us. We could find try finding some jobs there and the fortune from my parents will take care of our housing and everything until we find them.”

Albus looked at them with a carefully blank look which lasted a second before a concerned one came along. He pursued his lips. “Are you two certain, my dears?”, he hesitantly asked.

“Yes, Albus. It will-”, James started but Albus interrupted him.

“Not that I don’t want to put pressure, my boy. You two are very powerful and very important members of the Order of the Phoenix. We need your help now more than ever to stop Voldemort who is now starting to target even children.”

James pursued his lips. Albus was right, of course. If Voldemort was now actively trying to find children and do Merlin-knows what to them, they needed more fighters to fight against him, now more than ever.

“What should we do then, Albus? Harry is our top priority. We can’t just stay here to get him killed or worse, kidnapped by those bastards," James said with gritted teeth.

“Seriously, Albus," Sirius said, rage building up in his eyes. “You need to openly confront that bastard. You defeated Grindalwald, for Merlin’s sake!”

Albus shook his head. “Alas, my boy. Voldemort is not mine to defeat," he proclaimed.

Lily narrowed her eyes, her famous rage already building up. “What does that mean?”, she asked with barely concealed anger in her voice.

Albus gave her a small, indulgent smile. “In due time, my dear," he replied mysteriously, "we will find out.”

“It doesn't make any sense, Albus!" James said hesitantly.

Albus smiled. “Fates work in very different ways, my friends," he only said. "We will find out. But for now, we need to find a protection for young Harry here.”

Before any of them could suggest the Americas again, Albus started speaking, “I suggest putting a Fidelius Charm around your home here. It is a very powerful and ancient charm and will protect young Harry greatly. You will not need to leave Britain, all the while fighting for the betterment of the Wizarding World.”

The three of them exchanged glances. “But-”, Lily started only for Albus to interrupt.

“I understand how much it looks like moving away from Britain will keep Harry better protected, Lily," he spoke. “But Voldemort is quite adamant on searching for Harry here. I am quite sure that he will come after you to wherever you decide to re-locate to. And when that happens-”, Albus shook his head gravely, “-the Order won’t be able to provide you help there. You need to be in Britain for us to provide any help.”

James started worrying more. Albus was correct. If they moved out and Voldemort decided to pursue them, the Order and Albus won’t be able to help them there. They will be completely on their own.

But he also did not like the idea of staying cooped up inside a Fidelius.

“You are right, of course, Albus," James spoke up. “But the Fidelius-?”, he trailed off.

“It is a powerful protective spell," Lily spoke up – the Charms prodigy among them. “We will just need to make sure the wording of the Secret is made correctly.”

Sirius spoke up, a frown on his face, “Are you two sure you want to use the Fidelius?”

James gave a slow nod.

“It’s the best protection we have right now, Sirius. We can keep Harry in the secreted place up until the war is over and we can stay safe there too, while also helping the Order in any way we can," Lily spoke up, hushing Harry when he started to cry.

“Indeed," Albus agreed, nodding his head in approval. “Wonderful! We can make preparations to cast the Charm within this week and you three can go under the Fidelius in at most ten days." He looked at them from above his spectacles. “Who do you want to be your Secret Keeper? I, of course, am happy to volunteer myself as an option.”

Lily nodded. “Thank you, Albus," she said. "Just give us a day. We will tell you as soon as we decide, so you can cast the Charm.”

“Very well," Albus said as he stood up. “I'll leave the decision up to you two. Please be careful, all of you. It is very dangerous time indeed. I should get going now.”

“At least take some tea, Albus," James spoke up, nodding towards the forgotten tray kept on the table between them.

Albus shook his head. “I must decline, my boy," he said sadly. "I need to visit the Longbottoms too. See if they are willing to go under the Fidelius too. Take care.”

“You too, Albus," James and Sirius spoke together while Lily gave a nod of thanks.

And with that Albus departed, the front door closing softly behind him.

The three of them shared a worried look. “What is Voldemort up to now?”, Sirius muttered worriedly.

At the end, they decided to make Sirius their Secret Keeper – he was their best friend and the adopted father of Harry and nobody deserved it more than him.

It took them roughly four days to inscribe all the necessary runes around their cottage to make the Charm stronger and then Albus cast the Charm.

The secret was – 'James Potter, Lily Potter and Harry Potter live at Number 7, Street 2 at Godric’s Hollow.'

Albus had also asked James for the Potter’s heirloom – the Invisibility Cloak – for an academic curiosity. “It’s unlike anything I have ever seen before, my boy. Just an old man’s curiosity.”

James had handed it over with a promise from Albus that he will return it back to him as soon as possible.

Chapter Text

Everything went more or less okay up until February. After that, Voldemort’s attacks became more vicious, and more and more witches and wizards started leaving Britain. Those who stayed went into hiding and almost every single magical person became afraid of even taking Voldemort’s name.

And then, one day, Sirius got heavily injured.

James and Sirius had been returning from their duty as Aurors from the Ministry. They had just landed at the Apparition Point at Godric’s Hollow when they had been attacked by almost ten Death Eaters at once.

They were good at fighting together - they worked like a single unit - but fighting down ten Death Eaters when they had just finished their draining work, and were looking forward to getting a few hours to relax, was not easy.

And in their desperation to not get killed by some stray curse, they fired their own curses haphazardly.

When Sirius saw James being hit by some stray curse, he panicked and missed a dark green colored curse coming towards him that hit him square on his chest. The pain he felt then was anything he’d ever felt before. It felt like his very heart was burning, his blood evaporating away and a scream ripped from his throat as he fell, his body hitting the ground with a thump.

“Sirius!”, James screamed, but before he could do anything, more cracks sounded. He panicked further, but sighed a bit in relief when he spotted some Aurors and Order members Apparating in.

Sirius whimpered, his hands clutching his chest when James came over. “You’ll be alright, Sirius," he murmured gently, probably trying to keep the panic out of his voice but failing at it spectacularly. “Just hold on.”

Before he could reply, Sirius felt his eyes drooping and he fell into a peaceful unconsciousness.

-------

When he came back to, he was lying on a bed, his body covered with white sheets and his chest covered in bandages. Sirius let out a groan when he realized he was at St. Mungo’s. He patted his chest, feeling as if a horde of hippogriffs was trampling around on it.

“What the fuck was that stupid curse?!”, he muttered out just when James entered the room, followed by a healer.

“Looks like you are awake, Mr. Black," the healer spoke up. “I'm Healer Runcom. How are you feeling?”

Sirius let out a huff, wincing when his chest jolted up in pain. “What curse was that?", he demanded. "I feel like a dragon is sitting on my chest.”

James grimaced beside the Healer who nodded his head once. “Some new curse of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named," he answered, his voice clinically devoid of any emotions. "You can take a pain reliever if the feeling becomes unbearable, Mr. Black. You are out of danger now. We'll monitor you until tomorrow and then you are free to go.”

Sirius gave a slow nod and groaned when the Healer went out. “How long was I out?”, he asked James who took a seat on the chair just beside his bed.

“Almost twelve hours, Pads," he muttered. “Gave us quite the scare. Lily is furious at home. She wanted to come but-”

“Harry, I know," Sirius spoke up. “His safety is more important, James. And I'm sorry. I wasn’t paying attention when the curse came.”

“Of course, you weren’t, Pads!” James gave him a watery smile. “You would have dodged otherwise.”

Sirius gave a slow nod. “Did we get any of those bastards?”

“Yes," James replied. “Four of them. The others Apparated soon after you got injured and then we had to rush you here.”

Sirius sighed. “Stupid curses!”, he hissed.

-------

That incident put an unescapable fear in Sirius’ mind. He was an Auror and a member of the Order. He went almost daily on raids or to stop the Death Eaters from wreaking more havoc around Britain and thus, got in danger every day. What if he got killed, or worse, got taken hostage by Voldemort?

The Dark Lord was insane, but he was uncharacteristically powerful and smart. The man used his own curses, for Merlin’s sake! What if he had figured out a way to get information out of a Secret Keeper without their willingness?

It was really obvious who James and Lily would choose as their Secret Keeper, since Remus was mostly out for missions that Dumbledore assigned him – and they also worried that Remus might decide to side with Voldemort since he was a Dark Creature – and Peter was not really into this war, banishing himself inside his home.

And so, Sirius worried. It will be better if they switched their Secret Keeper, maybe to Peter, since nobody would think that they had chosen a person who was so worried and afraid from the war that he wouldn't even come out of his house to side with his friends to fight. And that made him very less a target.

Sirius pondered on this while he was basically tied to his bed at the Wizarding hospital while James remained with him, sleeping on a Conjured cot. They could switch the Secret Keeper and then built up more protection and safety wards around Peter’s home. The man will stay safe and the Secret will stay there with him, instead of getting in danger with Sirius.

Mind made up, Sirius brought the topic to Lily and James when he got back from the hospital. Lily looked furious.

“Why would you think something like that, Sirius? You won’t die or get kidnapped, or so help me, I myself will kill you, you understand?!”, she roared, her red hair surrounding her in a fiery halo.

Sirius raised his hands up in surrender, trying to console her and to stop her from trying to make him spontaneously combust just from her glare. “I know, Lily!", he argued. "And I swear, I'll take care as much as I can. But I'm an Auror and an Order member. I have to regularly go and fight those bastards. I don’t want Harry’s safety to be compromised because of this.”

James sighed, his arms crossed as he leaned against one of the living room’s wall. Harry was sleeping up in his room while they were discussing this in their living room.

“I do agree with Sirius, Lily," James hesitantly spoke up. "As much as the Secret is safe with Sirius, we do go on so many raids and fights. Besides, Voldemort has too much power and resources to figure out a way through the Fidelius.”

Lily gave out a frustrated groan. “So, what are you two suggesting?", she demanded in frustration. "Who will we switch to, someone not part of the Order but who can be trusted enough with Harry’s safety?”

James looked at Sirius with a questioningly raised brow. Sirius took a deep breath. “Peter," he replied. “Peter is afraid of fighting. He always stays at his home. We can put stronger wards around his house for protection and switch the Secret to him. He'll be protected and so will be Harry.”

Lily pursued her lips, deep in thought. She hesitated, before asking, “Don’t you think Peter is too afraid? What if Voldemort finds him, and he rattles out the information just to save himself?”

Sirius exchanged a look with James. “You don’t trust Peter?”, he asked Lily.

She sighed. “Peter is…….different, to put it mildly," she replied. "Don’t take offense, alright, but he is more interested in saving his life than anyone else’s.”

Sirius, startled, looked at James who sighed. “Lily, we trust Peter. He’s been with us since our first year. We’ve been friends for so long! He won’t just betray us to the Dark side. It’s….he’s Harry’s uncle, for Merlin’s sake!"

Lily looked unconvinced. “I…….my heart does not want to trust Peter with my baby, James," she said, looking conflicted.

James sat down beside Lily on their couch and hugged her from the side. “Peter’s been the part of the pack for so long, my dear. He will protect the youngest of our pack member. Trust me.”

Lily looked at Sirius who gave her a nod. “We trust him, Lily," he reassured her. "He will protect Harry.”

And with that, Lily agreed, albeit still a bit hesitant. “Alright. But-,” she glared at the two of them, “-we will make our Wills and submit them at Gringotts. And all three of us will clearly state that we switched our Secret Keeper to Peter on which particular date and for what reasons. You two understand?”

Sirius and James readily agreed to that, Sirius already planning to name Harry his adopted son and Heir to the Black family after Sirius.

After that, they contacted Peter, who was happy to become the Potter Cottage’s Secret Keeper and then, they contacted Albus who was slightly surprised at their sudden insistence on changing the Keeper but agreed to dissolve the Charm and recast it again on Peter.

And within two days, the Secret Keeper of the Potters changed from Sirius Black to Peter Pettigrew – a man who was afraid of getting tortured and killed, a man who believed that the Dark Lord will eventually win and a man who was contemplating for the last few months to switch to the Dark Side by offering to spy for them.

Chapter Text

Peter Pettigrew was a lot of things, but being noble and brave for others’ safety was not one of them. He might have been sorted into Gryffindor due to his earlier foolish belief that being recklessly brave would earn him more friends and recognition, but as he got older, and the fight between the Dark and the Light intensified, he realized how wrong he was. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was a Slytherin, a powerful wizard who was not afraid of anyone, a man who was cunning and smart enough to get the support of almost all of the Wizarding Pureblood families and a monster dangerous enough to even make Dumbledore himself slightly fear him.

How would then Peter expect himself to remain safe in this war? He was just an average wizard who was not really very good at spell-casting, not even in brewing Potions or anything else. He was only best at hiding, staying in a corner, invisible to others and occasionally gaining information.

And that’s what he was thinking about offering to the Dark Lord in exchange for joining his side – he will offer to spy for him in Dumbledore’s Order of the Phoenix and thus, make sure to stay on the winning side of the war.

But before he could find a way to contact the Dark Side in anyway, James and Sirius had contacted him, asking him to meet them for an urgent meeting.

And to his immense surprise, they told him how the Dark Lord was searching for Harry – for a baby – for some unexplainable reason, how they had put up a Fidelius Charm around their home – making Peter realize how he did not remember where the Potters lived currently – and explained how Sirius had gotten injured in one of Death Eater attacks and they feared that Sirius might be taken hostage since he was too obvious a choice and so, wanted to switch the position of the Secret Keeper to him so that Harry will stay safe. They had promised too that they will put powerful wards around Peter’s home to make sure he stayed well-protected from any Death Eaters.

Peter was so surprised, that he had stared at them for a full minute – wondering how the opportunity to join the Dark Side with something as important as this has presented itself on a silver platter to him. And happy with this turn of events, he had readily agreed to be their new Secret Keeper.

The next day, Dumbledore had come and performed the Charm on him, giving him a wonderful way to keep himself safe from the war.

Peter had waited for a week to make sure no one will suspect anything - it had taken just a few hours for James and Sirius to put up wards around his house – and then, he had sent a letter to Lord Malfoy stating that he wanted to join the Dark Side and that he had very important information to give to them regarding the Potters.

He had waited patiently for the reply for a week. When the letter came with an ordinary post owl, Peter took it readily and read it. The letter said that Peter better not be playing some games, threatening him about extreme torture if the information turned out faulty and then, clearly stating that he will meet the Dark Lord in just a moment.

Before Peter could deduce the meaning behind the last sentence, the letter chimed and Peter felt the unmistakable feeling that came while portkeying and he felt himself falling down ungraciously on a cold stone floor.

As he regained his bearings, realizing the letter was a portkey and wondering why in Merlin’s name had James and Sirius not put up an Anti-Portkeying ward around his house, he looked around slowly to find himself in a dungeon cell. The walls were made of dark stone, which looked slightly wet as if they had been bathed with some liquid – and knowing it was the Dark Lord, Peter had a very good idea of what red liquid it would be. Peter gulped audibly as he felt the hairs on both his arms rise up in preparation for the incoming danger. It was dark, not much visible beside a lump of blanket kept at one corner of the cell. The fourth wall had a small door which preferably led out of the cell.

Before Peter could try and look whether the door will open for him or not, the wooden door slammed open with a loud crash and in came the Dark Lord himself, followed by a man dressed in black robes and face covered with a white skull mask – a Death Eater.

The Dark Lord himself was in a black robe, only his pale hands and bone white, slitted, bald face visible which had a perfectly blank look on it.

“Well, well, well," the Dark Lord drawled, “Look who do we have here! Peter Pettigrew, the best friend-”, he sneered, “-of Jamess Potter.”

Peter visibly gulped, slightly trembling at the Dark Magic that had swept the whole cell on the Dark Lord’s entrance. “P-Please, My Lord," he barely stuttered out. "I have very sensitive information concerning the Potters.”

“Oh yess, Pettigrew," the Dark Lord whispered, his voice sounding so much as if a snake was speaking that if Peter hadn't known he wasn't a Parselmouth, he would have thought he was talking to an actual snake. “I got your rather interesting message. Why do you want to join my sside?”

Peter bowed slightly, his hands trembling at his side. “I-I want to join your side, My Lord," he replied quickly, "because I agree with your cause.”

The Dark Lord looked at him with narrowed eyes while Peter stared down at the stone floor, not even daring to lift his eyes even an inch.

“Look into my eyess, Pettigrew!”, the Dark Lord snapped and Peter quickly looked up.

As soon as his eyes made contact with the Dark Lord's, he felt a slight pressure behind his eyes, before a full blown mind-assault came that made him scream and drop down on the floor like a sack of potatoes.

“Hmmm," the Dark Lord hummed. “Looks like you are speaking the truth. Now, what might this important information be that makes you think I will let you join my side, Pettigrew?”

Peter gulped. “The Potters are under a Fidelius Charm and their Secret Keeper-”, before he could speak more, the Dark Lord aimed his wand at him and with a lazy flick, cast a strong Crucio.

Peter screamed at the pain that shot through his very bones, feeling like his every nerve was on fire. After what felt like an hour - but in reality was half-a-minute - the Dark Lord lifted his curse off of Peter, who sat up slowly on the floor, his whole body trembling with the aftershocks.

If the Dark Lord treated people who wanted to join him like this, then how in Merlin’s name did he treat those who were vehemently against him, Peter wondered. He was glad he had decided to join him.

“You imbecile!”, the Dark Lord hissed with rage. “I know the Potters are under a Fidelius and who the Secret Keeper is! I don’t need that!”

Peter cowered in terror. “My Lord-”, he tried to speak but the Death Eater cut him off.

“Should I kill him, My Lord? I will dispose him off fairly easily.”

Before the Dark Lord could say anything, Peter blurted out, “I am their Secret Keeper, My Lord!” He now understood the Dark Lord took direct and blunt information instead of listening to the whole story.

The Dark Lord looked at him with narrowed eyes. “And why will they make you their Secret Keeper?”

“Because Sirius convinced them to switch.”

“Explain!”, the Dark Lord commanded.

Peter stood up unsteadily on his legs and bowed. “Sirius was afraid that you'll take him hostage and find some way to break the Charm and find out the Secret without his willingness," he uickly explained. "Since I usually stayed at home and would not seem to outsiders to actually know the Secret, they asked me to become the new Secret Keeper. And I'm willing to tell the location of the Potters to you and to act as your spy, My Lord.”

The Dark Lord stared at him, his face blank, before a truly insane and dark smirk came over his face and he laughed. “How ironic for the Potters!”, he spoke with mirth. “Wonderful! Follow me, Pettigrew!” And with that, he turned sharply and left the cell, Peter following after him while the Death Eater took up the rear.

They ascended the stairs and came up outside a long hallway. From there, Peter followed the Dark Lord to what must be the man’s study. There, the Dark Lord took Peter’s left hand and inscribed his Dark Mark while Peter whimpered at the pain that irrupted throughout his whole arm, connecting his mind to the Mark and him to the Dark Lord.

With a wave to the Death Eater, the Dark Lord dismissed him and then turned his whole attention to Peter. “Now, Pettigrew. Tell me the Potter’s Secret location," he commanded.

And with a slowly forming grin, Peter Pettigrew told the Dark Lord Voldemort the Secret location of the Potters’ cottage in Godric’s Hollow and thus, began the start of an era that will decide the future of the Wizarding World.

Chapter Text

Lord Voldemort has always prided himself on getting any information out of someone in any way possible. He was able to get anything he wanted by hurting the children at the orphanage, and at Hogwarts he had well-made connections that fell over themselves while trying to appease his curiosity for knowledge by providing him with whatever books or artifacts he desired. And after taking the mantle of the Dark Lord, he had the support of all the Pureblood Dark families, making it near impossible for anything or anyone to stay hidden from him forever.

But currently, as the month of February was reaching its mid and it had been almost eight months since Voldemort had heard the three lines of that prophecy, he still had no clue about how to find the Potters, or the Longbottoms, for that matter. He knew Dumbledore had put them under the Fidelius Charm and it was really hard to break that protection. He really couldn’t figure out any way around that Charm and this was driving him towards an uncontrollable rage with every passing day.

And then, Peter Pettigrew had contacted Lucius, telling him he wanted to join his side and give them some sort of useful information. Voldemort had been suspicious, but then, Pettigrew had given him the most useful information available.

Voldemort had been ecstatic. He now had the location of the Potters, it was just a matter of time before he gave them a personal visit and killed the wizard who would even dare to have the power to vanquish him.

Voldemort was tempted to just storm into their Secret location and kill them, but decided to wait. It will be more significant and poetic if he killed his supposed vanquisher on a day that will signify some Olde Ways and what better day than Samhain itself - the day when the Veil between the dead and the living was the thinnest.

Decision made, which included an incredibly large amount of control over himself, Voldemort waited.

------

As the dusk of the day of Samhain came, Voldemort pulled the hood of his cloak up, gave a pat to Nagini’s head who was lying around close to the hearth of his study soaking up warmth, and Apparated to the street that housed the Potter’s Secret location. Some children ran past him, no doubt celebrating the muggle festival, Halloween. He sneered.

Making his way leisurely to the end of the street, Voldemort stared at the little cottage with hedges growing around the edges and glared when he heard laughter coming from inside.

With a well-aimed Blasting Curse, he blew the front door apart and heard a scream as he walked in. The father of his prophetic enemy rushed out into the hallway, his eyes widening in shock as they landed on Voldemort, his wand hand already up on reflex, pointing his not-there wand at him.

“Lily, take Harry and go! It’s him! Go! Run! I’ll hold him off-”, James Potter shouted and a figure darted from behind him and ran upstairs.

How did this pathetic man even think he could hold off Lord Voldemort without his wand, Voldemort wondered scathingly as he cut the man out with his favorite Curse.

“Avada Kedavra!” The bright green of the Curse shot out from his wand, lighting the whole hallway and hitting James Potter square on the chest. The man dropped like a marionette whose strings were cut suddenly.

Voldemort slowly climbed up the stairs, hearing Lily Potter’s shouts from inside a room. He heard her moving furniture around in an attempt to barricade her and the boy inside. With a quick wave of his wand, the door of the room flew open and all the boxes and chairs stacked against them crashed into the opposite wall with a loud bang.

Lily Potter looked at him with a mixture of fear and defiance and quickly put the boy behind her in a crib, throwing her arms wide open in front of him as if that could protect her son from Voldemort.

“Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!”, she repeated like a mantra, her arms still shielding the boy from Voldemort’s view.

“SStand aside, you ssilly girl! SStand aside, now!”, Voldemort demanded, pointing his wand at her, giving her a chance to step aside, remembering vaguely how Severus had begged him to spare this mudblood’s life.

“Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead-”, she continued, not even listening to him.

“This is my last warning-”, Voldemort started, beyond enraged now, before she cut him off again.

“Not Harry! Please! Have mercy, have mercy! Not Harry! Not Harry! Please – I’ll do anything-”

“SStand aside – sstand aside, girl-”, Voldemort growled out for the last time and seeing that Lily Potter would never move aside, he held up his wand.

“Avada Kedavra!” The green light flashed throughout the room, hitting Lily Potter and she dropped dead beside the crib.

Voldemort looked at the boy who stared back at him curiously, his green eyes eerily similar to the Curse Voldemort had just cast. Aiming his wand tip at the boy’s face, Voldemort smiled, wanting to see the life leave this boy’s eyes.

And with a flick, he cast the Curse for the third time.

“Avada Kedavra!” The green light shot out from his wand, moving towards the boy who stared at it with wide eyes which shined an unnatural shade of green.

As the Curse neared the boy, a pure, shining blue light with streaks of pure emerald green emerged around the boy without any warning. Voldemort stared, horrified, as the Curse rebounded from this unexplainable shield and hit Voldemort instead.

Voldemort felt his soul rip away from his body which disintegrated into a pile of ash on the ground, his whole being trembling in so much pain that he could not even understand what had happened. With pain still shooting across his soul, and terror wrapping around his mind, Voldemort fled the scene of his demise.

Chapter Text

As Death lounged around on his throne with a book, situated in-between his realms, enjoying the screams coming from the souls – those who had tormented Death the most while in the mortal plane - being tortured inside one of his realms, he felt three more deaths – a twenty-one-year-old wizard, same aged witch and a fifteen-month-old child.

Nothing seemed peculiar up until the child came, and Death shot up straight on his throne, the screams and the book he'd been reading about his creatures forgotten. The child had returned back to the mortal plane, pulled back by his mother’s sacrificial protection.

That protection was not new, the ritual was very Olde – not known much at this time now – but the way the child had died was interesting. Haven’t the Fates said his potential Master will die from magical exhaustion?

Death reached for the information regarding the child, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise when the child’s name popped up in his mind – Harrison James Potter, the son of Lily Potter and James Potter - and more importantly - the descendent of Ignotius Peverell, the third Peverell brother.

That’s not fair, Death thought as he literally threw the book he was interested in a mere seconds ago behind him, and shadowed down onto the mortal plane and inside the room that had seen the disaster of the decade, the time around the house slowing down.

Almost half the roof of the baby’s room was blown out due to the magical backlash caused by-

Death stared at the slumped form of the baby, torn between irony and horror. He looked towards the pile of ash lying close to the blown door, then back at the child and sighed. Of course this would happen. Since Lord Voldemort had torn his soul so many times in the past to make his precious Horcruxes, his soul had become greatly distorted and unstable. And when the rebounded Killing Curse had hit Riddle’s body and his soul was thrown out, it managed to tear itself apart into two more pieces, one of which fled away and the other settled itself into the child. The baby was the first ever living Horcrux, and Death was not sure what to think about that.

Should he applaud Riddle for creating a living Horcrux and for finding new avenues of research or should he curse Riddle to hell and back for making his potential Master his fucking Horcrux?

Death stared as the child slowly raised his head, his emerald green eyes that swirled with an inky blackness glazed over with a sheen of tears. The baby looked at him with curiosity-filled, teary eyes.

“Mr. Potter," Death nodded his head with a smirk on his face. “Looks like we are finally meeting each other.” Baby Harrison tilted his head a bit and Death couldn’t help but think the child was a bit cute. “Couldn’t help yourself rebounding a Killing Curse, could you now, Harrison?”, Death drawled as Harrison continued to stare. “Already making great strides in life to make me approve you for earning the title of my Master, hmm? Can’t say I am not impressed. You finally showed Riddle what could happen if he continued on practicing such dangerous rituals. That man is roaming around now as a helpless wraith.”

Death chuckled. “Can’t say he didn’t have it coming. The piece of soul deserved it. Making five, now six, Horcruxes. Preposterous!”, Death muttered as he pointed towards the innocent pile of ash slowly being picked up by a slow-moving, chilly breeze.

Harrison blinked at him and then looked towards where Death was pointing. The boy’s eyes landed on the ash, then moved forward, landing on the unmoving body of Lily Potter close to his crib. The child clutched the bars of his crib with his tiny hands and whispered, “Mum?”

Death pursued his lip; this was one of the hardest of issues when a child became orphaned. He usually tried avoiding looking at kids whenever he went to fetch souls or sent his reapers to fetch them. Death was a bit emotional, sue him.

Death took a few steps towards the crib, crouching down slowly beside the boy’s mother’s body and looked at Harrison in the eyes. “She’s dead, child," he informed the child.

Harrison looked at him with confusion shining clear in his eyes. “Dead?”, he asked.

Death gave a nod. “Yes, dead," he replied. "I am Death, Harrison. They’ve joined my realm now. They are now in peace.”

“Peace?”, the child’s voice wavered, but he continued to look at Death.

Death nodded, his eyes travelling to the child’s forehead where a lightning bolt-shaped scar was bleeding with both blood and intense Soul Magic. He slowly moved his skeleton hands to touch the scar gently, sensing the soul of the child and the very small soul of Riddle. His eyes widened in both surprise and horror.

The soul pieces were merging! How was that possible? Should he meet Lady Magic to ask about this? But this indeed did explain the prophecy - it talked about soulmates, didn’t it? Death bit back a groan. More unexplained and unknown branches of Magic! What were the Fates up to? They told him about his to-be Master, gave a too precise prophecy and made events so that two souls could form a link. Death so wished he could read their thoughts!

With an annoyed huff, Death grumbled, “What are those beings planning?! If I were Fate, I would have totally done everything for my entertainment. Would've made Chaos free to do whatever he wanted and definitely made Dementors throw parties. It might really have been interesting to see how their music would have evolved," he mused. “Hmm, maybe this is their idea of an entertainment? But why throw me into all of this?!”, he whined.

Harrison giggled at Death’s tone of voice, his tiny hands trying to clutch at his skeletal ones. As they finally found his hands captive, the child patted them consolingly, for some reason. And then, the child was off, babbling something about ‘Uncle Pa’foo’, ‘Uncle Moony’ and ‘furry’.

Death raised his eyebrows. “Are you not afraid of me, child?", he wondered. "Don’t I look like two shining white orbs cloaked in shadows?”, he asked, wondering whether he should summon a mirror to see his appearance for himself.

The boy continued babbling.

Death shook his head at the child and freed his hand. With a slight wave of his hand, the cut on the child’s head healed, the skin re-joining and the muscles weaving themselves back together, though the scar still looked pink and jagged. This will be the mark then, Death thought. He is Tom Riddle’s equal now, though equal in what exactly only Fates would know. Death just hoped it won’t be that impulsiveness to test out new rituals that you don’t know shit about.

Death hummed. “Looks like you really might have a chance to be my Master, child. You haven’t yet gotten my approval, of course, but you do have my interest," Death spoke up, effectively shutting down the babble as the child looked at him. “I will be watching you. Let’s see how you will accept me and how you will acquire the two remaining Hallows." Here, Death chuckled, knowing full well the two Hallows were with the two most powerful wizards of this century. But Harrison James Potter will be powerful himself, Death could tell. The boy had created, on accident, a pure Magical shield that had deflected a very powerful Curse.

With a small chuckle, Death gave a small wave to Harrison who was staring at him with something akin to betrayal. Death quirked his eyebrows in amusement and then shadowed back to his realm. It will be interesting to see how events will unfold now that he knew who could be his Master in the future.

Chapter Text

Albus Dumbledore was sitting in the Headmaster’s Office at Hogwarts, after a wonderful feast of Halloween in which the house-elves had outdone themselves yet again, signing some paperwork for the school. With a flourish, he signed the last of the parchment and put them away, sighing tiredly and reclining back into his seat. It had been more than seventeen months since he’d heard that awful prophecy and Voldemort had been informed about the starting two lines.

Some things have changed since then. The biggest one being Severus Snape leaving the Dark Side and consenting to become Albus’ spy. Albus really was astonished at this happy event. Not only had he acquired a spy who was part of Voldemort’s Inner Circle and a close confidant of Voldemort himself, but he had also gotten a man who had gained his Potions’ Mastery at such a young age.

Albus just needed to drag Severus back from his extreme Slytherin tendencies and drill more Gryffindor ones into him. The man was brave, yes. After all, he had defied Voldemort and came to Albus to protect Lily, if not James and young Harry, and had agreed to spy on Voldemort for Albus in exchange for him protecting Lily. But the man was selfish, too hot-tempered and hated almost everyone with a vengenance. These won’t help the man socialize in his Order, not to mention make it difficult for Albus to convince others that Severus could be trusted. Not to mention the difficulties Albus will face to direct the man the way he wanted him to. For that, Albus intended to make Severus take a vow to protect Lily’s son until required – this will keep Severus completely loyal to Albus, all the while ensuring that Albus won’t need to look after Harry Potter every moment of the day when the boy eventually came to Hogwarts.

Albus was jolted out of his musings when he felt the wards he’d put around the Potter’s cottage, go off in alarm. Albus stood up quickly, his eyebrows raising up in surprise. An Unforgivable Curse had been used in the cottage. That meant Voldemort had found out the Secret. Peter Pettigrew had betrayed the Potters.

Albus had not considered that happening. He had orchesterred his plan up to putting the families who fit the prophecy under the Fidelius and had given Lily the books on blood protection in the guise of returning it back to the Potters. He really had left the rest to the Fates, wanting to see how the events would unfold.

When Sirius had suggested switching the Secret Keeper to Peter, Albus had been surprised but had shrugged and agreed to the plan. It was the Potter’s decision, not his. He had simply cast the Charm and had been done with it.

As Albus beckoned his familiar, Fawkes, to teleport him to the Potter Cottage, he felt two more Unforgivable Curses being fired in the house. Fawkes gave a sad trill and then flew down to him from his perch. Albus wrapped his hands gently around his familiar’s talons and felt a warmth envelop him as Fawkes teleported him in front of the Potter cottage, directly on the street.

Albus glanced at the house, eyeing the collapsed ceiling and the destroyed room from where the Curse seemed to have been blown out like a Bombarding Charm. What had happened in there exactly, he wondered.

Albus saw a motorcycle parked beside the hedge and realized Sirius must have found out somehow. Before he could go in and check out what had exactly happened, Sirius Black emerged out of the house, his cheeks stained with tears and eyes reddened. He was holding a lump of blue blanket in his arms, clutching it close to his chest.

“Albus!”, Sirius spoke out as he spotted Albus standing on the pathway leading to the front door, his voice hoarse from crying. “L-Look what that bastard did! Voldemort m-murdered L-Lily and J-James!”, he stuttered out, his voice wavering at his friends’ names.

Albus gave a solemn nod and patted Sirius’ shoulder. “I am so sorry, my boy," he said softly, "Lily and James did not deserve this. Harry?”, he asked, looking at the lump in Sirius’ arms. Wild black hairs peeked out from the blankets.

“He survived, Albus," Sirius murmured in slight astonishment. “Voldemort’s not here. There’s only a pile of ash at the doorway of Harry’s room upstairs. Harry somehow defeated Voldemort!”

Albus gave a slow nod. Lily’s protection worked then. Her sacrifice saved young Harry’s life from the Killing Curse itself, making a shield that must have rebounded the Curse. Albus had not been sure the ritual would work for the Unforgivable Curses, but this was wonderful indeed. “That is really astonishing, my boy. May I?” Albus put his hands out for Sirius to give Harry to him, but Sirius hesitated.

“Albus, he’s-”, Sirius started but Albus interrupted.

“I will only check for injuries, my boy. Nothing to worry about.”

Sirius hesitated still, but slowly transferred Harry into Albus’ waiting arms. Albus looked at the boy’s face. The child was barely awake, no doubt tired at this time of the night. Albus’ eyes landed on the healed scar at the boy’s forehead and his eyes shot wide. The scar was in the shape of a lightning bolt, also looking like the Rune, Sowilo, which implied ‘wild power’. This child could be dangerous in the future.

Albus touched the scar with his free arm, feeling the slight tinge of Dark Magic there. The Curse touched here then, Albus thought. Lily’s protection would have made a barrier on Harry’s skin itself and so, must have deflected the curse back to the castor. And that must mean that Voldemort was dead or ‘vanquished’ as the prophecy had predicted.

‘The Dark Lord shall mark him as his equal’, the line crossed through Albus’ mind. So, Harry indeed would be the prophesied child. And if the child was only marked now, that must mean Voldemort hadn’t died yet. The man must have escaped somehow, though it is possible his body had been destroyed, for the man had performed too many Dark rituals for it to be impossible.

And that implied that Harry Potter will need to fight the Dark Lord Voldemort in the future to completely ‘vanquish’ him. Thus, the Potter child would need to be moulded and so, Albus needed to get Sirius out of Harry’s guardianship so that he could take a magical guardianship himself.

Albus needed to have Sirius do something rash then. And he had a wonderful plan for that.

“Sirius, my boy?”, Albus started, startling Sirius out of whatever he was thinking while sadly staring at Harry.

“Yes, Albus?”, Sirius murmured, his voice cracking due to the emotional trauma the man surely was going through.

Albus made a show of hesitating, then spoke softly, “Do you know where Pettigrew is?”

“I…..He surely must be in his house," Sirius furrowed his eyebrows in thought, but then his eyes widened. “Oh, Merlin! He was the Secret Keeper! I…Merlin!” More tears leaked out through the young man’s eyes. “Voldemort must have tortured him to get the location! He must have found some way-”

Albus shook his head sadly, interrupting the rambling man. “I am deeply sorry to tell you this, my boy, but there is no way to bypass the Fidelius Charm without the Secret Keeper willingly telling someone the Secret. As much as I admit Voldemort’s amazing skills in magic, he wouldn’t have figured out a way yet through the Charm.”

Sirius stared at Albus with a blank look on his face for a minute, which slowly turned into one of deep betrayal and hurt and sadness, the man looking in so much pain that Albus was astonished he hadn’t yet passed out or something. What followed that was a deep realization that he and his brother in all but blood and sister-in-law, had been betrayed by someone they had trusted with their life, a look full of hatred and loathing, the image of a man who carried the Black lineage.

“That absolute motherfucking tosser of a rat!”, Sirius Black bellowed. “I will kill him! I will tear him apart limb-by-limb, curse him with the fucking Cruciatus, that bastard!”, Sirius gave Albus a thoughtful look, then nodded at Harry. “Take care of him, Albus. I need to avenge his parents. I’ll be back in just a few hours.” With that, Sirius Black took out his wand tucked in his left wand-holster and Apparated away with a crack.

Albus gave a long sigh. “That went well," he murmured to himself before turning his attention to the young boy in his arms. “Now then!”, he said cheerily. “Let us see what you have got, young Harry.”

Albus slowly pulled out his wand and Levitated the almost sleeping child beside him. He then pulled out a normal-looking parchment from one of the inside pockets of his robe. He Tranfigured a sharp needle from thin air and slowly pricked the child’s index finger with it, letting seven drops of blood drop down onto the parchment. Albus guided his magic to young Harry's, noting how little it seemed to be. Had Lily's protection taken Harry's magic to work, or was Harry magically weak? But that wouldn't make sense, Harry was Voldemort's equal.

Deciding to ponder about that later, Albus focused on guiding little Harry's magic into the parchment, which glowed an emerald green.

With a flick of his hand, the needle disappeared and he carefully held the still glowing parchment and watched as words slowly started appearing on it. Albus waited patiently for the information being written to get complete. The parchment was dipped in one of the Blood Inheritance potions that the Goblins usually used for Inheritance and Abilities Test for a certain prize at Gringotts. He had finally found the recipe for the Potion after a very long search and several threats as well as begs to the Goblins.

At long last, the parchment stopped glowing and Albus eagerly looked through the parchment, his eyes slightly widening in disbelief and then horror. Wasn’t this too much abilities for a wizard to have? For Merlin’s sake, Albus did not have this many!

With pursued lips, Albus quickly thought up any way to stop this child from accessing them all until at least he came of age. A sigh came from his lips when only a single way came to his mind. With a resigned sigh, Albus quickly drew up a small circle with his wand and inscribed some Runes in it. He Transfigured a needle again and pricked Harry to draw out seven drops of blood yet again.

Albus let the blood drops fall in seven of the Runes drawn, then let his magic flow out of him and into the Runes to power them up. As the Runes glowed with faint yellow and orange – the color of Albus’ magic – he guided it slowly into the sleeping child’s body, close to his chest. He felt his magic take the form of ropes, circling around the baby’s magical core and binding some of his abilities fully. The child woke up then, letting out a small scream at the pain the binding was no doubt causing him, but this was necessary. Albus ignored the crying child and focused himself completely on what he was doing.

Finally, drained with the sheer amount of magic it had required to bind Harry’s abilities, Albus gave a small sigh of relief and looked at the still-floating body of Harry. The boy had passed out from the pain. Albus felt a little bit bad, for causing such pain to a mere child, but he let it pass. It was, after all, for the greater good.

Albus pulled himself together, and with a wave of his wand, sent out his Patronus to Hagrid and another to Severus, asking the half-giant to meet him at the Potter’s cottage while informing Severus that he needed the man at his office.

-------

Albus transported himself back to his office at Hogwarts with his familiar’s help and relaxed back on to his chair. He had given Harry to Hagrid, instructing him to use Sirius’ bike to transport the child to Surrey, citing Apparition dangerous for a child who had just survived a very dangerous Dark Curse. After talking with Severus, he will Apparate to the house he had found out to be Lily’s muggle sister’s and her husband’s. With just few right words in his letter, he will have a perfect home for young Harry.

Albus looked up from where he was staring at his desk when a knock came at his door. He gave out a soft ‘Enter’, and Severus Snape entered his office, dressed in a full black robe, his black hair lank and face pale.

“Severus," Albus murmured.

“Albus." Severus nodded his head with a look of bewilderment. “The Dark Lord, he’s-”

“Dead?”

Severus shook his head slowly. “Not dead. The Mark’s still present. But it’s-”, the man hesitated, “-it’s faded. As if, he’s not completely dead, but nor alive either.”

Albus gave a slow nod. He had been right, of course. “That is a good news, my boy. But I have one bad news too.”

Severus looked at him with fear in his eyes, a look that said that he already knew what the bad news was. “Please," he murmured. “Let it be false.”

Albus gave a solemn nod. “Voldemort found them," he ignored the flinch the young man gave and looked out the window into the Hogwarts ground. “They trusted the wrong man. Lily sacrificed her life to protect her child.”

“No! Not Lily!”, Severus murmured, slumping down, his eyes filling up with an unimaginable amount of pain – as if he’d already lived a hundred lifetimes, all of them full of great adversities. His eyes turned glassy as he stared at the ground, lost in his own world.

“I am deeply sorry, my boy," Albus spoke slowly. “But the child survived. He survived the Killing Curse.”

Severus looked up, surprise momentarily passing though his eyes, “Impossible!”, he whispered.

“It has become possible, my boy," Albus responded while giving an encouraging smile to Severus. “The child of Lily Evans still survives and he will need all the protection we can provide him when he starts his Hogwarts’ years.”

Severus looked at him blankly.“You want me to protect Potter’s brat?”, he demanded, looking both scandalised and horrified.

Albus shook his head. “He is not only James’ son, my boy," he admonished Severus gently. "Harry Potter is Lily’s boy too. A child she loved so much that she sacrificed her life for him. You should respect her sacrifice, Severus.”

Severus gave a sigh, looking extremely tired suddenly. “You are right, Albus. I-”, he swallowed, “- I will protect Lily’s child. Her sacrifice would not go in vain.”

Albus gave Severus an encouraging smile. “Very good, Severus. Are you willing to take an Oath?”

Severus gave a frown. “An Oath?”, he asked.

“Yes, my boy." Albus looked at him from above his half-moon spectacles. “It'll really make it easier for me if you took an Oath to prove in the Ministry that you were my spy in the war.”

Severus’ face blanked out and he gave a stiff nod, no doubt understanding what Albus was implying. “Very well." He took out his wand from its holster and took a deep breath. “I, Severus Tobias Snape, do hereby swear on my magic that I will protect Harry James Potter in whatever way I am capable of, from any known harm that comes his way," he intoned clearly. A brief flash of golden light, and the Oath was under effect.

Albus frowned inside, not intending for Severus to take an oath of protection to the boy, but the man was a Slytherin. That should be expected.

“Wonderful, my boy." Albus gave the Potions Master a nod. “You will start working at Hogwarts as the Potions' professor, my boy, as Horace wants to enjoy his remaining years in peace. You will be protected here and won't come in contact with any other Death Eaters. Though I will appreciate it immensely if you gave some names to the Aurors.”

Severus gave a stiff nod. “Alright, Headmaster," he said.

“Do call me Albus, my boy. I will now leave you alone.”

With another stiff nod, Severus turned around sharply and exited out of the office.

Albus took a deep breath. He stood up, deciding to walk outside Hogwarts and then Apparate to Number 4, Privet Drive, Surrey. He had a Boy-Who-Lived to take care of.

Chapter Text

Harry stared as a pale man laughed at him and somebody screamed - a piercing, terrified scream. Green lights flashed in front of him before darkness swept him in its embrace. Blackness enveloped him whole, and he couldn’t understand what was happening around him. Before he could shout for help, he felt a soothing presence around him, a warmth that felt like an embrace from a mother or a feeling of being wrapped around blankets in a snowstorm.

He opened his eyes and found a figure cloaked in darkness with white pearly eyes, looking at him, crouched beside his bed. A bony hand came and slowly touched his forehead, stroking it gently and calming the stinging pain he felt rushing throughout his body from the scar forming on his forehead.

“Death is peaceful," the figure murmured.

Before Harry could speak or even comprehend what the figure was speaking, it abruptly vanished. What followed was ear-piercing crying and screaming.

Harry felt disoriented and confused, before he found a man with white beards staring at him with calculating eyes. And then, pain like he had never felt before engulfed him. He screamed as he felt unbearable pain coursing throughout his body and twisted around fruitlessly to do anything to get rid of it. It felt as if his whole body was on fire, as if his bones were being twisted and forcibly broken atom by atom.

With a painful grunt, Harry jerked his body and shot up on his mattress in his cupboard. He took shaky breaths in, looking around in the darkness as he reminded himself that it was not real, that he was not in someone’s hand who would cause him this much pain, that he was at Number 4, Privet Drive, inside his cupboard under the stairs.

As his breathing calmed down and the adrenaline reduced in his bloodstream, he felt a slight pain shoot inside his mouth, on his tongue. Another cut from his attempts to not scream bloody murder in the middle of the night and wake up his relatives from their beautiful sleep. They hated it whenever he woke them up with his screaming from his nightmares – these weird things that he kept having almost once a week since as long as he could remember. And his dreams always followed the same pattern too – hissy sounds, screaming, then green light flashing like lightning followed by darkness and then this gentle soothing presence of that darkness-cloaked being. He would either wake up from too much phantom pain or feeling himself getting lost in darkness. He sometimes also had these weird sensations of being in a forest, of intense pain, fear and rage.

And these strange dreams either made him wake up gasping for breath or screaming his head off, which usually pissed off his relatives, even though whatever sounds he made were usually muffled since he slept downstairs in his stupid cupboard while they were tucked comfortably inside their beds. They were not interested in why he was screaming – they would just tell him to shut the hell up and let them sleep.

Harry had learnt early that his relatives did not care about him one bit. They loathed his very existence but for some reason kept him around. It was more likely that they wanted a servant who would do all their housework for them. For the past four years that Harry had been with his relatives, he’d been starved, occasionally beaten whenever he did something too freakish, been bullied by Dudley and his friends and had been worked to death while helping Aunt Petunia in cleaning and gardening.

And now, since he had turned five, his Aunt wanted him to start cooking their lunches and dinners as well, as if getting burnt while cooking their damn eggs and bacon was not enough. He needed to earn his keep, as if starving and beating a child was not a criminal offence.

Harry sighed as he felt a tingle start at his tongue and the sting that he had been feeling reduced as the cut healed. He’d been trying to understand what this feeling was. He had recently noticed that this feeling would come up when he was either extremely angry or extremely desperate.

The first time he’d noticed this strange feeling, or what his relatives termed 'freakishness' - since they lacked imagination and brains both - was when he’d been three years old. His aunt had demanded him to clean the drawing room. Harry had been trying very hard to reach a vase kept on a high table at a corner, but his small height was not enough to reach it. He had stumbled and knocked the vase off of the table which broke in more pieces than there were fingers in his hands.

Harry had stood frozen there in shock because this would surely get him killed if his Uncle Vernon found out, since the man had slapped him just a day before when he’d only tried to take a piece of toast without asking as his tummy was aching something fierce for not getting anything in it for a whole day.

When Harry had imagined all the scenarios that could go with his aunt and uncle finding out about the broken vase, he had sprung into action, clutching the pieces and literally begging them to go back to the way they were before. And he’d stared in awe as a warm feeling had come right from his chest, through his arms and jumped to the vase, the pieces joining together and forming the vase as good as new, as if nothing had happened to it.

After that, he had several accidents like this – the room would get clean without him lifting his fingers, sometimes the weeds growing in the garden would vanish when he was extremely tired to even lift his fingers and once, just a few months ago, when Dudley had chased him during the lunch break in school with his friends, he had wished desperately to be anywhere else but there, and he’d found himself standing on the roof of his school, other students gaping at him.

The trouble he’d gotten in after that was full of pain and starvation while locked inside his cupboard as the school staff had contacted his uncle, but the rush he had felt during that accident was something he would never forget.

It was as if there was some form of warm energy inside him that he just couldn’t understand yet. But he had figured out that this would only come when he needed help really badly, or whenever he was really angry.

And to further understand what this was, he’d started going to a local library during his free time in the afternoons. It also gave him a safe and calm sanctuary away from his aunt’s screeching and his cousin’s bullying.

The librarian who worked there was really helpful too. Her name was Miss Coulson, and she had really been happy to see such a young boy like him show interest in learning. She had first given him story books so that he could improve his reading, explaining words that he couldn’t understand, and later had gifted him a dictionary during Christmas.

Harry had been extremely happy and a bit teary when he had received his first gift from anyone and he had gifted her a drawing he’d made from crayons he had stolen from his cousin. He had been annoyed at himself, frustrated that he really had nothing to give to someone who had been so patient and helping to him, but Miss Coulson had smiled at him and thanked him for his gift.

After his battle with the story books, Harry had started reading textbooks that he had found interesting. Some were on science and mathematics – explaining everything that he observed around him, about how the stars shined, how the weathers changed, he learned simple calculations – addition, subtraction, multiplication and division – and he absolutely fell in love with numbers. He found books on geography, maps that showed hundreds of places around the Earth, books on politics, history, psychology and numerous more. He was unable to understand everything, but he had found knowledge to be wonderful – you could learn so much about even a tiny thing around you.

And in those books – one that contained fantasy and described worlds unknown – was the idea about magic. How some people could use this magic to do whatever they wanted without much effort, just by waving their hands or using a wooden stick called a wand or using Runes. Harry had been astonished – could whatever he had be magic? Was he a wizard? Could he really channel the energy he had using a piece of wood? Could Runes really be used to make things happen?

He had asked Miss Coulson about Runes then. She had smiled and told him about how Runes were earlier used before getting replaced by Latin alphabets. He had asked her to teach him about them, and she had agreed to find books on said topic – which she hadn’t yet found sadly. Though she had told him that Runes were related to German languages, there study was called Runology and if he was interested in learning them, he could also give learning Latin a try.

Harry had started learning Latin a bit, but it was a slow going process since it was a bit harder to learn a new language. Miss Coulson had promised he would get the books on Runes soon though and Harry was really happy to have a book-nerd willingly help him this much.

Harry lied back down on his thin mattress, pulling an equally thin cover over himself as he realized it was maybe a few hours more until his time to wake up. It was the close to the end of summer holidays and where, other children were really sad about their schools restarting, Harry was really happy. His class performance was good enough that his earlier teacher had recommended it to him to get a class ahead, and he’d framed the question about this to Aunt Petunia by saying that his teacher had asked him to change his class from in which her precious Duddykins studied to a diffrent one and she had signed happily, without even reading what the form said in reality. With that, he had gotten ahead and had no reason to suffer through Dudley’s bullying, at least in his class. Lunch breaks and at the Dursleys’ home was an entirely different story. But Harry had found out he could slightly annoy and scare Dudley by sending small sensations to him that felt like something had stung and it was really fun to watch whenever he could concentrate enough to do that and watch Dudley scramble around in confusion.

Also, his cousin was really dim-witted. He didn’t even understand when Harry was insulting him. In other words, his cousin was only good at physically making someone feel inferior – he was not good with words.

As Harry fell off into a slightly restless sleep, his fingers curled around his old and worn out cover, a gentle warmth spread from his chest, gently caressing his cheeks and wrapping itself around him like a protective cocoon.

Chapter Text

Harry woke up with a start, feeling like he had fallen off a cliff or something. With his brain slightly fuzzy with confusion, he slumped down on his mattress and gave out a distressed sigh. He peeked out from the slits in his cupboard’s door and saw it was nearing his time to wake up.

He remained lying, waiting for his aunt to come down and then rudely wake him up. He yawned widely, covering his mouth with his hands, as he heard Aunt Petunia’s feet coming down the stairs and proceed into the kitchen.

Harry waited with an annoyed look on his face; it could be any minute no-

Bang, bang, bang! “WAKE UP, BOY!”

-yup, there it was.

With an annoyed huff, Harry took off his cousin’s pajamas and pulled on his equally large, old, baggy shorts. He found his mismatched socks in record time, removing a spider crawling on it with resignation and pulling them on.

He got out of his cupboard, stretching himself out before proceeding into the kitchen to help Aunt Petunia in cooking up a breakfast worthy of an entire town. Seriously, his male relatives ate too much! How do they think they will survive with all the amount of grease they stuff themselves with?

But that was really not Harry’s problem since he wouldn’t have to make more food then, but currently it frayed on his nerves.

With his Aunt’s order to take out eggs, bacon and juice from inside the fridge, Harry only gave a nod and started doing as ordered.

Another burn mark on his hand, a slice of bread and a piece of bacon later, he was allowed to use the bathroom and then, promptly kicked out of the house to look after the garden and water the plants.

He was just pulling out some particularly stubborn weeds beside the rose plants when he felt a slight hiss come from just in front of him. He paused, staring worriedly at the weed, thinking whether he has now started hallucinating his dreams, when his eyes fell on a thin, glittering green coils near the base of the said rose plant.

“What-?”, he murmured as he stared intently at the coils which actually were moving and yelped when he realized it was a tiny garden snake, chilling down on the soil. “OOH!”, he screamed, hurriedly stumbling back away from the snake.

“~Shut it, human-hatchling! I’m trying to sleep here!~”, a voice came from the plants.

Harry blinked and looked at the snake which had its tiny head now lifted, its tongue flickering out, glaring at him. “~Did-did you just speak?~”, he asked, his voice sounding faint.

The tiny snake gave a hiss, which sounded a bit surprised as its tongue flicked out more rapidly. “~A speaking human-hatchling!~”, it murmured. “~How can you talk, human-hatchling?~”

“~Uh~," Harry floundered. He looked around to make sure no one was watching and then sat down cross-legged close to the snake to look at it more closely. “~I can’t!~”, he whispered. “~I’m speaking English. You can understand me!~”

The snake looked at him unblinkingly as if studying him. “~I have never encountered any human that could understand me before you, hatchling~," it remarked.

“~Oh?~”, Harry muttered, his brain working frantically to understand how he could understand a snake. If nobody before him could understand this snake, does it mean that this was because of his magic? “~Are you sure?~”, he asked.

“~Yes, human-hatchling~," the snake answered. “~It is not like I go around talking with humans. They love harming my kind, not having a conversation with.~”

“~That’s true. I am sorry for the way humans treat you guys~," Harry hummed as he looked curiously at the snake. “~What are you doing here?~”

“~Resting, of course~," the snake answered. “~I am reaching the end of my age, human-hatchling. I need to rest more now.~”

Harry pursued his lips. The snake would die soon? “~You are old?~”

“~Yes, I am. It will soon be my time to rest forever.~”

Harry frowned, but gave a slow nod. “~Are you not afraid?~”, he murmured.

“~Why would I be afraid?~”, the snake tilted its head at him.

“~Afraid of dying, er……What is your name?~”, Harry asked.

The snake gave a slow hiss. “~We don’t have names, human-hatchling. We recognize each other by smell~," it answered. “~As for dying, it is something that happens to every one of us. We all snakes accept it as part of something very basic.~”

Harry stared at the snake, astonished. How could someone accept something unknown like that so easily? He had not much wondered about death since he hadn’t encountered it yet, or did not remember ever encountering it, but his dreams did give him pause sometimes.

The being which came in his dreams would make a perfect substitute for Death – cloaked with darkness, glowing eyes and bony, skeletal hands. But the being was so gentle and soothed him in such a way, and it was really warm whenever it was present, that Harry couldn’t attach it to the image of Death he had gotten while reading fantasy stories.

Also, he really wasn’t sure how he felt about it since death had taken away his parents from him when he was only a year old. He could never remember how they died, but his Aunt Petunia had once screamed at him about how ‘your ungrateful whore of a mother got married to that drunk and got herself killed in that bloody car crash and left your abnormal freakish burden on our lives’.

Harry really didn’t believe that his parents had actually died in a car crash. The way he had magic, he was sure his parents had too, since that would explain the unexplainable anger and resentment his aunt carried for them. It really wouldn’t make sense for his parents to die in a car crash of all things – it was more likely either a magical accident that had taken their life or something else.

With a shake of his head, he focused back to the snake coiled in front of him. “~Do-Do you know what happens after death?~”, he asked.

The snake shook its head, “~No. I think no one living knows what happens after death, human-hatchling. But us snakes think that it is a permanent hibernation. We just go into a nice and blissful rest. You won’t need to hunt for food, won’t need to look around for a safe place and won’t need to always be aware and careful on where you go. It is-~”

“~-peaceful~," Harry whispered, his eyes wide. The snake gave a nod and settled its head back down, no doubt deciding to go back to sleep.

“~I will call you D~," Harry declared out of the blue. “~The initial suits you, doesn’t it?~”

“~Not much imagination you’ve got there, am I right, human-hatchling?~”, D teased, its eyes looking at him amusedly.

Harry’s cheeks warmed a bit and he ducked his head, “~It does suit you!~”, he mumbled.

D gave a hissy chuckle.

“~Are you hungry?~”, Harry asked. “~It becomes difficult to find food when you get old, right? Should I find something for you to eat?~”

“~No, human-hatchling. I just ate recently. Though I will appreciate it if you helped me to find something to eat after seven or eight days.~”

“~Sure!~”, Harry nodded enthusiastically, glad to be able to help someone. Then he frowned, “~What do you guys eat?~”, he asked, confused.

D gave an amused hiss and then mumbled, “~Insects, human-hatchling.~”

“~Oh!~”, Harry exclaimed. “~I’ll find them for you! Don’t worry! I’ll meet you here in seven days? If not before?~”

“~Why not?~”, D gave a lazy reply.

With that, Harry let D sleep while he finished his weeding work. After his work was done, he cleaned his hands as much as he could with the garden hose that he had used to water the plants, then silently walked out of the garden and made his way towards his favorite place – the library.

It was nearing noon, and the library was not much crowded as usual. Very few adults came to the library to read – they usually rented the books or simply bought them from bookstores – and students who needed to complete their work were usually loud enough to get kicked out of the library by a furious Miss Coulson. So, it was usually peaceful for Harry to spend his time here lost in some books.

Harry entered the library and, on spotting Miss Coulson sitting at the librarian's desk, gave her a wave. She smiled at him in return.

“Harry!”, she greeted. “How are you?”

“I’m good, Miss Coulson," he replied smiling back.

“Wonderful!”, Miss Coulson beamed, leaning on her desk to look at Harry better. “So, what is your agenda today? Got anything particular in mind to read?”

“Um," Harry thought, his brows furrowing as he bit his lips in thought. He was planning to learn some Latin words and then read something on magic more, but the conversation he had with D came back into his mind. “Miss Coulson?”, he started hesitantly, “What do you know about death?”

Miss Coulson blinked, and then looked at him, her brows furrowing in concern, “Harry, why are you asking that?”

Harry licked his lips, looking down at his scruffy shoes. He can’t tell her he had talked with a snake, can he? She won’t believe him, and might start calling him a freak herself. It wouldn’t do good to him for the only person who was willing to help him to start thinking of him as mental or something.

“Well," Harry shot her a sad look and then immediately looked down. “I-I was thinking about my p-parents," he started and it was true enough. “My aunt told me that they had died in a car crash. I was with them but I survived.” His aunt hadn’t told him exactly, she had shouted that to his face with real rage. And he wouldn’t believe her – his parents were not drunks. “I……wanted to know, where…what happens after that? After dying?”, he whispered.

“Oh, dear!”, Miss Coulson murmured as she got up from her chair and rounded the desk to crouch beside Harry. “Sweetheart, are you alright? I am so sorry!”, she said as she slowly took his hands into hers and gave them a gentle squeeze. She had learnt not to touch Harry suddenly – it would only result in a violent flinch and stuttered apologies.

“It-It isn’t your fault, Miss Coulson," Harry mumbled. He never got to know his parents so he really didn’t mourn them, but he did mourn the loss of childhood that he could have had growing up with his own family – with love and care.

“I know, Harry," Miss Coulson whispered. “Please call me Mary, dear. We’ve known each other for at least two years now.”

Harry gave a nod and Miss Coulson guided him to a nearby table, pulling out a chair for him and sitting beside him. They sat there for a bit in silence, Harry thinking about what his parents might have been like and Miss Coulson looking at him with worry and pity.

“About your question, Harry," Miss Coulson spoke up and Harry looked at her curiously. “Nobody really knows what happens after death," she started and Harry gave a nod for her to continue. “There are so many myths around the globe about afterlife – some believe that there are heaven and hell where people’s souls get sorted based on what they have done here on Earth while some believe that our essence only joins some greater being, while some others say that there are no heaven and hell, just a state of being and peacefulness. On the other hand, some also believe that there is nothing actually and we just cease to exist.”

Harry looked at the table, processing her words. It was so astonishing to him – how this death was such a mystery to everyone. Harry was young, and he had so much yet to learn and he had now added another topic he was curious about.

“What do you believe in, Mis – err, Mary?”, he asked.

Miss Coulson hummed, thinking. “Well, Harry, I think I like the idea of there being some afterlife, you know? Otherwise, it gets a bit depressing to know that there’s nothing after our deaths," she smiled a bit.

Harry nodded, “Do you think there is a being called Death? You know, the one who collects our soul and stuff?”

“Harry!”, Miss Coulson smiled. “You have been reading too many fantasy books!”

Harry gave a sheepish smile and a shrug.

“I don’t really know, Harry," she answered. “I think if there was such a being, it would be peaceful and calm, you know. Since it would ferry our souls to eternal rest and all.”

“Yeah," Harry mumbled. He perked up, “Can you recommend books that talk about myths on death and stuff?”

Miss Coulson sighed. “Another weird obsession," she muttered. Harry pouted at her. “Fine! Try Greek and Roman myths.”

And with that, Harry’s quest to know more about death and afterlife started. Unknowingly, he had started learning about something that he will encounter sooner in his life than thought.

Chapter Text

It had been a week since Harry’s quest to know more about death and things related to it had started, and Harry had found himself learning several things from ancient Greek and Roman myths. It was amazing how people both worshipped and feared Death. There were two Gods representing that in those myths. First, Hades or Pluto – the Ruler of the Underworld. And second, Thanatos or Letus – a god who worked under Hades but someone who actually brought the souls into the afterlife. Harry was completely blown by the myths – they were awesome!

And now, he had started reading the Christian myths – the Bible, which was a long and tedious book and hard for Harry’s five-year-old mind to grasp with so large words – and after that, he will try out some other myths and legends about death and its personification.

But right now, he needed to find some insects to give to D. He hadn’t seen the snake after that talk with her seven days ago, but he had promised her a meal and he would fulfill it.

After hunting around the garden of Number Four and sneaking around in Number Two and Six, Harry found his pocket full with some grasshoppers, some random bugs and a spider. He had also found a small mice, but he wasn’t sure whether D will be able to eat it whole or not. He really did hope D will like her food Harry had hunted down for her.

With his insect-hunting done, Harry made his way to his relatives’ garden and walked towards the bush and the rose plant beside which he’d met D.

D, sadly, wasn’t there. She must be resting still, Harry thought as he sat down cross-legged onto the ground and absently started pulling out small grass and weed growing around.

He had completed his chores today – which involved dusting the windows and furniture - very quickly since he had to hunt down food for D. He had even avoided Dudley up until now. He really did not like it when Dudley would push him around or punch him or break stuff in the Dursleys’ house and then blame it on him. Harry absolutely hated the way he was forced to stay locked up in his cupboard without food for days when he was actually not the culprit behind whatever Dudley had done. He hated it when Uncle Vernon slapped him for even the smallest of mistakes or when Aunt Petunia tried to hit him with any thing she could get her hands on, even when it wasn't his fault in the first place.

Harry sighed resignedly as he plucked a strand of grass, his mood already turning gloomy. He really wanted to get out of his relatives’ house, but there was no one who would take him in. He felt so alone sometimes, with no parents or siblings.

“~You look real gloomy today, human-hatchling.~”

Harry jumped a bit at the sudden hissy voice that broke him out of his thoughts. “~D!~”, he exclaimed, spotting the small snake struggling out of a small hole near the bushes beside the plant. He immediately clammed down his mouth, looking around to make sure no one had heard him. “~You look tired~," he murmured, frowning at the snake who seemed to be panting.

“~Indeed, human-hatchling. I am tired. I told you before, didn’t I? I am nearing the end of my life~," D spoke, giving him an annoyed look.

Harry gave a slow nod, his teeth biting his lips. “~I really don’t like it, D~," he muttered. “~You will – you will leave me. Aren’t we friends now?~”

D looked at him with what must be narrowed eyes, “~I suppose, human-hatchling-~”

“~You can just call me Harry.~”

“~Hmm. Harry. Well, I suppose we are friends. But aren’t you too young to be an old snake’s friend?~”

“~Friendship does not see age, D~," Harry replied, nodding sagely.

“~Oh? Good for you, I suppose, Harry~," D spoke. “~But we snakes don’t make friends, Harry. We usually live alone.~”

“~That’s boring~," Harry replied.

“~It is not, human-hatchling~," D looked annoyed and slightly offended. “~The more dangerous a snake is, the more likely it is that you would find them alone. We believe in ourselves and stand strong while confronting others, we don’t need friends!~”

Harry made a face at the impromptu rant, “~It’s still boring, being alone~," he said. “~I live alone and I don’t like it. I would rather have friends, D, than be alone all my life and start fighting with anyone I meet.~” D gave an indignant hiss, but before she could launch into another rant, Harry started pulling out the insects he had caught for her. “~Here~," he said, offering them to her. “~I brought you food. There are some grasshoppers, some bugs, I found one spider from my cupboard who always got into my socks, and I even found a small mice.~”

D stared at the different creatures Harry had carefully put in front of her and then looked at Harry. “~Thank you, Harry~," she murmured. “~I really appreciate your thoughtfulness for me.~”

Harry smiled, his cheeks warming in embarrassment. “~You don’t need to thank me~," he ducked his head, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. “~I did promise you I’ll bring you food.~”

“~Yes, dear hatchling, you did~," D murmured again and gave him a look that was between surprised and fond.

“~Though killing a mice is hard, D. I had to make a cut at its neck with a knife and-~”, Harry hesitated. He really never liked taking anything’s life, even if it was a small creature. “~-I feel bad.~”

D slithered close to Harry and rubbed her snout to Harry’s legs gently. “~You could have just brought it alive. I would have swallowed it whole and it would have died.~”

“~It – really?~”, Harry asked, looking at her with awe. “~You can do that? Swallow a mouse alive?~”

“~Yes, hatchling. It either dies from suffocation or heart attack.~”

“~Animals can also suffer from heart attacks?!~”

“~We do have hearts, hatchling~," D replied drily.

“~Uh, right~," Harry said sheepishly. “~Sorry. That was a stupid question. Anyways, you gonna eat them?~”, he nodded his head towards the insects and the rodent he had kept beside the snake.

“~Yes, hatchling. I thank you again for bringing them to me. But once I eat them, I would need to go to sleep~," D answered. “~We get lethargic after taking our meal.~”

“~Oh~," Harry said curiously, “~Why?~”

“~We swallow them whole, hatchling~," D answered. “~The food needs to get digested completely by our digestive system. It takes time and energy for us to digest it. Not unlike you humans, who cook it first on fire.~”

Harry nodded, “~Yeah. That makes sense.~”

They talked a bit more, debating about why eating raw insects was not really healthy for Harry and why Harry really couldn’t see D swallowing a whole mouse in. He promised her he will meet her again here in a few days and will bring her food after a week. With a bye, Harry got up the ground and, making sure nobody had seen him sitting there and chatting with himself, made his way towards the library.

-------

In the following few weeks, Harry became close with D. Their friendship became stronger. He often met her there in the garden of Number Four. They would chat about anything and everything – Harry told her how his parents had died somehow, how his relatives told him they had actually died in a car-crash and how he did not believe them. He shared with her how he hated living here with his relatives, how they treated him and made him do work and locked him inside his cupboard.

D was infuriated, ranting about how humans were such imbeciles who didn’t know how to treat hatchlings correctly and how she wished she could eat them alive.

Harry had been touched with how much D cared about him and how she was angry at his behalf. And amused while imagining small D eating the whale-sized Dursleys whole.

Harry had also shared with her his library expeditions, about Miss Coulson and how much she helped him in whatever book he asked for.

D also shared with Harry about herself – how she had been born, how many siblings she had and how her mother had taught her to hunt for insects and small creatures. She told him about the first time she had hunted by herself, how she had roamed around alone. She also told him about her hatchlings, how proud of them she was and how they had annoyed and infuriated her sometimes.

“~I have lived a long life, hatchling~," she had told him. “~I have watched my children grow up and make their own nests, I have seen seasons change so many times. And I am so thankful to have lived such a fulfilling life. I am truly content.~”

Harry had only nodded, his heart a bit tight and throat clogged up.

“~Remember, hatchling. It’s always small things in life~," she had said, wisely. “~You could have the world at your feet but not be happy. But if you are happy, you could have the world at your feet.~”

Harry had shot her a grin, “~You mean, I can plan world-domination only when I am happy?~”

“~Yes, hatchling~," she had replied, completely serious. “~You would need a straight and calm mind to plot such a thing.~”

They had laughed.

Eventually, Harry had told her about his theory about magic. He explained about the accidents that happened around him, the things he could do when he was feeling some extreme emotions, how this warm feeling would start from his chest whenever these accidents occurred and how his relatives called it his freakishness. He told her about his search in the library – about the fantasy books talking about magic, about runes and hidden worlds.

D had listened to all of it with a curious tilt of her head. She had remarked how she had never stumbled across any other human who could understand her ever before and how much surprised she had been when she’d heard Harry talking to her.

And D had called him unique.

“~Maybe you are the only one, Harry. I really have never seen any human talk to us before.~”

“~I know, D~," Harry had replied, sadly. “~I’ve never heard anyone talking to snakes before. But all the books I’ve read so far had a community of these magical people, not just a single person. I mean, wouldn’t it be unexplainable if I was the only one?~”

“~Why don’t you ask your relatives about it? Maybe they do know something and just don’t want to tell you?~”, D had suggested.

“~If that’s the case, then they wouldn’t budge, D~," Harry had sighed. “~They absolutely hate me! They wouldn’t tell me anything. I mean, they haven’t even told me what my parents’ name is!~”

“~Those utter bastards-~”

And their discussion about magic had stopped there when D had launched into yet another rant about the uselessness of the Dursleys. She had once told him that she only used very simple words to curse the Dursleys since she did not want Harry ‘to lose your naïve, innocent childhood’. Harry had only rolled his eyes at her.

After a month had passed since Harry had met D, his school had started again. And now Harry had to juggle his time between going to school, doing his chores - which seemed to have increased in quantity just when the school opened - meeting with D, doing his homework and visiting the library.

The most wonderful thing that had happened in this month, apart from his growing friendship with D, was that Miss Coulson had found a book that he had requested for Runology. It was titled ‘The Rune Primer – A Down-To-Earth Guide to the Runes’ by Sweyn Plowright.

Miss Coulson had told him how most books on the study of Runes were mostly fictitious, talking about using Runes for magic and all, and were all untrue, since magic wasn’t real. The book that she had given him was total facts – real and not based on fiction.

Harry, who was someone who had actually seen magic happening in front of him and being done by himself, had begged to differ but had decided to give the book a go.

The book had mostly given an introduction to what Runes were actually used for and how they had been derived and varied from one language to another.

When Harry had been looking through the Runes in Elder Futhark, he had come across a one named Sowilo. He had stared at it for a while – it had looked eerily similar to the scar that was on his forehead. His scar meant ‘Sun’. Real coincidence, he’d thought.

So, with the book about Runes in his hands, Harry had decided to at least learn the twenty-four Elder Futhark runic alphabets. They were fun to learn and they had different meanings. He just wished he could actually use them the way some fantasy books described.

Harry had, after very careful consideration, decided to put some Runes in his cupboard. The one named Algiz which meant ‘protection’ or ‘defense’ had been slowly carved on the inside of his cupboard’s door, while the one named Opila , which meant ‘heritage’ or ‘possession’ had been carved onto the very few things he had such as his shoe, some clothes (they were marked with pen, not carved), and his bare minimum of books and notebooks.

The Runes also made him feel like he knew something which others didn’t – though he would be really ecstatic if they actually glowed or warmed up or did something.

-------

Eventually, the day came when D died.

Harry was weeding the garden, lost in thought about the Runes, his homework and what he had talked to D about the previous day. She was becoming weak rapidly, and didn’t had much energy nowadays to talk for more than a few minutes.

Harry was getting worried – he really didn’t want to lose his only friend, someone with whom he had shared everything about his life. D had always scolded him for worrying so much, telling him that he had to let go because not everything could be permanent in his life.

But Harry really wanted her to be permanent in his life – she had become a mentor, a friend and a mother to him – and he desperately wanted to hold on to her when he really had no one to confide in.

A low hiss startled him out of his spiraling thoughts, and he automatically looked towards the bushes where he regularly met D to chat.

D was there, lying heavily on the ground, her eyes partially closed.

“~D?~”, Harry murmured as he got up and quickly shuffled over towards her. “~What-what’s wrong?~”

“~I think it’s time, hatchling~," she whispered, her voice low. “~I’m dying.~”

“~W-What?! No!~”, Harry exclaimed, his heart squeezing tightly. “~N-No, you won’t die, D. W-We…..what about me?~” Harry crouched down and picked her up in his hands, cradling her to his chest. “~Y-you can’t leave me like this, D!~”

“~Hush, hatchling~," she whispered, her eyes still closed. “~I told you before, didn’t I? This happens to everyone. You can’t stop it. Besides, I will always stay with you in your thoughts and in our friendship. Now, chin up and don’t cry.~”

“~I-I’m no’ cryin, D!~”, Harry murmured as few tears slipped down his cheeks. “~You-you can’t leave me alone like this!~”

“~Hatchling!~”, D murmured. Harry could almost feel her life slipping away and her struggle to stay with him as long as she could. “~You are not alone. I will always be by your side, even if you couldn’t see me. And I will meet your parents, tell them how such a nice boy you are growing to be. They must be proud of you, Harry.~”

Harry sniffled, more tears falling down his eyes. He will really lose her today, lose her to death.

“~I-~”, Harry swallowed, his throat was completely choked, “~-t-thank you, D. I-I will m-miss you. And I l-love you, D.~”

“~I love you too, my hatchling.~” There was a slow release of breath and then, nothing.

Harry sat there, cradling D close to himself, frozen. He really had lost the only friend he had, hadn’t he? First, his parents. Now, D? Did Death have a specific vendetta against him, or Death came wherever he went?

Tears freely flowed down his cheeks now, blurring everything around him. D couldn’t scold him now for crying over her death. How could she? She was not here anymore. She was resting peacefully now. Could he, maybe, join her? Meet his parents? Tell them it wasn’t fair to leave him here alone, while they went and joined Death.

Harry sobbed silently – he’d learned very early that crying loudly would only result in scolding and slaps. And he couldn’t let his aunt or uncle find out about his friend’s dead body. He will give her a proper burial. She deserved it.

Harry slowly stroked D’s body, feeling her scales for the last time. He didn’t know the proper procedure for burials, but he will do what he could.

Slowly, hesitantly, Harry put D’s body down on the ground and got up – feeling a bit dizzy with the crying and sitting there for so long. He fetched a trowel that he usually used to dig holes for plants, and sat down beside the rose plant where D and he always chatted.

He started digging up a hole near the bushes, making sure to dig it a bit deeper, and hidden away from his relatives’ beady eyes.

The hole dug, Harry looked at D’s relaxed body, her eyes closed. He picked up her, giving a last gentle stroke to her scales and then slowly lowered her into the hole.

“~I hope you will be at peace now, D~," he murmured, few tears still spilling down from his eyes. “~I’ll miss you.~”

With that, Harry slowly covered the hole and put a small stone on top of it.

He sat there, thinking about D and all the chats they have had, completely forgetting that he had to go to the library or complete the work his aunt had given him.

Chapter Text

The following few days passed by in a blur. Harry worked on autopilot - went to school, hid away from Dudley and his gang, did his homework and chores and visited the library – though he never knew what he was doing. He missed D something terrible - missed the chats he had had with her, missed the rants she gave out on every stupid thing she had stumbled upon, missed sharing his day with someone and especially missed the cursing D bestowed upon the Dursleys whenever they had Harry doing too much work around the house.

It must have been three or four days after D’s death that Miss Coulson approached Harry, who was sitting at his usual spot at the library, staring at some book while absentmindedly flipping through the pages.

“Harry?”

The hesitant words jolted Harry out of his thoughts, and he looked up from the book he was staring at to see Miss Coulson sitting in the chair in front of him, looking at him worriedly.

“Mary?”, Harry murmured, returning his gaze back to the book. What was he reading again?

“Are you alright, Harry?”, Miss Coulson asked, leaning down a bit to try and look at his face.

“Yeah," Harry replied. “I’m fine," he mumbled, flipping a page.

There was silence for a moment, then a sigh. “Harry. You have been……distant these past few days. What happened?”

Harry’s shoulder slumped. He bit his lips, looking up at Miss Coulson through his bangs. Should he tell her? But what use would it be to tell her he had lost a very valuable friend, when said friend was already dead? She couldn’t do anything anyway.

“It’s nothing, Mary. I’m just….”, he trailed off when Miss Coulson shot him an unimpressed look.

“Harry, lying really isn't your forte. You are really terrible at it," Miss Coulson said drily, her eyes narrowed.

“Err…”, Harry ducked his head, embarrassed. Miss Coulson could be really dangerous too. The incident involving those teenagers and him flashed through his mind. Miss Coulson had been furious at those children for bullying him. Harry often wondered what she would do if she ever found out how Dudley bullied him every chance his cousin got.

“I just want to help, Harry," Miss Coulson spoke softly. “If something’s troubling you, you can tell me. I will really be happy to help.”

Harry bit his lips, then gave her a hesitant look. “I……well, I made a friend," he started, receiving an encouraging nod from her. “She was a snake.” Miss Coulson blinked at him.

“A pet, Harry?”

Harry shook his head, “She wasn’t a pet. We met at my aunt’s garden. She was hungry, so I gave her some insects to eat. We became friends," he took a deep breath, his throat feeling a bit sore. “She d-died. She was o-old. Couldn’t live more than that.”

“Oh," Miss Coulson whispered. She stood up and walked around to sit beside Harry. She slowly raised her hands to pat his back. “I am sorry, Harry," she murmured.

A tear slipped down Harry’s cheek. He took a shaky breath, “I miss her, Mary.”

“I understand," Miss Coulson murmured, wrapping her hand slowly around Harry’s shoulder and pulling him into a rough embrace. “Here," she pulled out a white handkerchief from her pocket and slowly wiped the tears spilling down his cheeks.

Harry sniffled, taking her handkerchief and wiping his nose. “Sorry," he murmured.

“It’s alright, honey. Keep it," Miss Coulson said, patting his shoulder. “And of course, you miss your friend. It’s in human nature to. And-”, she squeezed his shoulders slightly, “-while your friend is now resting, she will stay here with you forever," she pointed towards his chest, right above his heart.

Harry looked into Miss Coulson’s eyes, who stared back with soft and genuine understanding, and gave her a nod. That’s what D had told him – that she would stay with him in his thoughts and in their friendship. He took a deep breath and smiled slightly.

“Thank you, Mary," Harry mumbled.

“You are welcome, dear.” Miss Coulson patted his shoulder and then retracted her hands away from around him and pulled out a book and a diary. “You can talk with me any time you want. I am here.”

Harry gave a nod and Miss Coulson started working – whatever librarians had to work – and Harry went back to reading, this time actually reading. His concentration returned back slightly, though his mind did go back to D occasionally. Talking with someone could help then. Harry was really glad that he had Miss Coulson in his life. She wasn’t that close to him, but at least she listened and tried to help, the way D had done.

And it wouldn’t be easy for him to accept that he wouldn’t be able to meet D anymore in his relatives’ garden – wouldn’t be able to talk with her and complain to her about the Dursleys – but she had told him that she was going to rest now and if she really was at peace, he will try to be at least happy for her.

-------

The first thing Harry felt was pain – an intense, unexplainable pain throughout his whole body – followed by confusion, fear and rage - so, so much rage.

An image of a red-haired woman flashed through his mind, begging him to let her child live, but he couldn’t understand where the voice was coming from since he couldn’t see the woman’s lips moving.

There was a hiss and then he saw green lights, racing forward from him, arcing like lightning.

Then he felt pain and disorientation. He saw himself floating in a forest. Saw trees swaying to wind he couldn’t feel.

Will they come? Will anyone find him? He did not want anyone to see him in this state, and he loathed to admit it, but he needed help! Some of them must be looking, though it might take them years, if not decades to find him here. He had never told anyone how many places he had visited during his travels, had he?

His eyes landed on a snake, slithering through the thick shrubs and tall grass spread across the forest floor. An image of a python with shining black and green scales flashed through his mind and he felt a flash of pain, of longing. He missed her. He should try to find her. Will she be alright without him there to take care of her there?

Well, first he should take over that snake, he might be able to find some human.

As Harry started advancing towards the snake, he felt a jolt throughout his body, and felt his whole being been swept away from the forest. He saw white light so blinding that it almost seared his vision. He closed his eyes quickly, red flashing inside his eyelids.

When he finally opened his eyes again, he found himself standing in a white expanse. There was nothing, just white spread across all the direction, as far as his eyes could see.

He looked down and saw his scrawny body clothed in the rags his aunt had deemed clothes. Harry clenched and unclenched his hands, looking around.

Where was he? Wasn’t he dreaming about a forest and a snake? Could dreams change like this? Wait! Was this a dream?

“Indeed, it is, Harrison," a voice called out from behind him, making Harry spin around in alarm. His eyes landed on three women standing just a few feet away from him. They were dressed in a simple white blouse and knee-length white skirts, there feet bare. All three women had their black hairs tied back in a slightly-tight looking buns. Their faces looked ethereal – like they wouldn’t age anymore, stuck in mid-forties. Their expressions ranged from curious, to amused to sheepish.

“We finally meet, Harrison James Potter-Black-Peverell," the woman standing in the middle spoke up, looking at him with rapt attention.

Harry blinked at her in confusion. Was she talking to him? Was that really his name?

“What?”, he spoke, eyeing them suspiciously. “Who are you guys?”

The three women gave him amused smiles and then waved their hands simultaneously. A couch appeared behind them, white, of course. Harry couldn’t help but roll his eyes. A small round, low table appeared after the couch, followed by a green and black armchair behind him.

“Let’s take our seats first, Harrison," the same woman spoke and the three of them sat down with a regal air that he most definitely lacked, Harry noted.

He hesitantly sat down himself, still eyeing them. If this was a dream, his brain had really come up with some rather creative imagination.

“Oh, don’t flatter yourself, Harrison," the woman on the right spoke up with an amused tilt of her lips. “Your brain wouldn’t be able to imagine us.”

“You are correct, sister," the one on the left said with a smirk. “At least until you decide to join Lord Death, you wouldn’t be able to retain much of us.” Harry opened his mouth to speak but she continued. “That aside, let us introduce ourselves, Harrison. My name is Clotho. I am the one who weaves.”

“My name is Lachesis," the middle one spoke. “I am the one who draws out.”

“And my name is Atropos," the right one said. “I am the one who cuts and thus, I am the one you will be working closely with if you decide to accept the responsibilities of taking the title.”

Harry frowned at them, completely confused. “That-”, he said, pointing his index finger at them with a raised eyebrow, “-makes no sense, dear ladies.”

The three women laughed together and their laughter sounded like warmth engulfing him whole.

“I like this one already," the one who had claimed herself to be Clotho spoke.

“Not to mention, he’s absolutely adorable!”, Lachesis said with a warm smile. “Look at him, looking all confused and flustered," she said when Harry blushed. “That does remind me why I adore children.”

Atropos hummed. “Yet you decided to put him with his abysmal relatives, dear sister.”

Lachesis and Clotho both sighed, giving Harry an apologetic look. Harry just stared at them. He had heard those names somewhere, but he couldn’t place them. Maybe in the library? Their names sounded something that he would find in ancient myths.

“You are reaching the right conclusions, Harrison," Clotho beamed at him. “We are impressed at the growth in intelligence you are going through with finding that library of yours. Who knew changing just a few variables could change so much of the future," she muttered.

“Lord Death would," Atropos replied drily.

Clotho frowned at Atropos while Lachesis just rolled her eyes. “Anyways, Harrison. We would like to personally apologize to you for putting you with the shit you are going through and regretfully, have to go through.”

Harry raised his eyebrows at them. What were they talking about? And how could they understand what he was thinking, goddammit!

And, if he ignored the names and that ageless look, he could almost imagine himself sitting with three of his aunts, who might be triplets, and were just a bit on the barmy side, having a chat with him. That image was rather amusing.

The three women chuckled. “Again, not that far from correct conclusions, Harrison," Lachesis said.

“You would think that putting a child through all that-”, Atropos began.

“We are not having that conversation in front of the said child, Atropos," Clotho interrupted, sounding a little bit agitated.

“Is it really necessary-”, Atropos started again.

“He needs to go through those hardships to earn that title!”, Lachesis interrupted this time, sounding as if they'd already had this chat a million times.

“Well, he could have it when he grows older. Look at him, he’s just a child," Clotho mused and the three women turned together to stare at him.

Harry fidgeted awkwardly with his shirt when the three pairs of eyes turned at him and shot them a confused look. Where had he read those names again?

“But don’t we need to have it now? That old man’s already planning!”, Atropos said.

“Or, you know, we could just make that man do something stupid and make him end himself or something?”, Clotho piped up.

“Hmm. That might be fun actually," Atropos replied. “That might put things into better perspective for that idiotic mortal.”

“Though this one and the other will only come together because of that man," Lachesis said, jabbing a thumb towards Harry.

Harry blinked. Were they talking about his future? How could they just ignore him and talk about him as if he wasn’t there? Wasn’t that rude? And how could they just chat about something like this as if they could control it - ? Wait!

“You guys are the Fates!”, Harry exclaimed, his eyes blowing wide as he stared at the three women sitting in front of him who paused in their apparent debate about Harry and looked at him with pride.

“Took you long enough, child," Clotho said.

“We had thought you would recognize us only by hearing our names," Lachesis spoke.

“Not that much interested in our myths, are you? Only Lord Death interests you?”, Atropos said.

Harry gave them a sheepish look, while running his hand through his gravity-defying hairs. These women were really Fates? He had read about them in Ancient Greek and Roman myths, of course, while he’d been browsing about Death. The picture the myths painted was that of these old women, all powerful and mysterious, weaving the fates and destinies of everyone. Literally. Their were numerous paintings of the Fates in the myths section of the library.

“Sorry," Harry mumbled. “Though, to be honest, it’s rather hard to believe that you guys would actually exist. I mean….”, Harry made some vague gestures with his hands, trying to express how hard it was to accept that there were deities out there who decided your whole life.

“Not whole life, child," Clotho said with a nod. “We don’t decide and plan your every moment in life. We just weave your life vaguely and only decide what challenges and choices to give you mortals. All the decisions and choices that you make, decides your future.”

“Not to mention all the choices and decisions that others take around you which can have an impact on your life," Lachesis continued her sister’s explanation.

“And let us say, Harrison, some mortals truly make heinous and abysmal decisions," Atropos said and all the three women grimaced. “Though we do enjoy watching most of them destroy themselves with their own idiocy," she gave him a truly wicked grin.

“Err…”, Harry said, shifting in his armchair, a bit disturbed. “Right. That’s……a bit disturbing.” Harry looked at them with cautious eyes, though he was very much interested in how they had explained the future and destiny. Life-altering decisions could be made then. He really didn’t like the idea of three immortal beings deciding his every move in life.

“So, why am I here?”, he asked warily. “Have I made some stupid decision? Or do you guys go around chatting with random people? And where are we anyways?”

“Curious!”, Clotho beamed at him. “Such a curious child! We will enjoy it immensely when Lord Death will need to explain you everything.”

“Oh, the joy!”, Lachesis smiled.

“I knew we were sadists," Atropos pointed out with a smirk.

Clotho chuckled. “We are in your mind-space, Harrison. We are visiting you while you are dreaming.”

Harry nodded, that would explain the snake and the forest. That forest-dream was increasing in frequency, wasn’t it? This was the second time in just a month that he had dreamt about it. And the feelings that dream brought with it were confusing – the rage, the pain, and the disorientation. Why did he dream about it often, the same with those green lights and that shadowy figure and those screams?

“Hmm. That you will have to figure out yourself, Harrison," Lachesis spoke, looking at him with a serious expression on her face. “As for decisions, yours will determine the very making or the destruction of the world. So, they won’t be stupid.”

“They will either be wise or unwise," Clotho finished.

“So, no pressure there," Atropos gave Harry a wry grin.

Harry chuckled slightly, but his thoughts were still on what Clotho and Lachesis had said. His decision will determine the world’s future? What the hell were these women thinking giving such a decision to a child? And will he conquer the world or something for his decision to have such an impact on it? That was rather daunting.

“Child," Atropos spoke to get Harry’s attention who had been staring at nothing with a frown. Harry looked at her. “It is not necessary to conquer the world and then make decisions to affect the whole of it. Some people can have destinies that will appear small, but will have the potential in reality to determine the fate of the world in the long run.”

“But don’t worry, Harrison," Clotho spoke with a kind smile. “You haven’t yet reached that point in your life. And we will be there to make sure your decision is right, dear.”

Harry blinked at them and nodded, “Thank you.”

“No need, Harrison," Lachesis said. “You are our Chosen, we can’t just leave you alone.”

“But know this, Harrison," Atropos warned. “You won’t remember much of us and our conversation when you wake up.”

Clotho nodded. “Mortal brains cannot understand us that easily. You might get stuck trying to understand us your entire life.”

“So, until your mind becomes ready to remember us correctly without you losing yourself, you will have only vague recollections of this dream," Lachesis finished.

“That’s kinda unfair," Harry pointed out. He wasn’t really sure yet whether whatever this was, was true or not. Believing them wasn’t that easy, and if he wouldn’t even remember this, then what was the point of sharing this with him.

“You are correct, Harrison," Clotho gave him a gentle smile.

“We just wanted to meet you," Lachesis said.

“And apologize for the treatment you are going through with your mortal relatives," Atropos finished.

Harry’s vision started turning blurry. He couldn’t see the three women clearly anymore. The white expanse blurred too.

But he still had questions! What did they mean when they were talking about some man and a plan? What were the responsibilities and the title they were talking about? And who was the other one? What did all of it mean?

“You will find the answers soon enough, Harrison.”

“Just be patient.”

“And be you.”

“We’ll meet soon. Goodbye, for now.”

The voices echoed in his mind and Harry found himself falling into darkness.

Chapter Text

A just-turned seven-year-old Harry Potter walked down the streets of Surrey, returning back to his relatives’ house at Number Four, Privet Drive.

He’d spent his whole afternoon at the library, browsing through science and history books. He had acquired two more books on Runology from Miss Coulson, though both of them had been the same as the first one he had gotten two years ago. These talked about how some researchers contemplated the use of Runes and runic circles to activate magic or to use them in rituals. But nothing concrete was really available, since most of them did not actually believe magic to be real.

Harry was astonished, of course, and he wanted to use them so much to see whether he could do those rituals or anything at all with the magic he had. But he did not really have any place to do such a thing – he couldn’t do that in his cupboard since it was much too small and any other room in that house was unavailable to him. Same with the gardens, Aunt Petunia would get furious at him for ruining her garden with freakish drawings, and what will the neighbors think!

So, Harry was enjoying simply learning the Runic alphabets in different languages and so far, he had learned all the ones in Elder Futhark and Anglo-Saxon and was now contemplating learning some others.

He had also made much progress in his Latin and was now able to translate most of the words and simple phrases given in the beginner’s books. Miss Coulson had told him that if he really learned the Latin language completely, he will be able to read some of the original works of some famous writers instead of the botched and tampered versions in English.

Harry had also made progress in his normal school studies. His teacher had recommended one more grade jump and he was now two grades ahead of his cousin and since, he had again convinced his aunt that it was only a change in classes instead of grades, he was not compared to his cousin for anything and he could take his exams freely from fear of getting locked-up or beaten by his uncle for being smarter than his cousin. Seriously, Dudley had less brain cells than a worm, how could his relatives expect him to be dumber than their precious Duddykins?!

Harry’s ability to control the energy or that warmth or his magic had improved too. Now he could concentrate on his magical reserve which contained his magic and could focus and command it to come out to do whatever he wanted. Though, admittedly, it took him a great deal of concentration to do so and usually left him feeling tired and drained after if he commanded his magic to do something harder and longer.

He hadn’t met any other snake after D. He had more or less accepted that his friend had passed over to someplace peaceful and wondrous and could not get annoyed or sad at her for accepting that place so easily. He hadn’t forgotten her – he couldn’t do that disservice to such a wonderful friend – but he had acquiesced that he couldn’t have her in his life and moved on. He just hoped that he will meet a friend like her somewhere in his future.

And thinking about the future always reminded him of that strange dream he had. He could not fully remember the particulars of it, but the dream had three women in it – of this he was certain. They had talked about something – something his mind told him was rather important every time he thought about it. But he couldn’t, for the life of him, figure out what it was or whether it was even true or not.

Harry also continued dreaming about that strange green light, screaming and that shadowy cloaked figure; about that forest and pain and rage, so much rage. He would always wake up confused, sometimes panting for breath and the lightning-bolt scar prickling minutely. He really couldn’t understand why he dreamt about these so often or why his scar would act like that, but he had a feeling, this gut-feeling, that he will soon find out.

Though he wasn’t sure whether this soon was a few months or a few years or decades, if he survived that long, that is. His relatives had become more brutal with the passage of these two years, forcing him to cook their food for all of the three meals, clean their house, take care of their gardens, and do all the chores they could think of. Harry absolutely hated the way his relatives had reduced him to a servant under them, while they acted like there was nothing wrong in their family, showing a mask of perfection and all that rot to the outsiders when they were actually far from that.

Harry gave out a tired sigh, he really couldn’t wait to get away from his relatives. The only problem was about where he would go. He had absolutely no idea how this world worked – he was still learning, and howsoever much he had made himself excellent in adopting to his surroundings to make himself come out of any situation alive and intact, he didn’t think he was yet ready to face the world. He could deal with his relatives – the Dursleys were mostly idiots – but the world at large wasn’t and he needed to be ready to face it.

As Harry neared the house of the Dursleys, he felt a slight trepidation – as if he was going to walk into something he wouldn’t like. Lips pursued and eyebrows furrowed in a frown, Harry slowly opened the front door.

His eyes widened slightly as he felt a wave of energy wash over and through him, touching him inquiringly. Harry couldn’t understand how this was happening but he controlled his magic from uncoiling from his reserve and answering the wave of someone else’s flowing over his skin.

What was going on? How was this possible? As far as Harry knew, his relatives had no magic in them – otherwise he wouldn’t be treated like a slave and called a freak. And this magic was definitely not his, he would recognize it. And that implied there was someone in the Dursleys' house who had magic just like Harry did.

That actually solved the puzzle of whether Harry was the only one with magic or not, but why was this person here now? Was it because of his magic usage or some other reason? Because if it was the former than he couldn’t believe that it took someone with magic to find him this long. But if it was some other reason, then why was this person contacting them now? Would they be a danger to him or an asset?

Harry looked up as he heard someone moving inside the drawing room. He pressed close to the door, ready to bolt in case he needed to, and leaned sideways to get a better look at whoever it was. Not long after, an old man with white flowing beard and half-moon spectacles walked out of the room wearing what appeared to be bright yellow robes that had images of sun drawn at the edges. His sky-blue eyes twinkled behind his spects, making Harry move on guard as his shoulders tensed a bit.

He had seen this man before, Harry thought as he saw his aunt stand at the entrance to the drawing room with an expression as if she had had a really sour lemon. Her eyes glared daggers at the unknown man, her hands crossed defensively across her chest.

Harry looked back at the man, who was now beaming at him. “Harry, my boy!”, he exclaimed, opening his arms wide as if expecting Harry to come galloping into his arms for a hug. Was this guy insane?

Harry only frowned, not speaking anything and staring at the man’s cloth with trepidation. Who was this man? And why did he expect Harry to know him somehow?

“Harry? Don’t you recognize me? I am Albus Dumbledore," the man said, his smile still present, though his eyes told a different story.

Harry narrowed his eyes slightly, looking in the man’s eyes. Who was he? And why did he feel like he recognized him?

An image of his dream where Harry always found himself in the arms of a white bearded man flashed in his mind, and Harry felt his eyes widen, while the twinkle in the old man’s eyes dimmed.

“I see you don’t recognize me, my boy," the man – Albus Dumbledore – spoke, sporting a rather grave face. “I had thought that Petunia here would have told you a little bit about me and your parents. After all, she’s your family.”

Right. And Harry was Britain’s monarch, and was planning on launching a dictatorship soon. Anything was possible really! And who did this man think he was, bringing up his parents like that? Wait! He wasn’t his grandfather, right? Harry would leave human civilization to live in the middle of nowhere and would never return back, ever, if he wan anyhow related to that strange, old man! His gut was telling him this man was not a good news and his mind seemed to be agreeing. He would never tolerate a grandfather in such horrendous clothes, not to mention, rude.

“No," Harry spoke with as much calm as he could muster. “She never mentioned you.”

Dumbledore hummed, “Well, we should repair that damage now, shouldn’t we? Come along, my boy. I shall tell you about myself and your parents.” He moved towards Harry with a sage smile and a re-emerging twinkle in his eyes, his hands folded and resting inside his bellowing robes’ sleeves.

Was this man using his parents to get Harry to trust him? That was really low, Harry decided as the man came beside him and gave him a raised brow.

“Shall we go to your home’s drawing room?”, he asked.

Harry gave the man an amused smile. They would need to go to the public library and libraries don’t have drawing rooms, so Harry didn’t know where the man wanted to sit and talk with him.

Dumbledore’s right hand quickly darted behind Harry to guide him into the drawing room of the Dursleys, when Harry felt his instincts screaming at him to duck away from the man’s arm.

Harry followed his instincts, ducking down and turning around to face the old man at the same time he felt his magic uncoil from his reservoir and shoot out at the man’s hand. Harry’s eyes landed on a wooden stick in the man’s right hand pointing towards him and he instinctively guided his magic to pluck out the stick from the man’s hand.

The stick jerked slightly as it flew straight into Harry’s outstretched hand and he swiftly plucked it out of air and from his magic’s tendril.

As soon as the stick touched Harry’s hand, his eyes widened as his magic literally flared around him, surrounding him in a halo, becoming almost visible to him. Emerald green and black swirled around him and flashed out, literally making a shockwave travel across in a circle from him, making the whole house shudder with the force.

Harry felt the stick, which he recognized as a wand from his various fantasy readings, grow warm under his palms – almost singing with delight. The carvings in it changed in front of his eyes – the most recognizable being the lightning-bolt or the rune Sowilo emerging at the bottom end, just above the handle where Harry clutched the wand. He looked at the wand in wonder, and his eyes landed on another engraving just below his fingers – a triangle divided in half by a vertical line enclosing a circle.

“What?”, Harry murmured, his eyes leaving the wand clutched in his hands to land on Dumbledore. Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise.

The man had paled – almost deadly so – the twinkle in his eyes nowhere to be found. He was staring at Harry as if he couldn’t believe what he was looking at. His eyes flickered to the wand clutched at Harry’s hand. The man’s whole body visibly shook in horror.

Harry turned slightly to look at his aunt, who looked back at him with fear and shock.

Harry grinned. He absolutely loved this – whatever this was. He had seen his magic and felt it like never before, he now had a wand – a proof that there were ways to access magic, he had made his aunt fear him with his magic and apparently shocked an old stranger to death. A stranger whom he seemed to remember from a dream that he always thought was unreal.

Harry looked back at the Dumbledore-guy who seemed to be coming out from his shock and was shaking his head. He gave Harry a very disappointed look. “My boy. What have you done?”, he asked with clear condensation in his voice.

Harry barely controlled his magic and the wand from blasting the man apart. “You should tell me what you were going to do with this……stick!”, he snapped, mentally apologizing to the wand about calling it a stick. It wouldn’t do for him to show this man about what he suspected this ‘stick’ was. The wand only gave a gentle tingle through his hand.

“I was doing absolutely nothing, my boy," Dumbledore replied, opening his hands as if that proved anything. “It is, as you said, a mere stick.”

“Oh?”, Harry tilted his head slightly and shot Dumbledore a raised eyebrow. “So, you wouldn’t mind giving this to me?”

Dumbledore gave a slightly strained smile. “My apologies, Harry. But this was a gift from an old friend of mine.”

Harry slightly narrowed his eyes. Was this man for real?

“I will greatly appreciate it if you would return it back to me," Dumbledore said, a slight command in his voice, holding out his right hand to take the wand back.

Harry absolutely did not want to part with the wand, gift from an old friend or not. He looked at the wand and hesitated. I will find you and get you back, I promise, he thought. The wand warmed again, and Harry reluctantly gave the wand back to the old man.

“Very good, my boy," Dumbledore again gave him a slightly strained smile. “Now, if you would look into my eyes.”

Again, there was a command in that voice, and Harry despite himself, felt his eyes flicker towards the old man’s blue ones.

As soon as his eyes made contact with Dumbledore’s, he saw the man point Harry’s wand towards his head and murmur, “Obliviate.”

Harry felt a slight numbness wash over his whole body, his shoulders slumped a bit and his mind went blank. His vision become blurry as his eyes lost their focus and became glazed over. And he heard an echo inside his head that slightly felt like the old man’s voice.

‘Forget what happened here with your magic and the wand that you called a stick, Harry. Forget the magic that appeared when you bonded with the wand. You will only remember meeting Albus Dumbledore and talking with him about Hogwarts and your parents. You liked Dumbledore and couldn’t wait to get into Hogwarts.’

Harry blinked when the echo stopped, and looked around confusedly. His aunt was still standing at the entrance of the drawing room, staring at him with fear in her eyes, one of her hand covering her mouth.

But Albus Dumbledore was gone.

Chapter Text

It had been another two years since Harry had met Albus Dumbledore, heard about Hogwarts and had been tried to be manipulated into believing that he liked that man.

In all honesty, Harry had no idea what Dumbledore had tried to do to his brain during the last minutes of his visit, but he had heard what he had muttered before Harry had gone into that trance like state.

‘Obliviate’, a word which seemed to be related to the word ‘oblivious’ and with the way Dumbledore’s voice had echoed in his mind, commanding him to believe what it was speaking, Harry assumed that the ‘spell’ must be a one that would make the victim forget whatever they had witnessed and instead start believing what the castor had said.

And that begged the question – how hadn’t Harry forgotten what he had witnessed with the wand and his magic? How he still remembered it when a wizard so old had cast magic on Harry? And why was Dumbledore trying to make him forget about whatever had happened? Why had Dumbledore visited him at the Dursleys anyway? What was going on?

He couldn’t figure anything out, and he hadn’t asked his aunt who that man was. She had only stared at him in fear, and after a moment, went to the kitchen, gave him a small piece of chicken with an apple and water bottle and just ordered him to get inside his cupboard and stay there.

Uncle Vernon had thrown a tantrum befitting his son, Dudley's, when he’d found out that Harry wasn’t the one to cook dinner, but had calmed down when Aunt Petunia had whispered to him about ‘that old man’, ‘freakishness’ and ‘done something to him’.

Harry hadn’t complained - he’d just sat inside his cupboard and pondered what exactly had happened. He apparently had a weird old man after him who seemed to have known his parents and was willing to use them to make Harry trust him. This implied the man was manipulative and wanted something from Harry.

Dumbledore's trustworthiness also lessened and became non-existent with the magical spell he had performed on Harry, using a wand Harry had somehow ‘bonded with’, to make him forget the said ‘bonding’. He couldn’t believe the audacity of that man!

The only consolation Harry had to fall back onto was that he had got confirmation that there were actual magical people out there, that wand was used by them and that at least one weird and rude and manipulative person knew that Harry had magic. He had also gotten a name – Hogwarts – which he had no idea what it was, but it was progress.

The most wonderful thing though was that his magic had seemed to have expanded more after its bonding with that wand. He now found himself able to access it way easier than before. He could command it more smoothly, make his magic do things that earlier took more effort. He could Summon glowing orbs of lights of different colors and keep them up for as long as he wanted. He could clean a room by commanding his magic to sweep across it, he could make things float, Summon food from the kitchen to his cupboard, transform smaller things into different ones and, apparently, easily kill grass – he just needed to think how much he hated weeding the garden every few days and the grass would wither away, dead.

His studies were going well too. He visited the library every afternoon as usual and read whatever book would trap his interest. His Latin-learning was going smoothly, along with his studies about Runes. He had made more progress in studying science and mathematics than his fellow classmates and his studies in human history, geography and political sciences was going wonderfully too.

Currently, he was reading about political maneuvres and how politicians worked, their strategies and all that. It was a bit hard for him to understand since he wasn’t really much into manipulation and whatnot. He did not like manipulating others for his needs much, but he did had to deal with the Dursleys every day, so who could really blame him?

Speaking of the Dursleys, he was currently trying to escape Dudley and his best friend Piers, who were in the mood to play their own dubbed game of ‘Harry Hunting’, which might be fun for little sadistic bastards that they were, but not for Harry, who only wanted to go to the library and just escape this stupid reality.

Harry was running along the sidewalk, towards the library two blocks away, when he stumbled on seemingly something which he hadn’t spotted and found himself sprawled on his stomach, wincing at the scratches and cuts his elbows and knees received on making contact with the concrete.

Before Harry could get up and start running again, Piers – who was thinner and more athletic than his pig of a cousin – caught up to him and grabbed his arms. He pulled him up roughly, almost bending and taking Harry's shoulders off their sockets in his haste.

“Finally giving up, are you?”, Piers screeched in his ears as he clutched his hands in a lock at Harry’s back. “You cannot always escape us, you little devil!”

Harry did not deem that gibberish nonsense worthy enough to retort with anything as he struggled to free himself from that idiot. He swore once he actually learned how to use his magic to hurt these two, he will torture them worse than they were doing to him.

Harry paused in his struggles to escape as he saw Dudley running towards them slowly, while panting as if he’d been running all his life. The pig stopped a few feet away and gave him a menacing smirk that actually looked more like as if he was constipated.

“Couldn’t escape anymore now, could you, freak?”, he asked, rubbing his hands together in glee.

Harry gave Dudley a glare that promised retribution and then turned his expression into a very pleasant smile. “Why, Dudley? Where did you learn to speak such eloquently, hmm?”, he asked with a fake cheer in his voice. “And you shouldn’t call Piers such a nasty word, now, should you?”, he turned his neck slightly to eye Piers standing beside him. “Look what he’s calling you!”, he stage-whispered.

Piers’ grip on his hands tightened while Dudley’s face slowly turned red in anger. He spluttered, “I was not calling him anything, you devil!”, he raged. “You are the freak! Living in my house when nobody wants you there!”

“Oh, believe me, Dudley," Harry gave Dudley a smirk. “I am not dying to live with you folks either, but situation calls. We can’t do anything about it, can we?”

“You are such a freak!”, Dudley spat close to his face.

Harry just raised his eyebrow while giving Dudley a rather disappointed look. “Now, now, dear Duddikins. Haven’t your parents taught you manners?”, Harry sneered at Dudley. “Oh, that’s right. You would need to know what that is to teach your offspring that, wouldn’t you?”

The implication of Harry’s last statement was definitely not caught on by Dudley, since he only gave Harry a glare and spat, “What would you know about parents, freak? You don’t have any!”

Harry’s sneer vanished, replaced by a blank look. His magic uncoiled, rolling out of him in a dark wave, lowering the surrounding temperature by a few degrees. The rage inside him filled him up and he shot Dudley a cold look. “Never, ever, Dursley, talk about my parents," Harry whispered making both Dudley and Piers shiver. “I might put up with your stupidity regarding me, but bring them up once more and I won’t stop myself from painfully killing you and your gang.”

Dudley had turned a bit pale, but being as stupid and narrow-minded as he was while also lacking self-preservation, he advanced towards Harry in hopes to physically beat him when he couldn’t beat him verbally.

Harry gave him his nastiest look, ready to punch the bastard with his magic alone, when he heard a distant shout from behind him and Piers.

Dudley looked away from Harry and towards whoever had shouted, and Harry felt Piers turn around a bit to look too. He himself couldn’t see who it was, but whoever the person might have been had scared Dudley and Piers enough for them to pale slightly more.

Dudley immediately turned around and ran, while Piers, who was still holding Harry, pushed him sideways - which, unfortunately, happened to be towards the road - while he ran to catch up with Dudley too.

Before Harry could do something, anything to stop himself from landing face-first onto the road, he heard a blaring horn and a screech of wheels on the asphalt due to sudden application of brakes, and felt himself colliding heavily with something huge from his right side and felt pain explode along his whole body as he landed heavily on asphalt.

Harry felt disoriented as his body ached. He could blearily make out the blue sky, but couldn’t understand what exactly had happened. His vision blurred as he tried taking in a breath that made his chest ache something fierce. His arms and legs seared as he felt them bleeding and there were definitely multiple broken ribs, maybe a broken leg or arm and definitely a head injury.

He heard someone shouting and felt someone checking his pulse, but he couldn’t even move his head an inch. His brain started feeling fuzzy and before he could understand anything else, his world turned black.

Chapter Text

Harry slowly came back to consciousness, though surprisingly, he did not feel any pain or aches he had felt before passing out. He was lying face-down on a hard surface.

As his eyes opened and he focused them around his surroundings, he blinked. Everything was pitch black, only darkness permeating around wherever he was.

Harry hesitantly got up, all the while keeping an eye out for anything un-healthy popping up out of thin air, or thin blackness, whatever. He looked hard at all the directions, but it was like he was in nothingness or something. There was only black everywhere, nothing to make sure whether it was real or if he was dreaming.

He looked down at his own body and found himself wearing his cousin’s baggy clothes. Why couldn’t he wear something better when he was dreaming? It was really depressing!

“Harrison James Potter-Black-Peverell," someone with a rich baritone spoke from behind him and the voice echoed around the whole place. “We finally meet. Again.”

Harry spun around, feeling a very strong sense of déjà vu, and his eyes landed on a black, hooded figure standing a few feet away from him. The figure almost blended in with his surroundings with how much dark their clothes were. Their face was half covered with the hood, and their whole body was covered by a dark black robe which seemed to be sucking in all the darkness around within itself.

“I-I know you," Harry murmured, staring intently at the figure. His voice echoed too, but not like the way the voice of the figure in front of him had.

The figure cocked its head to one side. “Do you now?”, they asked. “I don’t believe you would know me.”

“I do," Harry replied, more sure of himself as the image of the same figure he’d been dreaming since he was a toddler flashed across his mind. “Death is peaceful, you told me," Harry paused. The figure in front of him seem to be frozen. “You are Lord Death.”

There was a momentary silence and then, the figure, Lord Death chuckled, a low and deep baritone. “Impressive. You seem to have an impressive memory, child. You remember me from when I came to collect your parents at the time of their demise.”

Harry gulped as the screaming of his dreams echoed in his ears. “That dream’s true then. I never thought you would be real.”

“Many things that you couldn’t even comprehend are real, mortal," Lord Death whispered. “Your human mind just cannot comprehend it.”

Harry blinked, again a feeling of déjà vu came over him. Had someone told him this before? Something similar?

“Right. Of course. Me and my mere human mind," he murmured.

There was a pause. “Are you being sassy, human?”

“Of course not," Harry replied.

“And that’s sarcasm," Lord Death growled out.

Harry winced. “Please ignore that, Lord Death," he replied, raising his hands a bit in the gesture of a surrender to not provoke the being any further. “I just…”, he waved his hands which conveyed nothing more than something non-sensical. “I was curious, nothing else. Just….am I dead?”, he asked.

“Indeed, you are," Lord Death replied. “What do you remember last from when you were in the mortal plane?”

Harry’s heart sank a bit, though now he wouldn’t have a heart, right? He was dead. Gone from the world in just a flash. Gone at only nine – he hadn’t even gotten the chance to say goodbye to Miss Coulson. He hadn’t truly explored his magic yet, hadn’t yet read all the books available at his library, hadn’t yet gotten the chance to get out of the hellhole that was Number Four and haven’t yet seen the world. He wanted his own family, someone he could care and love and someone who would do the same for him, he wanted to meet and befriend people away from his relatives tainting his image – he had left so much yet to explore.

But, he supposed, he had found out one answer. Afterlife was real, since he was meeting someone who took souls to afterlife – and that meant he could meet D, he could even meet his parents and even his grandparents. He could have his family here, however the way they lived in the afterlife. He could get to know them, be at peace with them now. He would be finally away from the Dursleys and their stupidity and their torment.

As much as he did not like the idea of leaving his life behind, he couldn’t deny that this afterlife will be better than the torment he had had to live with due to his relatives.

At last, Harry gave a nod. “Yeah. That makes sense," he looked up at Lord Death where his hooded face was. “I remember colliding with some heavy thing, and knowing that we were standing on a sidewalk, I would guess it was a car or something?”

Lord Death gave a slow nod, “Yes, you collided with a car. Rather nasty, those things. They give me rather a lot of paperwork to do when you mortals keep either colliding with them or in them. Rather a pathetic way to die, you know.”

Harry grimaced. The being didn’t know how not to hurt others’ feelings. He shrugged, “Oh, well...”, he paused, then blinked, “-wait! You guys have to do paperwork as well?!”

Lord Death visibly seemed to deflate at that, “I know, right?! We, the mighty beings, have to do those stupid things that mortals invented!”

Harry pursued his lips to stop himself from chuckling, “That’s rather sad.”

“I know!”, Lord Death whined, suddenly doing a one-eighty to how he was behaving just a moment prior. “And you would think those things would fill themselves up with just a snap of my bony fingers, but no! Lady Magic deems it lazy, and we have to work our asses off to fill them all up manually!”

Harry gave a solemn nod, “I get you, Lord Death, I really get you.”

Lord Death gave out a rather dramatic sigh, “You know what, Harrison? You might actually have become my most favorite mortal who has ever come into my plane.”

Harry grinned, “Yeah?”

“Yes!”, Lord Death said as he literally transformed in front of Harry. His robes stayed the same, but the hood vanished and a face that looked beautiful and handsome at the same instant became visible – the eyes were pitch black, his hairs black as well, swept back and tied in a ponytail at his nape. His lips were curled into a rather mischievous grin. “Now, Harrison. Come along and I will explain to you how I have to sort the souls and fill up their paperwork.”

Harry raised his eyebrows, wondering whether Death was bending some cosmic rule by beckoning Harry to show him his work or whatever, but shrugged and moved to follow after him.

But before they could start going to wherever Lord Death had his workspace, there was a flash of light and a very beautiful woman stepped out between them, wearing a full-length shimmering white robe with what seemed to be intricate gold designs, her black glossy hair loosely clipped behind her head and her eyes literally glimmering gold. She shot Lord Death a very annoyed look.

“Really, Lord Death?”, she asked, her voice like gently flowing river – soothing and calm. “This is your idea of a test for your Master? Or is it another ploy to destroy their plans?”

Lord Death shot her an innocent smile, “Why would I do that now, Lady Magic?”, he asked while Harry’s eyes widened. He stared at the Lady standing just a few feet away from him in awe. The being from where his magic came from! Harry couldn’t describe how amazing it felt standing just a little way away from Lady Magic herself. Harry openly gaped.

She shot Lord Death a rather unimpressed look, “Lord Death," she chastised. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten your little stunt that you pulled over the Peverells. You destroyed my chance to bridge the gap mortals had started making over my magic back then. And I wouldn’t allow you to do that again just because you don’t want to mentor someone about your granted powers.”

Lady Magic turned to look at Harry who was still gaping at her with his mouth wide open, while Lord Death just gave a low grunt behind her, looking rather put out.

Before she could say anything though, Harry blurted out, “You are the one who gave me magic! Thank you so much for that, Lady!”, he bowed to her. “I’ve always wondered how my magic was fueled…..err……..powered……..err, came from?”, he blushed. “You know, how it came?”, Harry gestured, his blush deepening in embarrassment. “You know what?! Never mind! Please ignore me, my lady," Harry mumbled, looking down at his worn-out shoes and shuffling around. Wonderful, Harry, he thought, made a fool of yourself in front of someone this amazing.

Instead of being made fun of, Harry only heard a light chuckle. He looked up from staring intently at his shoes and saw Lady Magic smiling at him with a bit of fondness in her eyes. “You are very much welcome, Harrison. It is a pleasure to finally meet you.”

Harry’s eyes widened and he spluttered, “O-Oh! Wow. I-It’s my pleasure to meet you, Lady.”

Lady Magic only smiled at him, but Lord Death shot him a scowl while he shuffled behind her.

“Look at him!”, he pointed an accusing index finger at Harry. Harry only blinked. “He’s acting like such a blubbering fool in front of you while he was being sassy and sarcastic with me!”

Harry was offended. This was Lady Magic! She gave him magic!

“And I will give you Necromancy and control over my creatures, you idiot!”, Lord Death snapped at him.

Harry blinked. Apparently, they could hear his thoughts. Rather a breach of privacy, if anyone asked him.

Lord Death shot him a death glare, and seeing as he was Lord Death, the glare was rather menacing.

Harry shot him an uncertain smile. Then, he blinked again. “Wait, Necromancy? Control? Creatures? What?”

Lady Magic gave out a small sigh, “Aren’t you going the wrong way, Lord Death? Shouldn’t you have first asked the question?”

Lord Death grumbled something inaudible.

“I apologize, Lord Death," Lady Magic shot Harry a look that read ‘can you believe him?’. “I might be able to hear Harrison’s thoughts here, but I can’t yours.”

Lord Death shot her an annoyed look, but repeated, “I didn’t need to ask him. He had already made his decision. Rather easy one when they had made his life like that.”

Lady Magic pursued her lips and gave Harry a sad smile. “You chose death instead of going back, Harrison?”, she asked.

Harry nodded slowly, “Yes. I would get to meet D and my parents here. I…….don’t like the Dursleys. And isn't death....like, permanent? How can I choose to go back?”

Lord Death gave a humorless chuckle while Lady Magic walked towards Harry and gently pulled him into a hug. Harry froze, not used to any kind of positive contact, but slowly relaxed when he felt her Magic wrap around him in a warm cocoon and thought he had felt it before somewhere. Lady Magic patted his head motherly and Harry just melted there.

"We'll explain that soon, Harrison," she murmured close to his ears, her arms still wrapped around Harry.

They stayed like that for a while, and when they parted, she pulled him beside her on a small couch that seemed to have come there out of nowhere. It was a mixture of white, emerald green and black. Harry looked around and saw Lord Death sitting a few feet away on a pure black armchair.

“Err..”, Harry blinked at them. “Why are we sitting here? Aren’t you gonna send me to…….um…into the afterlife or something?”

Lord Death and Lady Magic exchanged a meaningful look that Harry didn’t understand. Lord Death opened his mouth to answer, but closed them when there was an echoing ‘pop’. Harry looked away from Lord Death, and saw three women sitting on a white couch sporting mischievous glints in their eyes and sinister smirks on their faces. They seemed to have appeared out of nowhere too.

“Lord Death! Lady Magic! Harrison! We all finally meet!”, the three women exclaimed together.

As Harry stared at them, a distant memory of having already met them started coming into his mind. “We have already met, haven’t we?”, he asked hesitantly.

“Obviously, Harrison," one of them spoke. “You just don’t remember us, yet. The memory will come slowly back to you, do not worry.”

Harry only nodded. He remembered dreaming his usual forest-dream, then getting pulled suddenly into a white expanse. His conversation with these three ladies, his realization that they were the Fates, their apologies for putting him in such a situation and then their explanation about how they weaved destinies and how choices affect everyone’s futures. How they had told him his choices could affect the whole world – no pressure.

Harry took a deep breath, “You’ve got to be kidding with me!”

“I wish we were, Harrison," Clotho said.

“Yes," Lachesis nodded. “This would have been a very hilarious and wonderful cosmic joke.”

“But alas!”, Atropos shook her head sadly.

Lord Death shot the three women a rather nasty glare, then turned towards Harry, “As I was going to say, Harrison, you won’t be joining my plane yet. You have important work do to down in the mortal plane.”

“As we told you, Harrison-”, Clotho began with a grin.

“-world changing decisions to take," Lachesis finished.

“No pressure!”, Atropos piped with a wry grin. “And we’ve been waiting forever to say this-”

The three women looked at each other, then together piped, “You are a wizard, Harrison!”

Chapter Text

Harry gave the three Fates a blank look. He glanced at Lord Death, who looked like the only reason for him to be here was because he was threatened at gun-point or whatever was the being-equivalent of it, and then glanced at Lady Magic who looked half-frustrated and half-amused.

He turned back to the Fates. “Um, no offense, Lady Fates,” Harry told them hesitantly, “but I kind of already deduced that I am a wizard. Though, I suppose, it's good to have it confirmed.”

The three ladies only gave him an amused look. “Of course, Harrison," Clotho said.

“We know that." Lachesis nodded, grinning.

Atropos smiled. “We just wanted to say those words. And you are welcome!”

“Now that-”, Clotho spoke while gesturing to Lord Death, “-that’s done, we will give the stage back to Lord Death, here.”

“Please, Lord Death!”, Lachesis and Atropos chorused.

Harry gave them a small, amused smile and turned to look back at Lord Death who gave an exasperated roll of his eyes and then sat straight, turning to Harry with a serious gaze.

“I will answer your question first, Harrison," he began. “You won’t be joining the afterlife since you passed the test.” Harry’s eyebrows rose. “You see, you were chosen by the Fates and Magic for the honour of going through the test to maybe become the Master of Death. If you pass all the tests and fulfil all the requirements, you have the possibility of getting the title of being my Master.”

Harry frowned at the being. Why would a being this powerful need a Master? And why would they choose a human for that title? Wasn’t that a bit stupid? Besides, if somebody was a Master of Death itself and a mere human, wouldn’t they have too much power over a being, something that shouldn’t be allowed? Harry already knew a fair few people in his life who disregarded rules just because they had power over certain people. Humans were rather greedy.

“What does this title imply, exactly?”, he asked. “I don’t suppose you actually give power to a human to have control over you, Lord Death?”

The Fates and Lady Magic smiled. “Smart one," Lady Magic said.

Lord Death’s lips twitched, in what appeared to be both amusement and irritation. “No, I don’t," he replied. "The title is merely a way for me to feel connected to the mortal plane, and for mortals to have a way to contact me or their loved ones. The Master of Death can summon souls of departed mortals from my plane to the mortal plane for a limited amount of time. For a prize, of course.”

Harry nodded. “And that is Necromancy, I suppose?”, he asked. He had read about that field of witchcraft when he had been looking about Death. Most of it was described as evil and whatnot, where Necromancers communicated with spirits for Divination or to terrorize someone, with a sacrifice - which usually involved animals, or sometimes, humans.

“Yes and no," Lord Death replied. “Mortals, especially those who do not have magic, hypothesize that Necromancy has only uses in summoning spirits either to know future or to do their bidding. And magical mortals classify this art as one of the Darkest Arts in magic.”

Lady Magic gave out a weary sigh. “Magicals have classified my magic into three separate branches," she elaborated. "This classification wasn’t much prominent early on but as they slowly separated from non-magicals and started making their own government and communities, they started dividing and discriminating amongst themselves. They divided themselves into the Dark Faction – those who had Dark magical cores – and Light Faction – those who had Light magical cores. The Neutrals were those who did not had either – they could perform both types of magic, but usually individuals with Neutral magical cores have certain affinity for one type.”

She looked at Harry with a sad look on her face. “These Factions started fighting after what mortals called the Dark Ages – there were some wars before that, but they usually were more with non-magicals than amongst magicals. Once the separation was complete though, the magicals started fighting amongst themselves. These divides resulted in me having to give statuses of Dark or Light Lords to certain magicals who I believed would be able to stop the growing gap in my magic. But most of them failed.”

Harry frowned. This was rather nasty. Did every kind of human – magical or non-magical - fought for some reason or another? “Why did they fail?”, he asked.

Lady Magic looked away from Harry with a faraway look. “The Lords that I made usually followed my commands only until certain points. As you thought earlier, Harrison, humans are greedy. When you are being blessed by Magic as a Light or a Dark Lord, you'd usually forget that She blessed you for some reason that was not because you were the greatest among mortals or a god or some other such nonsense.”

Harry winced. “Yeah, that makes sense," he murmured, then shot her a curious look. “Why don’t you communicate with those idiots and explain why they shouldn’t divide your magic because of some stupid……Wait. Why is your magic divided into Dark and Light? There must be some reason for them to do that, right?”

Lady Magic gave a slow nod, then looked at Lord Death.

Lord Death spoke up, “Light magic is rather easy to do, Harrison. It just requires a wand - or if you are powerful enough - just your hand, your magic, an incantation and a particular wand movement. With a few efforts and tries, you can do spells that come under Light Magic easily.” He glanced at Lady Magic. “Dark Magic, however, requires either very strong emotion, blood or some form of sacrifice. Take, for example, the Cruciatus Curse – the Torturing Curse, one of the Unforgivables in British Wizarding World, and most of the magical world, for that matter.”

Harry gaped, “There is a…Torturing Curse in the…..Wizarding World?!”

“To stop thinks from turning messy." Atropos grinned.

“The Curse is rather useful if you want to obtain information out of your truly hated enemy-”, Lachesis explained.

“Feels like your nerve endings are on fire, as if your very bones are being repeatedly attacked by a knife," Atropos piped in.

“-without resorting to physically torturing them," Lachesis continued. “Just fire off the spell and the poor soul will be flailing and screaming their vocal cords out of their throats.”

“Where did you learn how the Curse feels like?”, Clotho asked, turning to stare at Atropos.

“I asked a mortal soul once. Died from excessive bleeding after being tortured. Sad, really," Atropos replied, grinning wickedly. "They were really helpful.”

Clotho gave a thoughtful hum, while Harry was busy feeling sick.

Lord Death, on the other hand, looked ready to put them under the Torturing Curse himself.

“As I was saying," he gritted out, “the Curse requires the castor to truly hate the victim enough to make them feel immense pain. If the Curse is put on long enough, the victim will turn insane.”

“Dark Magic is addictive too," Lady Magic spoke. “If you use certain spells and curses for long enough you will get truly addicted to them. Take the Cruciatus. If someone uses it often enough, they'd develop an addiction to it, along with their mind turning hateful and angry at even the smallest of things. They are dangerous if not used properly.”

Lord Death nodded. “And Necromancy, Soul Magic and some of the types of Arts that a Master of Death needs to know, all come under the classification of the Darkest of Arts in the mortal Wizarding Worlds. Most of these types of magic are heavily regulated by their governments and any unauthorized use will result in you either getting the Dementor’s Kiss or getting thrown into my Veil or a life imprisonment in their prisons.”

Harry stared at Lord Death, wide-eyed. “You mean, if I do pass all your requirements, I will be chucked into wizarding jails for practicing any of your blessings?”, he squeaked. “And what even does a Dementor’s Kiss mean?! What is a Dementor? And a Veil?”

“There’s so much to explain!”, Lord Death sighed. “I will explain these when I start mentoring you, Harrison. Currently, you need to know other, more pressing matters.”

“Yes," Clotho gave a sage nod. “Start with his parents.”

“No!”, Lachesis said, shooting Clotho a glare. “First, tell him about the war!”

“What about those stupid blocks?!”, Atropos asked, glaring at both of her sisters.

Lord Death, in turn, shot all three women an immensly irritated look. “This is all your fault, alright?!”, he snapped at them.

The three women shot the Lord of Death nasty looks together, before they went back to bickering with each other, completely ignoring the deadly glare Lord Death shot at them.

Lady Magic gave Harry her 'can-you-believe-what-kind-of-idiots-I-have-to-deal-with' look. Harry returned her an understanding look. He regularly had to deal with his relatives and Dudley and his gang. They might not be really similar, but he could assume these beings annoyed the living hell out of her sometimes like the Dursleys did to him. He totally got her.

Lady Magic waved her hand and a blue shimmer surrounded them, what Harry presumed was a barrier that stopped all sound as he saw a faint glimmer around them and all the bickering noises ceased.

“Almost three decades ago,” Lady Magic began and Harry gave her his full attention, listening with rapt interest, “I bestowed the title of the Dark Lord to a Dark wizard. He was exceptionally powerful, intelligent, charming, ambitious and someone who saw and valued magic as something wonderful. He was fascinated with how my magic worked, learned all by himself the conflict and differences between Light and Dark and realized that it was plain stupidity. He realized how the magicals shouldn’t differentiate between magic, how my magic was dying with the increase in in-breeding and cutting off of the other magical creatures from the main society due to increasing restrictions.

“He vowed that he'd unite magic, re-introduce the old traditions and customs which the Wizarding World seems to have forgotten, give all the creatures equal rights and completely separate the magicals from the non-magical population.These goals of his aligned with my desire of unification and hence, I granted him the title of the Dark Lord.”

“Why separation from non-magicals?”, Harry asked, slightly confused.

“Well, the example of your relatives is a good one, Harrison.” Lady Magic smiled a sad smile at Harry. He tensed. “People find those things dangerous which they do not understand. If non-magicals found out about magic that they themselves cannot use, they will start regulating magicals. Their technology is far more superior than anything the magicals have envisioned so far.”

Lady Magic waved her hands and simultaneous three-dimensional images popped up in front of Harry in succession. A small alley which seemed to be a marketplace, with shops of things Harry hadn’t seen before. People dressed in robes moved along the small road, coming and going inside shops. The image changed to a library where people wrote with feather quills on parchments and, instead of electric bulbs, there were fire burning in metal holders and candles burning on holders or nooks.

“The Wizarding World is stagnant. Unlike non-magicals who keep discovering new and innovative ways to make life easier, magicals have magic," Lady Magic continued. "They don’t feel the need to look or innovate for much about anything. Add the fact that only the old families and those who have money get into positions of power and the magicals who come from non-magicals are not truly integrated into that world, and you get a world where people don’t have much imagination or innovation or motivation. Non-magicals will easily destroy magicals in a week if they found out about their existence and found them dangerous and threatening to their ways of living, to their society and psyche.”

“That’s sad," Harry murmured.

Lady Magic nodded. “The initial movement of this Dark Lord might be considered successful. He….manipulated a large number of magicals and convinced a significant number of creatures towards his cause. But….”, Lady Magic hesitated.

“But,” Lord Death took over, looking really angry and irritated, “that idiot mortal delved too far into some of the Darkest Arts. He destroyed his soul!”, he spat out.

Harry felt his eyes widen, “Soul?”

“Yes!”, Lord Death spat. “Maimed his whole soul - destroyed himself, his mind, his intelligence and his magic! Lost his sanity! He became insane, a monster hell-bent on killing and torturing people because he forgot everything! He forgot what he had realized about magic, he forgot what he had promised to Lady Magic when he had been granted the title of a Lord. He became a husk of his past self, a creature that only craved power and immortality.”

Harry blinked at Lord Death. “Immortality?”, he asked, confused and felt slightly embarrassed at repeating Lord Death's words again and again.

“He became afraid of death, Harrison," Lady Magic answered, sighing a little. “A result of his childhood trauma that slowly emerged as paranoia in his early adulthood. He delved too far into Soul Magic and destroyed himself.”

“And that, Harrison,” Lord Death said, “brings us to your parents.”

Harry looked at Lord Death, his chest constricting slightly. “What about them?”, he whispered.

“They were murdered by the very same insane Dark Lord when you were fifteen months old.”

Harry took a breath. He was learning about his parents for the first time. He was right. They hadn’t died in a stupid car-crash, they had been murdered by an insane Dark wizard.

“One of the strongest and the most powerful Dark wizards and Dark Lords in the whole of the Wizarding history, Harrison," Atropos said softly. “He might have turned insane, but that man was insanely powerful.”

Harry gave a slow nod, his mind slightly numb. “Why did he kill them?”, he asked softly. He felt slightly conflicted. He had always been jealous of children who had loving and doting parents to look after them. But he had never known what exactly it felt like to have parents to even know what he had lost. And now, when he was finally finding out about what had happened to his parents, he didn’t know how to feel, what to feel.

“That would be our fault, Harrison," Lachesis replied.

Harry’s eyes snapped to her with a jolt, “W-What?”

“You see," Clotho started, “at the end of June, in the year nineteen-eighty, a witch named Sybil Trelawney gave a prophecy ordained by us in front of one Albus Dumbledore.”

“Dumbledore decided to use his brain and changed the actual words of our prophecy-”

“The nerve of that mortal!”, Atropos muttered.

“-into something that suited his needs," Lachesis continued the explanation. “Since Miss Trelawney couldn’t actually remember what the prophecy was, as Seers who give prophecies never remember them, Dumbledore manipulated her to help him for his greater good.”

“He orchestrated the events, so that when he went to take a fake interview of Miss Trelawney at a pub, one of the Dark Lord’s followers would be there to hear his prophecy," Clotho said.

Atropos smiled. “But luck would have it that when Miss Trelawney started speaking the prophecy, the spy was discovered and thrown out of the pub. He had only heard three lines from the prophecy which happened to be the unchanged ones.”

“Deciding to not be tortured to insanity, the spy went and told the Dark Lord whatever he had heard," Lachesis said.

“And when this husk of a Dark Lord heard the prophecy,” Lord Death took over, “his fear of death made him take rash decisions, and so he came after you and your parents.”

“Your parents died protecting you, Harrison," Lady Magic said softly, giving him a small smile. “And your mother’s love and sacrifice for you made such a strong barrier that it pulled you back to the mortal plane and saved your life. You would have died otherwise.”

Harry blinked rapidly, a lump already in his throat and a painful tightening in his chest. His parents had died protecting him. For him.

“Your father’s name was James Charlus Potter and your mother’s was Lily Evans-Potter," Lord Death said. “They were both brilliant at magic; your father was very good at the branch of magic called Transfiguration while your mother was amazing at Charms and Potions.”

“They fell in love in their seventh year of schooling," Lady Magic continued. “After graduation, they joined Dumbledore’s Order of the Phoenix, a non-government group which fought against the rising forces of the Dark wizard. Soon after, they married and a few months later, your mother became pregnant with you.”

“But,” Harry murmured, his voice hoarse, “why would they decide to have a child at the time of war?”

“They didn’t decide, Harrison," Lady Magic replied. “You just happened.”

“Great.” Harry made a face at that thought. “So, what exactly did the prophecy say? And why didn’t my parents just leave the country? The war was going on in Britain, right?”

“Indeed, it was," Lord Death answered. “And your parents were planning on shifting to Americas. But Dumbledore convinced them that they were needed here more, and that he and his Order wouldn’t be able to help them if the Dark Lord decided to go after them.”

Harry frowned. Why did everything had something or the other to do with Dumbledore? “How much is Dumbledore involved with this thing? He seems to have heard the prophecy, he had control over a group that fought against the Dark faction and he convinced my parents to stay and fight when they had a child they had to look out for.”

“Albus Dumbledore is a master manipulator, Harrison," Clotho said. All the beings looked a bit annoyed. “He is seen as the beacon of all that is good in the British Wizarding World.”

“He defeated another Dark Lord in nineteen-forty-five, ending the war going on in Europe and the second muggle World War. He is the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, the magical equivalent of the legislature and judiciary, and the Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards," Lachesis continued.

“But chiefly,” Atropos said, “he is considered the friendly Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, one of the most famous and prestigious schools in the Wizarding World.”

At the end of the Fates’ speech, Harry had both his eyebrows touching his hairline, impressed. “That man seems to have immense power," he commented.

“Yes," Lord Death said, frowning a little. “The man shows that he does not like all these positions, but he loves power, loves controlling and manipulating people to his will.”

“And he wanted the prophecy to come into effect, since it spoke of someone who will have the power to vanquish the Dark Lord," Lady Magic said. “And for the prophecy to come into effect, the Dark Lord needed to attack someone and mark them.” She looked at the Fates, raising an eyebrow at them questioningly. “How much of the prophecy do you intend to reveal to Harrison?”

The Fates shared a look, and gave a decisive nod.

“We believe that the prophecy should not be told yet," Clotho began.

Harry opened his mouth to protest but Clotho interrupted.

“We know it isn’t fair, Harrison, when the prophecy is actually talking about you.”

“But,” Lachesis took over, “we have to keep in mind that this prophecy is very straightforward. If we told you the exact words of the prophecy, you wouldn’t have the free will to take what decision you want to take, instead of taking any decision that will seem to you that it is the one that can save everyone you might come to care about.”

“We want the decision to be purely yours," Atropos continued. “Once you have made your decision, we will give you the prophecy.”

“But!”, Clotho grinned. “We will tell you the initial lines that have already come true, and the prophecy which Dumbledore made.” She gestured grandly to Lachesis, “The lines which have already come true are-”

Lachesis cleared her throat rather loudly and dramatically. “The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches. Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies. And the Dark Lord shall mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not.”

Harry pondered over the words, turning them slowly in his head. “My parents defied him three times?”, he asked.

“Yes!”, Clotho said excitedly.

Harry pursued his lips. Why did his parents wanted to fight in a damn war when they had only graduated from a school? And to top it all, they decided to have a child and then not move out of the country to protect the said child!

“And I was born at the end of July," he murmured to himself. “There was no other child born at the end of July?”, he asked.

“There was one," Lady Magic answered. “Neville Longbottom, a pureblood child of Alice and Frank Longbottom, born on July the thirtieth.”

Harry hummed. “But your Dark Lord decided to come after me?”, he asked.

“Yes," Lady Magic answered. “You see, he saw himself in you – a half-blood child of a pureblood and a muggleborn.”

“What,” Harry asked hesitantly, “exactly is a pureblood and a half-blood and a muggleborn?”

Lady Magic gave an annoyed huff.

Lord Death rolled his eyes. “Just an idiotic way for the magicals to differentiate amongst themselves," he replied. “Purebloods are those who come only from magicals, they have a whole book of rules on how to classify someone as pureblood. Muggleborns are those who come from non-magicals, what the Wizarding World calls muggles. Half-bloods come from a pureblood and a muggleborn or a non-magical.”

Harry stared at Lord Death. “Right," he drawled out slowly. “Everywhere has prejudices then," he murmured. “Anyways, going back to the prophecy. How did the Dark Lord mark me?”

“Your scar, Harrison," Lady Magic said, pointing towards his forehead. Harry’s hand moved to touch the ragged lightning bolt scar on his forehead. “When the Dark Lord fired the Killing Curse at you, the night he attacked your home, you made an accidental shield that rebounded the Curse back. But some of it touched you right there and gave you a mark that proclaimed you as his equal.”

Harry scratched his forehead with slight annoyance. There was not only a Torturing Curse in the Wizarding World, but a Killing Curse as well! But he should have expected that, shouldn’t he? “Wonderful," he murmured. “That man fired a Killing Curse at me, and I accidentally survived it. I mean,” he looked at the five beings sitting around him with curiosity, “what are the chances of a toddler surviving a Killing Curse?”

Lord Death gave out an unidentifiable noise while Lady Magic gave him a proud smile. The three Fates though, shared an evil grin.

“One to all the living beings that have been born on the mortal plane, Harrison," Clotho answered.

Lachesis shot Lord Death a smug look, who merely glared back at her with as much hatred as he could muster.

“You are the only known survivor of the Killing Curse, Harrison," she said.

Atropos nodded, “The Wizarding World adores you for that. When the Killing Curse rebounded itself and destroyed the Dark Lord, in a way, you were hailed as their saviour.”

“The Boy-Who-Lived, they call you," Clotho grinned. “Their little wizard saviour.”

Harry gaped at them, his mind jumbled with shock. “You have got to be kidding with me!”, he exclaimed at last.

“No, Harrison," Lady Magic replied. “We are not joking. You are the only known survivor of that Curse. Granted, the Curse can be survived by dodging it, or putting some object in-between, but nobody survives when the Curse touches them.”

“Then, how did I survive it?”, Harry asked curiously.

“An accidental pure magical shield," Lady Magic answered. “We don’t know how you really understood that you were in danger when you were just a toddler, but you did and created that shield. The shield re-bounded the Curse when it stuck, but not before touching you at your forehead.”

“You did die, though," Lord Death spoke up. “The amount of magic required to create such a pure shield is too much for any magical. Not to mention for a toddler. But your mother’s sacrifice pulled you back to the mortal plane.”

Harry stared at them, slowly digesting the tidal wave of answers that he was finally getting about his past and magic and parents. “How did she do that? Can only s-sacrificing yourself for your child pull them back from the dead? And isn’t it Necromancy?”, he asked.

“Slightly," Lord Death answered. “The magic your mother used is almost forgotten in the Wizarding World. It’s a runic ritual that requires the blood of both the practitioner and the person for which the ritual is being carried. And, of course, a willing sacrifice, done with unsurmountable love for the person. It’s a powerful ritual, Old and mostly unknown.”

Harry nodded slowly, feeling his chest ache for his mother who had died just for him, who had sacrificed herself for him to survive a Dark Lord. Who loved him enough to die for him willingly. He couldn’t express how much he wished he had his parents alive then, with him. He wanted to feel that love for real, not to try and imagine it.

“My mother was…”, Harry took a deep breath and looked at Lord Death with pleading eyes. “Can I please meet her? Just for a few moments? And my father? Please?”

Lord Death pursued his lips, and with something akin to guilt, shook his head. “Apologies," he said. "But you can’t meet them. Yet.”

Harry’s shoulders slumped, but he gave a stiff nod. He knew it wasn’t possible. If he wasn’t dead yet, he couldn’t meet them.

There was a beat of silence, Harry staring unseeingly at the floor, Lady Magic’s hand resting on his shoulders consolingly.

“You will be able to Summon them for a few minutes once you master Necromancy.”

Harry’s head snapped up once the words registered in his mind. “Really?”, he whispered, dazed.

“Yes," Lord Death nodded. “It comes under Necromancy, not to mention it’s in the job description of the Master of Death.”

Harry’s lips slowly morphed into a beaming smile. “Awesome! When can you start teaching me then?”, he exclaimed. He very much wanted to meet his parents, thank them for what they had done for him, then berate them for listening to an old man and not running off to a different country in a time of war.

“Not that fast, Harrison." Clotho chuckled. “You need to learn more and then, we need to discuss how you’ll be waking up and what order of business we’ll need to attend to first.”

“Right!”, Harry said, trying not to bounce on the couch with impatience. “Go on! I’m listening.”

Lachesis hummed. “Your mother got the ritual when Dumbledore pointedly returned the books he’d burrowed from the Potters," she began. “So, in a way, he was a reason that you survived.”

Harry felt himself grow stiff. “And also the reason why my mother willingly sacrificed herself instead of running away," Harry gritted out. How much was Dumbledore attached to his life? He manipulated his parents to not leave Britain, gave the Dark Lord a prophecy, successfully got said Dark Lord to come after a baby, made his mother sacrifice herself for Harry and he apparently knew where Harry lived.

With a slight feeling of dread, Harry looked at the beings one-by-one. “Please tell me,” he began slowly, “that Dumbledore is not the reason why I’m living with my lovely relatives.”

The Fates gave Harry what looked like a mix between guilty, sheepish and apologetic looks, while Lady Magic and Lord Death gave out slow sighs.

“We can tell you that, Harrison-”, Atropos said.

“-but-”, Lachesis sighed.

“-we’d be lying then," Clotho finished.

Harry closed his eyes, having such a strong urge to throw a huge tantrum befitting of some three-year-old, but refrained himself, pinching his nose. “Why?”, his voice sounded strained.

“I think you can figure it out yourself, Harrison," Lady Magic murmured.

Harry kept his eyes closed and thought. Dumbledore knew his parents, meaning he might have known his mother’s sister, which implied he might have known that she didn’t like magic. Also, there were no other magicals around Little Whinging, at least none that Harry knew of. And knowing that Harry was apparently famous in the Wizarding World for surviving a Dark Lord, Dumbledore wanted Harry to be away from fame. He also wanted Harry not to have any knowledge of the Wizarding World, and since Lady Magic had mentioned how the magicals were discriminating on the basis of cores and whatnot, he was sure Dumbledore will insert himself as Harry’s mentor when Harry will rejoin the Wizarding World and will fill him up with his own propaganda.

Harry opened his eyes to look at Lord Death. “Does he know about the Dursleys’ treatment of me?”, he asked.

Lord Death nodded. “He suggested to them, in a very round-about way, to be stricter with you," he answered.

Harry felt his eyes harden. “Exactly how much strict?”

“To neglect you as much as they can and to occasionally physically harm you to keep you compliant.”

“A perfectly moldable child then," Harry murmured. “Doesn’t he know that abused children might never trust anyone again? Become hard, adaptable? Get manipulative? Is it really necessary for them to only want someone to look up to?”

“That is the thing with Dumbledore, isn’t it?”, Clotho murmured.

“He thinks what he believes in is the sole thing that will come to happen.”

“Doesn’t take what such environment can do to a child’s mind, his personality." Atropos sighed.

“You are not the only one he’s sent to an abusive household," Clotho said.

Harry felt himself sit straight, his eyes narrowing. “There are more children like me?”, he asked, anger beginning to simmer inside him.

Lachesis shook her head. “There were other children like you," she corrected.

“Who?”

Lord Death cleared his throat. “You don’t need to know about everyone. But one of them is important. Tom Marvolo Riddle," he told him. “A wizard who named himself Lord Voldemort. Also known as the Dark Lord, You-Know-Who and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.”

Harry stared at Lord Death, slack jawed, unable to understand what should be the most important thing to react to. Finally, he settled with, “The Dark Lord is called You-Know-Who and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?”

“That is what you settle on?”, Lady Magic asked, amused.

“It’s hard!”, Harry whined. “The Dark Lord was abused as a child! And Tom sounds like such a cute and sweet name! How could someone named Tom be the most feared and powerful wizard in Britain!”

The Fates cackled.

Lord Death sighed. “Don’t ever say that in front of that wizard, I beg you, Harrison.”

Lady Magic had a complicated expression on her face.

“Well, that explains why he named himself Lord Voldemort," Harry muttered. “Nobody would have been afraid of the Dark Lord Tom," he giggled. “Lord Tom. Tom is really such a cute name!”

“Will you stop saying that?”, Lord Death grumbled.

The Fates continued their cackling background noise.

“Anyways," Lady Magic shot the Fates an annoyed look, "you will learn more about Lord Riddle later. Currently you need to know what prophecy Dumbledore made.”

“Yes!”, the Fates stopped their cackling and turned serious. “You do need to know that.”

Lachesis cleared her throat. “The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches, born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies. And the Dark Lord shall mark him as his equal, but he shall have the power the Dark Lord knows not. And either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives. The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies.”

“Wow," Harry murmured after a moment of contemplating the prophecy. “Dumbledore seriously needs to check his morals! He wants a child to kill a grown-up wizard! Not to mention one of the most powerful Dark wizards in Britain!”

“The prophecy does say you’d be his equal," Atropos pointed out.

“Only raw magical power won’t be able to do anything," Harry pointed out in return. “I can’t just fire off spells at him and hope for the best. Besides, he must have had at least three decades worth of experience over me!”

“Five decades actually," Lord Death supplied. "Not to mention, the man was a prodigy."

Harry slumped slightly. “You guys and Dumbledore both are insane!”, he proclaimed.

“Eh." the Fates shrugged.

“We didn’t say you will actually have to kill him," Atropos told him.

Harry raised his eyebrows. He replayed the beginning of the prophecy in his mind again. “Vanquish," he muttered. “To defeat thoroughly. I will defeat the Dark Lord, but not necessarily kill him.”

“There are numerous interpretations of a prophecy, Harrison," Lady Magic said, nodding. “It depends on how someone who hears it decides to take action. Dumbledore, for example, interpreted the real prophecy to mean that a child will defeat and kill Tom Riddle, ridding everyone of the insane Dark Lord forever.”

“But you can interpret it in a completely different way," Lord Death said.

Harry couldn’t help the slight pout that came over his face. “But you guys aren't telling me the whole real prophecy!”, he pointed out.

“It will affect your decision-making, Harrison," Clotho replied. “We don’t want to take away your will to choose.”

Harry sighed, but conceded. “Alright. It makes sense," he said. “What else do you guys need to tell me?”

Lachesis hummed. “I suppose it’s more or less complete?”, she questioned looking at everyone.

Clotho plucked out a notebook and a pen from thin air. “Let’s see," she muttered, flipping through the pages. “Told him about the Wizarding World, divide between different factions, rise of the Dark Lord Voldemort, prophecy, Dumbledore’s machinations, his parents, Tom’s insanity….”, as she said this, she put what looked like tick marks in her notebook. Harry couldn’t help the amusement tilting his lips. “Only the blocks and what you will do once you wake up is left.”

“Blocks?”, Harry asked, confusion evident in his voice, his lips tilting into a frown.

All the beings hesitated slightly. Harry’s confusion grew. “What is it?”, he asked again.

Lady Magic’s golden eyes flashed when she looked at Harry. “Have you ever wondered why it is a bit hard for you to access your magic? And why it became easier for you to use your magic after you bonded with that wand when you were seven?”, she asked.

Blocks. It echoed in Harry’s mind. His magic was blocked! And…..it wasn’t hard for him to guess who did this to him. After all, who had been playing with his and his parents’ life from the beginning?

“Why?”, Harry gritted out, rage building up inside him. He wished he could find that old man and curse him to hell and back. He wanted to block the man’s magic himself and see how he fared with it.

“Dumbledore had problem fighting Voldemort," Lord Death began slowly. “As much as he wished to be granted the title of the Light Lord, Lady Magic never needed a Lord for Light, especially in Britain since Light Magic is not restricted there at all. Voldemort himself had a large magical core and when he was declared Lord, he became more powerful than Dumbledore.”

“And when the prophecy declared that you will be marked as the Dark Lord’s equal,” Atropos continued, “Dumbledore became afraid that once you defeated the Dark Lord, you might also become a problem to him.”

“So, he bound a child’s magic?!”, Harry exclaimed, disbelief clear across his face. He couldn’t believe the absurdity he was listening to! How could Dumbledore bind someone’s magic like that?! Not to mention when he was just a baby!

“When did he do that exactly?”, he asked.

“Just after you rebounded the Killing Curse," Lord Death answered.

“I….remember it," Harry murmured. The repeated dreams that he had been having since he was a child flashed through his mind. The green lights must have been the Killing Curse, and then Death visited him, soothed him and healed his wound. After that everything blurred, but then refocused to the old man – Dumbledore himself – and then pain. That must have been the binding.

Lady Magic gave Harry a sad look. “Yes, you do. Your memory is surprisingly good," she said. “Binding blood rituals are very powerful, and one of the most painful. Binding magical cores are actually illegal across whole of the magical world.”

Harry sneered. “And Dumbledore must think himself above everything to do that to a child, yes?”

Lady Magic winced. The Fates cackled and Lord Death gave a smirk.

“Of course," Clotho said. “Once you get on the mantle of defeating a Dark Lord and get the allegiance of the most powerful wand, you will start getting…..”, she paused.

“Overly cocky, is the word, I think," Lachesis piped in.

“Please, ladies," Lady Magic sighed. “Harrison is still a child.”

Harry shook his head. “No, I am not. If I was a child, I wouldn’t have survived the Dursleys," he said.

Lady Magic squeezed his shoulders slightly in response.

“We are really sorry, Harrison." Atropos sighed. “But it was necessary for you to develop some qualities.”

Harry nodded, resigned.

“On a happier note, we can now discuss what you need to do once you wake up," Clotho piped in, clapping her hands excitedly.

“But, wait!”, Harry interjected. “What about my block?”, he asked.

“We are getting there, Harrison," Lady Magic said gently.

Lachesis nodded. “So, we’ve put you in a coma since you’ve met that unfortunate accident.”

“It has been about two weeks since you’ve been lying in a hospital bed with tubes running through you," Atropos continued.

“Rather a pitiful site, you know," Clotho murmured. “You lying all alone there! Nobody to visit you except that wonderful young lady and our resident Death Lord.”

“Wait, what?”, Harry asked, feeling bewildered.

“To keep up the images, Harrison, to keep up the images," Clotho explained, which actually explained nothing.

Harry merely blinked.

“I will be taking the burden.......pardon, the mantle of being your mentor, Harrison," Lord Death explained. “I need to make sure that the non-magicals taking care of you there know that I am looking out for you, so that once you wake up and get discharged, they will let me take you out of the hospital.”

“Indeed." Lachesis nodded sagely after giving Lord Death a glare. “So, you get the part, right? Aside from Death here visiting you, Miss Mary Coulson comes by to sit beside you for mostly half-an-hour.”

“Such a good lady, that," Clotho murmured.

Harry nodded, agreeing with Clotho. He really wasn’t sure who'd be actually looking after him aside from the nurses in the hospital. Heck, he had been uncertain on whether he had been admitted to a hospital or not. If it was purely up to his relatives, they would have either left him in some corner of a street or chucked him inside his cupboard with not another thought spared. He will be sure to properly thank Miss Coulson for visiting him even though he was out of it for two weeks.

“So, once I wake up and get discharged, you are taking me to where?”, Harry asked, looking at Lord Death.

“We’ll visit Gringotts," Lord Death answered. “It’s the Wizarding World’s bank, controlled and operated by the goblins.”

“Nasty, violent creatures, those," Atropos muttered. “They absolutely hate the Ministry of the Wizarding World, and mostly keep themselves away from all of the wizard’s affairs and politics. They only care about the economy, and love making deals and bargains.”

“You should also respect them and follow their traditions and greetings while inside the bank," Lady Magic advised. “They hate wizards and witches who try to lord over them just because they see them as lower ranked creatures.”

Harry frowned. “Don’t the goblins have magic?”, he asked.

“They do.”

“Then, why do magicals try to lord over someone who control their whole economy?”, Harry asked. “Wouldn’t it be counter-productive to the magicals themselves?”

Lady Magic gave a resigned sigh. “That is the problem, isn’t it?”, she mumbled.

“You see, Harrison,” Clotho said while snickering, “the magicals got this nasty idea that they are above all creatures just because they are…”, she trailed off, frowning confusedly.

“Smart?”, Lachesis offered.

Atropos snorted. “Are the part of the species which controls the planet?”, she offered.

“Anyhow, they think they are above them," Clotho continued. “They’ve passed laws that restrict all these creatures, and that is also the reason why most of them joined the Dark Lord when his movement came to power.”

Harry nodded. “Really, who will actually like to be restricted when they’ve all got magic within them?”, he pointed out.

“Exactly, Harrison." Lady Magic nodded. “That’s why there have been so many wars between the goblins and wizards. They want laws that give them freedom to practice their own magic without any restriction, to have the right to use wands themselves, and to be not treated like some lowly creatures just because they have different biological bodies.”

Harry sighed. “It’s a mess," he summed up.

“Couldn’t say it better, Harrison." Lachesis smiled.

They lapsed into a momentary silence.

“So,” Harry took a breath, “what do we do once we reach the bank?”

“Why, Harrison!”, Lord Death smirked. “We get you a magical inheritance test.”

Chapter Text

As Harry and Lord Death ‘call me Lord Mortem or Lord Morte or Sir, Harrison’, made their way out of the General Hospital where Harry had spent more-or-less seventeen days of his life passed out in a coma, Harry waved a shy goodbye to the very good nurse who’d taken care of him after he had woken up.

It had been painful and disorienting to wake up and find himself on a hospital bed with tubes sticking into him even when he’d known about it beforehand. Miss Coulson had been visiting him at that very moment, and when she’d seen him twitching his fingers and then waking up, she’d almost cried in joy and immediately called the hospital staff to check up on him.

They’d told him how he’d painfully collided with a car when his friend had accidentally pushed him onto the road. He’d been rushed into the hospital, but it had been too late to stop him from falling into a coma due to the brain damage and the amount of blood loss he’d already suffered from.

Vernon Dursley hadn’t come in to visit Harry, citing work load and whatnot, while Petunia Dursley had visited for a grand total of three days spread out over the two weeks (and Harry was sure she must have bad mouthed him to the whole staff), but Miss Coulson had volunteered herself to look after him and visit him every day. Harry had thanked her profusely for taking time out of her schedule to visit him, but she had waved it away with tears in her eyes and had gently pulled him into a hug.

Harry had then had to listen to the list of injuries that he had received, and how his body was faring so far. He couldn’t stop himself from grimacing then.

Before being discharged, he had been ordered a strict diet and bed rest for at least two weeks. Harry wasn’t really sure if his relatives will even let him rest for a day, let alone two weeks. He could already imagine the amount of chores that must be waiting for for him back at that hell-hole.

But currently, he needed to focus on their visit to the Wizarding bank, Gringotts.

“So, how will we go there?”, he asked Lord Morte as they walked down the crowded street to somewhere. The being had informed him that Gringotts was located in London, in a hidden magical alley called Diagon.

“We will be shadowing there, of course," Lord Morte answered. He walked fast, his long legs carrying him through the streets. He was wearing a white crisp shirt with black slacks and polished shoes. His hair was perfectly parted, and his visage was the same as it had been when they had been talking in that strange plane of existence – pale skin, black eyes and both beautiful and handsome face. Harry had been expecting Lord Morte to visit him looking more along the lines of a hooded black robe, with glowing white eyes and a long and sharp scythe. It would have been entertaining to watch Death try to get entry into the hospital, then.

“I can still hear your thoughts, Harrison," Lord Morte said casually, while he turned sharply on his heels and entered an alley.

“Don’t you guys value privacy?”, Harry groaned out while he followed Lord Morte hurriedly into the alley. “And what is shadowing anyways?”, he asked. The alley looked deserted, with large dustbins and garbage covering the most of it. Harry wrinkled his nose at the smell.

“No, we don’t," Lord Morte answered as he held out his hand and beckoned Harry to take it.

Warily, Harry took the offered appendage, and without any warning, he felt himself dissolve into his surroundings and re-solidify after a moment into what looked like a completely different alley.

Harry swayed slightly, feeling nausea built up his throat.

“This is shadowing," Lord Morte answered, smoothing down the black robe which he hadn't been wearing just a few moments ago.

Harry felt a little of his respect for Lord Morte dissolving. “A warning would have been greatly appreciated," he bit out, rubbing his stomach gently to soothe down the nausea.

Lord Morte had his eyes narrowed at Harry. “I can still hear your thoughts!", he snapped out coldly.

Good for him, the annoying being, Harry thought, shooting the said being an innocent smile.

“You brat!”, Lord Morte gritted out, attracting the attention of some of the robed people walking through whatever alley they had landed in. “You will regret thinking that, just you wait!” He then turned his attention to what surely must be magicals gawking at them. One glare and they were averting their eyes and minding their own businesses. “Come on, follow me," he said as he wrapped one of his hands around Harry’s shoulder, pulling him closer and started leading him away.

“This is what the magicals call the Knockturn Alley, the place where you would mostly find Dark magicals and creatures roaming around," Lord Morte explained. “It also houses illegal dealings and shops that will get you in problem with the Ministry. I would advice you not to come here, especially without any older companions.”

Harry gave a nod, walking as fast as he could to keep up with his mentor’s faster paces. The Lord still had his hand wrapped around Harry’s shoulder.

They finally came out of the dark alley and into one filled with more crowd and laughter. Witches and wizards, some with kids, made their way in and out of the shops. The whole alley was filled with them dressed in colourful robes, some even with pointed hats. The shops were unique as well, selling so many different things that Harry had no idea what most of them were.

“You can gawk later, Harrison," Lord Morte said, cutting Harry out of his staring at the shops. “We need to visit the bank first.”

“Yeah, yeah," Harry muttered, turning to follow Lord Morte, who led him towards a giant snowy-white marble building, easily towering over the other shops.

They walked straight to it, Lord Morte now having removed his hand from around Harry’s shoulder. The building had a large, burnished bronze doors for entry, flanked by two goblins wearing a dress shirt with slacks under dark, heavy robes.

The goblins guarding the door eyed Harry first, but seemed to freeze when their eyes landed on Lord Morte. One of them squeaked, his peachy complexion dulling, while the other only had eyes widened both in surprise and terror.

They bowed deeply in sync to Lord Morte as they passed through, Lord Morte giving them a nod while Harry, unsure on what to do, gave a bow of his own before following after his mentor.

There was another door, this one silver with another pair of goblins, who had similar reactions to the previous ones when they saw Lord Morte. Harry couldn’t help but feel amused at their surprise. Seems like the goblins recognized who Lord Morte actually was.

Harry eyed the warning engraved on the silver door warily, after he had returned the bow to the goblins. It appeared like these folks took their security very seriously, he thought as he passed through this door too. Have there ever been any thievery in this bank, he wondered.

“No, there hasn’t," Lord Morte answered his thoughts, scanning the large marble hall. “The security here at Gringotts is one of the best you’ll ever find in any institution in the Wizarding World. And if they did find anyone stealing from them, the consequences of the offence will be rather severe. Nobody really dares cross and break Goblin Laws.”

Harry nodded, not appreciating the breech of his thought’s privacy, but thankful for the answer anyway. He looked at the hundreds of goblins sitting on high stools along the long counter, scribbling on ledgers, weighing gold coins on brass scales or observing what looked like precious stones and gems through eyeglasses.

The large hall had numerous doors leading off to more different areas, with more goblins guiding wizards and witches in and out of them.

“Come on then," Lord Morte said, starting to walk towards a goblin who seemed to be free. “Do and greet them as I’ve told you, Harrison. And whatever happens, don’t offend them.”

“As you wish, my lord," Harry drawled out sarcastically, receiving a glare from his companion, but followed after him.

“Greetings, Master Goblin," Lord Morte started when they stopped in front of the free goblin. The goblin had looked up, a bit surprised at the greeting, but his eyes positively bugged out when he looked at Lord Morte.

Harry echoed the greeting, but the goblin did not deign him of enough importance to even spare him a glance. Rude, Harry thought with a smile as he looked between the goblin and his mentor.

“L-Lord Death!”, the goblin whispered out, his hands slightly shaking. “What do we owe the pleasure for your visit, my lord?”

Lord Morte chuckled. “None of that, Master Bogrod," he said. “Don’t try to flatter me. I know you little menaces really don’t like me visiting your bank. What with me being Death and all.” The goblin seemed to be about to say something, but Lord Morte continued, “Now, let’s turn to business. I wish to meet the Potter accounts’ manager. I think his name would be Master Nagnok.”

The goblin blinked, obviously confused about why Lord Death would want to see the manager of the Potter accounts. Then, finally, his eyes landed on Harry who gave a small smile and another bow. The goblin had his eyebrows touching his hairline when he gave a short nod.

“As you wish, Lord-”

“Morte would do, Master Bogrod.”

“-Lord Morte," the goblin finished. He turned sideways and called out, “Griphook! Will you please take the Lord and his companion to Master Nagnok?”

Another goblin, this one slightly younger than Bogrod, came towards them and gave a deep bow to Lord Morte. “If you will please follow me," he said.

Harry said his thanks to Bogrod, and with a nod, they followed Griphook, who led them through one of the doors leading out of the hall. It opened to a large hallway, lit by burning torches and housing doors with names on silver or gold placards at regular intervals.

They finally stopped in front of a heavy bronze door, with a gold placard hanging over it, proclaiming something in a language Harry didn’t understand.

Griphook rapped sharply once on the door and the door opened automatically, obviously with magic. The goblin ducked inside and came out moments later. “You may go in, Lord Death," he informed them and bowed.

Lord Morte nodded his head and walked inside, Harry returning back the bow to the goblin and then following after.

The room was huge, made up of white and black marble with weapons and what seemed to be decorations made of precious metals hanging around most of the walls. In the middle of the room was a giant desk, seemingly made of a giant marble slab, cluttered with documents and files with Gringotts seal. There were two wooden chairs in front of the desk. Behind the desk, sat an ancient looking goblin with wrinkled and scarred face, his hands steepled on the desk, observing them with his black, beady eyes as they entered. His eyes were slightly wide while he was observing Lord Morte, and curious when he’d turned to look at Harry.

“Lord Death, Mr. Potter," he greeted, nodding his head towards the chairs. Lord Morte and Harry sat down, Harry after giving the goblin a bow. “I wasn’t expecting to see either of you here in my office today.”

“Believe me, neither was I," Lord Morte answered, making Harry roll his eyes beside him. “But Fates often get their way, making my life miserable.”

Harry couldn’t help but snort. “Yeah," he drawled out. “So, sad! Our resident Lord Death couldn’t torture some souls," he mocked.

Lord Morte decided to ignore him. “You must already have some idea why I have to bring this menace here?”, he asked.

The goblin hummed. “I suppose you want to know his Heirships?”, he asked.

Lord Morte nodded. “That, and the magical inheritance test," he answered. “I don’t need to mention how much confidential this needs to be, do I?”

“Of course not, Lord Death," the goblin answered. He turned to look at Harry. “Mr. Potter," he greeted.

“Master Goblin," Harry returned with a nod.

The goblin blinked once, the only sign of his surprise, and continued, “I wasn’t expecting to be meeting you before you turned eleven," he said. “But it mustn’t surprise me if you are meeting me here with Lord Death, must it?”

Harry grinned. “Yup," he answered.

“My name is Nagnok, and I’ve been the Potter accounts’ manager since your grandfather’s time," he continued. “I’ve been looking after all the items and heirlooms. Your vaults have all been locked when your parents died and your newly made magical guardian decided to seal their Wills. Your trust vault will be opened once you turn eleven for your use to acquire all your requirements when you start attending Hogwarts. Though their seems to be a regular monthly withdrawal of forty galleons, which equates to about two-hundred pounds in muggle currency, to a muggle bank account of a Mr. Dursley.”

Harry sat in stunned silence as he processed the last statement of Nagnok. “What?!”, he asked. “Why?”

“You are not aware of this transaction, Mr. Potter?”, Nagnok asked, taking out a folder from below his desk. He flipped through the pages, his brows raising up in surprise.

“No," Harry answered.

“Indeed," Nagnok said after a moment. “Looks like this has only been approved of by your magical guardian.”

“And who, pray tell, is my magical guardian?”, Harry asked, already having an idea of who it must be.

Nagnok paused and gave Harry a dubious look. “You don’t know who your magical guardian is, Mr. Potter?”, he asked.

Harry gave a humourless chuckle. “I didn’t know I was a wizard just two weeks ago, Master Nagnok," he pointed out. “Once I died and met Lord Death here, is when I found out what I had was really magic and my relatives actually knew about it but didn’t ever bother to tell me, instead punishing me for being abnormal.” He chuckled at the slightly horrified look being directed at him. “I don’t even know what a magical guardian is!”

Lord Morte cleared his throat when it appeared that Nagnok wouldn’t say anything, lost in his thoughts. “Magical guardian is someone who is assigned to a witch or a wizard if they are either muggleborn or if they have been given over to be taken care of by muggles when they don’t have any magical relatives", he explained to Harry. "The magical guardian has to make sure that whoever they are assigned to is being taken care of properly both physically and mentally, and is responsible to make sure their ward knows everything they should know about the Wizarding World.”

“Great!”, Harry muttered sarcastically. “Then whoever my magical guardian is, has failed spectacularly!”

“Albus Dumbledore," Nagnok said after clearing his throat. “He is your magical guardian.”

“Thought so," Harry murmured to himself.

“So, the tests, Master Nagnok, if you don’t mind?”, Lord Morte said, stopping Nagnok from saying anything else.

Nagnok nodded and waved his hand, and a parchment with Gringotts seal on top with a silver, leather hilted dagger popped onto the desk.

“Only the Heirships, Lord Death?”, he asked.

Lord Morte gave a nod.

“Very well," Nagnok said, pushing the parchment and the dagger towards Harry. “One drop of your blood onto the parchment, Mr. Potter.”

Harry nodded, and took the dagger, eyeing its sharp edge warily. With slight hesitance, he made a small cut on his index finger and let a single drop of blood fall on to the parchment. The parchment glowed slightly, and the drop of blood got absorbed into it. After a short pause, letters began to form on the top of the parchment, below the Gringotts seal.

Harry watched curiously as the words stopped forming and then leaned forward to read the result.

“Slytherin?”, Harry asked, looking at Lord Morte questioningly. “You didn’t mention this House.”

Lord Morte shrugged. “Wasn’t sure about this one," he answered. “You got it when you supposedly vanquished your Dark Lord.”

“Indeed," Nagnok muttered, reading the result himself, his brows nearly touching his hairline in surprise. “Right through conquest," he mumbled. “You will be one of the most powerful Lords in the Wizangamot once you take all of your Lordships.”

Lord Morte just waved his hand. “Now that, that’s confirmed, do his magical inheritance test, Nagnok.”

Nagnok seemed as if he wanted to discuss the result thoroughly but shook his head and pulled out another parchment with the wave of his hand.

“Seven drops of blood, Mr. Potter," he explained, pushing the parchment towards Harry. “And you need to focus your magic on the parchment too. If you don’t know how to access your magic, I can provide you a means to do so.”

Harry shook his head. “I know how to access my magic," he replied, re-picking the dagger he’d put on the desk. “Just, why so much blood?!”, he mumbled as he re-cut his index finger and let seven drops of his blood drip onto the parchment. Once done, he put the dagger back on to the desk and closed his eyes, concentrating on his magic to come out and spread onto the parchment.

His magic obeyed, flooding his hands warmly and shooting out onto the parchment, and Harry felt it getting absorbed into it. He let his magic linger around the parchment for a few seconds more and then pulled it back into himself. He opened his eyes just moments before words stopped forming on the parchment.

Both Harry and Nagnok leaned in together to read the parchment, the goblin tilting his head slightly to understand the words upside down.

To say that Harry was horrified after reading what the hell was on the parchment, would be an insult to the history of being horrified.

Several words on the parchment stood out to him – his magical core being blocked, which he already knew about; but also the fact that most of the abilities he had inherited or which he had, had been blocked too. Most surprising of them though was the fact that he had three parents – a father who had blood adopted him – and he was apparently soul-bonded to someone.

Harry looked up, first at Lord Morte who had a blank look on his face, his eyes fixed steadily on the parchment, and then at Nagnok, whose expression transitioned from horrified to extremely angry to I-need-to-commit-homicide-this-very-instant to extremely confused. Harry whole-heartedly shared the goblin’s sentiments.

“So…..”, Harry finally decided to break the silence, his voice extremely calm, “care to explain what half of this test means?”, he asked. “I mean,” he gestured towards the parchment, “I got the part about the block…..er…..the blocks on my magical core and most of my abilities. You guys kind of explained that to me," he took a breath, “but what does this blood adopted father mean and what the hell is a soul-bond?”

Nagnok looked confusedly at Lord Morte, whose hands twitched when Harry mentioned the soul-bond. “I can explain the blood adoption, Mr. Potter," Nagnok said slowly. He continued when Harry nodded. “When a witch or a wizard wants to have a child but, for some reason, does not want to go through the natural process to gain a child, he or she can use a ritual and a potion containing their blood, to adopt a child. The bearer of the child needs to take the potion at the onset of their seventh month of pregnancy for humans. If the ritual is successful, the child becomes the rightful ward of three parents. They get characteristics and abilities from all the three parents.”

Nagnok sighed. “This ritual, nowadays though, is not used anymore, especially in magical Britain since it is a blood ritual and is considered Dark by nature. It would be frowned upon by most of magicals, most of all by the Light Faction, if they found out you've been blood-adopted by a third person. Though, I suppose, the Dark Faction would highly appreciate someone using this ritual for adoption," he finished.

Harry listened to the explanation with wide eyes, unable to believe magicals could actually blood-adopt children and pass on their magical abilities!

“So,” he turned to look at Lord Morte, “who is…was?...my blood-adopted…….father?”

Lord Morte hesitated slightly, then sighed and answered. “Sirius Orion Black, the Heir to the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black.” Harry saw Nagnok’s eyes widen in his peripheral. “He blood-adopted you by both of your parents’ blessings. He is also your godfather.”

“Is?”, Harry asked, his throat clogging up slightly. He had a blood-adopted father and godfather who was alive? Why then was he living with his magic-hating relatives?

“Sirius Black is alive, Mr. Potter," Nagnok said, frowning. “But,” he hesitated, looking at Lord Morte who gave out a tired sigh, “he’s in Azkaban.” Harry frowned. “The British Wizarding World’s prison, Mr. Potter," he clarified. “One of the most dangerous prisons of the magical world. He was charged for betraying your parents to the Dark Lord by giving him their Secret Location. He was also charged for murdering twelve muggles and a wizard named Peter Pettigrew by blowing up a whole street.”

Harry’s eyes widened as Nagnok’s explanation finished, his hands clenching at the hem of his shirt. His blood-adopted father had betrayed his parents? How was that possible? Could his parents have that bad a judgement?

“Why?”, Harry whispered, his mind numb. What was his life?! “Why did he betray my parents?”

“We…don’t know, Mr. Potter," Nagnok answered slowly. “It is slightly unbelievable, considering how famous Sirius Black was for leaving his family, which supported the Dark, and joining your parents at the Light side.” Nagnok turned thoughtful, “Though it is slightly harder to believe now why he betrayed your parents if he blood-adopted you. I think the adoption must have been a way for him to make you his Heir, and seeing that you already had Black blood from your grandmother, it must have been very likely then for Mr. Black to conclude that you would get the Heirship to the Black House. His betrayal, thus, does not make sense.”

Harry looked at Lord Morte, his face blank from the numbness. “What was the reason, Lord Death? Why did he betray them?”, he asked. “Please, tell me.”

Lord Morte sighed. He looked into Harry’s eyes. “This is such an unknown factor!”, he muttered. “Sirius Black did not betray your parents, Harrison," he said. “He was not the Secret Keeper. It was somebody else. Black got falsely framed into that mess.”

Harry couldn’t believe this. Would the surprises stop coming anytime soon? He dropped his face in his hands and groaned. “Are you serious?”, he bit out, his voice muffled due to his hands.

“Very much so.”

“Who the hell framed him then? Do the magicals even have legal system for proving one’s innocence? Why the hell is he in prison then?!”

Lord Morte let out a grunt. “Magicals have a fucked up legal system," he said.

At the same time, Nagnok sneered, “Don’t ever trust their legal system.”

Lord Morte looked at Nagnok with a smirk, “I knew there was a reason why your species was my favourite.”

“Why, thank you, Lord Death.”

Harry groaned again. “Get my adopted father the hell out of that prison!”, he exclaimed.

“You will need to appoint lawyers for that, Harrison, and get proof of your supposed father’s innocence," Lord Morte said.

“You just said that the system is fucked up!”, Harry pointed out. “How the hell will I get him out?!”

“What? Do you want me to pop in the prison and drag your father out?!”, Morte snapped.

“Exactly!”

“No!”

“But-”

“Take my advice, Mr. Potter," Nagnok cut in. “Appoint someone to look after proofs for Mr. Black’s innocence. Ask them to be as discreet as possible and make sure that you can trust their loyalties. Do not let anyone find out about it until you are ready to register for a re-trial in the Wizangamot. And if Mr. Black agrees to give his testimony via Veritserum, you will have the chances of winning the case exponentially.”

Harry bit his lower lip, contemplating the goblin’s advice. “It’s all well and good, Master Nagnok, but I don’t even know anyone in the Wizarding World, how will I trust them not to……..you know, keep the search discreet?”, he asked worriedly.

Nagnok looked at Lord Morte who gave him an amused smile. “Master Nagnok, will you like to align your Goblin Nation with the future Master of Death?”, he asked. Harry turned to stare at Lord Morte as if he’d lost his mind. Wasn’t he required to pass those damn tests before it became clear on whether he will become the Master of Death or not?

Nagnok’s eyes widened slightly, shooting to look at Harry with a newfound interest. He turned back to give Lord Morte a contemplative stare. “And what are the chances of this supposed person actually becoming your Master, Lord Death?”, he asked.

Lord Morte raised his eyebrows at Nagnok, before giving him a penetrating stare. “Don’t question the Fates, Nagnok," he warned. “They might just decide to bring you back into my plane, and you wouldn’t even realize it.”

Nagnok turned slightly pale, while Harry blinked. “Nasty threat," Harry murmured. “The Fates are slightly insane, you know.”

Nagnok turned paler. He cleared his throat. “Well, then," he said, “I will send a message to His Majesty and see what he intends to do about your proposition.”

Lord Morte hummed. “When he agrees to it, Nagnok, I’d say you contact your trusted wizards working in the Ministry and get the…transcripts of the trials. It might be hard, but I’m sure your people will be able to achieve it," he said. “Also, there are mail re-directing wards at Harry’s wonderful relatives’ home, so I’d say that any message you need to give to him, address it to me at the Peverell Castle.”

Nagnok nodded slowly. “Of course," he replied. “I will keep that in mind.”

Harry looked from Nagnok to Lord Morte. “So, how long will it take to get…….Mr. Black out and proven innocent?”, he asked. It was so hard to believe he had someone with whom he should have actually grown up with if something was to happen to his parents, a father even, that Harry felt like he might be dreaming all of this.

“Well,” Nagnok answered, frowning a little in thought, “once His Majesty makes his decision regarding whether to extend friendship or not, we’ll start searching through the Ministry archives to get any proofs regarding the trials.” He tilted his head to one side as his mind whirled with plans. “It will be helpful if you opened the Wills of your parents, Mr. Potter," he said. “As Lord Death said, since Mr. Black wasn’t the Secret Keeper, your parents must have mentioned this in their Wills.”

Harry’s eyes widened, and he nodded, turning to Lord Morte. But before he could say anything, Lord Morte shook his head. “The Wills cannot be opened now, Harrison. Don’t forget that you are not supposed to know about the magical world yet.” Harry couldn’t stop the angry hiss that left his mouth. “You need to lay low currently, lest you make Dumbledore realize something is wrong. You can open the Wills once you turn eleven.”

Harry glared at Lord Morte, and turned his glare to the goblin when Nagnok agreed. “He’s right, Mr. Potter. And you need to get those blocks removed as soon as possible. We can’t do anything about your father yet, but the blocks can be taken care of.” Harry sighed, and slowly nodded. “Seeing as you came here instead of letting Lord Death dissolve the bonds, you want me to keep this test documented and protected?”, he asked, plucking the parchment from in front of Harry and looking at it again.

“Yes." Harry nodded. Lady Magic had told him the process the goblins did to remove the blocks – a ritual – will be painful, the way the binding was, but they needed to have something to give to the magical world as proof if they wanted to show them how low Dumbledore had fallen to bind a child just for his greater good.

“Very well," Nagnok gritted out, his eyes flashing with rage. “I can’t believe the leader of the Light faction would stoop so low as to bind a magical core of someone! Not to mention a mere toddler’s!”

Harry’s face contorted in controlled rage, and he gave a stiff nod.

“Though,” Nagnok turned to look at Lord Morte with curiosity, “I don’t understand this soul bond, Lord Death. How can there be a soul-bond?”

Lord Morte grimaced at that and glared at the opposite wall as if it had done him a personal disservice. “It’s that idiot’s fault," he muttered. “If he hadn’t dwelled so deep in Soul Magic, this wouldn’t have happened," he looked at Harry and gave him a look full of pity. “Your soul is stuck with him for forever now.”

Chapter Text

Harry stared at Lord Morte, his mouth open. “Who…?”, he asked hoarsely and then cleared his throat. “Who is this person?”

Lord Morte hummed, turning back to stare at the opposite wall. “I cannot currently tell you that," he smoothly replied.

“Wh….You can’t do that!”, Harry exclaimed with annoyance, the horror still spreading through him that his soul was bonded with someone else’s. “You can’t just drop a bombshell like that on me and then not not answer!”

“Oh, believe me,” Lord Morte chuckled, “I can.”

“Oh my gosh! I can’t believe you!”

“Look!” Lord Morte gave him a glare. “The Fates haven’t deemed it appropriate yet to give you that information. They say it will be better if you found that out when you turned eleven and Lady Magic agreed with it.” He crossed his arms across his chest. “We voted, you know. I lost, four-to-one.”

Harry couldn’t stop the snort that overtook his frown. He shook his head at the image of a disgruntled Lord Death sitting between four stern-looking women. He sighed. “Well, I suppose you can’t really go against all of them.” Lord Morte gave a sagely nod. “I’m happy you at least tried on my behalf.”

Lord Morte grunted. “It wasn’t for you," he told him, sniffing. “I was just hoping that the information overload would make you unstable enough for you to become unworthy of getting my Master’s title.”

Harry rolled his eyes at the deity, while Nagnok simply raised his eyebrow.

“Well, Mr. Potter," Nagnok spoke up, making Harry look towards him, “Looks like we are stuck with nothing further on your father’s case and this soul business.” Harry frowned at the goblin with annoyance. The goblin just gave him a blank stare. “Do you want to discuss anything further?”, he asked, looking hopeful.

Harry frowned harder to make the goblin understand how much annoying it was to not get full information now that he was finding out some answers to the questions he’d been posing to himself since he’d discovered his magic. It seemed like he was failing spectacularly, what with Nagnok's unimpressed stare.

“You should be thankful we are giving you some answers at least," Lord Morte drawled, shooting Harry a narrowed glare. “If we had left you alone, only at the mercy of Dumbledore, you would have died knowing less than half the thing you do currently.”

Harry blinked, realizing that Lord Morte might be correct, what with Dumbledore wanting to control his every action and to make him some kind of a pawn in his manipulation game. “Err….”, he gave a sheepish smile, “thanks?”

Lord Morte only sniffed, turning back to stare at the wall.

Nagnok cleared his throat to get Harry’s attention and gave him a very pointed look. Harry only tilted his head in confusion.

“Oh, you wizards!”, Nagnok muttered. “Don’t you want to discuss your Heirships? Or, at the very least, your money that is being transferred to some muggle? Or your abilities listed here in the test that are all blocked for some reason by your current magical guardian and future Headmaster?”

Harry blinked. That was too much. “Well,” he drawled out the ‘l’, thinking, “I won’t be able to take any…Heriships?....currently." He shrugged. “As for the money…..”, he pursued his lips, glancing at Lord Morte who continued his staring contest with the wall. This being was no help, at all!

“If my magical guardian,” he wrinkled his nose, “won’t be able to find out, reduce the amount being paid to half. I’ll have a chat with them as soon as I can and then inform you if I want something else to be done about it. I can’t believe they were getting paid to abuse me," he muttered the last part to himself, deciding to be a little vindictive by reducing the amount being given to them. “And the abilities……I will appreciate it if you will explain them to me?”, he asked hopefully. “I mean,” he eyed Lord Morte, “our resident Death Lord promised some lessons but an overview wouldn’t hurt, would it?” Lord Morte rolled his eyes at the wall.

“And if by some miracle you can, change the damn magical guardian!”, Harry exclaimed, making Nagnok jump slightly and Lord Morte to stop his contest with the wall and look at him with raised brows. “Make it Voldemort, I don’t care! Just don’t let it be Dumbledore!”

Nagnok tilted his head slightly. “Well,” he mused, “Voldemort will actually love to take the opportunity of being the Boy-Who-Lived’s magical guardian.” He shot Harry a very sharp grin. “He might actually start favouring the Goblin Nation for transferring the guardianship to him. In that way, he'll get to have such an easy access to you.”

Harry rolled his eyes at the goblin’s musings, then frowned as a thought crossed his mind. He turned to Lord Morte. “I forgot to ask there when you guys told me how I survived that stupid Curse, but what exactly happened to the Dark Lord?”, he asked. “If the prophecy is still…….you know, active, then he is alive, isn’t he?”

Harry saw Nagnok freeze at the mention of the prophecy and the Dark Lord being alive, but kept his focus on Lord Morte who was grimacing.

“Yes. That bastard is very much alive," he answered. “But not in a condition to continue whatever nonsense he was doing before the end of the war.” Lord Morte waved his hands in a don’t-you-worry-about-that-I’ve-taken-care-of-it sort of gesture. “He’s going through shit right now. Serves him right! The things he did, delving into such Dark Arts and dis-balancing magic like that! Trying to escape me, that idiot!”, he grumbled.

Harry did not know whether to laugh at the way Lord Morte presented the most feared Dark Lord of the Wizarding Britain as if he was some toddler that had chewed his toy whole, or cry that the Dark Lord was still here. Will he be sane when he came back from whatever horrifying vacation he had taken?

“Right," Harry said slowly, turning back to look at Nagnok who still seemed frozen. “Are you alright, Master Nagnok?”, he asked.

Nagnok blinked twice and shook his head. “It’s nice to know the Dark Lord is not gone," Nagnok drawled out sarcastically. “Anyway, the abilities." He scanned the parchment still clutched in his hands and looked up at Harry with a nod.

“The magical core,” he started and Harry straightened up in interest, “is the magical reserve that holds a magical’s magic. It is theorized to be along the spinal cord and the brain, though some say that it might also be around and in the heart. The magic that you wizards and witches use has been classified into three branches – Light, Neutral and Dark. Your core is predominantly Dark, which means you are more adept at carrying out Dark magic. Though currently, since your core is bound by Dumbledore’s magic, it must definitely make it harder for you to access the full potential of your core. That’s what this means here, that you can’t access these three magical affinities that you have.”

Harry nodded, happy that the magic that he felt building up in his chest and spreading through his arms whenever he was doing and controlling it - which he had theorized to be emerging from his reserves - was actually true. He was good at theorizing, wasn’t he? He didn’t notice Lord Morte rolling his eyes beside him.

“Necromancy, Death Magic and Soul Magic,” Nagnok continued, his eyes gleaming with excitement, “are considered the Darkest of Arts in almost all of the magical societies. Necromancy is the art of contacting the dead, summoning them and being able to converse with them. Necromancers are very powerful and even the Dark wizards and witches fear them. They can control ghosts and spirits and summon and control Inferies.

“Death Magic is relatively unknown, mostly because no one can really understand it, unless they are blessed by Lord Death." Nagnok nodded towards Lord Morte who grinned.

“Death Magic, in short, gives you control over any sort of dead bodies, creatures that come under my domain and gives you access to my realm. The form of travel that I employed previously, which I termed ‘shadowing’, is one use of my realm. You can also call this ability Umbrakinesis – the ability to control darkness and shadows. Really handy, that," Lord Morte elaborated. “I will explain all the rest of it in detail during our lessons.”

Harry nodded and turned back to Nagnok expectantly who had a rather dangerous gleam in his eyes.

“Soul Magic,” Nagnok continued, “is the control and manipulation of souls. It is a very dangerous and sensitive branch of magic as is clear from whoever your soul-bonded is. Soul magic is also relatively unknown since most magicals do not want to play with souls. One of the most…terrible examples of Soul Magic and Death Magic gone wrong is a dementor.”

Harry raised his eyebrows, intrigued.

“A dementor is a Dark creature that can suck out anyone’s soul through their mouth," Nagnok elaborated. “They are rather nasty creatures. They can suck out anyone’s happiness and an overstay with them would leave you a husk of yourself, lost in both mind and senses.”

Harry shook his head. “The Wizarding World is like a horror house," he said, a little dazed. “The Torturing Curse, the Killing Curse and now these dementors," he muttered to himself. “Is anything safe here? Are there fire-breathing dragons, and creatures that can kill you just by looking too?”

Nagnok nodded seriously. “Indeed.” Harry gaped. “Azkaban is guarded by dementors. That is why it is considered the most dangerous prison in the world.”

“What?!”, Harry turned to glare at Lord Morte. “My…godfather is there with these dementors?! He……is he even alive?!”

“Calm down." Lord Morte sighed. “He’s alright, just a little bit of brain damage, no need to worry. If you manage to get him out, just make sure he goes and sees some mind healers.”

Harry gaped at Lord Morte. “I can’t believe this!”

Nagnok gave Harry a sympathetic look. “You really can’t do anything currently, Mr. Potter. You’ll have to wait," he said. “Now,” he looked back at the parchment, “Parseltongue is the language of the snakes. You can speak to them. It’s extremely rare, and you got it from both your mother and this…..soul…….bond.” Nagnok’s eyes widened at the end, and his eyes shot to look at Lord Morte with dawning horror.

Lord Morte nodded. “Not the right time yet," he said.

Harry looked between them with narrowed eyes. What had Nagnok discovered, he wondered.

But this talking to snake thing made sense now. That’s why his D didn’t know any other person who could talk to her. Only his mother and this soul-bonded person had it, then.

“Your mother didn’t had it, Harrison," Lord Morte said. “She did possess the genes in her DNA, but they laid dormant. Your soul-bonded, on the other hand, can speak the language.”

“Oh?”

“Indeed," Nagnok muttered. “Lily Potter was not a Parselmouth.” He looked back at Harry, seemingly getting over his shock and continued, “Parselmagic is, as the name suggests, magic done in Parseltongue. It is relatively stronger than normal magic that most wizards and witches do. Spells cast in Parselmagic can only be countered through counter spells in Parseltongue.”

“Cool!”, Harry muttered excitedly.

Nagnok nodded. “A metamorphmagus is a magical who can transform their whole body according to their will into someone else. This ability is rare too and runs only in those who are descendants of House Black. Your test says that you’ve got it partially, so you won’t be completely able to transform yourself into someone. Partial transformation is what you will be able to do only, like changing your hair colour or texture, changing your eyes, a little bit of your facial structure and so on.”

Harry nodded with a grin. This was amazing! He could do so many wonderful things with his magic! He couldn’t wait to learn more about all of his magical abilities.

“Next is magic sensitivity," Nagnok said. “You see, magicals who are extremely powerful, like the Dark Lord and Dumbledore, have such large magical cores that their magic often leaks out and forms an aura around them. And this aura can be felt by most of witches and wizards. But someone who has magic sensitivity will be able to not only feel the aura of powerful witches and wizards, but will also be able to sense and feel magic around them, be it of a witch or a wizard, a goblin, a house elf or any other creature. They will also be able to sense wards and natural magic permeating around them. And once you start recognizing what kind of magic is around you, you'll be able to make stronger defence or offence or just become good at recognizing magic.”

Harry stared open-mouthed at the goblin after the explanation. “That…I can feel magic?!” Nagnok nodded. “Wow! I could feel my magic and it’s amazing! I can’t wait to see how others’ magic will feel like, especially magic in nature!”

Nagnok raised his eyebrows at him, a bit surprised, but nodded. “It is wonderful, indeed. Now, you also have Occlumency and Legilimency – the two branches of Mind Magic. Someone who is a legilimens is able to read your surface thoughts by making eye contact with you and with someone skilled enough, you wouldn’t be able to even tell whether your surface thoughts are being read or not. Dumbledore and the Dark Lord, again, are two most powerful legilimens.”

Harry blinked, remembering the time when he was seven and Dumbledore had visited his relatives’ home. His eyes widened when he realized Dumbledore had been looking in his eyes while they had been talking. “He read my thoughts!”, Harry muttered. “He knows that I remember him from that night!”

“Yes," Lord Morte nodded, while Nagnok shot them a slightly confused look. “He read your thoughts when you were remembering that dream about seeing him looking at you that night.” Lord Morte looked at Harry curiously. “Do you remember what incantation he shot at you before fleeing from that house?”

“Um….”, Harry furrowed his brows in concentration. “I can’t remember the exact word, but it was related to oblivious……Obliviate!”, he finally remembered. “I think it is used to make the victim forget whatever the castor is telling them to, isn’t it?”

Nagnok blinked at them with surprise and Lord Morte smirked.

“Yes. That is correct, Harrison," Lord Morte answered. “The spell is used to permanently make the victim forget whatever the castor wants them to.”

“And why did Dumbledore want me to forget whatever happened that day in the house?”

Lord Morte grinned sharply. “Why, he wanted you to forget that you had bonded with his wand, and had seen a manifestation of your magic. It wouldn’t do for his chosen one to know anything about magic before the appropriate time, would it?” Harry’s eyes narrowed. “That wand is not any normal wand, Harrison. It is one of the most famous and powerful wands in the magical world, and you have gotten its allegiance. Dumbledore recognized this as a small fulfilling of the prophecy and panicked.”

Nagnok was looking between them with wide eyes which were slowly filling with glee.

Lord Morte gave Nagnok a stern look. “You won’t be sharing anything discussed here with anyone, you understand?”

“Of course, Lord Death.”

“I…”, Harry scratched his cheeks, “well, that makes so much sense. But why did I not forget anything?”

Lord Morte’s smile was lopsided. “Dumbledore fired that spell with a wand that had just given its allegiance to you," he replied. “How could a wand make its own wizard forget about itself?”

“Oh!”, Harry said with wide eyes and a grin. “Amazing!”, he said. “When do you think I will be able to get my wand back?”

“Whenever you want.”

“Whenever?”, Harry blinked.

“Yes. You can summon it whenever you want to.”

“Oh.”

“But I’ll advice you not to do that now. Let Dumbledore stay in his false sense of security.”

Harry nodded. “Yeah….yeah. Ok.”

They both turned back to look at Nagnok who smiled and continued his lesson. “Occlumency is another art of the mind that helps you organize your thoughts and memories, control your emotions and block out any legilimency attacks." He shot Harry a pointed stare. “You need to be proficient at meditation and focusing your mind to be a strong occlumens. Severus Snape is considered a powerful occlumens, aside from, again, the Dark Lord and Dumbledore.”

“Of course," Harry nodded with a roll of his eyes. “Who is this Snape?”

Lord Morte grimaced. “Be warned, Harrison," he said, "that man hates you.”

Harry blinked. “What?”, he muttered. “Why?!”

Lord Morte hummed. “Well, it’s really his secret to tell,” Harry pouted, “but I suppose he wouldn’t tell you until his dying breath, so I should.” Harry gave an encouraging nod. “He was your mother’s best friend since childhood. He told her about magic and Hogwarts and the magical world. She was a ray of sunshine in his bleak and abused world.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “He was abused?”, he whispered.

“By his father, yes, who was a non-magical. His mother was Eileen Prince, daughter of Lord Prince - a prominent pureblood line of magical Britain - but she fell in love with Tobias Snape and decided to marry him. Her father wasn’t really happy with the choice and disowned her.”

Harry gaped.

“Anyways, your mother and Snape had a fight during their fifth-year and she broke off their friendship. Rather a…..well, not stupid, but not an understandable reason either for breaking off such an old friendship. Snape repeatedly apologized but your mother ignored him. This pushed Snape towards the purebloods and he joined the Dark Lord’s side after graduation.”

Lord Morte sighed. “Brilliant at Potions, one of the youngest Potions Master of the magical world, but his mind is full of guilt as he considers himself the reason that caused your mother’s death.” Harry raised his eyebrows. “He was the one who heard the wrong prophecy, Harrison, and afraid that the Dark Lord would kill him if he didn’t tell him the lines, he went to him. The rest you know.”

“But…”, Harry floundered, feeling anger and sympathy warring inside him, “why does he hate me then? For surviving?”

“He hated James Potter, Harrison," Lord Morte answered. “Not very flattering, but your father and adopted father were both bullies. Favoured by Dumbledore and most of the staff, they pranked whoever came on their hit-list, without thinking that their prank might hurt someone, either emotionally or physically. Severus Snape was on the top of their hit-list since he was friends with your mother and evidently was in love with her.”

Harry felt his heart sinking with Lord Morte’s each passing words. His father and godfather were both bullies? He hated bullying and loathed bullies. How could they do that?!

Lord Morte shrugged. “Your mother married his most hated bully, Harrison.” Harry winced. “Of course, his hate would transfer to you. He wanted you to be his son.”

Harry’s head shot so fast towards Lord Morte that he felt whiplash. “He what now?!”

“He was romantically interested in your mother," Lord Morte smirked. “Changed the side too and begged Dumbledore to save her life by agreeing to be his spy. Later, took a vow to protect you however he could.” Lord Morte gave a sympathetic nod. “That man’s life is definitely no sunshine and rainbows.”

Harry grimaced too. “What a mess," he muttered. “So, he doesn’t know Dumbledore was already planning my parents’ death?”

“No.”

“And that Dumbledore is manipulating everyone?”

“Eh…he might have his suspicions.”

“Should we tell him then?”

Lord Morte hummed. “I will leave that decision to you," he answered. “Just keep in mind that he only sees his bully in you. You first need to make him understand that you are not your father.”

“Of course," Harry nodded. “Where is he now anyway?”

“Hogwarts," Lord Morte replied. “He is the Potions’ Professor there. Hogwarts is the school for young witches and wizards. Once you’ll turn eleven, you’ll get your Hogwarts acceptance letter from there.”

Harry nodded.

“Now," Lord Morte turned to Nagnok who had been patiently listening to their talk, “Nagnok? Lady Magic has herself transferred the magical guardianship to me, so you just need to do it on parchment.” Harry frowned at Lord Morte since the beings had not informed him about this. “Name me some distant Peverell and transfer the guardianship to me. Dumbledore wouldn’t know anything about this and he wouldn’t be able to change it once he finds out about it anyway.”

“Of course." Nagnok nodded, tapping his long finger on his desk. A parchment popped over. “Here," he said passing the parchment to Lord Morte after reading it over. “Guardianship transfer document. Dumbledore has been removed on account of his negligence and endangering the life of his ward by placing blocks and putting Mr. Potter with negligent and abusive muggles. Sign here, Mr. Morte Peverell.”

Harry snorted beside Lord Morte, who rolled his eyes while Conjuring a feather and signing the parchment with a flourish. “Is that…?”, he asked eyeing the feather with curiosity.

“A quill, yes.” Lord Morte gave the parchment back to Nagnok and Vanished the quill Harry was in the middle of observing. Harry pouted. “Remove the blocks now, Nagnok.”

Nagnok nodded, tapping his desk with long nails in some sort of a code. A few moments later, a goblin wearing white robes entered the room. With the new goblin’s body’s anatomy and the long hair, Harry assumed her to be a female. She eyed Lord Morte warily, then gave a bow to him who returned it with a nod. Harry gave his own bow while sitting on the chair, but again got ignored.

Rude again, he thought, sulking.

The two goblins talked with each other in some language Harry assumed was theirs. There was lot of furious hand gesturing, anger-filled eyes, pointing towards his test parchment and staring at him. Harry squirmed uncomfortably under the two intense gazes resting on him and shifted in his chair.

“Mr. Potter," the other goblin said, her eyes furiously scanning his test. “Are you sure you can go through the ritual that will un-block your magic? It is very painful and has slight chances of killing you," she told him bluntly.

Harry gulped, biting his lips, but nodded. “I want full access to my magic, Mistress Goblin. I want my magic to be free, not stuck like this," he replied.

The goblin’s eyes softened slightly and she nodded, understanding. “Of course, Mr. Potter. My name is Vormuin. Follow me.”

She moved towards the door, Harry scrambling hastily after her. They made their way deeper into the bank, the hallways now turning to caves carved deep into the earth, lighted only by the burning torches. Vormuin stopped in front of a heavy door made of stone that was carved with symbols Harry hadn't seen anywhere before.

Vormuin snapped her fingers and the door slowly opened. She walked in, Harry trailing after her.

The room was huge with carved stone floor and high ceiling. The whole floor had carved symbols arranged in concentric circles. It was bare, with no desks or chairs or books.

The goblin motioned towards the centre of the hall with her hands. “You need to be there, Mr. Potter," she said. “The ritual will work through goblin magic so it will be painful to you, and since it has to remove this bind on your core itself, it will be doubly painful. I would advice you to lie down and try to pass out as soon as you can. Once the foreign magic has been removed, we’ll move you to a resting room.” Harry nodded. “Just be calm, I’ll take care of the ritual, alright?”

Harry nodded again and with a deep breath, moved to stand where the goblin had indicated him to. He sat down, taking deep breaths.

“Lie down, Mr. Potter," Vormuin called out. “Even out your breathing and close your eyes.”

Harry did as directed and concentrated on evening out his breaths.

A few moments later, Harry heard Vormuin chanting something in the goblin’s language and he could feel magic manifesting around him. The magic slowly swirled around, moving closer to his skin. There was a slight hesitance and then, abruptly the magic moved, covering the whole of his skin and slowly moving inside.

Harry couldn’t stop the scream that tore itself out of his throat. The magic was foreign and burned his skin, tearing it from inside. It slowly concentrated around his chest and back, and Harry felt it tear the magic that was binding his core. He screamed again, tears streaking down his cheeks. His vision blurred and heart pounded, and slowly, his world turned black.

Chapter Text

Harry groggily blinked his eyes open, feeling a bone-deep ache throughout his whole body. He looked around slowly, not recognizing his surroundings. He was in some huge room, the queen-sized bed he was lying on situated at the middle of one wall, with grey comforters and white and grey bed hangings blocking the room from his view.

Harry sat up slowly, rubbing his forehead to sooth the ache. He parted the hanging to scan the huge room with a balcony at the bed’s left side. The walls were painted a sky blue, with white curtains drawn at the wide sliding doors that led out to the balcony. There was a walk-in wardrobe opposite to the bed at the right end of the wall and another door at the left end. Two grey armchairs sat opposite to the bed with a small coffee table facing a huge fireplace which was the only source of light in the whole big room.

Harry blinked, as the whole ordeal with the goblins and the tests and the ritual came back into his groggy mind. He grimaced at the ache and the overload of information he had gotten until now and slumped back down onto the wonderfully comfortable bed with the soft pillows surrounding his head, wondering how much had the goblins profited from their control over the magical economy to give a child like him such a huge resting room.

“It’s not the resting room of the goblins, Harrison," came a voice from the other side of the bed, obscured by the white hanging. Harry jumped slightly. “It’s the Heir room of the Peverell Castle.”

Harry sat up on the bed again as the hangings magically parted to reveal the smirking face of one Lord Death, also called Lord Morte, looking at him with a raised eyebrow.

“I hope the ache in your bones is killing you, my dear ward.”

Harry grumbled slightly, and looked at the room with a new light. “Careful, Lord Morte,” he spoke, “I might sue you for being a sadistic bastard to your tired and sick ward.”

“Sick, my ass," Lord Morte snarked, rolling his eyes at Harry. He pulled out a small glass vial from thin air, passing it to Harry while grumbling, “Drink it, otherwise that goblin will have my hide. Female goblins are scary," he muttered.

Harry raised his brows in amusement, then looked at the vial containing a pale blue liquid. “What is this?”, he asked curiously, tilting the vial to observe the liquid.

“A Pain-Relieving potion," Lord Morte answered while waving his hand. The bed hangings disappeared. “Reduces any ache or pain that you are feeling, as is clear from the name. Drink it!”

Harry hummed, and slowly gulped down the potion, grimacing at the slight bitter taste. “It tastes bad," he muttered, relaxing slightly when the ache in his bones receded. “It works!”

“Just wait before you encounter the more horrible ones," Lord Morte responded. “And, of course it works! Don’t insult me. Or the goblins, for that matter.”

Harry looked at him sheepishly.

Lord Morte grunted. “Are you feeling any different?”, he asked.

Harry tilted his head. “Well, the ache is gone, if that’s what you are asking about.”

Lord Morte took a deep breath. “I meant your magic, Harrison," he gritted out, shooting Harry a look that conveyed how much dumb he thought Harry was. “Feel your magic, you idiot.”

Harry tilted his head, understanding, then focused his attention on summoning his magic. Before he could even start, his magic responded, tingling through his chest and arms and flooding his whole body. His eyes widened as his magic swirled around him, dancing out and reaching every object in the room to make them float in the air, including Harry and the bed he was lying on and an annoyed and grumpy Death Lord who had his arms and legs crossed, glaring at Harry while he floated a few metres above the floor.

Harry looked at his magic floating the objects, his eyes wide, amazed.

“Well,” Lord Morte drawled out as he floated in the air with a roll of his eyes, “obviously this will happen. Should have expected it.” He gave Harry a nod. “This fixes the schedule. Our second order of business will be to make sure you learn how to control your magic and mask your aura. Otherwise, every time you use your magic, we’ll be floating around or exploding something or burning the whole castle down.”

“Do you think I can burn the whole castle down?”, Harry asked excitedly.

“Not to give you any ideas, kid,” Lord Morte muttered with narrowed eyes, “but who knows? You might be able to summon the hell fire and burn the whole country down.”

“Errrr….”, Harry now looked at the floating objects worriedly.

“Not to worry, I will try to keep your magic under control until you learn to do it yourself, Harrison," Lord Morte said with a smirk, which, if Harry was being honest, did not bode well for Britain.

Lord Morte sniffed at Harry, waving his hand pointedly. All the floating objects settled back down onto the floor, the bed landing more roughly than the others. Lord Morte, on the other hand, kept himself afloat, or maybe Harry’s magic was keeping him afloat since he could feel it swirling out of his hand and towards Lord Morte.

Lord Morte gave Harry a narrowed glare, then clapped his hands twice. With a series of pops, five small creatures with green skin and wide eyes, wearing a black toga with a white crest that Harry recognized seeing on Dumbledore’s wand, when he had bonded with it, came into existence behind Lord Morte.

Their eyes widened as they looked from Harry to the floating Lord Morte. They bowed deeply to Lord Morte, then turned their attention on Harry and bowed deeper. Harry liked them instantly.

Unsure of what to do, Harry gave a short bow back to the tiny creatures (not that he had any right to call them tiny, seeing that he himself had a size similar to theirs), making them all widen their eyes in horror.

Harry’s eyes widened when one of them cried out, “Noooo, Little Master! Whys you bowing to us! We are yous house elvies! You should not bow to us, Little Master!”

“Ummm…”, Harry looked at Lord Morte for help who had an amused smile on his face as he looked through the horrified house elves(?). He landed back onto the floor smoothly by cutting down Harry’s magic flowing out of him and straigtened his robes.

“So, Harrison," Lord Morte said turning to give Harry a smirk, "these are the Peverell house elves. They and their ancestors have been taking care of the Peverell castle and the Peverell bloodline since about a thousand years.”

Harry’s eyes widened as he stared at the elves who stared back at him. “They…….are they the house-keepers then?”, he asked.

“In a way, yes, Harrison," Lord Morte answered as he Conjured a completely black armchair and sat down on it. “The elves and witches and wizards made a pact several thousand years before which was mutually beneficial to both the parties.” He pointed towards the elves standing patiently there. “You see, the elvan magic is different from yours. They need to get magic from a constant source to survive. Earlier, when humans did not build permanent structures across the globe, the elves survived by taking in the magic through the places where the magical Ley Lines crossed. But then, most of the magicals started recognizing the importance of these places and started making their structures to immerse them in natural, ambient magic. Thus, the elves made the pact with the wizards to help them take care of these structures – their castles, manors or institutions – and in exchange, they bonded themselves either with the said structures or one particular witch or a wizard.”

“So,” Harry glanced at the elves with curiosity, “you guys survive through the magic in this castle?”

“Yes, Little Master," the one standing in the middle answered. “But now that Little Master bes here, we elvies will love to bond with the Little Master.”

Harry blinked. “I…….don’t think it will be an appropriate time to do that," he looked at Lord Morte for confirmation who nodded.

“Yes," he said, looking at the elves. “He hasn’t yet taken the Heirship of the Peverell House. And his magic is currently too unstable for you all to bond with him.”

The elves looked grief-stricken, but nodded.

“As Master Death wishes," the same elf spoke. “We will love to introduce ourselves to the Little Master.” The elf turned towards Harry and bowed. “I is Floppy, the head house elf. These bes Ils, Ashy, Kuzz and Uvum," she pointed at each house elf with her pointy finger as she took their names and each bowed to him. “Ils takes care of the kitchen and Ashy of the grounds, while Kuzz and Uvum look after cleaning, Little Master.”

“Wow," Harry muttered. “Don’t you guys get tired? I mean, this place must be called a castle for a reason, right? And you can just call me Harry.”

“No, Little Master," Floppy said, shaking her head. “We elvies don’t like calling our magic providers their names. And we love taking care of the castle.”

“Oh," Harry murmured. He shrugged. “I suppose however you like it. Anyways,” he turned towards Lord Morte, “I will be.......staying here?”

“Yes.” Lord Morte nodded. "Or you have the option of returning to your relatives' home, threaten them into submission and then have one of the elves Apparate you here everyday from that house."

“Um," Harry blinked. "I'd rather threaten them into not telling anyone and permanently move over here."

Lord Morte shrugged.

Harry smiled, glad to have a choice in moving out of that hell-hole. He had been waiting for such a chance since he was a toddler, and now he finally had it!

Harry looked down at his T-shirt and jeans which Lord Morte had given to him when he’d come to fetch Harry at the hospital. “So, about my clothes..... and some books that Miss Coulson gave me, are we gonna get them back?”

“We’ll be visiting your relatives in the morning, you can gather your things then," Lord Morte answered. He dismissed the house elves with the wave of his hands and they popped away. “Until then, you need to rest as Vormuin has commanded me to let you. It’s midnight currently anyways, and I need to take care of some of my business.”

“What?”, Harry asked with a grin. “Laugh maniacally at the souls getting tortured?”

“No, you brat!”, Lord Morte glared. “I have more important things to do than that. If you want something to eat, summon Ils and ask him whatever you want to eat and then go to sleep.” He got up from his armchair and vanished it. “I’m off now. Have terrifying nightmares!”

Harry smiled at the parting words, and Lord Morte shadowed away, vanishing in the dark shadows in the room’s corner. Harry then frowned as his stomach grumbled for some food.

What had the nurse advised him to eat again? And how does he summon the house elf?

Harry concentrated, wishing for Ils to come in to his room and his magic obeyed. The objects in the room began floating again, but in a few seconds, a very confused house elf stood in the middle of the Heir’s room of the Peverell castle, eyeing the floating armchairs and bed with wariness.

“Little Master?”

Harry grinned as he looked down from his bed floating several feet above the floor at the house elf who looked confusedly at him.

“Hey, Ils!”, Harry called out cheerily, his messy mop of hair and wide emerald green eyes poking down from the end of the bed at the little elf. “Do you think you can get me a bowl of broth or some soup please? I’m hungry but I need to keep my diet low.” Not that he really had a huge appetite, what with the Dursleys keeping him starved most of the day, but Ils did not need to know that. “And you know, maybe do whatever Lord Morte did to stop my magic from making all of this float? I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep on a floating bed!”

The elf, now wide-eyed, nodded and snapped his fingers together. All the floating furniture slowly descended down and settled back onto the floor.

Harry grinned. “Thanks, Ils!”

Ils smiled too, albeit a bit shyly. “Ils be bringing the Little Master’s soup in just a few minutes!”

Harry smiled at the elf, who popped away with a bow. He slowly got up from the bed, and stretched himself, groaning when his shoulder bones popped. He slowly moved around the room, unable to believe that it was now his. He smiled as he ran his hand across the soft armchair cushions. How his life had gone from being confined to a cupboard to living in such huge a room!

Harry opened the door at the left end opposite his bed, which turned out to be a huge bathroom, equipped with a giant bath tub, a shower head, a huge basin with a giant, polished mirror framed with what looked like platinum and gems.

He closed the bathroom door and shuffled over to the curtained balcony. He parted the curtains slightly, and his eyes widened in wonder and awe as he gazed outside through the glass doors. The balcony was not overly large, just enough space for two comfortable chairs with a table in the middle, and several pots that had numerous, unknown species of plants and shrubs growing in them.

What was actually astonishing, was the wonderful view of a landscape that greeted Harry. The whole of the sky was dark, thousands, if not millions, of stars twinkling in the twilight. At the horizon, Harry could see dark, huge mountains stretching across for miles, before which stretched a forest that came up to the castle.

Unable to stop himself, Harry pushed open the transparent door and sat down on one of the chairs, gazing at the beauty that stretched both above and below him. His eyes scanned the mountains and the sky, a soft smile on his face.

Harry turned sideways, and looked at the stone that formed what must be the side of the Peverell castle. From what he could discern from the side, the castle was gigantic with several huge windows and balconies and a few towers.

Harry took a huge breath, the air warm and fresh in this corner of the globe, far away from human civilization.

He was brought out of his musings by a small pop beside him. He looked as Ils bowed to him again and put a tray with a bowl and a glass of water on the table in front of Harry.

“Here bes Little Master’s soup.”, Ils said while bowing yet again.

Harry smiled slightly. “Thank you, Ils.”, he said, taking the bowl and gently keeping it on his lap. He could see small, even pieces of meat and vegetables mixed in with the liquid. “You know, you don’t really need to bow to me this much. We aren’t living in the Middle Ages now.”

The elf shook its tiny head. “This bes what we been taught by our ancestors, Little Master.”, he replied. “We like following our traditions.”

Harry hummed, “Of course. But, one bow is enough for me, alright? You can show all your bowing to Lord Morte. He would love to have his ego stroked.” The elf hesitated slightly but nodded. Harry smiled, “So, tell me Ils, where exactly are we in Britain? Wait! Are we in Britain?”

“Yes, Little Master.”, Ils answered. “The Peverell castle be in Scotland, Little Master, close to Auchallater. Master will be liking to know that Hogwarts be very close to the Peverell castle.”

“Oh?”, Harry asked, tilting his head thoughtfully. He hadn’t had much chance to ask Lord Morte about Hogwarts – the famous school of the magical world – but he was very curious about the place. “How far is it from here, exactly?”, he asked.

“It would bes about fifty kilometres, Little Master.”, Ils answered after some pondering.

Harry deflated a bit. He shook his head and drank a few spoonful of the delicious and warm soup. “I don’t suppose we’d be able to pop in Hogwarts for some exploring?”, he mumbled. “Your cooking is very good, Ils.”, he complimented.

The elf's eyes brightened. “Thank you, Little Master.”, he said, then tugged his ears slightly. “We bes able to go to Hogwarts, but Master Death had ordered not to let Little Master go out. Little Master bes to only rest.”

“Of course.”, Harry muttered, rolling his eyes. He supposed the elves would be able to pop him with them the way they had did it to come and go from his room, but obviously Lord Morte had told them to let Harry rest. Harry quickly gulped down his soup, then sipped a bit of water.

“Hmm, so.”, he concentrated his attention back onto the elf and patted the other chair after putting down the bowl back onto the table. “Sit down, Ils.”, the elf bit its lips, and hesitantly sat down. “I have some more questions, if you don’t mind me asking?”

The elf nodded his head, while fidgeting on the chair.

“Do you guys know every corner of the castle?”, he asked, curiously. The elf nodded again. “And your ancestors …… served my ancestors?” Another nod. “Well, can you tell me anything about them?”

“Of course, Little Master.”, Ils nodded. “The Peverell line bes older than the Hogwarts’ Founders. Peverells were known for their magic and control over the dead, Little Master. Your ancestor bes Ignotius Peverell, the youngest triplet brother and the last Lord of the Peverell line. His son, who died in a dangerous ritual very young, had a daughter, who bes the one marrying the line that later became the Potters.”

Harry nodded, absorbing the information and the names Ils had offered. “What happened to Ignotius’ older brothers?”, he asked.

“The eldest brother bes Antioch Peverell, Little Master, who was murdered due to the Death Stick.”, Ils told him and Harry’s eyebrows went up. A Death Stick? “The second brother bes Cadmus Peverell who committed suicide,” Harry winced, “because he couldn’t deal with the loss of his beloved. He had a daughter who bes marrying the Slytherin line.”

“Isn’t Slytherin the line from which the Dark Lord came from?” Ils looked at him blankly. “You don’t know about Voldemort?”, he asked, confused.

“Wes been isolated from the world for very long, Little Master.”, Ils answered.

“Oh, wow.”, Harry murmured. He looked at the forest and nodded. “Yeah, it makes sense. This castle seems to be in the middle of nowhere.” He turned back to look at the elf. “So, tell me, how huge is this castle? And how many rooms does it has? Does this castle has any library?”

Ils' eyes lit up at Harry’s inquiry, and in the following half-an-hour, Harry got all the information about the castle the elf could provide him without overly confusing the hell out of him. It did still made him feel a bit overwhelmed at the end.

The Peverell castle had three huge ballrooms and gathering rooms, each having different sizes, and it left Harry wondering how much social gatherings did people used to attend to so many centuries before. The ground floor had the ballrooms and grand stairways and decorated hallways to show off the apparent wealth the Peverell’s had. The castle also, apparently, had dungeons in its great depths, above which was a huge potions lab, and an adjacent storage room to keep potions' ingredients.

The first floor had several drawing and seating rooms with huge windows and balconies, along with the kitchens and dinning halls. The second and third floors combined had the library, which was actually so huge that it covered the whole of the two floors (Harry’s eyes shined at that information). Ils told him how most of the books that had been collected through generations were mostly on the magic that the Peverells specialized in, that is, Necromancy, Soul Magic, and Parselmagic.

“Peverells could speak to snakes?”, Harry asked.

“Some bes, Little Master.”, Ils answered. “But if they didn’t, they bes trying to learn it.”

“Woah!”

Then, the fourth floor had the family suite, where the Lord and Heir rooms were located along with rooms for other family members. Above the fourth floor, there were three huge Dueling halls-

“Witches and wizards duel?”

“Yes, Little Master. There bes formal rules and laws for dueling.”

“…….wow. I need to learn them.”

“There bes books on dueling and defensive and offensive magic too, Little Master.”

“Awesome!”

-and after that, most of the above floors had rooms for guests or simply storage rooms and such.

“But, where do you guys live?”

Ils looked slightly taken off guard. “We bes living beside the kitchen, Little Master.”

“I…..what?!”, Harry looked at Ils, aghast. “There are so many guest rooms and family rooms that are just lying vacant, and you guys are living beside the kitchens?!”

“…..yes, Little Master?”

Harry sighed. “Ils, I want you guys to move in at least the guest rooms. No one’s living here beside me, and maybe occasionally Lord Morte, so just take up how many rooms you guys want to, alright?”

Ils looked shocked. “But, Master-”, he started.

“Nope!”, Harry interrupted. “Nuh-huh. Just take the rooms. You need to live like the house elves that belong to the Peverells, not like someone who can’t provide them space to even rest in. Tell Floppy and the others. It’s an order!”

Ils bit his lips, and nodded. “As Little Master says.”

Harry smiled, but it was broken off by the yawn he took. “Well, I suppose I need to go to sleep now.”, he said, covering his mouth with his left hand. “You should go, rest too, Ils. And thanks for answering my questions! Good night!”

Ils nodded and smiled. “Good night, Little Master.”, he said softly and with a pop, the elf disappeared with the tray.

Harry stood up from the chair and stretched. He made his way into his room, grinning, and closed the door beside him. He made his way to the bathroom and freshened up.

After a bit of a debate, he pulled down his jeans, deciding to sleep in his T-shirt and underwear. He climbed up his soft bed, and got under the covers, pulling them up to his cheeks and sank down into the fluffy pillows.

With the soft glowing coals in the fireplace, Harry drifted off to sleep with a content smile on his face.

Chapter Text

Harry came out of the wonderful arms of sleep by a gentle pop and a voice softly calling out his name. He sat on the bed immediately, confused, but then the events of the previous day and night came into his mind and he smiled, spotting Floppy standing with Ils at the edge of his bed with a smile on her face.

“Good morning, Floppy, Ils!”, Harry greeted happily while stretching his arms and legs.

“Good morning, Little Master," Floppy greeted back, followed by Ils. The female elf proceeded to put her hands on her hips. “It is being late, Little Master. Look at the time! Master Death told Floppy that he be picking you up at eight in the morning and it is already being seven-thirty!”

Harry blinked at the little elf giving him a reproachful look, then looked at Ils who seemed nervous, fidgeting with his clothes. He smiled.

“Sorry, Floppy," he said. “Usually, I wake up before the sun is up, but I suppose I was tired?”

Floppy’s hands deflated to her side and she looked at him quizzically. “Why would Little Master wake up before the sun?”, she asked.

“Errr…..”, Harry answered. He slowly got out of the bed and indicated towards the bathroom. “I think…I need to……yeah!”, and he rushed into the bathroom, pushing the door quickly shut.

Harry absolutely did not want to share with the elves why he had to wake up so early in the morning. He would appear so weak if anyone found out how his relatives had been using him like a slave, how he had to do all of their work and how he had to go through their insults and slaps and beatings, just to find out that they were being paid by some manipulative old man from his parents’ money to actually abuse him. How very pathetic!

Harry shook his head, deciding not to mull over that. He quickly freshened up, and while he was debating whether to take a shower or not, a button-up blue shirt with dark grey jeans popped beside the sink on the hangers, making his decision for him. Though he did wonder whether the elves could see him in the bathroom without being physically there?

Ears slightly red with embarrassment, Harry quickly showered, scrubbing down his body with a soap that he was using after so many months, without his aunt barking outside about wasting water and soap. He pulled out a white, fluffy towel from a cabinet and dried himself and his messy hair. He quickly pulled on the clothes that he suspected Lord Morte had either brought for him or had just stolen from some unsuspecting clothing store. Knowing Lord Morte, he was sure it was the latter.

“I am rather displeased with the image you have created about me in your mind, Harrison," came a sudden voice from behind him, startling Harry who squeaked and whirled around to face a smirking Lord Morte leaning against the tiled wall with his hands crossed over his chest.

“You really don’t value someone’s privacy!”, Harry accused, pointing his index finger at the still smirking Lord Morte.

“No need for the dramatics, Harrison.” Lord Morte sniffed. “You are completely dressed, after all.”

“But.….but…”, Harry floundered.

“No buts!”, Lord Morte ordered, opening the bathroom door with a wave of his hands and sweeping out into Harry’s room with his black robe somehow bellowing behind him. “Now, come on! You need to eat your breakfast fast so that we can go and give a visit to your esteemed relatives and then a healer.”

“A what now?”, Harry asked, following quickly after Lord Morte after shooting an annoyed glare at the being’s back.

“A healer, Harrison," Lord Morte repeated as he sat down on one of the armchairs facing the fireplace and Conjured some parchments which he proceeded to read through.

Harry sat down in the other armchair with a frown. A tray with scrambled eggs, bacons and some toasts along with some sort of juice popped onto the table in front of Harry. Hesitantly, Harry took little servings of everything. “And what exactly is a healer?”, he asked.

“A doctor," Lord Morte answered, his eyes still scanning through his parchments. “Magicals call them healers.”

Harry paused mid-bite; the food was really good. He looked at Lord Morte with a bad feeling in his gut. “And why do we need to visit a……healer? Are you injured or something?”

“Real funny, Harrison," Lord Morte deadpanned. “You damn well know why we are visiting a healer.”

“I….really….don’t…think so….”, Harry trailed off when he got a glare from Lord Morte. “Why?!”, he whined.

“Don’t you need to have evidence of why the goblins changed your guardianship from Dumbledore to me?”

“Is it really necessary to visit a healer? Can’t you do whatever they do to make the report?”

“We need a witness too.” Lord Morte sighed. “What happened to all the intelligence I’ve encountered while we were on my plane?”

“It vanished because I spent too much time with you.”

“Hmm. The snark isn’t lost yet. Not too much is lost then, I suppose.”

“Har har," Harry said sarcastically.

“Eat!”

Harry sighed, but began eating the food left on his plate. He couldn’t stomach more than the little he had taken in his plate. Done with his breakfast, Harry put the plate back onto the tray and the whole tray popped away.

“Good. Let’s go then.” Lord Morte stood up, vanishing the parchments away. “We’ll be shadowing close to your relatives’ home, so that the person spying there for Dumbledore would see me drop you off at your beloved home. We’ll shadow from inside your relatives’ home after we are done with them and if anyone is watching outside, they’ll see an illusion of me walking out.”

“Ok.”, Harry nodded. “Can we do that shadowing in front of the Dursleys?”, Harry asked excitedly, getting up from his armchair. “That would absolutely scare the living hell out of them.”

“Sure.”, Lord Morte agreed easily. “I’m all about scaring off mortals.”

“Fantastic!”, Harry grinned. He turned serious. “Can we meet Miss Coulson after that? She helped me so much throughout my life there, and listened to me, and even gave me gifts.”

Lord Morte sighed. “Fine.”

“Thank you.”, Harry smiled. He took Lord Morte’s offered hand and they shadowed out of the castle.

Harry felt the nausea hit him again as they landed in a small alley beside a stray cat who gave them a once over, found them unworthy of its attention and sauntered off.

“This is such a bad way of travel.”, Harry muttered as he rubbed soothing circles on his stomach to calm it down. He did not want Ils’ wonderful breakfast to make such an appearance.

“Wait before you travel through Appariton, Floo and Portkey.”, Lord Morte muttered while eyeing the retreating cat with mild offense. “Not to mention the Knight Bus.”

Harry groaned. “What the hell are those?”, he asked.

Lord Morte waved his hand distractedly as he smoothed down the black suit that he had over him now instead of the robes. “You’ll learn about them in the books. Follow me.”, he ordered as he briskly walked out of the alley with purpose.

Harry grumbled about not-so-helpful beings under his breath, but followed after Lord Morte. They emerged outside the alley, into Privet Drive and made their way towards Number Four.

Harry felt dread spread through his whole being, as his hands turned clammy. He hated this place so much and would never return here if he could help it. But Lord Morte had told him about this person spying and they needed to keep up appearances and so he needed to come here whenever he had gardening in his schedule. Every week, he had to take care of the garden on the mornings of every Sundays, Wednesdays and Fridays and hence, he will have to come here. But otherwise, he would be spending the rest of his time in the Peverell castle.

As Harry neared Number Four, he felt a tingle travel through his whole body, and his eyes widened as he felt a warm feeling of magic surrounding the perimeter of Number Four.

“Wards.”, Harry looked at Lord Morte who was looking around his relatives’ house. “Dumbledore put up some wards encircling Number Four.”, he explained. He waved his hand once, and Harry shivered as pure Death’s magic surrounded them, forming a small bubble. “This is a Notice-Me-Not Charm which, as the name suggests, makes others’ eyes skim over it without them noticing what is happening under the Charm.”

Harry nodded, wide-eyed as he observed Lord Morte moving his fingers in front of him as if he was plucking through strings. Lord Morte tugged slightly harder and beckoned Harry to move his hands forward.

“Feel this.”, he said.

Harry moved his hand close to where Lord Morte was tugging and felt a warm magic wash over him. It was different, slightly less than the overall magic surrounding Number Four, and as Harry concentrated, he could feel the magic itself telling him the purpose of why it was there.

“With more concentration and over time, you will be able to discern different types of wards and magic, and will be able to tell what its true purpose is.”, Lord Morte explained as he let Harry feel the ward. “Whether the magic is offensive or defensive, what kind of harm it could cause who, who fired it off, and in the wards’ case, what exactly is their purpose or, more precisely, why they are surrounding a particular area.”

Lord Morte gestured to the ward Harry was feeling currently. “This ward is around this house for the castor to tell what kind of spells or magic has been cast inside the house.”

Harry blinked at Lord Morte. “Why, exactly, has he cast this ward here? He’s been observing what magic I’ve been using in the house?”, he asked. He really didn’t need to ask who had cast the wards around Number Four. Dumbledore has been spying on him by physically placing a person here somewhere, so it wasn’t much of a surprise for him on who would be the one to put the wards around here. Harry had asked but Lord Morte had refused to tell him who exactly that person was. Though Harry was cataloguing everyone he knew around here, and only three people had come to his mind who could be the spy.

First was a Mr. Grace who lived on Number Two, and who loved looking around and keeping tabs on every single person on at least all the close-by streets, if not the whole town. Second was a Mrs. Figgs who did not live at Privet Drive, but at Magnolia Crescent, and whom his aunt always left him off to whenever the Dursleys had to go anywhere at all. The woman was not that bad, but her obsession with cats was. And she had a habit of occasionally starting random conversations with him which often creeped him out. Then, there was Miss Coulson, with whom Harry was the closest to and he really hoped she wasn’t actually the one spying on him because that will actually be a bit heartbreaking, since he really liked that lady.

“No, Harrison.”, Lord Morte replied, bringing Harry out of his musings about the potential spies. “This ward wouldn’t be able to detect wandless magic, though I wonder sometimes why Dumbledore didn’t put a ward that could.”

“Something to do with my blocks.”, Harry muttered bitterly.

Lord Morte hummed. “That could be the reason actually.”, he agreed. “Wizards and witches with sixty percent blocks wouldn’t be able to use wandless magic, yes. Not to mention, you actually managed it before bonding with the wand which actually broke some of the block-”

“There was more block?!”

“-on your…..yes, it was blocked seventy-five percent originally. I didn’t tell you?”

“No.”, Harry gritted out, trying to control his magic from tearing something apart. He really wished he could kidnap Dumbledore and bind his magic in retaliation.

“Oh. My bad.” Lord Morte mumbled. “You know how much confusing it is to give you all the information that we deemed necessary to give you currently.”

“Yeah.”, Harry bit out. “I understood with Clotho’s checklist.”

“Indeed.”, Lord Morte nodded sagely. “Anyways, this ward here requires the information about the core of the wand and the wizard’s magical core’s signature to work properly. Since, it only has your signature now and you haven’t yet acquired your wand, Dumbledore does not know much about the magic that you have been using here. Besides, as I said, it would only give the information regarding the spells that you have fired through your wand.”

“Ridiculous.”, Harry muttered, eyeing the air where he could feel that ward with distaste. “Say, Lord Morte, why do wizards and witches get their wand at eleven and not before?”

Lord Morte hummed, letting the ward go and skimming through thin air again. “Well, during childhood, the magical core is in too much disarray to appropriately bond with any core and wood. Eleven is the youngest age where most of the children’s cores get stabilized enough to bond.”

“But I….”

“Yes, yes.”, Lord Morte waved his other hand. “You are a special case. You started controlling your magical core way earlier and so managed to stabilize it earlier as well.”

“It was only twenty-five and then forty percent of my original though.”, Harry pointed out.

“Yes. That is why we need to start your training, Harrison.”, Lord Morte answered with a roll of his eyes. “Now,” he plucked another ward and Harry moved his hand forward to feel this one too, “this ward is here to provide you protection.”, he said making Harry snorted. “It is specially created to not allow anyone that has an ill-intent towards you or any other occupant of the house, entrance inside it.”

“Then,” Harry muttered feeling the ward, “this ward is broken since my relatives can get in.”

“They are keyed into the ward.”

“Barmy, that man.”, Harry muttered.

Lord Morte nodded and let that ward go. He pulled another one. Harry moved his hand to feel this one too, and his eyes widened as he felt the ward pulse with something warm and amazing. He moved his hand up and down, feeling the ward as much as he could and frowned.

“This one seems……uneven.”, Harry mumbled. The feeling of warmth had faded abruptly when he’d moved his hand slightly above his height.

“It’s because it is broken.”, Lord Morte answered staring at the ward with a sigh. “In fact, this one is just about to collapse.” He turned to look at Harry. “This is the ward because of which Dumbledore justified himself to the Wizarding World for keeping you here. It’s a blood ward, and can only be sustained if the person for which it is erected is living in a house he considers home with someone who shares the sacrifice’s blood, in this case, your aunt and cousin.”

“My mother…..”, Harry mumbled, feeling the ward with a new meaning this time.

“Yes.”, Lord Morte nodded. “This ward is due to the sacrifice your mother made. Dumbledore attached that sacrifice to your blood and established this ward here by using your aunt’s blood relation to your mother. But this ward is also powered by your mother’s pure love for you. Since you don’t love your aunt and she doesn’t love you back and you do not consider this place your home, the ward is slowly breaking off.”

Harry bit his lips, caressing the ward his mother’s sacrifice had created. “Can’t we re-make it around the Peverell castle?”, he asked.

“No. The ward needs to be made just after the sacrifice has been done.”, Lord Morte answered with a shake of his head. “We won’t be able to create that ward again.”

Harry scrunched his nose in annoyance, but nodded his head slowly. His mother’s sacrifice, destroyed away like this, just because of an old man’s interference.

“The sacrifice’s protection is still present on your skin, Harrison.”, Lord Morte said. Harry looked at him with surprise. “It is left under your skin and in your blood, and will come into play only against Voldemort.”

Harry blinked. “Wow.”, he mumbled.

Lord Morte hummed, then waved his hand once more. Harry felt the Notice-Me-Not Charm dissolve away. “Let’s go now.”, he said, turning around and marching towards the door of the Dursley’s home.

“That’s it?!”, Harry asked, scrambling after Lord Morte who was eyeing the Dursley’s garden with intrigue. “Only three wards? Does Dumbledore really want me that badly to end up dead?!”

“Yes.”, Lord Morte answered. “Looks like you do real hard work taking care of that garden.”, he remarked.

Harry grumbled behind the deity about annoying and thankless relatives. “You are going to do all the talking, right?”

Lord Morte gave a smirk. “Of course! Who else?”, he answered as he stood in front of the door and rang the doorbell.

-----

As the door opened, Petunia Dursley stood behind with a smile on her face to greet whoever was on the front door. Death eyed the woman as she looked at him, scanning his suit with curiosity before the woman's eyes on Harrison standing behind him, her expression changing from welcoming to disgusted in just a few seconds.

Death kept a close eye on Harrison too, whose face changed from outgoing and free to serious and blank as soon as he saw his aunt. Death couldn’t help but internally sigh. He really should have kept an eye on his potential master. Leaving things on the Fates had been a rather bad decision on his part. At least, Harrison was open and easy-going around him.

“Aunt Petunia.”, Harrison said in a monotonous voice.

“Boy!”, Petunia greeted with a shriek.

“Mrs. Dursley.”, Death added his own greeting in the midst with a sharp smile. The woman looked back at him, and paled slightly. “Is your husband at home at this moment?”

“Y-Yes.”

“Very good.”, Death said, pushing the door fully open and marching inside, Harrison following behind him. Petunia backed up. “We need to talk.” And her face paled more. Wonderful!

Death swept past Petunia, who seemed frozen on the spot and as he moved, his suit changed back to his original robe that he wore every day. He entered the kitchen, spotting both the male Dursleys stuffing their faces full with breakfast.

As soon as Vernon Dursley’s eyes fell on him, he paused, his eyes widening on spotting his robes and face turning red. The man pushed his chair back as he quickly got up, pointing his grease-covered index finger at him.

“How DARE YOU FREAK-”

Death waved his hand, silencing the shouting walrus of a man. He shot a glare at the younger male Dursley, who took one look at his silently screaming father and a pale looking mother standing at the doorway, stood up and ran upstairs with a plate full of all the greasy food.

Death, amused, vanished all the food on the table, and sat down on the chair in front of the male Dursley, beckoning Harrison to sit beside him.

Harrison, who seemed to be enjoying himself, sat down on the chair with his hands politely kept on his lap, his face blank, showing no emotion. Death mused how he wouldn’t really need to work hard on Harrison’s Occlumency.

“Now that we are all gathered here, let me get this straight,” he looked from Vernon to Petunia, “I might not look threatening, but you will really regret it if you got on my bad side. And believe me, currently, you two really are not on my favorite group of mortals.”

Death grinned wickedly and motioned for both the mortals to sit down. Petunia moved towards the remaining chair and slowly sat down, tugging Vernon’s shirt to make him sit back down on his chair.

“Good.”, Death muttered. “So, first thing that you two need to know is that I am putting up a magical-”, the Dursleys eyes widened, Petunia’s neck snapping to look at Harrison and Vernon’s face turning redder. Harrison merely stared back at them, “-spell around you which will make you two unable to talk about whatever we are going to discuss here today with anyone in any way, shape or form. If you did try to talk to someone about this……well, the result might be extremely painful to say the least.”, Death smiled. “Do you two understand?”

Petunia nodded slowly, still eyeing Harrison with a mixture of fear and anger in her eyes. Death looked at Vernon who was spitting out something again. Death raised his eyebrows at him, curious what nonsense the man was spouting out now and removed the Silencing Charm he had placed on him.

“HOW DARE YOU FREAK-”

Death sighed and put up the Charm again. “Really, Dursley?”, he drawled out. “You haven’t got more vocabulary than that, have you? Pity, really.”

“So, after the warning, let’s start with Albus Dumbledore-”

“He threatened us to take in the boy!”, Petunia shrieked, pointing her finger at Harrison, who merely raised his eyebrow at her. “He threatened us that if we didn’t take him, he would make our lives miserable. He….he said that our Dudders will only be safe if this freak lived here!”

Death glanced at Harrison, who had flinched slightly every time the Dursleys threw the words ‘freak’ and ‘boy’, and was now glaring at his aunt with eyes filled with hate.

Death looked back at Petunia. “I concur that that man had threatened the life of your family, but that does not mean that you should go around neglecting the child you were entrusted to care for.”, he said.

“But we never wanted someone abnormal into our perfectly normal family!”, Petunia yelled. “We were so happy together! Then my do-gooder sister had to go and marry that drunkard freak and then go and get herself killed! And leave us with the burden of looking after her freak son, when we did not want anything to do with her world!”

“Hmmm.”, Death drawled waving his hand. “No more using that word anymore, Petunia dear.”, he smiled. “Try saying that word again and we will get to enjoy something entertaining instead of this idiotic rant of a mortal who does not have even a bit of humanity!”

“How dare you-”

“Mmhm, not that again.”, Death waved his hand and silenced Petunia too. “Alright. Everything’s calm now, so listen carefully because I won’t be repeating myself again.

“My name is Morte and if you are smart enough, you might be eventually able to recognize who I actually am.”, he peered at both the Dursleys, then tilted his head. “Then, again. The interaction I had so far with you two conveys the contrary, so I would not really bet on you two figuring that out.”

Harrison snorted beside him.

“Anyways, as I was saying,” Death continued, “I am Morte and I have decided to make Harrison here my ward. I took him to the magical bank and had Dumbledore - who was previously his magical guardian - removed from his guardianship, so now the responsibility of looking after our dear Harrison falls on me.”

Death smiled sharply. “As you can see, I am not Albus Dumbledore, so I will be removing my ward from your beloved-”, he sneered at them, “-care.

“But,” Death looked at Harrison who was glaring at Vernon now, “since we need to keep up appearances for certain individual’s spying-”, Petunia paled, “-around your house, Harrison will be returning here every Sunday, Wednesday and Friday to take care of the garden. Aside from that he will not be staying here with your loving graces.

“He will, though, be returning here for about a week around his eleventh birthday to get the letter from that esteemed school.”, Death continued and watched as Petunia’s eyes bulged and Vernon’s face reached its red-colored limit. “I will advise you two to keep your Dudders’ second bedroom empty for Harry to stay in. And yes,” Death smirked at the both Dursleys, “he will be learning magic under my guardianship and since he’s such a good grasp on controlling his core and will grow up to be one of the most powerful wizards in Britain, I would make sure that I wouldn’t anger him if I were you.”

With that Death Summoned a mug of coffee, humming as he sipped from it while observing the couple. The both of them had turned pale now, and were looking frantically from each other to Harrison – who was still giving them a blank look – to Death, who was smirking at them.

“I suppose,” Death said after a while of watching them squirming under his amused gaze, “I am done with what I had to say.” He looked at Harrison, raising a questioning brow at the boy. “Care to say anything, Harrison?”

Harrison looked at him with a contemplative look in his eyes. He turned back to the Dursleys with a smile that had too much teeth. “Since I am and I quote ‘a freak and abnormal’ and my parents were, again, I quote, ‘an ungrateful whore of a mother who got married to that drunk’, I think you really don’t need to keep getting the money that is being given by my ex-guardian to you as a reward for abusing me. And that money is coming from my abnormal parents’ account, so I don’t think it should be in an account that is so normal, isn’t it?”

Harrison stood up with a flourish, his eyes shining with vindictive amusement as he watched the Dursleys’ jaws open wide with shock. “I will be messaging my parents’ account manager soon, don’t worry.”, he said as his eyes flashed with rage. “And believe me, once I’ve taken care of that bloody old man, I’ll be coming after you for bad-mouthing my parents like that and making my life a living hell.”

With that Harrison turned and stalked out of the kitchen, leaving behind two shocked mortals and one grinning deity.

“Oh, Lady Magic, I can’t wait for that little devil to go to Hogwarts!”, he said excitedly as he got up, vanished his mug of coffee, and gave a little glare to the Dursleys.

As he got out of the kitchen, he found Harrison standing close to the entrance door, glaring at the said door as if it was the main culprit behind all of his problems. In a way, it was, wasn’t it, Death mused, what with Dumbledore leaving Harrison exactly outside it and all.

“Want to shadow in front of them?”, Death asked as he looked at Harrison.

Harrison turned to look at him, and nodded. “What was that spell you did on…….Petunia?”, he asked, curiously.

Death smirked. “A taboo.”, he answered. “It’s used to make a word a ‘taboo’ so that if anyone utters it, they will either get punished or give away their location. Though the one I did was a bit different, since it wouldn’t affect the whole population, only the Dursleys.” Harrison smiled and nodded. “This taboo,” Death continued, leaning on the wall of the hallway, “was used by Voldemort to make people afraid of even uttering his name during the end of the last wizarding war. The taboo would give away the location of wherever the name had been uttered and either Voldemort or his Death Eaters would Apparate there to torture and kill them.”

Harrison winced.

“Yes.”, Death nodded. “Voldemort was dangerous, especially due to the insanity that he was suffering through at the end. That is why most of the wizarding population is so afraid to take his name. Only those who really wanted to face him and engage with him in a duel, took his name. And he is still insane.,” he looked at Harrison seriously. “You will need to make a decision regarding him in the future.”

“What,” Harrison hesitated, “kind of a decision?”

“You’ll find it out soon.”, Death answered. “Come on.”, he motioned towards Harrison’s cupboard that was his room for the past eight years. “Take whatever you want to take from there.”

Harrison nodded and moved towards the cupboard, opening it with an unreadable expression on his face, though Death could hear the thoughts swirling though the child’s mind – the sadness and loneliness that the cupboard portrayed, the feeling of safety and darkness that he found comforting while hunched inside his only solace in the whole Dursley household and a rage at his so called family that should have at least given him proper care and looked after him, but had only chucked him inside a small, dark space and had forgotten him.

Harrison took out several books hidden away at corners with small, gentle hands, clutching them close to his chest. He bit his lips, then started taking out the few clothes that he had. Death silently passed him a Conjured bag which Harrison took with a silent ‘thanks’. He put the clothes in first – two or three large shirts, two baggy pants and a few mismatched socks – then, started piling in the books and notebooks that he had, followed by a few crayons and two pencil and a pen. He slowly zipped the bag shut and slung it on his shoulder, giving Death a nod.

Death nodded back, moving towards the kitchen while his chest filled with a slight ache at the small child that had possessions so little that his bag was still left empty after he had kept in everything he had. Swearing to burn the rags that Harrison had as clothes and to buy him some more possessions, Death stopped in front of the Dursleys. He waved his hands to lift off the Silencing Charm, the couple too stunned to say anything yet.

Death took the hand of his young and tiny ward and shadowed them away from the hell-hole he was living in.

Harrison’s silent, “Bye, bye, Dursleys.”, and the horrified gasps he heard when they dissolved into the shadows brought a small smile to his lips.

Chapter Text

A small smile graced Harry’s lips along with a feeling of nausea as he and Lord Morte landed in an alley beside the library. Harry quickly pulled Lord Morte along with him, while rubbing his stomach with the other hand as he moved towards the library’s entrance, the bag he had been carrying decidedly absent. He didn’t ask Lord Morte where the bag went; he was sure Lord Morte had dropped it off in his room.

The library wasn’t crowded, just a few people roaming through the stacks of books as Harry entered, Lord Morte in tow. He spotted Miss Coulson sitting at the librarian’s desk, reading a book.

“Mary," he called out softly so as to not garner the attention of the others, moving towards the librarian’s desk.

Miss Coulson looked up from her book, and her face brightened with a smile. “Harry!”, she exclaimed, getting up from her chair and coming over, before giving him a gentle hug.

Harry couldn’t stop the flinch, but masked it by moving his hands behind her and returning the hug.

Miss Coulson pulled away from the hug and gave him a small smile. “You got away from the hospital really early, dear," she said with a relieved smile. “I thought they’d at least keep you there for a week.”

Harry smiled with a shrug. “I heal fast," he replied.

“Yes, honey," she said. “But you should have rested though. It wouldn’t do to roam around the neighbourhood when you’ve just awakened from a coma.”

“Err….”

“I’ll make sure he gets his rest when we return back to……his home, Miss," Lord Morte politely said from behind Harry. When Miss Coulson looked at him with confusion, he gave a slight bow, “I am Morte Peverell, and I’ve taken up Harry’s guardianship from his previous guardians following the accident and the neglect that his so-called relatives were giving him.”

Miss Coulson looked at Harry with furrowed brows, unconsciously pulling him closer, her hands wound around his shoulder. “You are related to him?”, she asked.

“Indeed," Lord Morte answered, his hands clasped behind, standing tall in his black suit and polished shoes. “Harrison’s paternal side is related to the Peverells and I’m one of their last remaining descendants aside from Harrison himself. I recently found out about Harrison’s living arrangements and how deplorable it was. Hence, I decided to take him in.”

“Oh," Miss Coulson narrowed her eyes at him, and Harry recognized her stance as ‘I-am-getting-into-my-interrogation-mode-and-you-better-not-lie-to-me’. “How old are you, Mr. Peverell?”

Lord Morte blinked at her, taken off guard at her stance. “My age?”, he asked, looking slightly bewildered making Harry grin at the irony of Death being questioned by a puny mortal. “I suppose I am close to turning thirty-five.”

“And are you married?”

“….no.”

“Do you know how to look after a child?”

“….not exactly, Miss," he raised both of his hands in surrender when Miss Coulson’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “But I’ve got five caretakers who will be very happy to take care of Harrison’s every need.”

Miss Coulson’s eyes stayed narrowed. Harry grinned, slowly edging away and taking a seat at the closest chair so that he could comfortably enjoy the drama unfolding in front of him.

“You are entrusting your ward’s care to your caregivers?!”, she exclaimed. “You should be the one looking after him!”

“Miss, I will be teaching him and mentoring him, making sure he knows how he has to conduct himself," Lord Morte said, looking slightly pained. “You can’t expect me to cook for him!”

“That……conduct himself?”, Miss Coulson paused. “What does that mean exactly?”

Lord Morte smiled. “Well, once Harrison turns eleven, he will be going to a boarding school, and if my hunch is correct, he will be joining the elites. It will be better for him to know how to act around them, what to show certain people and what not to show.”

“How…..rich exactly are you?”, Miss Coulson asked.

“Not much," Lord Morte answered with a chuckle. “But Harrison’s line is extremely old. He descends from two of Britain’s oldest lines and his mother’s side is oldest from some very famous southeast Asian clans. So, Harrison is extremely rich.”

Miss Coulson blinked, and looked at Harry who gave her a slightly hesitant smile followed by a shrug.

“And he’s been living all this time here, with those Dursleys?”, she muttered, a slight disgust in her voice when she took the name of Harry’s relatives. “Where is your house, exactly?”

“In Scotland.”

“So, you’ll be moving out?”, she asked, turning to look at Harry again, her eyes watering slightly.

“Not exactly," Harry answered before Lord Morte could, getting up from his chair to stand beside Miss Coulson. “I will visit you, Mary, as often as I could. It will be in summer holidays more often obviously, but I will come here.”

Miss Coulson smiled, her eyes still wet and Harry felt himself feeling a bit teary eyed too. He patted her hand. “I wanted to thank you, Mary," Harry said. “I am really thankful for the friendship and support you offered me for the past seven years. And I really appreciate all the books you’ve acquired for me just to sate my curiosity.”

“Oh, honey," Miss Coulson whispered and patted his head after squeezing his shoulders. “No need to thank me. I really like it that a child as young as you is so willing to learn and read. And I am happy to impart knowledge.”

Harry smiled. “Of course," he nodded. “But I appreciate it nonetheless.”

“You are very welcome, my dear," she smiled back.

“I thank you too, Miss Coulson, for looking after Harrison," Lord Morte said with a nod.

“I was happy to, Mr. Peverell,"she answered. “Just please take good care of him.”

“I will.”

“Bye, honey," Miss Coulson waved. “Please visit, alright? And,” she hesitated, “I’m sorry, Harry, that I couldn’t help you much with your relatives and your condition. I knew they were not looking after you as they should, but I couldn’t do anything since they…….lied so well to everyone and hid it.”

“It is….alright, Mary," Harry smiled, slightly strained. “I’m happy you helped me as much as you could. And I will visit of course.” Unable to stop himself, Harry gave her a quick hug. With another wave, he walked out of the library with a smile on his face, Lord Morte grumbling behind him about age and wealth.

“Seriously,” Lord Morte ranted, “how could she ask me my age?! I am an ageless being! I don’t do age! And I own the whole plane of existence! How could…..”

“Yeah, yeah," Harry said, stopping once they reached inside the alley. “Stop with the rant. Let’s go!”

Lord Morte grunted, but took Harry’s hand and shadowed them away.

---

Harry landed beside Lord Morte on a really busy street. The whole street was broad, lined with all types of shops, and a huge bustle of shoppers were walking along the street. They seemed to be in the heart of London.

“Wh-?”, Harry gaped. “Why did we land in the middle of-? Wouldn’t anyone notice?”

“No one would, Harrison," Lord Morte replied. “The best place to disappear is a crowd, Harrison. Remember that.”

Harry eyed the shoppers walking by, and sure enough, no single person was looking at them. Harry nodded, impressed, then turned to look at the department in front of which they had landed. It was large, old-fashioned, red-brick department store with a sign that proclaimed it to be Purge and Dowse Ltd. The place looked abandoned, the window displays containing a few chipped dummies with tilted wigs and clothes that seemed to have suited someone from the past, randomly strewn across. All the entrance doors had dusty signs reading ‘Closed for Refurbishment’.

But even though the place looked deserted, Harry could feel magic surrounding this department, what he could only think up to be wards.

Harry smiled. “Is this the place you’ve been stealing my clothes from?”, he asked with amusement.

Lord Morte shot Harry an unimpressed look and looked back at the ugly female dummy that he had been eyeing earlier with amusement. The dummy had on a green nylon pinafore dress.

“I don’t think that’s my style," Harry pointed out while looking at the dummy himself. There was some kind of magic wrapped around it too.

“We are here to meet Healer Greengrass for my ward," Lord Morte muttered to the dummy, ignoring Harry’s comment.

Harry felt his heart sink. He had conveniently forgotten about their appointed visit to a healer! Can’t Lord Morte forget about it too? He did not want to meet a healer! It would be so embarrassing! But before Harry could start any of his protests against visiting a healer, the dummy gave a tiny nod and beckoned them in with its jointed fingers. Harry’s face twisted in annoyance as Lord Morte took hold of his hand and walked straight into the glass display.

Harry felt as if he’d stepped through a wall of cool water, but came out dry. On the other side, Harry felt his mouth open in astonishment, as instead of a miserable looking department store, they came into what seemed to be a reception area of a general hospital, though instead of seeing patients injured, he could see witches and wizards sprouting what looked to be hands and animal parts on different parts of their bodies. Several witches and wizards in lime green robes walked among them with clipboards and quills.

The place was drenched with magic, Harry could feel it lurking around every corner, swirling through the air and brushing against Harry’s skin, making his magic react to it. Harry could barely control his magic from making an appearance again and giving all the witches and wizards here a free ride in the air. Lord Morte shot him an amused look.

“This is a hospital? Don’t you think half the patients will die of a heart attack if they realize who had just entered here?”, Harry asked, staring at a wizard who had somehow managed to sprout huge white wings behind his back and was currently apologizing to a witch whom he had accidently knocked off with said wings. “And how do you even do that?!”

“Yes. This is the only hospital in magical Britain; called Saint Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries," Lord Morte answered, marching forward and completely forgoing the queue in front of a desk marked Enquiries. Instead, he moved towards the double doors standing just beside the desk. “No, they won’t realize who I am," he continued. They marched through a narrow corridor which was lined with portraits of what Harry assumed would be past Healers. “And that must have been a very fantastic Transfiguration gone wrong.” He started climbing stairs, Harry trailing hesitantly behind him.

“We are going to meet Lord Greengrass, Harrison," Lord Morte said, leading them through another flight of stairs. “He was neutral during the war, and is considered polite and good. He will value your privacy and if you ask him to specifically take an oath to keep this meeting secret unless you give your permission to him to tell about this to anyone, he will take it. There’s nothing to be afraid of, Harrison.”

“I am not afraid," Harry muttered as they entered the corridor labelled ‘CREATURE INDUCED INJURIES’. “I just don’t want anyone to find out about…”, he trailed off as they stopped in front of a door marked ‘Healer Gareth Greengrass’.

“I understand, Harrison," Lord Morte nodded, completely serious. “But we need to tackle the malnutrition and the stunted growth, and make sure that you don’t have any internal injuries. Otherwise it will be detrimental to your health in the future.”

Harry bit his lips, his chest clenching a bit when he realized that Lord Morte actually cared about his health – the only person….err…being, besides Miss Coulson who wanted Harry to be in good health. He gave a tiny nod, opting not to say anything.

Lord Morte hesitated, but then gave Harry’s shoulder a supportive squeeze. He turned and knocked once at the door, marching right in when it opened on its own.

The door led into an average sized room, the one side of which had a bookshelf full of thick and heavy tomes, while the other side had a shelf enclosed in glass containing several vials. The wall opposite to the door had a window with white, parted curtains, which instead of overlooking the crowded streets of London, showed a view of some distant hills and grassy field. In the middle of the room stood a huge oak desk, filled with parchments and inkwells and quills. Behind the desk sat a man who looked to be in his mid-thirties, with black hair and icy blue eyes. His features were sharp yet contrasted with his gentle and soft smile when his eyes landed on Harry. He, like the other healers, was wearing a lime green robe.

“Mr. Peverell," he greeted Lord Morte, his eyes scanning Lord Morte’s black robes and facial features with curiosity and intrigue. “I never thought I would get to meet a Peverell in my life.”

“Indeed?”, Lord Morte asked while sitting down onto one of the wooden chairs kept in front of the healer’s desk. He indicated towards Harry, who was shuffling still beside the door. “That child awkwardly standing there is my ward, Healer Greengrass," he said.

Healer Greengrass turned to curiously stare at him. Harry fidgeted slightly with his shirt, then straightened himself, calming his beating heart and breath, making his mind blank. He needed to deal with this without giving away his true feelings to the man, politeness and respect of his privacy notwithstanding.

Healer Greengrass blinked at the sudden change.

“I need a full body scan along with his medical history, Healer," Lord Morte continued. “But my ward is not really comfortable letting a stranger get through his medical history; hence he wants an oath.”

“Oh?”, Healer Greengrass turned to look at Lord Morte with a raised brow. “Would the Healer’s Oath not suffice?”, he asked.

Harry wanted to know what that Oath was, but decided to stay silent. He did not want this man to know about his lack of knowledge.

“I’m afraid not, Healer," Lord Morte shot him an apologetic smile. “An Oath of Secrecy, stating that you wouldn’t share anything that will be found here, without my ward’s or my express permission with anyone, in any shape or form, will be much more appreciated.”

Healer Greengrass looked from Lord Morte to Harry with a thoughtful expression, gave a nod, and taking out his wand, took an Oath, speaking the words Lord Morte had said earlier with an added ‘so mote it be’. As soon as Healer Greengrass stopped speaking, Harry felt magic wrap around the healer and him, binding them into the Oath, more so the healer.

Lord Morte beckoned Harry forward. “Come, Harrison. Take that seat," he pointed towards a wooden stool kept beside the healer that Harry hadn’t noticed before.

Harry took a slow breath and moved to sit down on the stool beside the healer who gave him a soft smile.

“My ward’s name is Harrison James Potter, Healer," Lord Morte said and as Harry observed, he could see Healer Greengrass’ eyes widen minutely, immediately going towards his forehead and landing on where Harry knew was his lightning-bolt shaped scar. “I think that will conveniently give you the reason behind the Oath, aside from Harrison’s hesitance to let his magical history be examined.”

“Of course," Healer Greengrass whispered, his eyes examining Harry with renewed light. “Though, colour me surprised to find Mr. Potter with you, Mr. Peverell. Dumbledore has informed the whole Wizarding World that its savior is staying comfortably with his muggle relatives.”

Lord Morte snorted, while Harry’s eyes twitched in anger. “He would be correct, Healer," Lord Morte answered. “The circumstances are too elaborate to uncover them here.” In other words, it’s a long damn story and none of your business. “If you would please perform the scans, Healer?”

Healer Greengrass nodded, not prodding further and turned to give Harry his full attention. “Just take a deep breath, Mr. Potter. The scan will only take a few minutes, and you might feel a bit tingling through your body, but it wouldn’t hurt.”

Harry nodded and took a breath while Healer Greengrass took his wand and waved it in a complex pattern before saying some incantation.

Harry felt the healer’s magic shoot out of the wand and spread through his body, going through his muscles and bones, his organs, finding out information. A parchment had come up beside the healer, words scribbling across on it as Harry felt the foreign magic move through his body.

As the length of the parchment steadily increased, the expression on the healer’s face changed, going from astonished, to confused, to infuriated. Lord Morte’s expression, on the other hand, remained blank. Harry concentrated his whole thoughts on the feeling of the foreign magic instead of thinking about the results of his full medical history.

At last, the parchment stopped growing as the words stopped being written and Harry felt the probing magic in him disperse out. He looked on as Healer Greengrass took the floating parchment in his hand, his eyes scanning the parchment with growing rage, then he waved his wand, copying the parchment into two and passed one of them on to Lord Morte while keeping the other on his desk. Lord Morte read through the result and then gave it to Harry without saying anything.

Harry read through the offered scan, his face blank. The list of injuries started when he had turned fifteen months old, with magical exhaustion, and then it was just a whole list of injuries after injuries – rash, infection, cold, broken or dislocated bones, concussions, cuts and injuries on his back that his uncle had bestowed upon him when in severe rage, or due to his cousin Dudley when he and his gang would beat him up. There were mentions of malnutrition and stunted growth, along with near-sightedness in both of his eyes. The list ended at the accident that he had had just two weeks ago, with the mention of entering a coma that his magic had induced.

His fist clenching around the parchment, Harry looked blankly at Lord Morte, who looked into his eyes searchingly then turned to the Healer, who was frowning at his desk.

“What potions regime do you recommend, Healer?”, Lord Morte asked.

Healer Greengrass looked at Harry, then turned back to Lord Morte. He took a parchment and started writing something down on it with one of his quills.

“Nutrition potions, taken once every twelve hours, for at least a year along with bone-strengthening potion, every twenty-four hours for two months," he answered, passing the parchment over to Lord Morte. “Nothing can be done about the stunted growth. You need to start taking a regular balanced meal, Mr. Potter.” Healer Greengrass looked at him. “Try to take in smaller meals in shorter intervals of time instead of whole full ones at once. Try to exercise daily, running in the morning will do, but do not overexert yourself.” Harry nodded. “As for your eyes, they don’t seem to be that damaged, so I would recommend using the Oculus Potion. It will heal your near-sightedness to normal. And,” the healer hesitated slightly, glancing from Lord Morte back to Harry, “I will also recommend meeting a Mind Healer. It will-”

“No," Harry interrupted softly, speaking for the first time since entering the healer’s room. “I assume this Mind Healer means a psychiatrist?”, he looked at Lord Morte who nodded. “I apologize for interrupting, Healer Greengrass, but I’m not comfortable talking to a stranger about my conditions and abuse that my relatives forced me through," he said calmly, while his heart beat fast in his chest. “I will be concentrating on learning Occlumency to identify and acknowledge my emotions and memories, and if that doesn’t help, I would rather talk to Morte about it.”

Healer Greengrass looked at Harry with slight awe, but nodded. “As you wish, Mr. Potter. Be sure to talk with your guardian if you think you are not coping well with it.” He turned to Lord Morte. “I assume Mr. Potter will be living with you, Mr. Peverell, instead of……..his relatives?”

“Yes," Lord Morte nodded. “I will be looking after him, since his previous guardian is such an irresponsible human.”

Healer Greengrass’ brows furrowed slightly, before he realized who said previous guardian was, and gave a nod. “Of course. If you need any other help, please contact me, Mr. Potter, Mr. Peverell.”

“Why not, Healer Greengrass," Lord Morte gave the healer a sharp smile as he stood up, Harry following behind him.

“Thank you, healer," Harry said, giving the man a nod.

“You are welcome, Mr. Potter," the healer nodded back. “It was a pleasure to meet you, though I would’ve preferred a better circumstance than this.”

“Likewise, Healer Greengrass," Harry muttered.

Harry followed after Lord Morte who walked decidedly faster than Harry could keep up with. Soon, they were exiting the hospital the same way they had come, Harry shivering slightly at the cold magic as they came back into the crowded street of London.

“What kind of magic is used here, Lord Morte?”, he asked while he stood beside the being who was eyeing some women giggling a few metres away from them.

Lord Morte hummed. “A slight Notice-Me-Not Charm and Disillusionment Charms to make sure that non-magicals don’t come too close to the entrance. Aside from those, there are advanced charms and wards that make this entrance, an entrance. You will only learn about them if you decide to get a mastery in Charms.”

“There are Masteries in subjects?”

“Of course," Lord Morte replied, holding out his hand for Harry to take, after waving his hand to cast what must be a Notice-Me-Not Charm around them, when it became clear the women won’t stop whatever whispering and snickering they were doing so close to them. “Once you complete your graduation at Hogwarts, you can choose to become an apprentice under a Master to gain a Mastery of the subject.”

“Wow," Harry murmured, which turned to a gag when they shadowed and landed at the foyer of a grand welcoming hall. “Is this-”

“Peverell Castle’s entrance hall, yes," Lord Morte answered.

“Woah!”, Harry whispered, looking at the huge glass chandelier hanging above them. “This place is huge!”

“Of course it is.”

Harry hummed. “So, Lord Morte, how many subjects are taught at Hogwarts?”, Harry asked curiously as Lord Morte summoned Floppy, passing her the parchment the healer had given him, and ordering her to prepare the mentioned potions in it. Floppy looked distressed when she realized Harry would be the one taking them.

“Let’s see," Lord Morte muttered as he again took Harry’s hand and shadowed them to Harry’s new room. He sat down on the armchair he had occupied in the morning and Harry followed suit after grimacing at the effects of shadowing. “There are eight main subjects that are necessary to study till O.W.L.s, that is, until the fifth year of a student's schooling at Hogwarts. They are Astronomy, Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Flying, Herbology, History of Magic, Potions and Transfiguration. Though Flying is only taught in first year for the students to learn how to use a broomstick.”

Harry couldn’t stop his eyes from sparkling at the idea of flying! In the air! So above the ground!

“Aside from these main subjects,” Lord Morte eyed Harry as if he could see where Harry’s thoughts were going. Knowing the deity, he was obviously reading his thoughts while blatantly disregarding Harry’s privacy, “there are electives that are taken during a student’s third year. These are Arithmancy, Care of Magical Creatures, Divination, Muggle Studies and Study of Ancient Runes. There were also classes in Alchemy, though nobody has opted for that subject in quite a long time.”

Harry stared at Lord Morte wide-eyed. “Runes!”, he whispered. “I’ve been learning and memorizing them since I was five! You gotta teach them to me! And explain how to actually use them!”

“Easy there, Harrison," Lord Morte drawled. “We will be starting with an introduction to these subjects and then making our progress. And you need to learn Occlumency and control your magic, since I won’t be always available to keep your magic from blasting something into shreds.”

“Right," Harry deflated onto the armchair with a groan.

Lord Morte gave him an indulging smile, then proceeded to call Ils, ordering the little elf to get Harry his lunch.

“Eat the lunch, Harrison," Lord Morte commanded getting up. “Then, take the bone-strengthening potion Floppy will provide you. The nutrition potions must be taken in the mornings and evenings. The Oculus Potion, however, will take more than a week to be brewed. After that, either rest or explore the castle. I assume you would be extremely interested in seeing the library?”

Harry nodded.

“Good. I will see you tomorrow. We’ll start with meditating and running in the morning," Lord Morte said, preparing himself to shadow out, when Harry remembered something he had said earlier.

“Wait, Lord Morte!”, Harry exclaimed, sitting straight up. Lord Morte paused, shooting Harry a questioning look. “You mentioned to Miss Coulson something about elites and what-not?”

Lord Morte smiled slightly and sat back down in his armchair. “Yes, I did," he replied.

Harry shot him a curious look. “What did that mean?”, he asked.

Lord Morte looked at Harry for a minute, either contemplating something in his mind or studying Harry and his thoughts. “You see,” he started at last, “the Hogwarts’ Founders, who were Salazar Slytherin, Rowena Ravenclaw, Helga Hufflepuff and Godric Gryffindor, valued certain aspects and characteristics in a person and so, they decided to divide the Hogwarts’ students into four houses named after themselves.”

“Salazar Slytherin?”, Harry muttered. “Voldemort’s ancestor? And whose Heir I apparently am?”

“Indeed. Though that man now has a rather bad reputation in magical Britain.”

“Of course," Harry nodded. “If everyone knows whose descendent Voldemort is.”

“Yes," Lord Morte murmured. “Back to the Houses. They are named Gryffindor, which values bravery, nobility, chivalry and often recklessness,” Harry’s lips twitched, “Hufflepuff, which values loyalty, fairness and hard-work and are the ones who are mostly underestimated. Then, there’s Ravenclaw, which values wit, wise-ness, and intelligence and are the ones seen as bookworms. And the Slytherins are the ones who value ambition, cunningness, resourcefulness and cleverness. They are not above manipulation to reach whatever goals they want to and are, I suppose, the most misunderstood House in Hogwarts.”

Harry tilted his head, contemplating the properties of each house. Ils popped in then with a tray containing a plate of roasted chicken with mashed potatoes and grilled vegetables, along with a glass of juice and water. The little elf placed the tray onto the table with a short bow, Harry thanking him for the food while Lord Morte told the elf to keep Harry’s food light and meal interspersed along the day. The elf nodded, his eyes lingering on Harry worriedly, before popping away.

“Looks like you have already endeared yourself to the elves, Harrison," Lord Morte said as Harry picked up the fork and knife to start his meal. Lord Morte was sipping on his mug of coffee again, the mug black with a white skull imprinted on the front.

“Good for me," Harry muttered with a small smile. “Anyways, back to the Houses. I suppose, the Slytherin House is the one with your elites?”

“You are correct," Lord Morte nodded, reclining into his armchair. “Originally, Salazar Slytherin did not want to include muggleborns into Hogwarts. At that time, about a thousand years ago, there were numerous clashes between the muggles and the magicals, and Slytherin was worried that if they took in muggleborns and taught them magic, they would use the knowledge so gained against the magicals by either spying on them or openly fighting against them.”

Lord Morte sighed. “In a way, his worries were not unfounded, since muggleborns have connection to both the worlds and they often decide to side with their families instead of a foreign culture.” Lord Morte gulped his coffee. “But the other Founders did not have this opinion, except Ravenclaw, who slightly agreed but wanted the muggleborns to learn how to control their magic. This caused a major tension between the Founders, and eventually, Salazar left the school, deciding to seclude himself rather than deal with all the problems.

“With the passage of time,” Lord Morte continued, looking at the fire burning merrily in the fireplace, “the idea of Slytherin that muggleborns should not be taught at Hogwarts changed from worries of their turning spy against the magicals, to the idea that non-magicals who had magical children had somehow stolen the magic of the purebloods and thus, did not deserve to be in the prestigious school and learn about their cultures and traditions.

“The problem further increased when some muggleborns started to openly ostracize against the traditions of the magical world and began introducing muggle culture.” Lord Morte turned to look at Harry. “Over time, the purebloods started zealously protecting their traditions while condemning the muggleborns when they entered the magical world. And now, even if a muggleborn is interested in learning about the traditions and customs of the magical world, they wouldn’t be able to find any books on them and the purebloods are not ready to share. They call the muggleborns ‘mudblood’, a derogatory term that means ‘dirty blood’. The problem is also not solved when you take in all the banning of Dark Magic and rituals and Dark creatures. It’s a mess.”

“Wow," Harry muttered, letting all the information sink in. “So, the Slytherins see the muggleborns as dirty blood, while most of the muggleborns don’t even know why they are not being included and purebloods are……..”, he trailed off, confused.

Lord Morte chuckled at Harry’s confused look. “As I said, it’s a mess. Most of the British magical world sees Slytherins as dark, since Voldemort was a Slytherin and most of his followers hailed from that House. The House also contains most purebloods who hail from Dark families and support the ideas of blood purity and all that. Aside from that, Slytherins are known to wear masks, not letting others see what exactly they are feeling, known to have power plays in their House – there is a whole hierarchy inside the House consisting of the ruler and his favored to the most hated in the House.”

“How exactly does that hierarchy work?”, Harry asked, intrigued.

Lord Morte smirked. “It depends. It could be magical prowess, known connections, money, Heirships, how much political power your family has, and so on," Lord Morte answered. “Usually, the ruler of the House is either a seventh year or a sixth one. It rarely happens that someone of a lower year is able to become the ruler. After that, every year has a leader in it, which might change based on how many of their year mates are supporting them, or if they lose in some duel they’ve been challenged to. Slytherin is all about cunningness and subtlety. If you are good at insulting someone without them realizing it, you would be excellent there. I sometimes pass my time observing the dynamics in that House. It’s entertaining.”

Harry had his eyebrows raised, completely fascinated. He couldn’t say he was good at all that, since the Dursleys were really dim-witted and it was easy to manipulate and insult them, especially Dudley and his small brain, but he most likely will be delighted to engage in those power plays to see how he would fair.

“As I said,” Lord Morte gave him a sharp grin, “my assumption is that you will end up in that House one way or the other, and I will get to enjoy more drama!”

Harry eyed the beaming being sitting on the armchair, slowly putting his utensils back onto the plate, his stomach full. A vial of what must be the recommended Bone Strengthening potion popped on to the table. Drinking the potion with a grimace, Harry pondered on some of the thoughts that sprung up in his mind. If Voldemort was in that House….

“Don’t you think Dumbledore wouldn’t want me to be sorted into Slytherin?”, he mused out. “But knowing what I do of that old bastard, I bet he was a Slytherin himself.”

“Ah!”, Lord Morte shook his index finger in Harry’s face. “You are absolutely wrong about that, Harrison dear!” Harry grimaced. “Dumbledore was actually a Gryffindor – noble and brave, that man!”

“Noble," Harry drawled with an unimpressed expression.

Lord Morte snorted, finishing his coffee and then tossing his mug behind him, which vanished before touching the soft, peach colored rug spread over the floor.

“Of course, Dumbledore wouldn’t want you to be sorted into that house, Harrison," he replied. “You getting sorted there will start making him get suspicious on you turning into the second version of our dear Riddle. And the image of his saviour becoming Dark, instead of being a noble and brave Gryffindor will be preposterous!”

“Hmm," Harry mused, then grinned. “So, I have to get into Slytherin, then!”

“I like the way you think, Harrison," Lord Morte grinned back. “Oh, the chaos that will cause!”

Harry smiled. “If I didn’t know, I’d think you were Chaos instead of Death," he remarked.

Lord Morte smirked and stood up. “I and Chaos go hand-in-hand, Mr. Potter," he replied. “And don’t let Chaos hear you say that.” And with a wave, Lord Morte was gone.

“They didn’t tell me there actually was Chaos," Harry said to the empty room, then shook his head. He had a library to find. “Ils!”, he called out.

The elf popped in with his hands clutched in front of his chest. “Little Master!”, he bowed.

“Ils!”, Harry exclaimed. “You don’t need to bow to me! I told you that, didn’t I?” The elf shot him a guilty look. Harry rolled his eyes. “Here, take the tray, I’m done with the food. And can you direct me to the library, please?”

The elf nodded, snapping his fingers to vanish the food. “Do Master wanting Ils to take him there with magic or on foot?”, Ils asked.

“Let’s go by foot," Harry decided, excitedly getting up. “Lead the way, Ils!”

Ils smiled, and started walking, the door to Harry’s room opening by the elf’s magic. They made their way through a huge corridor, decorated with huge paintings of sceneries, which had things in them moving, and had tables made of dark wood with beautiful vases containing flowers. They came across a huge, long stairs and slowly descended down.

The landing was not overly large, only containing a painting which seemed to be either blank or just a background of white, black and green. There was a huge door, made of heavy, polished wood with metal knockers in the shape of the Peverell crest – a triangle divided in half with a circle inside it.

The door swung open on their own accord, and Harry followed Ils inside it.

The library was huge, Ils hadn’t been lying. Harry stared open-mouthed at the huge arched ceiling supporting at least seven huge chandeliers giving off light through burning candles, the brightness intensified by the glass designs in the chandeliers. Huge shelves containing tomes as old as a millennia towered from the start of the library to its other end. There were some tables with comfortable looking chairs interspersed at regular intervals in the library. On Harry’s both sides, there were two huge fireplaces with black, dark blue or green armchairs and tables.

“Welcome to the Peverell library, Little Master," Ils said from behind him.

Harry grinned. “This is a welcome indeed!” And he dived into the books.

Chapter Text

The next day, Harry woke before Floppy had to come and scold him. It was nearing seven in the morning, and he smiled, yawning and stretching. He quickly went into the bathroom to freshen up, then pulled out one of Dudley’s cast-off that was nearing its death and put it on. He needed to ask Lord Morte to take him to some shop to get a few clothes, seeing as he really had only a very small amount of clothes that he had put up in the carry-on bag Death had given him while at the Dursleys. Though there was the problem of money, since he really didn’t had access to his vaults currently. But Lord Morte will surely - hopefully - figure that out.

With that thought, he summoned Floppy, who eyed his clothes with confusion but greeted him with a bow. Harry shuffled slightly, greeting her back in return. He then proceeded to explain how his healer had asked him to take morning runs and asked her whether there was a garden where he could do it.

Floppy nodded, taking him to a garden that was just behind the castle, and as soon as Harry was standing on the ground, he could feel the overwhelming magic that was encircling the castle crashing into his senses. It was too much and Harry would have crashed if Floppy hadn’t taken a hold of him.

“You bes magic sensitive, Little Master?”, the elf asked, her eyes wide.

Harry nodded. “Yes. Though I don’t understand why I am feeling the castle’s magic now,” he asked.

“That being because the castle’s wards be being closer from here, Little Master," she answered, pointing her finger towards the far distance. “The castle’s magic is being more powerful close to the wards.”

Harry, astonished, nodded. “Amazing!”, he whispered.

“Don’t be worrying, Little Master," Floppy patted his hand reassuringly. “You bes getting used to it soon.”

“Okay.”

Once Harry had gotten the hang of the feeling of the castle’s strong magic, he had stood on his own legs and had looked around at the garden Ashy must be taking care of. The garden was full with all sorts of beautiful and fragrant flowers and vines and trees. Birds and insects flocked around the garden. There was a fountain in the middle, a statue of a cloaked figure spouting water from the scythe that it had clutched to its side.

“Not creepy at all," Harry muttered, eyeing the figure which he was certain was actually Death's.

In the end, he had shrugged, asking Floppy to tell Ils to make a light breakfast for him.

After Floppy had popped away, Harry had proceeded to run around in the garden, happy that he wasn’t actually running from Dudley and his gang. He thought about the library. It had contained all the subjects which Ils had told him about. It wasn’t possible for Harry to go through the whole library in just a day – he had simply looked through all the plagues engraved with the subjects of the books and tomes in the shelves. It had contained books on Necromancy, Death Magic, Parselmagic, Advanced Runes and Arithmancy, Ancient Rituals, Blood Magic, Soul Magic, Magical Theories, Alchemy and Mind Magic.

Harry had noticed that there were not many books on the subjects Lord Morte had told him about that were taught at Hogwarts. There were books on Advanced Charms, Transfiguration, Potions, Defensive and Offensive Magic, but not much. Then there were more intriguing topics, like wand lore, old traditions and the reasons behind them, some even about Death and Magic and Fates and whatnot, and Harry’s mind had been spinning after that. There was so much to learn, that he had sat down on the closest chair, slightly dizzy.

After an hour of running around and observing flowers and birds, Harry decided to pause his exercise for today and again called Floppy to take him back to his room.

He took a refreshing bath, and wolfed down his breakfast along with his nutrition potion, grimacing slightly at the taste. At last, when he was finally finishing up with his breakfast, Lord Morte had popped in, telling him it was his time for starting his lesson.

And so, their first lesson commenced, which consisted of Harry sitting on a floor mat with his eyes closed while trying to concentrate on controlling his breathing, and Lord Morte sitting on an armchair nearby with his mug of coffee and parchments, shooting what he had called a Stinging Hex at Harry every time his mind wandered.

Occlumency, Lord Morte told him, was all about having a control over his mind. Harry had Naturel Occlumency which gave him natural shields and an ability to control his mind more easily than someone who did not have that. Lord Morte explained to him how he needed to be able to clear his mind in a heartbeat. Harry needed to create a blank mindscape, which he would then need to put up with barriers and defenses, creating fake memories and emotions with them so that he could avoid a Legilimens from finding out anything from his mind.

It was hard! Harry was good at blanking out his mind to avoid showing any emotions to people he did not trust. But that did not mean he was good at concentrating and clearing his mind for long. It took them almost two weeks for Harry to successfully clear his mind and then start working on fake memories and shields.

After about two weeks, Harry had received a letter from his parent’s account manager, goblin Nagnok, saying that the Goblin King had accepted Harry’s request to help in Sirius Black’s case, and in return, if Harry became the Master of Death, they will extend a hand of friendship and Harry will have to accept, otherwise they would be extracting their payment in some other way, that Harry might not find very pleasing.

Harry had been wary about the payment-extraction comment, but had agreed to their demand. He had also told Nagnok to stop the monthly transfer of galleons to his lovely relatives and to keep it under wraps from that old manipulator. Nagnok had gleefully agreed, asking him whether he wanted to ask for the money to be forcefully extracted from the Dursleys when Dumbledore had ordained it without his consent. Harry had to hesitantly refuse to that.

That had given him one question though.

“Morte? Is there really no relative of mine in the magical world?”, he had asked. “I mean, I come from four different bloodlines, three if you see it biologically. There are really no relatives alive aside from Mr. Black?”

Morte hummed. “Well, there are three distant relatives from the Blacks," he answered, Harry perking up beside him. “They are Sirius Black’s cousins, all three sisters. Andromeda Tonks, Bellatrix Lestrange and Narcissa Malfoy. One has been unofficially disowned by House Black, the middle one is in Azkaban for being a Death Eater and torturing the Longbottoms to insanity and the last one married Lucius Malfoy, who was actually a Death Eater, but weaseled his way out by bribing and claiming that he had been under the Imperius.”

Harry blinked. “Great," he muttered, before pausing. “What’s the Imperius?”, he asked slowly.

“The third Unforgivable Curse, that controls the victim’s mind. The castor can put the victim under the Curse and then convince them to do anything for them. It is a hard Curse to shake off, but there are some wizards and witches who can shake it off.”

“Mind control!”, Harry muttered, scandalized. “What isn’t there in the magical world!” He looked back at Morte, “No one besides these three?”

“Well….," Morte paused, hesitating. “There is Lord Arcturus Black, the Lord of House Black. Though he is nearing his end. He secluded himself when the war turned bloody and then, Sirius Black, who he was intending to make Lord after he became of age, ran away, and Sirius’ younger brother, Regulus Arcturus Black, mysteriously died."

“And then, Mr. Black got sent to Azkaban," Harry sighed. “How long do you think he has?” The thought of death nowadays wasn’t that sad or terrifying to Harry. He had dealt with it himself, accepted it, and he was studying under Death itself, so the idea really didn’t affect him much.

Morte hummed. “Approximately two to three years, I think," he answered.

Harry hesitated. “That’s….," he pursued his lips. “Do you think I should send him a letter? Introduce myself and tell him Mr. Black adopted me?”

“It’s your decision to make, Harrison," Morte shrugged.

Harry, after a few days of indecisiveness, decided to send a letter to Lord Black. He introduced himself, telling Lord Black that Sirius Black had blood-adopted him by his parents’ permission and that he was currently living with his magical guardian in Scotland.

He had received a reply a week later, Lord Black welcoming him into House Black, and stating that he would be obliged to meet his Heir’s Heir if Harry so wished, but he was currently suffering through a magical disease that might affect Harry, so he will advise him not to meet.

Harry had sent back a reply, thanking Lord Black for his welcome and wishing him a quick recovery, and that was that.

In the midst of practicing Occlumency, Morte had also given him introductory books on all the subjects that were taught at Hogwarts, including the books on those ones that were done after third year.

It was absolutely fascinating, all the topics that Harry got to read up about! Harry had gleefully started reading about all the subjects, making a time-table so as to give every subject at least an hour of his day. He had to go and spent about two hours at the Dursley’s garden to keep up the pretense of living with them, then come back home and start his lessons. His other mornings were spent either with Morte explaining things he hadn’t understood, or reading any book that Morte had recommended, or practicing his shields and barriers.

Once he had mastered a little of Occlumency, Morte had started his training on controlling his magic. The first time when Morte had released Harry's full magic from his control had resulted in sparks flying around the sitting room they were practicing in, which had then resulted in a fire which Floppy had taken care of while glaring at the both of them. The next one had been in the garden, which had resulted in the grass spread to at least about five metres in radius around Harry decaying, which had them having to deal with a crying Ashy. After that, frustrated, Morte had created an expanded space inside one of the storage rooms, and had let Harry lose with his magic.

The feeling of having full access to his whole magic had been amazing to Harry. His magic obeyed him so easily, it had felt like breathing.

“Magic is supposed to feel like that if you have established a good connection with your core, Harrison," Morte had told him when Harry had remarked about his magic. “Most witches and wizards nowadays do not focus on connecting with their core and that is the reason why they are not good at wandless magic. Not to mention, Hogwarts nowadays, does not even tell them how much easier it would be for them if they established this connection.”

“Why don’t they?”, Harry asked.

“Just the reduction of course," Morte answered, shrugging his shoulders. “And the Ministry and the people in power afraid that it would become difficult to control the population if every other witch or wizard become adept in wandless magic.” Morte looked at him. “Currently, in Britain, only Dumbledore and Voldemort are the two wizards who can effortlessly use wandless magic. No one else can, they are too much dependent on their wands.”

“Would…”, Harry asked slowly, “would I have been unable to do wandless magic too, if I didn’t had access to my whole core?”

Morte frowned. “I don’t think so, Harrison," he answered after some deliberation. “You were able to do wandless magic from age one. Some of it was accidental, but the later ones were deliberate, the ones you did after the binding. So, even without the access to your whole core, you could have been able to do wandless magic.” Morte paused. “Though you wouldn’t have been able to have access to the magical affinities of yours.”

“About that,” Harry frowned, “do those affinities require different type of magic or something? I don’t understand why they weren’t available to me when my core was bound. I mean, alright, more than half of my magic is not available, but shouldn’t I be able to perform a little bit of it?”

“No," Morte shook his head in reply. “Look here.” He waved his hand in front of them, and a grey sphere of spiraling light came into existence in front of him. He pointed at the grey color. “The magic that you are using to perform these random feats of magic, like Levitation or Transfiguration or any charm, uses the surface magic. Imagine this sphere to be like Earth, then the magic that you are using mostly comes from the crust and the mantle.” He waved his hand once more and the sphere split into half. The swirling grey color extended to the interior, slowly getting blacker, but the part that would have been the Earth’s core in analogy was completely black.

“That core,” Morte pointed at the core, “contains the magic that you are going to use to access your affinities. Necromancy, Death Magic – these are not the sort of Magic that could be performed by just any witch or wizard unless they have this specific core.”

“Wow!”, Harry stared at the sphere with amazement. “And how am I gonna access this magic then?”

“I’ll be teaching you, of course.”

-------

At one Sunday, after taking care of the Dursley’s garden, Harry had found himself entering a clothing store with Morte who had insisted Harry to buy as much clothes as he needed since the money was coming from the Peverell vaults. Harry had rolled his eyes, but had brought a few shirts, T-shirts, pants, shocks, his undergarments, some sweatshirts and sweaters, all of them in colors of black, white, grey, green or blue. The feeling that he had gotten while wearing clothes that actually fit him and were his, was amazing.

His readings on introductory books were going amazing too.

He had found out what exactly Transfiguration meant. Changing one object or thing to another, or Conjuring something out of nothing, was astonishing. But there were exceptions too, like Conjured food actually not having any taste and vanishing after some time, or the Transfiguration itself being temporary. Harry had theorized that this magic actually transformed one type of compound to a different kind, which was absolutely flabbergasting.

Charms was a very broad subject, which included very useful spells like healing charms or cleaning ones, to weird spells like the Bat-Bogey hex (like seriously, why?!), to downright useless ones like that one which would transform someone to a duck. Though he supposed that it could be used to punish or prank someone. Then, Charms also contained some powerful ones, like the Fidelius Charm, which his parents had used. The Charm was ancient, and could be used to hide any information, provided that one phrased the Secret right.

Potions sounded amazing too, similar to Chemistry, and Harry was astonished to find so many potions that were there in the magical world. The books said that potions usually did not require active magic, instead depending on the passive one, though there were mentions that if someone could sense magic, it would be easier for them to brew potion, though they had to acquaint themselves with them thoroughly to be able to tell about the state of the potion. The amount of ingredients used though, that was horrifying.

Offensive and Defensive magic was an amazing read. Harry found that the duels that wizards and witches engaged in used creativity and speed, in which, he thought, he was good. Though at Hogwarts it seemed, only very limited magic was taught, that too defense that was against the Dark Arts – a topic that Harry was going to soon dive into.

Herbology was about magical plants, and Harry was amazed how every plant had different properties and required certain care. He liked gardening, though he wasn’t sure he would be able to fare against plants like the Devil’s Snare.

Arithmancy and Ancient Runes seemed like they would be absolutely amazing. One subject took calculations and employed mathematics to solve problems and find out which spell would be better or what potion would be more effective. Ancient Runes, on the other hand, finally answered Harry’s question on why non-magicals couldn’t use them to perform magical rituals. He needed to imbibe each carved rune with his magic for them to work. Aside from that, a single rune had several meanings, and the meaning would depend on which runic chain the rune is being used in. It was complicated and Harry was determined to learn it.

Then, there was a book on creatures, and really, the magical world had so many of them – from dragons to merfolk to basilisks to Dementors. Absolutely mind-blowing, and very dangerous to every other life!

Harry read about Alchemy and wand lore too, though they were more complicated than runic chains, so he had decided to give them thought after getting more acquainted with the easier subjects.

Harry had also been learning about Parseltongue, Parselmagic and his Metamorphmagus abilities.

Parseltongue, Harry found out, was really very rare in Britain with only some descendants of Peverells having the inherent ability to speak or use the ancient language of snakes. Though, the language seemed to be much more prevalent in the southeast Asian countries. The magic, on the other hand, wasn’t available to every Parselmouth, seeing as only those with Dark and above average magical cores were able to cast spells in Parseltongue.

Harry had cast some easy spells he’d read in Parseltongue wandlessly and the results were dangerous enough to get Floppy worried and furious at Harry in equal measures. Needless to say, Harry hadn’t tried to cast any Parselmagic until he was sure his magical core was suitably stable enough to not burn the whole castle down.

As for being a metamorphmagi, Harry really had only partial ability. As Nagnok had told him, Harry couldn’t change his whole body, but could change his hair, a bit of his face and some general features of his body. Morte was specifically annoyed when Harry had changed his hair style to match the being’s and had forced Harry’s hair back to their gravity-defying, messy self.

Then, there were his readings on Death Magic, about Necromancy, Soul Magic and Death’s realm. Morte had told him to go through with those books first which contained the introductions to these topics.

Death Magic, as Morte had told him while they were at Gringotts, was all about Death’s magic. It was highly dangerous, and if any witch or wizard granted with such a magic lost even a little bit of control over it, there would be complete destruction. Harry found out how he could command the Death Magic inside his core to shoot out as a beam of pure black light and kill someone instantly. He could decay a biological body with just a thought, kill any being – be that magical, non-magical, animal or even plant. The amount of Death Magic required to kill depended on the body size though – creatures like dragons would require more magic to be decayed. It was horrifying and made Harry nauseous. He would have to make sure to completely keep that part of his magic under control, otherwise…….

Having Death Magic also gave him some command over creatures that came under Death’s domain, like dementors, lethifolds, thestrals (amazing, those!), some banshees and Caiporas which were spirits, along with ghosts, inferi, and poltergeists and even zombies (Harry hoped zombies were not real; he did not like the idea of an apocalypse). And it also gave him the ability to converse with them. Harry was really looking forward to conversing with some thestrals and ghosts, maybe even become a ghost hunter?

Morte, later though, told him that this Death Magic would only come to Harry if he became the Master of Death. “And,” Morte had snarked, “if I have any control on this matter, you will not be getting any!”

Harry just rolled his eyes. “But, sadly, you don’t! Fates have control over this!”

Morte had sniffed at him and shadowed away to torture some souls, Harry was sure.

Necromancy was the same dangerous sort as Death Magic, though it involved more rituals and sacrifices as alright as blood, to as horrendous as a human. Harry learned that a Necromancer could summon any dead person’s soul, converse with them and then re-send them back to Death’s realm. Necromancers could also summon and control dead bodies, re-animate corpses, command them and have them do anything they wished. Harry learned that Inferi were actually dead corpses that a witch or a wizard could ‘create’ and have them do anything they wished. It was…….disturbing.

Soul Magic was as fascinating as it was dangerous. Someone who had an affinity to Soul Magic could do as much an amazing thing as horrifying. The example for the former was that they could feel any living creature’s soul, some could even see it or touch it. While for the latter, a person could easily pull the soul out of a living creature’s body and leave them a husk of their living self, just the way the Dementor’s did. It was broad, and as Nagnok had told him, not much researched through. Soul Magic was really not considered moral, just as Necromancy and Death Magic weren’t.

In between these studies, Harry had to study through his school work too. Morte had not had Harry’s name cut from the school that he was attending with Dudley. He would not need to go there every day, but he will have to sit through his exams and tests. Morte also convinced him to read through some books that talked about wizarding politics, the Wizangamot and how it worked, and about cunningness and manipulation, how to be subtle while having what he wanted done. And, how to write with a quill on a parchment (tough, that). The work load was, honestly, horrifying, but it was the first time Harry was really enjoying his days.

-------

Slowly, a whole year-and-a-half passed with Harry moving further in his magical education. His Occlumency shields advanced further, and he was now very adept at controlling and masking his magic, keeping it wrapped under his skin so that no one could feel it. He had started learning Legilimency too, through some simulation dummies that Morte had created for him to practice on.

The feeling of entering a mind, even if it was a dummy, was disorienting. Harry found it hard to navigate through the complex memories and thoughts that were present in the brain, and Morte had remarked that the dummy’s brain was less complex than a human’s. Morte had also warned Harry to be careful while making eye contact with any human as he could accidentally dive into their mind and read their thoughts and cause both himself and the other a major headache.

Aside from the Mind Magic, Harry was steadily making progress through the books he had available on his affinities. Just six months earlier, after Harry had turned ten, Morte had started his training on accessing his inner core’s magic, the magic which gave him the affinities for those Darkest of Arts.

The first time he had pulled forth that magic, it had felt so cold, so freezing that his skin had turned pale and he had shivered. The temperature around him had dropped, even small droplets of water condensing around him. The grass around him had wilted away and died (which had resulted in Ashy crying again and Harry guiltily apologizing to the elf). In time though, he had gotten used to that magic, though he couldn’t really use it around.

The surface magic though, Harry had used and practiced abundantly. He had learned to twist and control his magic, urging and guiding it to do what he wanted. He had mastered several Charms and spells, along with Defensive and Offensive spells too. Morte had engaged with Harry in a duel a few times in one of the Duelling Rooms of the castle to teach him the intricacies of formal duels. Harry had lost every time, since Morte employed shadowing too much in his duels, but the experiences were amazing.

Morte had also introduced Harry to the wizarding holidays. The first one they had celebrated was called Mabon, which fell exactly on the day of autumn equinox at around late September. It was celebrated to thank Nature Magic for good harvest and food. It was considered tradition to engage in baking and cooking on this day, and share the food with someone who’s in need. Harry had baked bread with the elves, and they had tried dragging in Morte but the being had vehemently refused. On the topic of giving the needy food, Harry had jokingly passed off the baked bread to Morte, who had shot a painful Stinging Hex at him.

The next festival they had celebrated together was Samhain, which was dedicated to the dead and in a way, to Death. It involved a ritual circle with some candles and a brew in which the practitioner’s blood was mixed and burnt. Then, you had to sit and meditate. This ritual was a way for a person to make peace with the dead, to connect with the ones who had passed on.

Harry had done the ritual, and had connected with his parents. They couldn’t really talk with each other there, but they had shared their love and care for Harry and the happiness to connect with him, an apology and longing for not being there with him, and a proudness for him to making it this far, surviving mostly on his own. There was warmth and contentedness, and when Harry had finally come out of his meditative state, he was perfectly content.

Yule, the festival that was celebrated with family, was spent with his five elves and Morte, burning Yule Log and decorating one of the drawing rooms. They had done a ritual in this too, which was to thank Lady Magic for the good year and harvest and family.

Harry had learnt about Imbolc, Ostara, Beltane, Litha and Lammas as well, celebrating and performing rituals that were done during them. Most of them were performed to connect with Lady Magic, to thank her either for harvest, or for good year, or simply to feel content and feel the natural magic flowing through the body, renewing the magical core and giving one positive energy.

Morte had explained to him why these festivals were slowly depleting from the magical world. Muggleborns did not know about them, and the Purebloods did not share. The Ministry was slowly putting bans on these rituals, stating that they involved blood magic which was dangerous and Dark.

Harry was furious at the stupidity, and agreed that what Voldemort was initially doing was actually a good cause, and irritated with the chosen Dark Lord to go insane with whatever dangerous magic he had done.

He was uncertain whether he will eventually fight against the man or not, seeing as he agreed on some of the things the man was fighting for, not to mention that Harry himself was a Dark wizard, and a budding Necromancer, and he was sure the Light Faction will never accept him when they found out about it. But he also disagreed with Voldemort’s method of torture and killing and causing mass panic around Britain. As Harry had found out, the population of magical Britain was small, and Voldemort had bought the number lower with his killings, and had exposed the magicals to the muggles with his attacks. Not to mention, the man had murdered his parents; but the prophecy was there too. But again, the man hadn’t even known the full prophecy yet and had decided to eliminate a baby, instead of finding the whole damn words. Again though, he was insane!

It was so confusing, that Harry had decided to just stay neutral until he found out which side was better, and which had more reasons behind his and the magical Britain’s survival.

After telling Morte about his decision regarding staying neutral, Morte had decided that now was the time for Harry to learn about the two most powerful wizards of Britain.

Chapter Text

“Why is it necessary for me to know about their whole history?”

“Because you are going to be stuck between the two men’s crossfire," Morte replied, sitting down on one of the comfortable armchairs in the library with his signature mug of coffee. “And in the end, you will need to choose one side over the other, because you staying neutral would not be beneficial for everyone involved.”

“What is wrong with you and the Fates?!”, Harry exclaimed, feeling annoyance and irritation envelope him at Morte's words that were so similar to the ones the Fates had said. “You guys always make it sound like the whole damn future of magical Britain is on my shoulders!”

“In a way, Harrison, it is," Morte answered with a smirk.

Harry groaned. “Fine! Pressure me to death!”

“That is the plan.”

“Just......tell me, alright?!”, Harry glared at Morte.

Morte shot him an overly innocent smile. “So!”, he settled down comfortably, Harry slumping down on the other armchair. It was mid-January, and the Scottish weather was rather cold. Snow was falling outside while Harry and Morte sat close to one of the fireplaces, absorbing the warmth of the softly glowing coals. “Albus Percival Wolfric Brian Dumbledore,” Harry rolled his eyes, “was born in eighteen eighty-one, so he is currently hundred-and-nine years old. His mother was a muggleborn while his father was a pureblood. He has one younger brother, Aberforth Dumbledore, who works at Hogs Head in Hogsmeade, and had a younger sister who died in an accident.

“Dumbledore was a brilliant student, maybe not as much as Riddle, but he was intelligent. He wrote a paper on Transfiguration when he was a seventh year student at Hogwarts, which earned him recognition in academic circles. After graduating from Hogwarts, he was planning on going on a world trip with his friend, when his mother got killed due to his sister’s uncontrolled magic. His father was sentenced to Azkaban several years prior due to attacking some muggle boys who had attacked Ariana Dumbledore when they had seen her doing magic, where he had died. Thus, Dumbledore became the head of his House and needed to take his siblings' responsibilities.

“His younger brother had offered to look after Ariana since he was not much into academics, but Dumbledore refused, telling him to focus on his studies. It was during the summers that he met a like-minded, brilliant boy, named Gellert Grindelwald.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “The…….previous Dark Lord?”, he whispered.

“Yes," Morte nodded with glee shining in his eyes. “They became fast friends, sharing their interests in search for the Deathly Hallows and the idea of conquering the muggles to establish magical supremacy over them. For the greater good.”

“The Deathly Hallows," Harry muttered, his brows furrowed. He had read about them somewhere. “You – wait, the…..that tale is true?!”

Morte gave him a grin.

“A cloak, a ring and……a wand!”, Harry’s eyes widened. “You are joking!”

Morte’s grin widened.

“You seriously gave……”, Harry’s eyes widened further. “The Peverell brothers! Oh, sweet Magic!” He gaped at Morte. “You gave them those things and…….are they one of the tests to be the Master of Death?!”

“Hmm. Very good," Morte hummed. “Staying in my company has made you rather smart.”

“That’s my elves’ company, Morte, not yours," Harry sniffed. Morte rolled his eyes. “But, no! Tell me if they are the part of the test and - oh my god! That bloody wand that I bonded with! It’s that wand, isn’t it? You told me it was one of the most powerful wands in the world! You weren’t kidding! That’s why Dumbledore did not wanted me to remember the damn thing!” Harry slumped down into the armchair, his mind-blown with the revelations.

Morte just sat there, looking smug. “You would be correct, Harrison," he answered with a haughty look. “That wand is one that I made. Elder wood, fifteen inches, thestral hair core. Also called the Elder Wand, the Death Stick, and bleh bleh bleh. Caused numerous bloody murders and wars too.”

“You must be extremely proud of that wand. And yourself fr=or coming up with it," Harry grumbled.

“I am," Morte nodded, looking extremely pleased with himself.

“So, what are those other two Hallows?”, Harry asked curiously.

Morte eyed Harry with a contemplative look, then shrugged. “The stone, called the Resurrection Stone, can summon the dead without doing any extensive ritual or sacrifice. Currently, it is lying in a……rather sad situation, but has the potential to kill someone rather painfully.” Morte gave a dreamy sigh, while Harry eyed the being warily. “The cloak - it is in the wrong hands.”

Harry blinked after waiting for a minute. “That’s it about the cloak?”, he asked. Morte shrugged. “Well……..I descend from the youngest brother, don’t I?”

Morte raised his brow, beckoning him to speak further.

“And the youngest brother got the cloak, passing it down to his descendants," Harry continued. “Shouldn’t it have come to my parents, my father, if Ignotius Peverell’s only grandchild was a daughter who married into the Potter line?”

Morte grumbled something unintelligible under his breath. “Yes," he finally answered. “But as I said, it’s in the wrong hands.”

Harry mused on Morte’s words and sighed. “That bloody old man!”, he muttered, reaching the unavoidable conclusion. “Why does he have that cloak?”

“Asked your father to borrow it," Morte replied drily.

“Of course," Harry muttered, sarcastic. He really felt irritation and rage well up in him whenever he thought about how much Dumbledore had stuck his nose in his and his family's business.

“Anyways,” Morte waved his hand, “Dumbledore and Grindelwald became friends, and soon, they became romantically involved.”

“Oh, wow," Harry giggled.

“There ideas grew, they discussed world domination-”

“That was I’s and D’s idea!”

“-but then, Aberforth confronted them, saying that Albus was neglecting their sister when he should be looking after her. A fight ensued, and in the firing off of spells, Ariana got hit, dying on the spot. Grindelwald fled, of course, back to Europe where he amassed his following, launching attacks and terror onto the continent.”

“Sucks," Harry winced for poor Ariana Dumbledore, dying just because of foolishness.

“Dumbledore became a professor at Hogwarts, and finally, in nineteen forty-five, defeated Grindelwald in an epic duel, not killing him, but getting him imprisoned inside Nuremberg, the prison Grindelwald had himself created for his enemies.”

“Ironic.”

“Dumbledore was offered the position of Minister, but he refused, instead becoming the Chief Warlock of the Wizangamot and later became the Headmaster of Hogwarts.”

“And now he’s trying to manipulate a boy into becoming his weapon so that he can defeat another Dark Lord," Harry remarked drily.

Morte shrugged. “He has his reasons. Since his encounter with Grindelwald, he has deeply embedded in his mind the belief that all Dark magic is lethal and Dark wizards and creatures, evil.”

“Wonderful," Harry drawled out sarcastically.

“It is, isn’t it?”, Morte grinned. “Just meeting one person changed Dumbledore’s viewpoint. Once he himself liked the idea of magicals being superior to muggles, to establish control over them and the idea of extreme power and immortality. But now, he has done a complete three-sixty and takes their side.”

“Though," Morte remarked, "he hasn’t yet lost that idea of having immense power, but does not like to show that. He hides behind his old, grandfatherly Headmaster facade, while controlling the politics in the Ministry and the Wizangamot. He likes knowing everything, loves controlling those that are at his side and manipulates events so that they suit his needs.”

“He is a powerful political opponent," Harry remarked.

“Yes, he is," Morte nodded. “And people fall for his grandfatherly persona, believing whatever he says to be the truth, and some even follow him blindly. Dumbledore never comes to the forefront, he likes manipulating from the backstage, controlling his pawns as he sees fit.”

“And…”, Harry frowned, “he wouldn’t care if some of his pawns got killed?”

“It would be for the greater good, of course.”

Harry pursued his lips. “I suppose I’m his most valuable pawn?”

Morte smirked. “And the one who is to be disposed off as soon as your job is done.”

Harry sighed. “Great. I think staying on Dumbledore’s side will just eventually result in my death," he muttered.

“Don’t worry, my dear Harrison," Morte smiled sweetly. “I will welcome you in my realm with open arms. We can then discuss the amount of paperwork that we have to do, and you can even help me in filling some of them.”

“Yeah, no thanks," Harry rolled his eyes. “I think entering your realm as the Master of Death would be more satisfying.”

Morte narrowed his eyes at Harry with annoyance, then waved his hand. “Moving on, Harrison," he muttered. “Tom Marvolo Riddle was born in London at a place called the Wool’s Orphanage on the night of thirty-first December, nineteen twenty-six. If he had a current body, he would have been sixty-four.”

“Huh," Harry muttered. “Dear Riddle is so much younger than Dumbledore. Isn’t it a bit unfair? Dumbledore has way more experience than him.”

“Well,” Morte gave Harry an amused smile, “if you decide to go with the Light Faction, you would obviously become their second leader after Dumbledore, and Dumbledore will definitely put you against Voldemort. So, it will be unfair to you too, what with your tiny size and dumb brain.”

Harry gave Morte his most unimpressed look. “Real funny, Morte.”

“I try," Morte sniffed. “So, Riddle’s mother was a pureblood, a near squib descendant from the Slytherin line and the second last remaining member of the Gaunts. The inbreeding in the Gaunt line had caused so much deterioration that Merope, Riddle’s mother and Morfin, his uncle, had almost no magic left, not to mention common sense. Merope’s father, Marvolo, abused his daughter, always telling her that she has to marry her brother because they did not tolerate their blood mixing with even the other pureblood lines. Their financial situation wasn’t good either, they lived in a rundown shack further away from a little village.

“Do you know what is the most known ability of Slytherin’s bloodline, Harrison?”, Morte asked with a mischievous smirk.

Harry blinked, confused at the question and slightly wary of the look in the being's eyes. “I don’t know? You never mentioned anything," he replied slowly.

Morte's smirk increased, looking as if he was going to drop a bomb - an atomic one, at that. Harry felt his heart skip.

“The Slytherin line is the only line in the British Wizarding World that is famously known to have the ability to speak to snakes. They are all Parselmouths!", Morte declared.

Harry blinked again, absorbing the information. It wasn’t that bad, right? Only known Parselmouths in Britain, which meant Voldemort was also a Parselmouth and……

His magical inheritance test’s result flashed through his mind. “No," he muttered, shaking his head. “No! That….no! That can’t be true!” Harry shot Morte a pleading look. "Please tell me the Fates are playing some sick, cosmic joke with me! Please!"

Morte just shrugged, looking pleased.

“Voldemort is my soulmate!”, Harry exclaimed, his mind whirling with so many emotions – anger at his bloody soulmate, denial that he was bonded through soul with his parents’ murderer, not to mention an insane wizard, confusion on what the bloody hell the man had done to his soul and rage at the situation he seemed to be in. “What did Riddle do to his soul?!”, he asked, gritting his teeth. “Why him, of all people?!”

Morte shrugged once more. “The Fates work in weird ways," he remarked.

Harry fumed. “Oh, I’m going to strangle their bloody necks! How dare they soul bond me to bloody Voldemort of all things!”

“They didn’t bond you with him.”

“You damn well know what I mean!”

“As they told you earlier, Harrison, it’s human’s choices that make the things happen. It’s not the Fates' fault that Riddle took the decisions that he did.”

Harry still fumed silently.

“Riddle’s mother had fallen in love with a rich muggle who lived in the village, and whose family literally owned the land around the whole village. When her father and brother had been taken to Azkaban for attacking said muggle and a Ministry official, she decided to give Tom Riddle Senior a love potion.”

Harry came out of his anger to widen his eyes. He absolutely hated that potion! It did not create actual love inside the victim, instead causing lust in them for the person who had given it to them. In Harry’s mind, it was rape and he absolutely hated those who committed such a heinous crime.

“Merope ran away with Riddle Senior, continuing to give him that potion. But when she became pregnant, she decided to stop giving him the potion, thinking that if her husband did not stay for her, at least he’d stay back for their child. As soon as the potion’s effects wore off, Riddle Senior, horrified at his predicament, ran back to his home town, not believing that he was going to become a father.

“Merope, heartbroken, roamed around in London, and on that stormy night in December, stumbled inside the orphanage, giving birth to Riddle Junior and having enough time to name him before dying.”

Harry pursued his lips. That was so twisted.

“Riddle grew up alone in the orphanage, the other kids bullying him since he had so many accidental magical incidents and he could talk to snakes, making him different. He stayed alone and never knew any form of positive emotions. The parents who adopted him would bring him back, declaring him to be a Devil’s spawn. Riddle learned to live in isolation, preferring books and snakes over humans, telling himself and convincing his mind that he did not need any friends or family, that he was far superior than those human emotions.”

Morte sighed. “He was also abused by the matron of the orphanage and a priest, who thought that exorcism, which then involved beatings, or burning with candle or tossing water or starving, would drive away the demon in Riddle.”

Harry stared wide-eyed at Morte. This was bad, very bad. No wonder the man had turned so violent. Harry felt the stirrings of sympathy for the man. He wasn’t burnt by a candle, but he had been burnt by any hot utensil that his uncle could use when his food hadn’t been prepared to perfection by Harry, and Harry felt so mad with rage those times.

“He started controlling his magic, commanding it to do as he pleased and thus, started retaliating to the bullies, by either stealing their most valuable possessions or killing their pets, or by performing Legilimency on them, leaving their minds scarred.”

Harry took a deep breath. There were so many things common in between him and Riddle. He hadn’t attacked and killed any animal like that or had performed Legilimency, but the bullying, the loneliness, the need for a family to accept him – those were all the same.

“When he finally turned eleven, Dumbledore, the then Deputy Headmaster, came to tell him about Hogwarts. Dumbledore had first met the matron of the orphanage who had told him how different and scary Riddle was and when Riddle told Dumbledore that he could talk to snakes, an ability that is considered Dark, Dumbledore became wary of him. Instead of showing the young boy positivity, of giving him at least one chance, Dumbledore set an illusion of fire on his only belongings and threatened him that he would be chucked in jail if he bullied others or stole anything.”

Harry rubbed his face, feeling tired. Dumbledore again!

“Riddle got sorted in Slytherin, initially thought of as a muggleborn and bullied there too. When his intelligence and prowess at magic became apparent, the Slytherins started seeing him in new light and finally, in fifth year when he found out that he was a descendent of Salazar Slytherin himself, he became the ruler of his House.

“He amassed his following when he was still a student, and started delving in very dangerous and Darkest of Arts. His choice in his fifth year resulted in his future insanity. After graduation, he went to work in a shop in Knockturn Alley for his purpose of collecting the Founder’s items, and later he went on a world trip, learning as much as he could about any and all types of magic - forbidden or otherwise.

“When he returned, he had changed, gone was the charismatic and intelligent person, and in his place was Voldemort. He launched attacks and campaigns to establish pureblood supremacy, but got blasted when he attacked you that Samhain night.”

Harry stayed silent for a while, thinking through all that Morte had told him about Riddle. The man had a hard life, and he attended Hogwarts in the early 1940s which meant during the second World War. And his orphanage was in London.

“He lived through the Blitz!”, Harry realized, his eyes widening. “That would explain his fear of death.”

“Yes, it would," Morte nodded. “Riddle asked several times, to the then Headmaster Armando Dippet, whether he could stay over at Hogwarts during the summer holidays, but Dippet refused on Dumbledore’s advice. Riddle also applied for the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts professor just after graduating, but Dippet told him he was too young to be a professor. And when he returned back from his trip, Dumbledore had become the Headmaster, and obviously refused Riddle’s application for a professor-ship.”

“Why did he want to be a professor?”

“He loved academics and valued knowledge. He also wanted to introduce the idea that not all Dark Magic was evil. Besides, he considered Hogwarts his home, and wished to stay there.”

“But Dumbledore refused," Harry nodded, frowning. “He could have kept Riddle. It would have given him the chance to keep an eye on the man.”

“Yes, he could have," Morte replied. “But Dumbledore also thought that Riddle would recruit more students into his circle if he stayed at Hogwarts.”

“Would have he?”, Harry asked curiously.

Morte hummed. “He would have. He was a Dark Lord, he had a responsibility to Lady Magic. He would have created a circle where he would have taught them about the equality of magic and creatures.

“But Dumbledore’s refusal pushed Riddle more towards the Dark Arts, and there really was no one to guide him out of it. He turned insane.”

“What…..exactly did he do to his soul?”, Harry asked. “For me and him to become soul-bonded and him to turn insane, losing his mind and magic?”

Morte smirked. “And looks. The man was very handsome," he remarked. “Later on, he turned into a snake-human hybrid with red ruby eyes.”

“Insane!”, Harry muttered.

“The magic he did is a branch of Soul Magic-”

“Duh.”

“-called Horcruxes. Have you read about them?”

Harry shook his head.

“Then I advise you to do so," Morte remarked. “In short, a Horcrux is an object in which a person can put his soul, that creates a form of tether to the mortal plane and does not let the remaining soul to pass off to my realm even if their physical body is destroyed.”

Harry groaned. “Bloody Voldemort," he muttered, feeling sick. “He divided his soul to create a Horcrux!”

“Horcruxes, Harrison," Morte grinned. “Your soulmate-”

“Don’t call him that!”

“-created several Horcruxes to tether his soul. The soul can be broken through murder and then an elaborate ritual is performed that divides the soul into half and places one part into an object. Since dear Voldy created five and was planning on making another by using your death, he has approximately one percent of his soul remaining.”

“Holy Magic!”, Harry exclaimed, horrified. “How is that man functioning?!”

“Insanely.”

Harry sighed. “Is there any way of patching his soul back together?”

“Yes," Morte nodded. “There are actually two ways.”

“Good," Harry muttered. “If I side with that man, I do not want to work with an insane megalomaniac.” Morte smirked. “So, how did our souls bond exactly?”

“It isn’t that hard to figure out," Morte answered.

Harry frowned at Morte, who simply raised his brows at Harry. Well, it would have something to do with the Horcruxes, creating so many must have made his soul unstable or something? And the man was planning to use his death to create another Horcrux…

Harry’s eyes widened as his neck snapped back to Morte who was looking at him curiously.

“I…..”, Harry gulped. “Did…..his soul attach itself to me or something? Am I.........his horcrux for there to be a soul bond?!”

Morte sighed. “You…figured that out pretty fast.” Harry stared at him horrified. “Creating so many horcruxes made Voldemort’s soul extremely unstable. So, when the Killing Curse rebounded and destroyed his physical body, a part of his very small soul broke itself off from the main one and latched itself to the only living body it could find, which was you. And, since you and your soul were so young, the foreign soul slowly attached itself to your soul and they mended together to form a different soul. But that one percent of Voldemort’s soul still has connection to its original one, and thus, you and him form a soul-bond, the first ever soulmates.”

Harry stared at the burning coals in the fireplace with an unseeing look. He gulped down the nausea that he felt rising within him. This was so wrong! There was a piece of a soul inside him that had merged with his own soul! Not to mention, the soul was of someone who had murdered his parents, was going to murder him and had caused so much terror around Britain.

Morte spoke up after some time had elapsed with Harry giving no signs of getting out of his spiraling thoughts. “I know it’s a bit hard to grasp, what with it being your parents’ murderer’s soul, but you need to understand, Harrison," he sighed. “A soul is pure, and I admit, Riddle did really very atrocious and horrifying things, but that soul piece has been residing within you for almost eight years. It has forgotten all the things the main soul piece did, and has come to know what love and acceptance feels like. Through your soul.”

“It……does?”, Harry asked hesitantly. It felt so unreal, finding out he had been carrying a piece of Voldemort’s soul.

“Yes," Morte nodded. “And more importantly,” Morte took a breath while Harry leaned forward, curious, “Dumbledore knows.”

Harry fell back into his armchair with a groan while Morte cackled. “Why?!”, he whined. “Why does that bloody bastard know everything!”

“As I said, he loves knowing everything," Morte pointed out. “After the attack, Dumbledore came over to check what happened, as you can remember from your dreams.” Harry nodded. “Your scar was dripping with Dark Magic. At that time, Dumbledore assumed that it was due to the Killing Curse striking you there. But now he’s doubting that. You see, he’s been doing his own research to find out how Voldemort is still alive even after being hit by the Killing Curse. He’s theorized Horcrux can be one of the things that Voldemort might have created, but he’s not sure.”

Harry narrowed his eyes at Morte. “So, he doesn’t exactly know that I have………Riddle’s soul……residing inside me?”, he asked.

Morte hummed. “I don’t think so," he answered at last. “But I’d be careful if I were you. He can find out about it in some way or another.”

“Great," Harry muttered sarcastically. “I can’t wait for him to find out.”

Morte smirked. “Indeed," he said while putting his chin on his left hand propped on the armrest. “Well, I suppose, that’s it for the history of our dear friends.”

“That’s it, he says," Harry muttered.

“Hush, Harrison," Morte smiled lazily. “You needed to know about this soul-bond before you go and take that inheritance test at Gringotts, so you don’t get a heart attack, kill your companion and destroy poor Nagnok's office.”

“You…wouldn’t be there?”, Harry frowned.

“Nope," Morte popped the ‘p’. “You will be taking that test when you go shopping for your school supplies with whoever Dumbledore deems to send you for company. Knowing him he will send Hagrid," he muttered.

“Who’s Hagrid?”

“The keeper of keys at Hogwarts," Morte answered. “He looks after the grounds, takes care of the Forbidden Forest and such. He’s a half-giant and a fan of Dumbledore, since the man pulled him out of being carted off to Azkaban and provided him sanctuary at Hogwarts.”

Harry opened his mouth, but Morte continued.

“Tom Riddle accused him of releasing a monster at Hogwarts which petrified some students and killed one, when he found Hagrid with a giant spider, called an acromantula. He was, thus, kicked out of school when he was a third year.”

“And was that the actual monster responsible for petrifying and killing the students?” Harry was positive this Hagrid was actually not responsible. Riddle was a Slytherin, he must have been involved somehow to put the blame on Hagrid instead of accepting responsibility.

“No, it wasn’t. It was actually a basilisk," Morte answered. “A girl was killed, but no one found out that it was a basilisk who did that. The familiar of Salazar Slytherin, resides in the Chamber of Secrets which is only accessible to the Founder’s Heir.”

Harry blinked. “A school has a basilisk living in there!”, he muttered, unbelievably. “Great.” He looked at Morte with a raised eyebrow. “Dumbledore does not know where it is?”

“He knows," Morte grinned sharply. “Just cannot access it. You need-”

“Parseltongue, of course!”, Harry interrupted.

Morte hummed. “Riddle opened the Chamber in his fifth year, sic’d the basilisk on several students, petrifying them. Myrtle Warren though, got killed. To stop the school from closing, he put the blame on Hagrid, who was keeping a giant spider in the castle, and got awarded the Special Services to the School Award. He closed the Chamber after that; but the girls murder started all the disaster that resulted in the man losing his sanity.”

Harry grimaced. “He created his Horcrux when he was…..fifteen?”

“Sixteen.”

Harry rubbed his forehead, feeling an oncoming headache. “Such a mess," he muttered.

“Indeed," Morte agreed. "And, in one way or the other, you will be the one dealing with it."

Harry groaned.

Chapter Text

Slowly but surely, the remaining six months also passed, and it was nearing Harry’s eleventh birthday. Morte had told him that the Hogwarts’ acceptance letters were usually released around the twenty-third or twenty-fourth of July, and thus, he needed to reside with his relatives for a few days, so that the magic that was used to write the address of the recipients on the letter would detect him in his relatives’ home and thus not give away Harry's change of residence to old interfering people who had no business in knowing that.

It had been two years since Harry had stepped foot inside the Dursleys’ house. He only came every three days in the week to take care of the garden, and occasionally went to give Miss Coulson a visit.

The moment Petunia opened the front door when Harry rang the doorbell on the early morning of the twentieth of July with his backpack swung over his shoulder filled with few of his clothes, some books and his essentials, she froze in shock, her face turning pale.

Harry, who had changed slightly – growing up more now that he had a balanced diet, his frame not malnourished-thin, but lithe, and his face losing a little bit of its baby fat; his bright emerald eyes shined brilliantly, but his untamable mess of raven hair continued to defy gravity, gave her a sharp smile.

“Aunt Petunia!”, he greeted with a fake cheer, pushing the door open, making Petunia slightly stumble backwards, and quickly getting in. He shut the door behind him with a definitive click. “I hope you and your family were expecting me! I believe you remember it is close to the time I will be getting my letter from that esteemed magical school?”

Petunia looked alarmed at the word 'magical' before giving him a disgusted smile. “Boy!”, she remarked, in what Harry presumed was her greeting, before flinching, no doubt thinking about how freakish he was.

Morte's taboo still seemed to be going strong.

“I hope Dudley’s second bedroom is empty for my perusal?”, Harry asked with a condensing smile, ignoring her usual greeting term for him.

She turned pale and shook her head.

“Ah," Harry murmured, nodding his head with faux understanding. “So, do you want me to Vanish all of dear Duddikin’s toys or will you be the one to take care of them?”

“I will……take care of them," she replied with a pinched look.

“Wonderful!” Harry gave her a cheerful smile. “Please call me when you’ve cleaned up the room! I’ll be in the drawing room.”

Without waiting for a response, Harry marched through the hallways, looking at his cupboard with mixed emotions as he passed by the stairs and entered the drawing room. It was the same, nothing had changed in it, except a new television was sitting in the place of the old one and there were more pictures of Dudley on the shelf and above the fireplace.

Sneering at the ridiculous pictures of his cousin - who seemed to have gotten fatter than ever - Harry sat down on one of the sofas, making himself comfortable. He will be staying here until he got the letter. Morte had told him to send back a reply immediately with the post owl that will bring him the letter. He was to request a professor to assist him to Diagon Alley, and he had to act like an innocent and excited child who was finding out about the magic for the first time.

Harry, though, had a different idea.

Oh, he will be acting all excited and such, but he will also be blatantly blunt, saying however he felt like to convey that he absolutely hated his relatives and they reciprocated his feelings. He will show to whoever it was who would accompany him, how these non-magicals abused and neglected him and hated magic, so that he might get a chance to get out of this place officially. Though it might be hard to convey it if the person turned out be Rubeus Hagrid, since Morte had told him that the half-giant was a bit dull in the brain department and would never believe that the non-magicals could be ever be cruel to Harry.

Nagnok had kept him informed about the progress of the search into Sirius Black’s innocence. They had found no trial-scripts for Mr. Black’s trial and if they had good luck, they can file a re-trial for him, provided the man hadn’t turned insane and will be willing to eventually consent to the use of Veritserum.

But even if Mr. Black got out of the jail before this year, the man would need to go to St. Mungo’s and get time to heal. There was also the problem that the man might not accept Harry if he found out that he was a Dark wizard and was studying the Darkest of the Arts. Harry wasn’t sure either how he would introduce Morte to Mr. Black and how he might get to continue his lessons if the man didn't agree to let him go back to the castle if he became his guardian. And how much he should tell him about what was happening going on with the whole war and politics and Dumbledore?

The blood ward around Number Four had fallen just after a week of Harry leaving the house. Now, only the two remaining wards that Dumbledore had put on to spy on Harry were placed around. Harry was wondering how Dumbledore will explain it to him when he enquired about why he had to stay with the Dursleys? Surely, he must know that the wards had fallen, right?

Harry came out of his thoughts when Petunia entered the room while shooting him a disgusted look, eyeing her wonderful sofa he was sitting on. “The room has been cleared," she informed him with a disdainful sniff.

Harry smiled a wide smile and stood up. “Thank you so much, Aunt Petunia." He bowed, mocking. “Please inform your husband and son that I will be staying here for a few days, and tell them not to bother me. Otherwise…," his smile vanished and a blank mask appeared, “you all will really, really regret it.”

With that, he swept out of the room, leaving a slightly trembling Petunia behind. He climbed through the stairs, his foot light, and walked through the hallway and into the small bedroom that was his for the few days he would be staying here.

Harry glared at the old, almost broken furniture in the room. The bed was small with a stiff and old mattress and a thin blanket. There was a small desk pushed beside the only window that looked out into the front street, with a chair that had one of its legs broken. There was a shelf at one side filled with untouched books, and Harry decided he will have a go at them and borrow some if he found them interesting enough, since Dudley really wasn’t interested in them much.

Putting his bag down on the floor, Harry called on to his magic to Transfigure the furniture, especially the bed with its mattress and blanket and the chair into more comfortable ones. Once satisfied with the end results - the chair now more comfortable with cushioning and the bed and mattress more sturdy and closer to his back at the Castle - Harry settled down. He put his bag on the desk and pulled out one of the books he was going through currently about blood rituals. It was fascinating to know how varied these rituals were and how much they used Runes to control magic.

Harry had read about Horcruxes after his talk with Morte. To say he was horrified and disgusted when he had read about how exactly the ritual worked, would be an understatement. He could not fathom how Riddle had actually went through with the damn ritual. He hadn’t asked Morte yet on how the soul could be patched together, because he was still unsure whether he wanted to know. It was hard to accept he had a connection to the Dark Lord, not to mention they were soulmates.

But that connection made him realize that the other recurring dreams that he seemed to be having from the beginning was not actually a dream, but a vision of what Voldemort’s remaining soul piece was experiencing. That pain, confusion, the rage and disorientation – it was all the Dark Lord was feeling, and Harry couldn’t help but feel a bit vindictive – the man needed to understand that whatever he had done was not healthy for anyone. Though Harry wasn’t sure whether the man could even think for more than a few minutes with how much pain he seemed to be in.

-------

Three days passed with nothing of importance happening. Harry had heard the male Dursleys throwing some kind of tantrum when Petunia had informed them about Harry's few days stay in the Dursley household.

Harry had mostly ignored them, either staying in the room, taking care of the garden or visiting the library. Miss Coulson was extremely happy when Harry had told her he was soon getting admission in a boarding school in Scotland. They had discussed numerous things, debating on one topic or another, and Harry was happy to spend some time with her.

Harry diligently checked the mail every day, and finally, on the twenty-fourth, he got the letter from Hogwarts. Before anyone else could pick the mails, Harry directed his magic to make his letter float towards him. He looked at the letter curiously, feeling a faint whiff of the magic he had felt four years ago when Dumbledore had visited him.

With a curious tilt to his head, he let the feel of the magic on the letter wash over him and his eyebrows raised in surprise as he felt the Charm laced into the letter.

“Really, Dumbledore?”, he muttered with a chuckle. “So dramatic!”

With a wave of his hand, he dissipated the Compulsion on the letter, which though not effective on him, would have caused extremely dramatic stupidity in the Dursley household, for Dumbledore had put a Compulsion so that when one of his relatives took the letter, they would feel an immense urge to absolutely not let Harry even have a peek inside it. Harry was sure if he hadn’t actually known about this letter specifically and hadn’t been in the situation that he was in now, Vernon would have bullied him into giving the letter, and then, the adult Dursleys would have done everything to not let Harry read the letter.

What was Dumbledore thinking with doing this, anyway? At the most extreme, Vernon and Petunia might have taken Dudley and Harry and maybe relocated to Siberia or something.

Regardless, he opened the letter, raising his eyebrows at all the mentioned titles of the Headmaster and quickly read through it. It was a standard mail, telling him about his place at Hogwarts and to reply back before the first of August, but detailing nothing on what actually was Hogwarts, or how he was supposed to owl it.

Morte had told him that the Professors actually went to the muggleborns’ homes and explained all about magic and the magical world to them and their parents, but he was betting on the fact that Dumbledore would have assured everyone that Harry’s relatives must have explained everything to him way before he would get his letter.

Harry was starting to think Morte was actually correct. Surely someone must have thought that his very much muggle relatives wouldn’t know everything about the Wizarding World?

But who was he kidding?

With a chuckle, he sat down on the chair and pulled out a paper, writing his acceptance along with a request for a Professor by bullshitting through that his relatives did not have time for him which was actually not false. He folded the paper and addressed it only to the Deputy Headmistress, praying to Lady Magic that Professor McGonagall had more common sense than Dumbledore.

But again, who was he kidding? Dumbledore will snatch the letter away as soon as he realized it was from Harry Potter, his supposed most important pawn!

With a sigh, he got out of his assigned room and went downstairs. As soon as he stepped out of the front door, with his reply in his hands, a medium-sized brown owl swept down from a nearby tree, perching itself on the fence while giving Harry a questioning look.

Harry smiled at the owl, Summoning a strip of bacon from the fridge and feeding it to the owl. It gave him a happy hoot while nibbling through its treat.

“How will you take it?”, Harry whispered with an amused smile. “Clutched in your beak or should I tie it around your leg?”

In answer, the owl put one of its legs forward. Harry chuckled, and making sure to keep it soft, Conjured a small rope. He quickly tied his reply around the owl’s legs.

“Thank you.”

The owl answered with another hoot, and then took off into the sky. Harry watched the owl until it became a tiny fleck in the huge sky. He loved flying. Morte hadn’t allowed him much time to fly around, but whenever he could, Harry would spend his time flying around the Peverell castle and over the forests surrounding it. It felt so amazing up in the air, free from all the worries and stress, while wind tousled his hair and fresh air entered his lungs. It was absolutely amazing!

With a last look at the direction the owl had flown towards, Harry entered back into the Dursley home. He needed to eat his breakfast which his elves helpfully transported to him every day. He just hoped he will get send a competent professor, instead of a half-giant who was immensely loyal to a certain old fool.

-------

Severus Snape stormed through the pathway that connected Hogwarts to Hogsmeade, swearing at the Headmaster he had found himself working under. Sometimes, he thought that working under the Dark Lord wasn’t that tiring than it was working under that old, insane man. He had to teach complete fools - who had no idea what to do to create a potion and who had no knowledge about the difficulty and precision that a subject like potions demanded - he had no time to work on his research or make new potions or experiment with new spells and he had been reduced to a brewer who provided potions as easy as the ones curing boils for the hospital wing for those dunderheads!

He absolutely loathed this!

And now, the esteemed Headmaster had demanded Severus to go and fetch Potter’s spawn to Diagon Alley. Severus would have preferred dealing with a Dementor than doing this.

Besides, wasn’t the Potter spawn living with his loving and caring relatives, whoever they were? Couldn’t they take their little prince for his shopping? Why did the Potter spawn demand a professor to escort him, as if he was some king ordering around the common folk! Severus would need to bring that brat down a peg or two from his high-horses.

Though, come to really think of it, who really were those relatives that Potter was staying with? As far as Severus knew, there were no muggle relatives at the Potter’s side. That left Lily's side of the family. And Severus knew that Lily’s parents had died before Lily, so that would only leave Petunia Evans, and whoever she had married to, if she had somehow managed it.

Surely, Dumbledore - as insane as he was - wouldn’t leave off Lily’s son with someone who absolutely hated magic, right? It might just result in Severus Snape version two or Merlin forbid, a Dark Lord version two, because as far as Severus had deduced, the Dark Lord did not had a very happy childhood if his ruthlessness was anything to go by. Dumbledore wouldn’t be that foolish, would he?

With a frown, Severus Apparated into a park close to the address the Headmaster had given him along with the memory of the said park in the small town. He landed beside some bushes and trees. The park wasn’t too large, decent sized for a community of people living in a town. It didn’t seem to be much crowded either, even though it was morning.

Severus marched out of the park, tugging slightly at the grey shirt’s sleeve he was wearing with a black trouser. He was already feeling the absence of his robes.

Sneering at the near identical blocks of houses placed beside one-another, Severus walked through the streets, entering the street labelled Privet Drive. Spotting the house marked number four, Severus made his way through the small walkway, eyeing the immaculate and the well-kept garden. He rang the doorbell, waiting impatiently for someone to open the door.

Severus admitted that the Dark Lord will never ever think to search through a neighbourhood as boring and normal as this one for the Boy-Who-Lived. Though he wondered exactly what sort of protection Dumbledore had enacted here to keep the Wizarding World’s saviour safe.

He could hear shuffling inside the house, followed by a door banging open. The shuffling stopped, and he heard a pair of legs walking down the stairs. With a click of the lock, the door opened slightly, and a pair of brilliant emerald eyes looked at him with curiosity.

Severus froze as he stared back at the green eyes, Lily’s eyes, his mind going back to the time when he had Lily’s friendship. The boy had inherited Lily’s eyes.

“Are you the professor from……..that school?”, the quiet enquiring voice brought Severus out of his daze.

He swallowed slightly and cleared his throat. “Yes," he replied. “My name is Professor Severus Snape. I teach Potions at Hogwarts. Mr. Potter, I presume?”

The boy nodded, opening the door slightly more, and swiftly ducking out before closing it behind him quickly.

Severus eyed the boy standing in front of him. For all that he was Potter’s spawn, he did not look much like him. There was the famous Potter hair and a sharp jaw, but the similarities ended there. The boy had Lily’s eyes and nose, and an aristocratic look about him that screamed power, but the soft smile on the boy’s face showed an innocence that was to be expected on an eleven year old. What gave Severus pause was the slightly baggy and large clothes Potter was wearing. He had on a large brown shirt tucked under black pants that pooled around his feet with worn and old shoes. An old belt was keeping the pant from actually sliding down the boy’s lithe frame.

“What….are you wearing, Mr. Potter?”, he asked, eyeing the awkwardly shuffling boy.

Potter looked down at his clothes with a frown and looked back up, his lips pursued. “Um….these are my best clothes?”, he offered, slightly hesitant. “Aunt Petunia wouldn’t get me any new ones.” He looked around, then beckoned Severus with his right hand. Severus leaned slightly, his mind already whirring on hearing that name. “She says that…freaks do not deserve new clothes. They get their clothes from their cousins. These were my best." He beamed.

Severus felt confusion envelop him, before his anger flared, his fists clenching beside him. That old fool had actually kept the Wizarding World’s saviour with Petunia, of all people?! What was that bastard of a man thinking?!

Severus came out of his rage-filled thoughts when he felt the curious stare of the boy on him.

“So….um,” Potter started, fidgeting with his shirt, “will you tell me about………”, he again looked around, his face slightly terrified, “magic, Professor?”

Severus looked at the boy with slightly dawning horror. They abused the child, and he did not know anything about magic! Oh, he will flay Dumbledore alive!

Currently though, he needed to bring out his…….softer side. Did he had any, he wondered as he gave a nod.

“I will, Mr. Potter," he replied, keeping himself professional. “But first, have you the acceptance letter with yourself?”

“Yes." Potter nodded, patting his pant pocket. “I’ve got it here.”

“Good," Severus replied and Potter beamed at him. Avoiding looking at those eyes, he indicated his hand towards the direction of the park. “Do you know what Apparition is, Mr. Potter?”

“Um….no?”, Potter answered in a hesitant voice, following after Severus as he walked towards the park.

“It is a magical form of travel which we wizards use," Severus answered, noticing the barely-there flinch at the word ‘magical’. His anger flared once more. He took a breath. “It will feel like travelling through a very narrow tube, and you might feel nauseous and disoriented once we land.”

“Oh! That's so cool!” Potter looked absolutely amazed at learning that. "Though not the nausea and the disorienting part."

And here Severus had thought that the boy would know at least up to the second year Hogwarts course. Just you wait, Albus Dumbledore, he thought.

They stopped inside the same patch of trees and bushes in which Severus had first landed. He looked at Potter who was staring back at him with wonder.

With a slight pang in his chest at seeing those eyes looking at him like that, Severus offered his left hand to the boy. “We will be travelling through Apparition to London at Charing Cross Street," he told the boy, who nodded, listening to him attentively. “Diagon Alley can be accessed through a small pub called the Leaky Cauldron which is invisible to muggles, the non-magical humans. Keep your hold on me tight, the first-time travelling through Apparition is the worst.”

As soon as Potter nodded, clutching his hands around Severus’, Severus raised his wand and they Apparated away from the park, and landed in an alley close to the Leaky Cauldron. Potter slightly swayed beside him, his other hand clutching his stomach. Severus kept his hold on the boy, waiting for the child’s nausea to subside.

Once the boy had stopped looking like he might faint, Severus nodded at the child.

“You, Mr. Potter, are famous in the Wizarding World,” he started, making Potter blink at him in confusion, “for supposedly defeating one of the most powerful Dark wizards in British history. Everyone in Britain recognizes the scar on your forehead since you got it on the day the Dark Lord supposedly died, after killing you parents.” Severus needed the boy to know almost everything that he himself knew, baring that accursed prophecy.

“My parents were murdered?”, Potter murmured, dazed.

Severus frowned, but nodded.

“But……they told me…..that they died in a car crash!”

“Who told you that?!”, Severus demanded, shocked. The gall of that woman!

“Aunt Petunia," Potter replied with a frown.

Severus will Crucio that woman to insanity! Telling the boy his mother had died in a car crash of all things, when Lily had sacrificed her life for her son?!

“She was lying, Mr. Potter," he gritted out. “Your mother sacrificed herself so that you could survive.”

“I…”, Potter looked down at his feet, his voice slightly hoarse, “yeah. That makes more sense than her dying in a stupid car crash.”

“Indeed," Severus agreed. “Your aunt is not a right guardian for you. Tell me, Mr. Potter, has she or your uncle ever hurt you or withheld food from you?”

Potter hesitated slightly, looking at Severus with slightly accessing eyes. “They punish me," he muttered at last. “If the chores they assign to me aren't up to their standards, they would lock me up in my cupboard and wouldn't give me food. They told me I had to earn my keep.”

“Your cupboard?”, Severus asked slowly.

Potter nodded. “Yes. I lived there, my cupboard under the stairs. But then they moved me to Dudley’s second bedroom when they saw the letter.”

Severus’ eyes narrowed. Of course they did, afraid of being spied on. Wouldn’t Dumbledore be keeping an eye on Potter? Did he not know about this?

But Severus had a feeling Dumbledore knew, and he was letting them keep the boy like this. What better way to have a confused, abused child to look up to him? This made so much sense now, now that he thought about it.

“Did you not tell anyone about this?”

“Once or twice," the child answered, not meeting Severus’ eyes. “Nobody believed me, so I stopped trying.”

“I believe you, Mr - Harry," he replied, keeping his voice sincere. He perfectly understood the kind of situation Potter was in. Severus' father had been a pathetic, abusive asshole who only cared for alcohol. He beat his mother and later, him, and however much Severus had tried, nobody had believed him, even the great Albus Dumbledore, who had proceeded to preach Severus about family and love, and sent him back to his abusive household. He completely sympathized with the child, though he had no idea how he could help.

Dumbledore would surely want to keep Potter under his hold, trying to make sure that the boy ended up in Gryffindor and became an impulsive, little idiot for the Light, so that he could defeat the Dark Lord when he returned. Severus wasn’t sure whether he will be able to keep his Vow from breaking in all the nonsensical mess that was going to be the future.

“I can’t promise that I would be able to help, but I will try," Severus continued, looking into the child’s eyes seriously. “You see, as I said earlier, you are the most famous person in magical Britain for supposedly killing the Dark Lord, so, it wouldn’t be easy to get you out of your relatives’ home. The…..person who put you there had some reason behind it, and he is quite powerful. Going against his wishes is……..dangerous.”

Potter’s eyes had turned calculating. He stared at Severus with something akin to respect. Finally, he nodded. “I understand, sir," he replied. “And,” he paused with furrowed brows, “supposedly killing the Dark Lord?”

Severus nodded slowly, satisfied that the child listened carefully. “The Dark Lord isn’t dead," he answered. He thought the child would turn fearful, but Potter only seemed to just get curious. “Most of the Wizarding World believes that you actually killed the Dark Lord ten years ago. But that is not true. There are rumours in the Dark faction that their Lord is just bidding his time to return back.”

Potter simply tilted his head and stared at Severus with a contemplative look. Oddly enough, Severus felt as if his whole being was read through by that emerald gaze. “Are you a part of the Dark Faction, Professor?”, the boy asked at last.

Severus studied the child in front of him. “I am a Dark wizard, Mr. Potter," he replied. “My core is Dark, but that does not mean I necessarily agree with the Dark side’s mass torturing and killings.”

Potter nodded. “I will need to learn more about them," he said.

“Yes," Severus inclined his head. He then nodded at his wand. “I need to apply a glamour on your scar, Mr. Potter," he said. “We need to lay low since I am not in the mood to deal with simpering idiots.”

Potter’s lips curled up with an amused smile. “I think you and I will get along wonderfully, Professor," he remarked as he waved at Severus’ wand as his permission. Severus raised his brow, but applied the glamour over the scar, effectively vanishing it. “You and I both don’t tolerate idiots.”

Severus’ lips twitched slightly, feeling for the first time that this boy in front of him wasn’t James Potter, his bully and nemesis, but neither was he Lily Evans, his best friend and love. This boy was Harry James Potter, a different person.

“Interesting, Mr. Potter," he murmured. “Follow me, then.” He turned on his heels and marched out of the alley, making sure the boy was following after him.

The morning traffic wasn’t much in this part of the street and they quickly made their way into the Leaky Cauldron. The place was as usual, dark and shabby and had a very few patrons scattered around the old tables and chairs. The bar man, Tom, was standing beside the counter rubbing a glass with a small piece of cloth.

When Severus entered the pub, the barman looked up at him and gave a nod, knowing Severus never stayed there for either a drink or food. Severus returned it, keeping Potter close to him and stalked to the back of the pub, stopping beside the bricked wall of the small courtyard.

Severus first Conjured his black robe and shrugged them on, then tapped the particular brick with his wand three times while watching Potter from the corner of his eyes, who was eyeing Severus and then the courtyard with slight amusement.

“This is the usual place through which most witches and wizards access Diagon Alley, Mr. Potter," Severus spoke while the brick he had tapped wriggled and vanished, a small hole appearing at its place, which slowly expanded to form a huge archway. “There are Apparition points inside the Alley along with Portkey points and Floo networks. But they are mostly used by the purebloods who have more access to money.”

Potter nodded, looking at the cobbled street with wonder.

“This is the shopping district of magical Britain," Severus continued. “You will find almost everything you need for your first year here. But first we need to visit Gringotts, the Wizarding bank controlled by the goblins.”

Potter gave another nod, and followed after Severus as he stalked past the throngs of witches, wizards and annoying children running around the street. He hated children. Thank Merlin, Potter wasn’t like those obnoxious things, though the reason behind it wasn’t really appealing.

They made their way to the snow-white building looming over the smaller shops. Severus nodded at the goblins standing guard, missing Potter giving them a bow. They made their way into the vast hall, and Severus spotted a goblin teller who looked to be free.

He walked up to the teller and gave a nod. “Master Goblin," he greeted. “I am here to access Mr. Potter’s vault." He nodded beside him where Potter was standing, looking curiously at the goblin. “He wishes to withdraw some money.”

The goblin eyed Severus for a moment, then turned his beady eyes at Potter. To Severus’ surprise, the child gave the goblin a bow.

“Very well," the goblin replied. “But before that, Master Nagnok wishes to meet Mr. Potter. And,” the goblin turned back to look at Severus, “Mr. Snape, we’ve been trying to get in touch with you for a while," he said. “Go and meet Master Odbert.”

Snape frowned slightly at the goblin then gave a stiff nod. “I apologize, Master Goblin," he said stiffly. “But I did not get any mails from Gringotts.”

The goblin looked at him with narrowed eyes. “Either you are lying, Mr. Snape,” he told him with a sharp grin, “or someone has been blocking your mails.”

With that, he beckoned two goblins towards them and ordered them to take him and Potter to their respective account managers. Severus told Potter to meet him at the hall when he was done, and Potter nodded.

Severus took a breath, and followed after the goblin.

Odbert was the account manager of the Prince Estates, from which his mother had been disowned when she had decided to marry Tobias Snape. Why would Odbert want to meet him? Whatever it was, Severus couldn’t stop the bad feeling spreading through him. After all, he was certain he knew who was blocking his mails.

Chapter Text

Harry quickly followed after the goblin towards Nagnok’s office, wanting his test to be done with quickly since he did not want Professor Snape to find out about anything currently and Harry spending too much time with the goblins might give something away to the ex-spy.

He was surprised when - instead of Hagrid that they’d been thinking would come to fetch him - the Headmaster had sent the Potions Master. And more surprising was the fact that, after the professor realized that Harry did not have a good home life, he did not act particularly hateful towards him, seeing how Harry was the child of his childhood bully and romantic love interest. He needed to ask Morte why Snape was acting so.

And was Snape actually required to meet Goblin Odbert, or did Morte had something to do with this?

Finally, the goblin indicated for Harry to enter the office. Harry quickly went in, and bowed to Nagnok. “May your gold ever flow, Master Nagnok," he greeted.

“And may your enemies tremble in fear, Mr. Potter," Nagnok greeted back with a sharp smile, nodding towards one of the chairs. “Did you come here alone?”

Harry shook his head after sitting down. “No," he answered. “Professor Severus Snape has accompanied me. But the goblin teller told him he needed to meet Goblin Odbert.”

“Ah." The goblin nodded. “Yes. Odbert has been trying to get in contact with Mr. Snape for a while.”

“He mentioned he wasn’t getting any mail?”

“Mail blockers or redirecting wards, then, Mr. Potter." Nagnok waved his hand to dismiss that topic. “Mr. Snape will deal with it.” Harry nodded. “So, our business is the test, heirships and the progress on Mr. Black’s case, yes?” Harry nodded again. “Which first, Mr. Potter?”

“The test," Harry answered without missing a beat.

“Very well.” Nagnok took out a parchment from a drawer and muttered something under his breath. The parchment glowed white, then settled back to its brown. Nagnok put it in front of Harry, along with the dagger that he had placed before him two years ago. “Seven drops of blood, Mr. Potter.”

Harry took the dagger and cut his index finger, letting seven drops of blood on to the parchment, and then healed the cut back.

The parchment glowed golden for a few seconds, then settled back. Harry took the parchment, reading through the test result.

There was more information listed after the Lordship – the active or frozen vaults and their numbers, the amount of currency they held (Harry couldn’t stop feeling amazed; his ancestor’s vault sure had amassed some impressive amount of money), the properties, manors or castles they owned (though the Potters did not had any castles, thank Magic) and the list of some very important and ancient artifacts that the bloodlines had in their possessions (Harry smiled at the name of Death’s Invisibility Cloak).

At last, Harry looked up at Nagnok with a raised brow, who was staring at him with curiosity, and passed the goblin his result.

Once the goblin had read through the parchment and looked up at Harry with accessing eyes, Harry spoke, “How did I get the Lordship? Doesn’t it need me to be at least seventeen?”

Nagnok gave a slow nod, then tapped his long-nailed finger on his desk. A goblin entered the office, and Nagnok said something to him in Gobbledegook. The goblin nodded and went away. Once done with that, Nagnok put down the parchment on his desk and looked back at Harry. “I’ve summoned the managers of the Peverell and the Slytherin families," he informed Harry. "Master Bogrod, who takes care of the Peverell accounts, would have a better idea on this unexpected result.”

“Of course." Harry nodded.

The two goblins entered the office quite quickly, and Harry bowed to them with the usual greeting while still sitting on the chair. Nagnok Conjured two chairs for the both of them on one side of his desk and they sat down immediately.

“Mr. Potter," the goblin sitting closer to Harry said, his eyes accessing him. He had a nasty cut down his cheek and wrinkled, pale skin, indicating his age. “My name is Bogrod, and I am the Peverell account’s manager. It has been a very long time since anyone has claimed to be a descendant of the Peverells, though it’s understandable since you are of Potter descent.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Master Bogrod." Harry nodded as Nagnok duplicated his result and passed them on to both the goblins.

“My name is Burgock, Mr. Potter," the other goblin said. This one did not have any nasty scars, though he did look very old. “I am the Slytherin’s accounts manager, though I cannot say I haven’t met any descendant of Salazar Slytherin.”

Harry nodded. “Pleasure to meet you too, Master Burgock," Harry replied. “And I know. Mr. Riddle is the rightful Heir and Lord of Slytherin House.” He cocked his head to one side. “Would it be wise to take the Heirship when Mr. Riddle and I have a rather……..nasty relationship?”

Burgock grinned at him, his teeth sharp. “Very good question, Mr. Potter," he looked at Nagnok. “Through Right of Conquest?” Nagnok nodded. “Very well.” He turned back to Harry. “You see, Mr. Potter, the old, and I mean, extremely old lines like the Founders and the Peverells, did not simply give their Heirships to just any one descendent. They needed to fulfil certain criteria and demands that the bloodlines required to become eligible for even gaining the Heirship. Why do you think the Gaunts before Lord Riddle-Slytherin could not claim the Lordship?”

Harry hummed, nodding. “Of course," he murmured. “Why didn’t Morte tell me that?”

Burgock raised an eyebrow at him while Nagnok snorted. “He had his goals, Mr. Potter," Nagnok said, making Harry frown.

“So, to check the accuracy of the test, Mr. Potter," Burgock continued after a moment. “Are you a Parselmouth?”, he asked.

“Yes." Harry nodded.

“Hmm," Burgock continued. “Can you do Parselmagic?”

“Of course," Harry answered, slightly offended. He had mastered several spells in Parselmagic. Seeing that it was the language of snakes, and had a touch of Magic, the spells cast in this language were very powerful, and it was often hard to control his magic from getting overexcited and damaging his surroundings, leaving four crying and one angry house-elf behind.

“Wonderful." Burgock grinned. “Is your magical core Dark, even Grey?”

“Yes, it is." Harry nodded again.

“And are you of Slytherin descent?”

“Err…”, Harry looked at Nagnok who shook his head. “No, actually," he replied. “But I suppose, the soul-bond must have something to do with me lacking Slytherin’s blood.”

Burgock nodded, his eyes zeroed in on the term ‘soul-bonded’. “How in Magic’s name did Lord Slytherin manage to do that?”, he wondered.

“…..” Harry chuckled without much humour, “that was just his insanity.”

Burgock looked at him with curiosity, but nodded. “Well,” he said, “that makes you a Slytherin Heir. Of course, you can’t take Lordship since Lord Riddle is still alive, however in Death’s name he managed that.”

Harry pulled a face at that, then turned to Bogrod. “That brings me to the question, Master Bogrod,” he said, “how did I get the Peverell’s Lordship when I’m still not yet of age?”

Bogrod nodded. “As Burgock said, the ancient families have slightly different rules. Since you are an Heir to the Peverell line and there are no remaining Lord or Lady, the Lordship would automatically pass on to you. The ancient lines do not look at the age of the Heir since they need to keep a Lord or Lady in the line.”

Harry blinked at the goblin with amazement. “Wow," he muttered. “That’s amazing.”

“Indeed." Bogrod nodded. “Now, for the confirmation. Have you mastered at least one of the famed Hallows, Mr. Potter?”

Harry smirked. “Two actually," Harry replied smugly.

Bogrod looked slightly amused. “Have you a Dark magical core, Mr. Potter?”, he asked, glancing at Burgock.

“Yes.”

Burgock and Bogrod shared a slightly surprised look at that.

“And…,” Bogrod hesitated slightly, “have you an affinity for….Necromancy?”

Harry shared an amused look with Nagnok. “Yes, I do," he replied calmly, immensely enjoying the more surprised looks that came over the other two goblins’ faces.

“Of course," Bogrod muttered. “Have you accepted death as something inevitable?”

Harry hummed. “I’ve accepted him as more of my annoying father figure,” he muttered, “but sure.”

Bogrod gave him an intrigued look, but finally nodded. “Very well, you can accept the Lordship, Mr. Potter.”

“Do you want to, Mr. Potter?”, Nagnok asked before Harry could say anything.

Harry paused, musing over the question. At one hand, if Dumbledore found out, Merlin knows what the old man would do to get rid of Harry having more power in the Wizengamot and knowing about his heritage. But he was quite certain he would go into Slytherin which had power plays, and frankly, with a Lordship under his belt, Harry would outstrip even the seventh-year Slytherins in ranking.

With that happy thought in mind, Harry nodded. “I will take the Lordship, though… is there any way of concealing the rings until I want them to be seen?”

Burgock smirked. “You can try some Parsel spells, Mr. Potter," he remarked.

Harry smiled, his eyes sparkling. “Awesome!”, he said. “Please, give me the rings then.”

All the three goblins nodded, Bogrod and Burgock pulling out a single black pouch each, while Nagnok brought out two.

“Here, Mr. Potter," Bogrod said, passing his pouch over to Harry. “Put on the Lordship ring first.”

“Thank you," Harry muttered as he took the pouch, and taking a steadying breath, he opened it and pulled out a small band ring. It was greyish-black with a thin strip of emerald in the middle. It had the usual Peverell insignia in the front, also in greyish-black. With slight trepidation, Harry put the ring on his right middle finger. He had read that some family rings had curse put on them to put it on the wearer if it did not accept someone whether it be for the Heir or the Lord.

The ring settled around his finger, and a cold feeling of magic - that was similar to the way he felt whenever he summoned the magic of his inner magical core - washed over him. When the magic finally settled, recognizing his core and blood, the ring re-sized, fitting perfectly on Harry’s finger.

“That was so amazing!”, Harry whispered while he stared at the ring on his finger.

“Indeed, Lord Peverell," Bogrod nodded. “I congratulate you and am happy to provide my service as the account manager for the House of Peverell.”

“Of course," Harry agreed with a smile. “Please continue looking after the accounts, Master Bogrod.”

Bogrod nodded, and Nagnok came next, passing one pouch to Harry. “This is the Potter Heir ring, Lord Peverell.”

Harry nodded, and took out the ring. It was a silver band with a small, stylized ‘P’ at the front. Harry put it on his right index finger, and felt a warm, airy magic flow over him. This ring accepted him too, re-sizing itself to fit on his finger.

Nagnok passed the other pouch. “This is the Black Heir ring. Since Mr. Black is currently….indisposed, and he never took the Heirship officially, I am giving it to you.”

The Black Heir ring was a pure black band with ‘Tonjurus Pur’ engraved along it in silver. Harry raised his brow at the motto, then put the ring on his left middle finger. Its magic was Dark and homely, and Harry felt the ring accept him immediately, re-sizing to fit his finger.

At last, Burgock passed his pouch, telling Harry the ring to be the Slytherin Heir’s.

It was, unsurprisingly, a silver snake biting its tail with two tiny emeralds for eyes. The ring’s magic was Dark and heavy, and it settled first around Harry’s scar, then accepted him.

“Alright,” Nagnok started, “Lord Peverell-Heir-Potter-Black-Slytherin-”

Harry grimaced at the title. “Just call me Harrison, please, Master Nagnok. And you two as well, Masters Bogrod and Burgock.”

Nagnok smirked. “Of course, Harrison," he said. “Now that the titles and the test have been taken care of, we can discuss the last thing we need to before you will need to join your Professor.”

“Yes,okay," Harry nodded, turning to Bogrod and Burgock. “Thank you, Master Goblins. I really appreciate you two explaining me all about my bloodline…..or conquest-line? I would appreciate it if you will continue on looking after the vaults and such?”

“As you wish, Harrison," Bogrod and Burgock nodded. “We will be off then.”

They both got up from their chairs and the chairs vanished.

Harry bowed to them and wished them with a goblin farewell. Once they were gone, he turned to Nagnok.

“Found anything?”

“No," Nagnok shook his head. “Our sources inside the Ministry have scoured most of the Ministry’s archives to find anything about the trials at those times, but there is nothing. Albeit, there are some trial scripts that are considered classified and are not available for public’s perusal. We are trying to get through to them.”

Harry slowly nodded. “So, there are no chances for applying for any re-trials currently?”, he asked.

“Not for several months, no," the goblin shook his head. “Once the check for the trial scripts are done, we will need to contact some lawyers who are willing to fight this case in the Wizengamot. Not to mention, we will need to contact Mr. Black, and confirm from his side whether he wants a trial or not.”

“Okay," Harry nodded, taking a deep breath. “Take your time. I am willing to be patient. I just hope Mr. Black hasn’t completely turned insane though.”

“That is a concern, indeed, Harrison," Nagnok agreed. “I will keep you updated through letters if there is any new information. Until then…” He trailed off, then pulled out an unassuming black, velvet pouch. “This pouch connects directly to your Potter Trust Vaults which is the only vault you will have access to until of age. Besides this, you also have access to Black Heir vaults and Slytherin Heir vaults, along with Peverell vaults, of course.”

“Oh," Harry took the pouch curiously, peering inside it to find it empty. “How does it work?”

“Goblin magic, Harrison," Nagnok gave him a short-toothed grin. “A drop of your blood and then you only need to think on how much money you require.”

“Amazing!”, Harry breathed. He pricked his finger and let a drop of his blood fall onto the pouch. He then let the magic over the pouch coil around his hands and true enough, the magic was similar to what he felt when he was around goblins or simply what he felt at Gringotts.

“And, Harrison?” Harry looked up from examining his pouch. “What do you intent to do with your parents’ Will?”

Harry bit his lip. “Let them be sealed for the foreseeable future," he answered. “I am hoping that the Wills will work as an evidence for Mr. Black, for surely they must have mentioned who was their Secret Keeper.”

“Very well," Nagnok nodded. “That concludes our business for today, Harrison.”

“Yeah," Harry nodded and stood up, bowing to the goblin.

Once he was out into the hallway, he looked at the rings on his finger. Would be easier if at least the Heir rings combined or something, he thought. It would be a bit less of a hassle. He was so not used to wearing rings.

Just after that thought, the Heir rings actually combined together, the stylized ‘P’ of the Potter ring on the front with two tiny emeralds on its both side and the engraved Black family motto encircling the whole band.

Harry paused to stare at the combined ring with awe, hearing a chuckle inside his head. Fondly rolling his eyes at Morte, he muttered a silent ‘thank you’. Then, he concentrated on his magic, and wandlessly murmured two Parsel Concealing spells, effectively vanishing the rings from an outsider’s eyes.

With that taken care of, he walked out of the corridor and spotted Snape standing at a side, his eyes keenly observing everyone and everything. Once the man’s eyes landed on him, his shoulders relaxed and he nodded.

“Took quite some time in there, Mr. Potter," he remarked, looking at Harry’s face intently.

Harry gave a slight smile. “Mr. Nagnok was explaining to me about the Heirship of the Potter House. It was really surprising," he answered. “I thought I did not have any money, but turns out I have a small fortune.”

Snape coughed slightly and Harry was sure the man was actually snorting at his understatement. The Potters were considerably rich, considering that most of his ancestors had quite good businesses in the past.

“Indeed, Mr. Potter," Snape replied. “Did you get the money and do you know how it works here?”

“Yeah!”, Harry showed the man his pouch. “This is so cool!”, he exclaimed, bringing out his excitement from when he had first read his books on Runes. “So, where do you think we should go first, Professor?”, he asked enthusiastically which he did not need to bring out from anywhere, since this will actually be his first time visiting the shops. Morte was a jerk who only took him to that clothing shop and later some bookstores in Knockturn Alley, preferring to owl-order or send one of the house-elves for any of Harry’s requirements.

“Your essentials and instruments, Mr. Potter," Snape answered. “We will need good cauldrons and potion ingredients, so that you don’t end up blowing your first potion in my class. I detest dunderheads.” With that, he turned sharply on his heels and stalked out of the bank, his robes billowing behind him.

Harry smiled. “Of course, Professor," he chirped happily, following after the man who was nicely clearing the path with his formidable appearance for him. “He is dramatic," he remarked to himself.

-------

They made their way to a shop with loads of trunks and bags on display. Harry inquired as much as he needed to, to make sure that he was trying to find out what trunk would suit him best, then asked for a trunk that had four compartments – one for his clothes, another for all potion ingredients, a room full of shelves for a small library and an average-sized room that he will use as his study and a place to store and hide his Darker books and things, made safe with a Parseltongue password which he will later be applying. He also bought a black and green bag with Feather-light and Extension Charms.

They then went to a clothes shop called ‘Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions’. The owner of the shop, Madam Malkin, of course, was a squat, smiling witch who greeted them jovially, Harry smiling while Snape sneering. She quickly took his measurements, Harry opting to take two school robes and two daily robes, along with some shirts and pants.

After going through the witch’s fluttering about, they quickly made their purchase, putting all the clothes inside the trunk which could be shrunk and un-shrunk with a slight supply of magic, which Snape did for Harry with his wand, and they made their way to buy parchments and quills. Harry stocked up on as much parchment as he could because he had a habit of making extensive notes while studying (extensive doodles, more like it, but nobody needed to know that).

Then they went to an apothecary, which had a very strong smell of bad eggs and cabbages, but there were so many potion ingredients, that Harry stared at them wide-eyed before coming out of his daze and watching Snape as the man asked the shop owner to provide Harry with fresh ingredients.

“The cost is higher than what the shop sells in its set for first years, but the potions turn out better than what you will accomplish through those," Snape told Harry. “And I really hope, Mr. Potter, for your sake, that you have even a slight bone in your body that has a lick of talent in potions. I really do not want more dunderheads in my class.”

Harry smiled, amused. “I will try, Professor," he said.

“And for Merlin’s sake, Mr. Potter, carefully read through the instructions and make sure you know how exactly to cut these ingredients!”, he nodded towards the ingredients the shopkeeper was laying out on the counter.

“There’s a specific way how to cut them?”, Harry asked curiously. He had, of course, read through the books mentioning this fact, but learning it from a Master of the subject was another thing.

“Yes," Snape nodded, carefully looking through the assembled ingredients. “How to chop, mince, dice or cut the ingredient depends on the potion it is being used in and the way it has been used affects its efficiency in the potion. You need to be extremely careful to concoct a perfect potion, Mr. Potter.”

“Interesting," Harry muttered. He had made several potions under the watchful eyes of Floppy and Morte. He had kept his senses alert, feeling the magic that changed when the potion changed. It was very intriguing and amazing to feel.

Snape did not say anything further, and paying for all the ingredients that they meticulously stocked up in the trunk, they went in to buy a cauldron (where Harry asked Snape why they needed different types of cauldrons made with different metals), set of brass scales to weigh down ingredients (Snape explained that potions required very specific quantity of ingredients) and a collapsible brass telescope (they will be learning about star names and constellations; Harry’s brain might explode with so many names to learn).

After that taken care of, only three shops remained – wand, books and a familiar.

Harry decided he first wanted to get his familiar. He first thought to go for a snake, but that will surely alert Dumbledore about his Parseltongue ability and he did not want Dumbledore to start relating his ability to Riddle and conclude that he was connected to Riddle or maybe the second coming of Riddle or something. Thus, he decided to go with an owl, and when he would feel it was alright, he will get a snake familiar too.

So, they quickly walked into Eeylops Owl Emporium, which was dark and full of rustling and flickering, jewel-bright eyes. Harry scanned the different types of owls sitting on the perches scattered around the whole shop. His eyes came in contact with an amber one, belonging to a beautiful snowy owl. The owl looked back at Harry with curious eyes, and Harry felt his magic stir, leaving him slightly to twirl around the owl and interact with her owl-magic.

The owl took off from her perch and landed on Harry’s shoulder and started pecking through his hair, turning them wilder than they already were.

“Well,” Snape drawled from beside Harry, peering at the bird perched on his shoulder, “seems like your familiar chose you, Mr. Potter.”

Harry grinned, deciding to choose her as well. He paid for his owl, buying some owl treats for her and refusing to get a cage when the shopkeeper offered. He will never keep any of his familiars inside a cage, locked away from their freedom.

As they came out of the shop, Harry went through several names for her in his mind. “What do you want to be named, hmm?”, he murmured to her, following after Snape who was stalking through the alley towards the only legal wand shop in Britain.

The owl hooted in reply.

“Hmm," he murmured. “Something humble yet of strong character, yes?”

The owl hooted again.

“Well, what do you think about Hedwig?”, he asked. “It was a name of a warrior witch from the medieval ages. Extremely strong, loyal and brave at heart, she is known as the protector of her people.”

His owl paused, her beaks clicking audibly and then nodded, her head bobbing. She gave a happy hoot.

“Hedwig it is, then," Harry smiled at her, moving his hand through her soft feathers.

Thus so, Harry and a newly named Hedwig, stopped in front of a narrow and shabby shop, with a single wand on display at the window. The door of the shop had gold, peeling letters proclaiming the shop to be ‘Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC’.

Harry curiously looked at the shop, tilting his head when he felt a vast amount of varying magic simmering around and in it.

With intrigue, he opened the door and followed after Snape, a tinkling bell ringing somewhere in the shop’s depths. The shop was tiny, old and covered with dust. Fine dust swirled around it, giving it a rather worn-out look. There was nothing except an old, spindly chair, which Snape Transfigured into something comfortable and sat down on, Hedwig following and making her perch on the man’s head, who scowled at her but let her be for the time being. There were thousands of narrow boxes piled up neatly to the ceiling along the walls.

Harry stared at the boxes, feeling the magic emitting from there. He wasn’t overly keen on getting a wand, since Morte had told him how dependence on a wand made witches and wizards more detached from their magical cores. But he needed to have one since it was required and the Ministry wanted to keep track of every witch and wizard. Though, they wouldn’t be able to catch him since he mostly used wandless magic. Harry had sworn he will practice his wandless magic for at least half-an-hour once he went to Hogwarts.

“Good afternoon," a soft voice brought Harry out of his thoughts and he blinked curiously at the old man standing in front of him.

The man had on white, slightly pale robes on, which brought out his similarly pale, moon-like eyes. He had moved very swiftly though his shop, not making much sound. If Harry hadn’t had his magic sensitivity, he would have jumped in surprise.

And his sensitivity was telling him, this old man had a similar ability like him.

Harry did not reply, just continued staring at the old man who shuffled around slightly when the silence stretched on for too long.

“Ahh," he finally said at last, nodding towards Snape. “Mr. Snape. Thirteen and a half inches, hawthorn, Rougarou hair. Hard. Still going well?”

“Indeed," Snape gave a stiff nod.

“Excellent!”, he turned to stare at Harry again. “Harrison James Potter," he murmured with a smile.

Harry tilted his head. Was Ollivander a Seer as well, he wondered.

“You have your mother’s eyes," he whispered. “But you are tainted……or shall I say, blessed?.....by Death.”

Harry could almost feel Snape freezing beside him.

Whatever you say, Harry thought, don’t reveal my secrets in front of Snape, yet.

“Hmmm," Ollivander hummed. “It only seems yesterday she was here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work.”

Harry stored that information away. He hadn’t found out his parents’ wand types.

“Your father, on the other hand, favoured a mahogany wand," Ollivander continued. “Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for Transfiguration.”

Ollivander peered at his face more closely. “’Favoured’ would be the wrong term, wouldn’t it, Mr. Potter?”, he asked. “The wand chooses the wizard, not the other way around.” He moved his hand towards Harry’s scar, but Harry intercepted with lightning speed, holding Ollivander’s thin wrists.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you," he murmured.

Ollivander stared at him curiously, then smiled, retracting his hand back. “Very well," he said. “Not intimidated, this one.” He smiled wider. “We should move straight to finding your wand, shouldn’t we, Mr. Potter?”, he asked. “Which arm do you prefer?”

“Right," Harry answered.

Ollivander hummed, flitting around the shelves and pulling out boxes. “Here, Mr. Potter," he said, handing him a wand from a box. “Try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible.”

Harry took the wand, and felt its magic fighting with his own. As he was about to shake his head, Ollivander snatched the wand out of his hands and handed him another one.

“Maple and phoenix feather. Quite whippy.”

Again, Harry felt the wand’s magic disagreeing with his own. The old man snatched the wand away.

“Ebony…..”, he paused, and stared hard at Harry. “You would be tricky, wouldn’t you?”, he murmured. “Just like….him. Thirteen and a half inches. Yew with phoenix feather core.”

He put the wand he was about to give to Harry back into its box and made his way deep into the shop. He emerged out a few minutes later with a box in his hand.

“Phoenix feather core, eleven inches, nice and supple," he recited, handing Harry a wand.

As soon as Harry touched the wand, he felt his magic coiling around the wand, but then, his inner core magic got out and the wand blasted itself apart, a bright orange feather falling down onto the floor, the only remain of the now destroyed wand.

Harry coughed slightly, astonished at that. He flexed his right palm, letting a little bit of his magic fix the slight burn the explosion had caused. The only apparent wand that seemed to bond with his magic, blasted apart because of his inner magical core.

And Harry was sure, that this ‘him’ that Ollivander was talking about, was definitely Riddle who had a yew wand with a phoenix feather core. Same as the core that was now lying on the floor.

Ollivander waved his wand, cleaning the slightly smoke-y air and gingerly lifted the feather from the floor. He stared at it, then looked up at Harry. Snape had jumped up from his chair when the wand had blasted apart, Hedwig flapping up from his head and then settling onto the chair herself.

“Curious," the man murmured. “The core is choosing you, but the wood is not.” He handed the feather to Harry who felt a warmth envelop him when his surface magic mingled with the core, but his inner core was still un-happy with the core. “Curious indeed.

“The wood does not seem to like you," he remarked. “And the core……..is off too.” He looked at Harry curiously. “Tell me, Mr. Potter," he asked. “Have you already bonded with another wand?”

Harry froze, his eyes fixed on the phoenix feather still held in his hands. This was not supposed to happen! Why hadn’t Morte anticipated this? Why hadn’t he?! He already knew he had bonded with a wand when he was seven. How then did he expect to bond with another wand?

“Fifteen inches," he murmured, his voice barely audible. “Thestral hair core. Elder wood.”

Harry could feel Ollivander’s eyes widening in surprise. He knew. If Ollivander was a wand-maker, then he surely would know about the most powerful wand, bestowed to the youngest brother by Death himself.

“Impossible!”, Ollivander murmured and Harry looked up at the man. “How?”

“How indeed," Harry murmured back, feeling Snape’s eyes boring into his back with curiosity and intrigue. “Albus Dumbledore visited me when I was seven. I had no idea who he was then. Tried to…….make me forget my bonding with that wand.”

“Dumbledore visited you?”, Snape whispered from behind him, his voice filled with disbelief.

“Gregorovich was telling the truth then," Ollivander murmured to himself. “Albus defeated him who had stolen it from Gregorovich.”

Grindelwald stole the wand? Harry was intrigued. That would mean Grindelwald did not had the wand’s true allegiance, which meant Dumbledore did not had that either. Why did the wand work for them then?

Ollivander looked in Harry’s eyes. “I can imagine why he would try to Obliviate you, Mr. Potter," he murmured. He tilted his head curiously. “Tried to do that with your wand then?”

Harry gave a slow nod.

Ollivander pursued his lips with a nod, and seemed to be losing himself to his thoughts.

Snape, on the other hand, seemed to be coming out of his thoughts. He stalked closer to Harry, turning him around by clutching his arms.

“Why was Dumbledore visiting you when you were seven?”, he demanded.

Harry stared at the man for a moment, wondering whether it would be in his favour to start the man doubting the Headmaster. Morte had told him that Snape believed in the Dark’s initial beliefs but he hated all the torturing and killings as the man himself had told him just a while ago. And the man had only joined the Light side and agreed to spy on them for his mother. But the man was a Slytherin, and since Lily Potter was no longer in the picture, Harry was sure that the man was mostly on his own side. Should Harry try to steer Snape towards Harry’s side, whichever it will be?

“I don’t really know, Professor," he answered at last. “He was really vague before he panicked seeing me bond with his wand and…….Apparated away.”

“But he must be there for some reason!”

“Well,” Harry paused, “I think he wanted to……befriend me, so to speak, using my parents.”

“Using your parents?”, Snape had on a conflicted emotion on his face.

“Yes," Harry nodded, slightly hesitating. “When he was doing that……spell?” Snape nodded. “On me, he told me that we had talked together explicitly about my parents and Hogwarts. He also had me remember that I loved the tales of my father……pranking students at Hogwarts.” Harry needed to keep Snape away from Dumbledore. If, somehow, Harry decided to go with the Dark, he would need to make sure that there were no useful spies for Dumbledore, because he was sure that he wouldn’t be joining Dumbledore’s side anytime soon.

Snape’s face was unsurprisingly, blank. But his eyes held a fury that he couldn’t keep behind his shields. “He did that now, did he?”, he asked calmly.

Harry nodded.

“The wand did not let that spell affect you in any way, am I correct?”

Harry nodded, slower this time.

“Good," he muttered, taking a step back and nodding towards the wandmaker.

Harry turned around to find Ollivander muttering to himself.

“Mr. Ollivander?”, he called out. “Can you find me some other wand?”, he asked, nodding his head towards the phoenix feather still held in his right hand.

“No," Ollivander replied, shaking his head. “I am sorry to inform you, Mr. Potter, but no other wand will be able to bond with your magic. It is just not possible. Since your magic bonded with the Elder Wand itself at such a young age, no other wand would be able to compete with it.”

Harry felt his heart sink. How will he now make himself look completely normal, for Merlin’s sake? He needed to stay away from Dumbledore’s eyes until he had made his decision regarding where in the war he wanted to be at, and how exactly he wanted to deal with that manipulative old man!

Would Snape be willing to take him to some illegal or Dark wand-shop in Knockturn?

Harry stared at the feather in his hand, still giving out warmth, interacting with his surface magic, feeling a hopelessness in his chest.

Chapter Text

“Are you sure, Mr. Ollivander?”, Snape asked from behind Harry. “The wands might not be completely compatible with Mr. Potter’s magic, but there should be at least one wand which might be slightly compatible?”

“There was one, Mr. Snape," Ollivander agreed, nodding towards Harry’s hand, at the feather. “But it blew up - quite spectacularly, might I add - just a few moments ago.”

Harry frowned at the wandmaker.

“But,” Ollivander continued, smiling slightly now, “I might just be able to make one for Mr. Potter. Mind, I don’t make custom wands for anyone, but since you seem to be the special case, I will make one just for you.”

He indicated his hand towards the back of his shop. The back looked darker and shabbier than the front, filled with more narrow boxes. “You will need to choose the wand wood and another core to go with the phoenix feather, so that the new wand can more easily bond with your inner core. Come!”, he beckoned Harry behind him, before addressing Snape. “If you would just wait for ten minutes, Mr. Snape?”

Snape looked ready to disagree, but paused, giving Harry a look, before nodding stiffly. “Better be back in ten minutes, Potter, or I will blast through the shop to find you," he threatened.

“Of course, Professor," Harry nodded his understanding quite seriously, then turned and followed after Ollivander.

At the end of the shop, there were two doors on the opposite walls. Ollivander turned to the one on the left and unlocked it with his wand, indicating for Harry to go inside. There were stairs, leading down to a huge basement.

Harry stared around his surroundings in astonishment as he walked down the stairs. The room had a huge table at the centre, holding a stone basin, along with some carving tools and sharpenings and pieces of wood. On all the four sides of the room were huge closed cabinets touching the ceiling, filled with what Harry presumed were woods and magical cores for wands. The room was dark too, with no windows, cut-off from the rest of the world.

Ollivander closed the door behind them, before climbing down the stairs. He then walked towards the table and murmured a spell, a small globe of light brightening the room slightly.

“Mr. Potter, please stand there," he nodded at the opposite side of the table to him. Harry did so, facing the old wandmaker. “I will place some cores first, all taken from different magical creatures," he explained. “The way you did back there, letting your magic out and feeling through the core, is what you need to do here too. Just keep the feather in your left hand, Mr. Potter.”

Harry nodded. “Can you explain how wand-making works, Mr. Ollivander?”, he asked before the man could Summon the cores. “I…….have read through some books, but it is rather hard to grasp how you understand which core is to be paired with which wood type.”

“It is hard, indeed, Mr. Potter," Ollivander answered softly, a smile on his face and a glowing glint in his eyes. “A wandmaker’s studies on wand-making never stops. You might think you have learnt everything you can on the subject, but you will find something truly astonishing that you would have never thought of before.

“Take, for example, the Elder Wand," Ollivander explained, yet staying vague. “The wand is said to have elder wood combined with thestral hair core.” Harry nodded. “Elder wood is the rarest wand wood types ever used in wands and is reputed to be the most unlucky, thus, making it the trickiest to master. Not to mention, the wood scorns witches or wizards it finds to be beneath it, and thus, only bonds with someone it considers to be higher than it. As such,” he looked at Harry with a knowing smile, “the wood only bonds with a witch or wizard who is destined to do something special.”

Harry thought through the wandmakers words, rolling his eyes at the wand wood’s description. Of course, Morte couldn’t help adding more drama into his life! He had to use a wood type that would declare it to at least all the wandmakers that he had some special destiny, the truth of the matter notwithstanding.

“What about the core?”, he asked. “Thestral hair?”

“Thestrals…….are very rare type of creatures, Mr. Potter," Ollivander said. “Only those who have seen death can see those creatures. As such, a wand that uses their hair as a core is almost unheard of. But this much is certain, Mr. Potter, that a wand that uses such a core can only be perfectly wielded by one who has affinity with Death.”

Harry stared at the old man for a moment. “Tell me, Mr. Ollivander," he murmured, "do you believe in the Deathly Hallows?”

Ollivander studied him for a moment. “I wasn’t sure, Mr. Potter," he answered at last. “But now? I believe in them.”

Harry’s face remained blank, yet his lips twitched slightly in amusement. “Do you take apprentices under you, Mr. Ollivander?”, he asked, changing the subject.

Ollivander laughed. “No. At least, not currently," he answered. “But if you ever realize that you are interested to learn about wand lore in some distant future, I might be persuaded to consider it.”

Harry nodded. “Of course," he replied. “Thank you, Mr. Ollivander. I will keep that in mind.” He indicated his hands towards the cabinets. “Let’s not keep Professor Snape waiting more, shall we?”

Ollivander nodded and waved his wand. Some cabinets opened and an array of magical parts of different creatures encased in jars within preservation potions came floating out, lining themselves onto the table one-by-one.

Harry passed the feather from his right to left hand, and let his magic flow out. But this time, instead of only letting the surface magic prickle the air and the core ingredients, he let a very small bit of his inner core’s magic swirl out too, dropping the temperature of the room slightly. He willed his magic to interact with the core on his left hand first and then guided it onwards, towards the core ingredients lined in front of him.

As time passed, Harry's annoyance slightly increased because whenever his surface magic interacted with some particular core ingredients, appearing to accept it, his inner core magic would refuse it.

At last, his magic finally settled on one ingredient. It was slightly brownish in colour, its shape slightly conical, flat and pointed. Harry slowly lifted the jar, staring at the core curiously.

“Horned serpent’s horn, Mr. Potter," Ollivander answered without Harry having to ask. “It is exceptionally powerful core and is……biased to Parseltongue.”

“Biased?”, Harry repeated, confused.

“Yes, Mr. Potter," Ollivander nodded, taking the jar and keeping it aside. He waved his wand and Banished the jars back to their cabinets. “Serpent’s horns are very sensitive to the language of snakes. As the name signifies, horned serpents are rather a strong species of magical snakes. This core in the wand makes for a very powerful wand, especially for those who are Parselmouths – it performs very powerful Parselmagic.”

“Interesting," Harry murmured. “So, what about the wood? Will Elder wood work for this wand?”

Ollivander shook his head, while Summoning several types of wood which assembled in a line on the table between them.

“The wands are unique, Mr. Potter," Ollivander answered. “The Elder wood will work for you only with the thestral core. Besides, the Elder wand was made by Lord Death himself. Even if I wanted to, I do not think that I can create that wand myself. The wood will need to settle with the two cores that your magic has chosen here.”

“Oh," Harry muttered. “Okay.”

“Pass me the feather, Mr. Potter," Ollivander said, holding out his hand. He kept the feather beside the jar of the horn. “Now, concentrate again, Mr. Potter. You need to choose the wood which is resounding with your magic the most.”

Harry nodded and let his two different magic mix around and come out again. He concentrated on the way each wood type reacted with his magic, feeling a frown form on his face when he felt not one but three wood types resonate with his magic.

He let his magic back and picked out the three wood types from the selection.

Ollivander raised his eyebrows at him, but waved the other wood types back into their cabinets.

“They resonate the same with your magic?”, he asked.

“I……am not sure, Mr. Ollivander," Harry answered, eyeing the three wood. “They resonate, yes, but feel slightly different too.”

Ollivander nodded, taking in the wood types. He pointed towards the light reddish-brown wood. “That is cedar wood, Mr. Potter," he told Harry before humming thoughtfully. “The wand with cedar wood prefers witches and wizards who are very perceptive. It is also considered to choose those who have a potential to be a frightening adversary to those who have thoughtlessly challenged them.”

Harry smirked, running his hand over the smooth wood. “Thanks for the compliment," he murmured to the wood.

Ollivander chuckled, before pointing to the next wood which was a pale brown in colour. “That is pine," he continued. “This wood choses someone who is independent, an individual master who might be seen as a loner, intriguing and mysterious. Also, these wands like creativity in their masters. And,” Ollivander looked bemused, “these wands usually have masters who live very long lives.”

“Promising," Harry murmured with a grin. “At least the wood thinks I will not die so soon.”

Ollivander pointed to the last wood type, this one dark brown with streaks of brown. “And that is acacia," he said. “This wood type is considered extremely unusual as its wood often refuses to work for anyone except their chosen masters. It matches in power with those of sufficient subtlety, though is underrated since it has an unusual temperament.”

“Temperament, huh?”, Harry sighed as he looked at the three wood, now sitting innocently on the table. “How are you going to choose which one to use in my wand?”, he asked, frustrated.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Potter," Ollivander replied with an unusual glint in his eyes. “This is going to be my most exciting project up until now, and I am extremely grateful to you for giving me this challenge to work on.”

He gave a last glance to the woods and the cores, and motioned for Harry to follow him. Once they reached back into the shop where Snape was sitting back on his chair with a scowl and Hedwig on his head (which explained said scowl), Ollivander said, “It might take me a day to make the wand, Mr. Potter. Either you come back here to take the wand or I can come wherever you are staying to deliver it to you.”

“You will…deliver the wand to my…..home?”, Harry asked, slightly surprised.

“Of course, Mr. Potter," Ollivander replied. “I will be extremely delighted to see the wand bonding with your magic.”

“Won’t you be able to make the wand in a few hours, Ollivander?”, Snape asked, standing up from the chair. Hedwig fluttered off his head, and perched herself on Harry’s shoulder, again nibbling through his messy hair.

“I am afraid, I cannot, Mr. Snape," Ollivander replied, shaking his head in the negative. “His wand core needs to be used extremely carefully, since the phoenix feather is the only remaining one, and without it the wand wouldn’t be complete," he explained. Then, he turned towards Harry. “You can give me your address, Mr. Potter.”

Harry gave a slow nod, turning his head to look at Snape who gave a slightly imperceptible sigh, but Conjured a parchment and a pen. Without any comment, he passed them on to Harry.

Harry thanked the man, and quickly jotted down his relatives’ address. He would need to stay over there for another day, it seemed.

He passed the parchment to Ollivander who read the address, then folded the parchment and put it inside his robe pocket. He looked back at Harry. “Do you want to buy a wand holster, Mr. Potter?”, he asked.

Harry blinked, having completely forgotten he had been planning to buy one, and nodded. Once he had bought a black leather holster with straps from the shop, he thanked the old wandmaker and he and Snape made their way to Flourish and Blotts, after releasing Hedwig to fly to Harry’s relatives’ home. Harry made sure to warn her to keep away from his relatives.

The shop, as was the trend in most shops in Diagon, was dark and old. Books as huge as paving stones bound in leather to as small as postage stamps were stacked high through the shelves that reached the ceiling. The store had a decent amount of shoppers going through different books, and for the first time, Harry could spot two or three children who seemed to be his age.

There was a girl with wild brown hair looking through the books excitedly, and by the way her parents, who were standing close to her, were glancing around at everyone and everything, he was sure she was a muggleborn.

There was another girl with white blonde hair tied in a very complicated looking plait and with fancy robes, occasionally sneering at the muggleborn girl. A pureblood then. And a supporter of the Dark Lord, Harry though as he gathered his assigned first year books.

Morte had, of course, bought him books that were not in the course list so that Harry would have more books to read through and he wouldn’t get bored at school. After dumping the course books into one basket, Harry grinned, watching side-eyed as Snape sighed, resigned and made his way to the Potions’ section.

Harry grinned wider and took two feather-light baskets, and dived into the stacks and stacks of books.

An hour later, a very victorious Harry made his way out of the stacks with two filled baskets and a smug look. He had collected more books on Runes, Arithmancy, Defensive and Offensive magic, mind arts, books on the wizarding politics, customs and traditions - though books on these topics did not seem to be much available here for, what Harry realized, obvious reasons - some on creatures and ancient rituals that seemed to be vague, some books that were on wizarding history and the war, a book on the Wizengamot and the rules and laws of the Ministry. He had also stacked up on some reference books in potions which Snape had helpfully handed him over along with Charms and Transfiguration. Then, there were some fiction novels which Harry had decided to read through.

“How many books are you exactly buying, Mr. Potter?”, Snape drawled from behind him. “Planning to create a library?”

Harry gave the man a sheepish smile and nodded.

“Looks like you might become a raven, Mr. Potter," Snape remarked.

Harry shrugged. When Snape raised his eyebrows, probably in question on how Harry knew what ‘raven’ meant, Harry pulled out his copy of 'Hogwarts: A History'. Snape nodded, then waved him towards the counter, where the shopkeeper eyed the three baskets with twin expressions of horror and excitement.

As the shopkeeper rang him up, Harry thought about the slightly afraid boy he had seen in the Herbology section or a burly-looking teenage boy who was scanning through the small stack of books on Quidditch. There will be so many fellow witches and wizards he will be meeting once he went to Hogwarts, that he was slightly terrified. He was not used to dealing with so many people, not to mention the whole of the Wizarding World’s eyes would be on him, their 'saviour'. He wondered what image they will create of him if he got sorted into Slytherin.

Will they be terrified of him becoming the next Dark Lord or will they find or make up some reason to believe and praise him still as their saviour, even if they had no idea what exactly had happened on that Samhain night?

Harry paid the money when the shopkeeper told him the total bill. He pulled out his trunk and with Snape’s help opened it, the latter Levitating his stacks of books into his library compartment.

Finally done with the books, Harry followed Snape who led him out of the Alley through the Leaky Cauldron and asked him whether he was hungry.

Harry nodded and they headed together to a restaurant and ordered some food.

“Mr. Potter," Snape spoke up once they had finished up with their late lunch, "will your aunt and uncle punish you when they will see you with all these magical items?”

Harry bit his lip. He couldn’t say that to be truth. He was in control of his relatives, they were afraid of his magic. And Snape was a Slytherin. If Harry ended up in said house, Snape might doubt him on his naive act.

“They will most definitely be angry," Harry finally replied. “But……they are also afraid that they are being spied on by magicals. And……err…..I kind of insinuated that if they continued their treatment of me, I might slip and do magic on them. They are appropriately terrified.”

Snape’s lips twitched. “That is….ingenious, Mr. Potter," he replied.

“Thank you, Professor," Harry said, ducking his head. “Though I am unsure how long this will work. Can I do magic outside of school?”

“Sadly, no, Mr. Potter," Snape replied with a small sigh. “But your relatives do not need to know that, now, do they?”

Harry grinned. “What about accidental magic?”, he asked. “Could it be detected?”

Snape paused. “I don’t have any idea, Mr. Potter," he replied after some pondering. “I believe the Ministry detects muggleborns through accidental magic, but once the first-time magic has been detected, the officials in the Ministry mark that area as having a magical presence and they don’t give it much thought. It only becomes necessary to look through if there has been use of dangerous or life-threatening magic around them. And there is the Trace on the wand which only stops when a person has become of age which is seventeen in the magical world.”

“Oh," Harry smiled. “I suppose I can use some accidental magic there then.”

Snape looked at him with intrigue. “You can control your accidental magic?”, he asked.

“Slightly," Harry answered with a nod.

“Interesting," Snape murmured. “I have not heard of many students who can control their magic like that.” He looked at Harry. “But that aside, Mr. Potter, I will try to talk about your situation with Dumbledore, see if-”

“No!”, Harry interrupted, his voice higher than normal. Snape stared. “Sorry, Professor," Harry shook his head. “But I do not trust Dumbledore. That old man came into my relatives’ home, talked with my aunt and then tried to make me forget my bonding with that wand even though I was only defending myself from whatever the man was going to do to me.

“And then he had the gall to suggest to me that I trusted him immensely, used my parents, especially my father’s…….bullying to convince me to be like him. I do not like that man, and I wouldn’t keep it past him if he tried to make you forget what I had told you here.” Rant over, Harry took a breath and peeked through his bangs at the professor who appeared to be in deep thought.

“I…believe you might be correct, Mr. Potter," Snape said, finally. “I don’t know what that old man was thinking, trying to make you forget and suggest to you to act like your father," he sneered. “He might….”, Snape trailed off with a dawning look in his eyes. “That is possible. Oh, that bastard!”

“Professor?”, Harry called, slightly amused at Snape. The man had now realized why Dumbledore wanted Harry to be like James Potter. Snape would have hated Harry then, putting him in place of James and would have made his life hell at Hogwarts.

“Nothing, Mr. Potter," Snape gritted out. “Dumbledore is playing a rather dangerous game, I believe.”

“You bet," Harry muttered under his breath.

They lapsed into silence for a while, Harry’s mind whirling with plans while Snape seemed to be in some deep thought.

Finally, Snape sighed. “Do you want to stay in London till night, or should I take you back to your relatives’?”

“I suppose I should return now, Professor," Harry replied, standing up from the booth they were occupying. “I have several books to go through.”

Snape nodded, standing up himself and they walked out of the restaurant, making their way to a deserted alley. Snape took Harry’s hand and Apparated them into the park. Harry stumbled, agreeing with Morte on how uncomfortable the wizarding methods of travel were.

“Come on, Mr. Potter," Snape said after he had taken down his robes and then stalked out of the trees and made his way towards Privet Drive.

Harry trailed behind, wondering about how much Snape had been convinced about Dumbledore’s manipulation. He was sure once the man got back, Dumbledore will summon him and ask him about how Harry’s trip to Diagon had been. He just hoped Snape wouldn’t tell him anything of importance.

They finally walked up to the door of Number Four, and Snape rang the doorbell. Petunia opened it, her eyes landing on Snape and widening.

“You!”, she shrieked. “How dare you bring your abnormality into my house?!”

“Just like normal people do, dear Tuney," Snape sneered. “Looks like you haven’t changed the slightest even after all these years.”

“You haven’t changed either, you……freak!”, she violently flinched at those words, Morte’s taboo still in effect. “Why are you here?!”

“Just delivering Mr. Potter here back," he replied, nodding towards Harry who raised his eyebrows at Petunia as she paled. “And say that word again, Petunia Evans-”

“Dursley," Harry corrected quickly.

“-Dursely and I will Crucio you to insanity, you understand?”

Petunia paled more and nodded, yet still holding anger and disgust in her eyes with the fear.

“Good," Snape turned back to Harry. “I must be off, Mr. Potter. I will see you at Hogwarts.”

“Of course, Professor," Harry nodded. “Thank you.”

The man nodded, throwing one final glare at Petunia and then turned on his heels and stalked off towards the park again, the dramatic flair missing since he wasn’t wearing his robes.

Harry gave an amused chuckle at the man’s dramatics, then turned and gave Petunia a blank look. “I will be staying here till tomorrow," he told her. “A man will be visiting me tomorrow for some business at around evening. So, if you don’t want to deal with……my kind,” he narrowed his eyes at her, “you better take yourself and your family for an outing tomorrow.”

With that, he stalked past her and climbed the stairs and walked into his room. He could have made them go through the torture of dealing with an old wizard, but it wasn’t worth it. He needed to get the wand as quickly as possible so he can practice how much magic he would need to manipulate to let out through his wand.

As Dumbledore had originally blocked his magical core itself, Harry was sure the man wanted him to be at most above average in performing magic at school. Harry had mused through what he should do about that. He could either keep up the ruse, showing Dumbledore that he was getting his pawn, or he does not do that and perform excellently.

The first option can be used if he manages to get himself into Ravenclaw, because if he was to become a Slytherin, the snakes will swallow him whole if they found him to be weak. But he did not yet want to show all his cards by displaying his prowess at spell-casting, and so had decided to keep himself second-best in his year at most. He could display proficiency in Defence and maybe Charms, but that would be it. He would be average in the rest. Potions could be a bit of problem because it would take him lots of brewing to become adept, so he will be only above average in that subject in reality.

The next day, which was a Thursday, Petunia basically ordered Vernon to stay at his office at least till seven - to which Vernon slowly nodded with a flabbergasted look - and demanded Dudley to accompany her to a shopping trip, even though they had already gone to get the boy’s school clothes and everything on Monday.

Harry smirked while listening to both the males grumbling about Petunia’s weird order and then march out the door.

At evening, close to five, when there were no Dursleys at Number Four, there was a sharp rap at the front door. Harry descended down the stairs and opened the door to find Ollivander standing at the doorway in his white-pale robe and wild-white hair with a smile on his face.

Petunia will surely have a heart attack once she hears the neighbours talking about the unusual man standing outside the Dursley residence, Harry thought as he eyed the man’s robe.

With a smirk, Harry invited the man in and prepared tea for him. Once they had finished their cups, Ollivander pulled out a narrow box from inside his robe and presented it to Harry.

“I present to you, Mr. Potter, one of my finest wands. Cedar, pine and acacia with phoenix feather and horned serpent’s horn cores. Eleven inches. Smooth and supple," he said with a flourish.

The wand was dark brown with streaks of pale and light brown. The handle fit Harry’s hand perfectly and once the wand came in contact with Harry’s magic, something warm settled in Harry’s chest. Black and green sparks burst out of the wand. Harry’s magic swept out, both surface and inner, warming and cooling the air at the same time. Harry grinned.

“Awesome," he muttered, running his hand over the smooth surface of his wand. “This is amazing, Mr. Ollivander. Thank you.”

“You are very welcome, Mr. Potter," Ollivander replied with a smile. “I was extremely happy to take on the challenge of making a wand for you when you have already bonded with another, more powerful wand.” He looked at the wand in Harry’s hand. “I suppose, I don’t need to tell you that you will do great things?”

Harry raised his eyebrows.

“I remember every wand I’ve ever sold, Mr. Potter," Ollivander elaborated. Harry was sure the man had been dying to say this to him. “About fifty-four years ago, I sold a wand with the same phoenix feather core, given by the very same phoenix whose feather resides in this wand, to a very powerful and curious eleven-year-old. He went on to do very great things. Terrible, yes, but great.”

Harry stared at the old man with curiosity. “Torturing and killing every wizard, witch or muggle you came across is really not that great, Mr. Ollivander," he replied drily.

“Indeed, it is not," Ollivander replied. “But that boy did not excel only in that. He was a prodigy, one of the very few students at Hogwarts to get perfect scores in his OWLs and NEWTs. Later on, he researched through several unknown branches of magic, discovering things that nobody before him had thought to do so. He, of course, did not share what he had discovered, but people like me know instinctively when we feel someone touched by Lady Magic herself.”

Harry’s eyes widened slightly, but he nodded. It did make sense since the man was magic sensitive. “Did you ever thought of joining him?”, he asked.

Ollivander studied Harry closely, then hummed. “Initially, I was tempted. His circle was talking about equality to every magical being, the promise of magic being practised for magic, and the revival of old customs and rituals.” He stared unseeingly over Harry’s shoulder. “Magic is slowly degrading, Mr. Potter," he said solemnly. “If nobody does something, anything to revive our connection with Her, we will lose this wonderful gift. We will be reduced to our muggle conterparts.”

He took a deep breath. “I don’t know what, but You-Know-Who did something to himself that made him forget his original goals. He was not that bloodthirsty before, not that curse-happy. He valued magical blood, whether it be from the pureblood line or a muggle. It was about equality, not purity.”

Harry pondered on the words. Of course, Lady Magic and Morte had both explained this to him – the original goals of the Dark, why exactly Tom Riddle was granted the title of a Dark Lord by Lady Magic. He agreed with these ideals – magic should be valued however it was and every creature that could think for itself should have their own rules and rights. Not to mention, witches and wizards should strictly be away from non-magicals, because if they were discovered, the wonder and awe of the muggles would soon turn to jealously and hostility, and no sooner would a world war between the magical and non-magicals start. They would be annihilated, along with every other species on the planet – the non-magicals would destroy everything.

“Do you….know that man’s actual name, Mr. Ollivander?”, Harry asked.

“Yes," Ollivander nodded. “Though, I believe not everyone does. Dumbledore and maybe some older generation witches and wizards. Everyone now knows him by the name he spread around with his terror.”

“Interesting," Harry mused. “Do you think he’s dead?”, he asked. “Did he really die that day, when he murdered my parents?”

“You are on to something, aren’t you, Mr. Potter?”, Olliander asked, his eyes slightly wide. “Nobody knows, Mr. Potter," he answered. “The Ministry and most of the public would like to believe that the man is dead, gone forever. They do not want that terror to return back.”

“And what about you?”, Harry tilted his head slightly in curiosity. This man was interesting.

“I don’t know, Mr. Potter," Ollivander answered after a momentary pause. “I….like to think that I am good at deduction and theorization. The man was powerful, and he was a Dark Lord. It is slightly hard to believe that he would have died just like that, by a mere babe, unless your parents did something. Your mother was, after all, a brilliant Charms and Potions prodigy.”

Harry tapped his finger on the arm of his chair, wondering what else he could ask the man. The man was intelligent, not like most of the Wizarding World was. “If he’s alive,” he wondered, “why hasn’t he done anything?”

Ollivander blinked. “Well,” he mused, “it isn’t necessary that that night didn’t harm him. His Inner Circle members were captured and sent to Azkaban, there were several raids after the war ended in numerous Dark-inclined families’ homes. And nobody ever found out his body. He could be bidding his time, or he could be in need of someone’s help. Who knows?”

“It could be," Harry nodded.

Harry had asked Morte numerous times where exactly Riddle was, or the remaining, main part of his soul. He tried to remember his dreams more vividly, but it would just remain a blur of pain, disorientation, rage and fear. He could remember a forest, animals, but nothing more than that. There were so many forests across Europe itself, he couldn’t find the man’s soul even if he wanted to.

Morte had refused on the grounds that first Harry needed to make his decision on whether he wanted to join the Dark Side and help the man who had murdered so many families, not to mention his parents, or whether he wanted to end him himself, kill the man as revenge for his parents’ murder and disrupting so many lives.

Harry was torn. He could not just forgive a man who had killed so many, caused so much havoc in the world and thought himself above everyone. But he could also relate with an orphaned boy who did not get any care or love from anyone, who regularly got bullied and who just fixed it in his mind that he did not need anyone, that he was above such emotions.

After a minute or five elapsed with both males in contemplative thoughts, Ollivander got up from the sofa he had been occupying.

“I should be going, Mr. Potter," he said. “I need to get back to my shop.”

“Of course," Harry got up too while pulling out the pouch he had obtained from Gringotts. “Here, Mr. Ollivander.” He handed the man twenty galleons. “Consider the remaining money a….tip of sorts," he said when Ollivander raised his eyebrows at the extra money. “I will greatly appreciate it if you wouldn’t tell anyone my wand’s specifics, especially an old man who might or might not be my future Headmaster.”

“Ah," Ollivander nodded in understanding. “Of course, Mr. Potter. Your wand is holly and phoenix feather core, nothing more, nothing less. Who would want to know more than that?”

Harry smiled and nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Ollivander.”

Ollivander inclined his head. “I will be waiting excitedly for what you have planned for the future, Mr. Potter," he said. “Have a good Hogwarts’ term.”

Harry nodded, and walked the man to the front door. Waving at the man once, he closed the door, then Summoned his wand resting on the table in the Dursley’s drawing room. He put the wand carefully in his holster, then made his way upstairs.

Waving and directing his magic at the furniture around ‘his’ room, he reversed them back to how they were before, then Summoned his bag from the desk. Making sure he had everything stuffed in, along with his shrunk trunk and his ‘borrowed’ books from the Dursleys, Harry Summoned Floppy, giving her a happy smile.

“Take me back home, please, Floppy," he asked.

Floppy smiled back and took his hand.

-------

Severus stormed up the moving staircase, anger and confusion and annoyance warring inside his mind.

He had just found out that his best friend’s and the only love’s only child was being abused by magic-hating relatives, said boy was slightly shy but had a cunning side too, the boy was apparently powerful too and Dumbledore had been manipulating the child’s life from the start, giving him off to those idiotic relatives and then having the gall to try to fire off an Obliviate on the boy when he somehow bonded with the man’s wand!

Though, how could someone else’s wand bond with a child? Wand lore was definitely not his forte.

Standing in front of the gleaming, large oak doors, he sneered at the door, then rapped the brass knockers once, glaring at the griffin-shaped knocker as if it was the sole reason behind all his sorrows.

The doors opened following the order of ‘enter’ from inside. Severus stalked in, ignoring all the silver instruments that were whirring and emitting puffs of smoke. He looked at Dumbledore who was sitting behind his enormous, claw-footed desk, on his high-backed chair, his blue eyes twinkling with a genial smile on his face.

“Severus, my boy!”, Dumbledore greeted, motioning towards one of the chairs kept in front of the Headmaster’s desk. “Do take a seat! Would you like a lemon drop?”, he asked, holding out a handful of the said treats.

Severus gave the treats a hateful glare, then turned his glare onto the Headmaster. “Why did you call me?”, he gritted out.

“Not anything important, my boy," the old man gave him a smile. “I just wished to know how the trip with dear Mr. Potter went? Was there any problem?”

Severus narrowed his eyes at the man. “Really, Albus?”, he asked. “You wasted my time just to ask about that Potter’s spawn?”

“Now, my dear boy," Dumbledore gave him a slightly disappointed look. “The boy had requested a professor for help and I would love to know how the trip went.”

“Well, then, you could just have gone yourself, instead of wasting my time on that brat!”

Dumbledore shot him another reproachful look.

Severus glared, then conceded. “There was no problem, Albus. The boy seems to be just like Potter.” In only looks, though, Severus didn’t add. “I took him to Gringotts, got his money, then took him to all the stores he needed to get his materials from.”

“Wonderful!”, Dumbledore beamed at him. “Do you have the boy’s vault key still?”

Severus’ right hand twitched. His account manager had taken the key, stating that Dumbledore was no longer the child’s magical guardian since he had breached numerous rules and regulations that a guardian needed to abide by, when Severus had mentioned having the boy’s vault key with him. The key would be delivered to the Potter’s account manager.

“No," Severus answered. “The goblins took the key. It will now remain with the Potters’ account manager.”

Dumbledore was silent for a moment, then gave a nod. “Of course," he replied. “Did Mr. Potter buy any extra items?”

“Yes," Severus answered. Would the man inquire about every single thing about the Boy-Who-Lived? Didn’t he know it was creepy to do that?

“What items, my boy?”, Dumbledore asked, slightly impatient. “And how did you let him buy anything other than the items mentioned?”

“They were some extra books, Albus," Severus answered with annoyance. “And it wasn’t like it was my money he was using. He could burn all of it, for all I care.”

Dumbledore seemed slightly disappointed, though he hid it well enough that only a spy like Severus would be able to see through it. Wanted the child to buy brooms, did he, now, Severus thought with irritation.

“That is good," Dumbledore said. “Did he get any pet then?”

“What are you trying to do here, Albus?!”, Severus snapped. “Stalking the Potter brat?!”

“Severus, I just need to know some simple things about James’ and Lily’s son. Please.”

“An owl," Severus muttered out after a long pause.

“Excellent. And last question, my boy. What is his wand?”, Dumbledore asked this question with more interest than necessary.

“Phoenix feather core," Severus bit out.

“Excellent!”, Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled merrily. “Thank you, my boy. I greatly appreciate you sparing your time to sate an old man’s curiosity.”

Severus did not deem that worthy of his reply, got up and with a small nod, stormed out of the man’s office. He needed a glass or a bottle of firewhiskey.

Chapter Text

It felt like no time had passed, and yet a whole month had gone by in a blink of an eye, and Harry found himself getting ready for his trip to King’s Cross to catch the Hogwarts Express with five fully bonded and four wailing elves either preparing his lunch or checking his trunk for the nth time or simply following him around, crying.

“Oh! For the umpteeth time, stop crying, guys!”, Harry whined as he tried to tame his wild hair in front of the mirror in his bathroom. He had on a white shirt with black jeans and polished shoes. He had put one of the Hogwarts’ black robes in his back-pack, along with two books and the lunch that Ils had prepared for him. “I’m not going forever! I will try to return during Yule. And you guys can literally pop in if you are missing me so much!”

“Little Master be right, you four!”, Floppy, the only elf acting like a mature adult, said, scowling at the other four elves sniffling beside Harry. “Now, act like you be belonging to the elvies of the Peverells, or else Floppy be punishing you all!”, she threatened.

The elves straightened slightly, trying valiantly to stop their eyes from watering, but they failed. Miserably, if Harry was being honest.

Harry sighed fondly, then smiled. “Come here, you all!” He spread his arms and the four elves shot into them with fresh tears running down their cheeks. “You too, Floppy," Harry said, and Floppy hugged too, joining their little bubble.

“We bes missing you, Master Harry," one of them wailed out.

“Yeah, I’ll miss you guys too. Write to me, alright?”, he replied. “Hedwig will need some reason for exercising, since I’m sure Morte won’t write to me.”

All the elves nodded eagerly, while Harry heard an annoyed hoot followed by a grunt.

They got out of Harry’s bathroom, Harry, as usual, unsuccessful in taming his hair. Harry waved his hand, casting a wandless and non-verbal Tempus, noting the time to be nearing ten. “Well, I should get going then," he said, looking at the elves who all nodded hesitantly.

“Yous be making sure to eat every day, Little Master," Floppy said sternly, before Harry could start moving. Harry groaned. Another mothering lecture! “Make sure to bes in bed on time, take good and warm baths and only wear washed clothes!”

“Of course." Harry nodded, resigned. This was the elf’s second lecture this day. He could practically hear Morte laughing hysterically inside his head, while he looked calm and bored from the outside, sitting on his armchair with his usual mug of coffee and some weird and unknown magazine.

With the head-elf launching into a stern lecture, again, telling Harry to take care of himself and ordering him what to do and what not to do, Harry thought about the past month, most of which was spent in him figuring out and learning how much magic he should allow through him to tunnel out through his wand.

It was hard. Since he had learned to control his magic so thoroughly and it felt like breathing whenever he wanted to cast without even needing a wand, it took him several days to get accustomed to casting magic through his wand.

Morte had advised him to practise his magic and meditate every day, otherwise he might experience the chance of losing the connection he had established with his magical core since he was a kid, and blast his wand to burn down the whole castle (he was overexaggerating, of course, that annoying being).

His Occlumency kept too much of his magic from flowing out, but sometimes, when his wand or magic got excited, he would have to deal with an overflow of magic which would result in one way or another in a disaster.

Finally, after a month of toiling around with his wand, he had gotten a hang of how to control his over-eager magic from escaping his body and causing chaos through his wand. Not to mention his wand itself. Ollivander wasn’t kidding when he said that Acacia wood had temperament. His wand would sometimes get annoyed at Harry when he tried to tame his magic. The wand wanted him to give his full potential, but Harry really wasn’t in the mood to agree. He needed to lay low for the moment, though he wouldn’t fight if the Sorting Hat put him in Slytherin. Dumbledore needed some sort of shock, because Harry did not want to be seen as an idiot, easily malleable child that Dumbledore wanted him to be.

Thinking about Dumbledore reminded Harry of another thing. Severus Snape had sent Harry a letter just after a few days from their shopping trip to Diagon, simply to tell him how to access the Hogwarts Express through Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters since he had forgotten to mention that while they had met. The man had, surprisingly, apologized for not giving him full information regarding the Wizarding World, and had went on to explain general and every day important facts about witches and wizards. He had also told him almost everything about the war with Voldemort, how his parents had sacrificed themselves to protect Harry from an insane Dark Lord, and about the ideals of the Dark and the Light.

Harry had been astonished. He had thought that Severus Snape would be the last person to be so open to him, telling him almost about everything. He had assumed the man will only really hate him.

Morte had chuckled when Harry had mentioned that fact to him the same day when the letter had come. Morte was the one who had brought it from the irritated owl who had been trying to reach Harry at Number Four, but couldn’t find the receiver of its letter at the written address.

“The Fates are surprised too, Harrison," Morte had replied with a shrug. “They hypothesize that since Mr. Snape has actually interacted with you and found out your personality to be that of a child who has learned to survive, instead of a pampered and obnoxious saviour he was expecting, he has realized that you are not James Potter, his supposed school nemesis, but his best friend’s child.”

“Do you really think he wouldn’t see my father in me?”, Harry asked, frowning in thought.

“Yes." Morte nodded. “I am positive. In fact, the man sympathizes with you since his childhood was no less traumatizing.”

Harry felt his eyes widen. “He….?”

“Yes. Mr. Snape’s father was a non-magical, and when he lost his job and realized his son was like his wife, he started abusing him," Morte told him. “Mr. Snape also tried to divert his father’s drunk ire to himself instead of his mother. It was………awful for the child.”

Harry ran his hand through his hair, horrified. “Another man. Just like Riddle," he muttered, sighing. “Dumbledore?”

“Knew," Morte answered with a huff. “Or, at least, had a strong idea that his student’s home life was not ideal. But he believed in family, believed that a father will never hurt his own flesh and blood.”

Harry again felt the rage that he had been suppressing against Dumbledore flash through his whole being. “That old bastard!”, he gritted. “What does he think himself to be! Manipulative, cocky, ‘all-knowing’ ass.”

“Now, Harrison," Morte chastised despite the grin on this face. “Lady Magic will have my hide if she ever heard you talking like that.”

“Don’t be an idiot, Morte." Harry glared at the being who raised his eyebrows at him. “I will always be careful in front of her.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I am! What do you take me for!” Harry sniffed. “Why would I want to get my hide turned inside out when I could be an adorable, little thing in her eyes?”

“Brat," Morte muttered. “Get lost before I decide to haul out your organs!”

Harry had laughed and ran away.

Now that he was slightly confident that he could have one adult in his life to pull onto his side, he wouldn’t lose that chance. Severus Snape could be a decisive force in the upcoming battle, whether it will be political or an all-out physical war – the man was a spy, for both sides, for Merlin’s sake!

Harry will also need to observe which students in his year and around he could pull towards his side. He wasn’t intending on making a third side in this war, but if he couldn’t find any other way, he would have to make do.

“-do you understand, Little Master?”, Floppy’s stern question brought Harry out of his plotting.

“Of course, Floppy," he smoothly replied, smiling at the stern-looking elf. “You don’t need to worry this much. I will be fine. You guys take care of yourselves and our home, alright?”

The elves nodded vigorously, Harry shooting all of them a smile.

“Alright, then," Harry said. “I should be going now, otherwise I will be late. Bye!” He waved, grinning at the chorus of ‘bye’s in reply. “Ready to go, Morte?”, he asked, looking at the being lazily inclining on his armchair.

Morte grumbled, getting up, his mug and magazine vanishing from sight. He stretched, his bones popping in place with several ‘pop’s. “Why can’t you just go back to the Dursleys and annoy them into dropping you off at King’s Cross?”, he asked with a grunt.

“Where’s the fun in that?”, he grinned.

“You can terrorize those mortals!”

“They are not fun anymore!”, Harry replied, pouting and widening his eyes at his guardian. “Vernon’s face turns red and purple, Petunia pales and Dudley………”, Harry frowned. “I think that boy’s confused about his reaction towards me these days.”

“What about that spy?! You know, that cat-loving lady?”

Harry’s nostril flared in anger. Morte had told him about Mrs. Figg being the spy of Dumbledore a few days ago. Harry was still furious, of course! The woman who had bored him with the tales of her cats and given him weird-tasting cakes had been spying on him the whole time, knew that he was a wizard – a famous one at that - was herself a squib, and decided not to even hint the fact to him, not even once in the whole Magic-damned time he had been there!

“She can think that the Dursleys haven’t allowed me to go to the school, for all I care," he replied with an irritated huff. “Let her panic.”

“But where’s the fun in that?!”

“Dumbledore will panic," Harry pointed out.

Morte hummed. “Fair enough," he mused before grinning wickedly. “Ooh! Let me drop you off quickly, so that I can enjoy the show!”

“Sure." Harry nodded at the elves after patting his pocket to make sure he had his shrunken trunk and before making sure that his wand was in its holster. “I am ready!”, he announced while slinging his bag over his shoulder.

“Come on then," Morte said impatiently and took Harry’s hand in his.

One used-to shadowing later, Harry found himself standing alone in an alley beside a huge dustbin. “Not even a goodbye," he grumbled to himself while wrinkling his nose at the awful smell. Quickly walking out of the alley, he made his way towards the station.

The station was almost full with people from almost all age-groups. The crowd hurried around, rushing towards their trains or exiting the building.

Harry calmly walked through the usual chaos of the station and made his way towards platforms nine and ten, all the while wondering whether Professor Snape had informed Dumbledore that he had told the Boy-Who-Lived how to enter the magical platform. After all, as far as Harry knew, Dumbledore had implied to almost everyone that Harry lived with his mother’s loving relatives who knew about magic and would have told the saviour everything. So, nobody would have had a reason to tell Harry exactly how to get in.

What would that mean for today? How did Dumbledore intend Harry to find out where the entrance to the magical platform was? How will the man make sure that Harry had gotten inside the train? More Monitoring Charms? Or, will he find someone who would accidently stumble upon the clueless Boy-Who-Lived and be his saving grace?

Harry snorted at the thought, eyeing the big plastic numbers nine and ten, and smoothly walked through the magical wall and into platform nine-and-three-quarters. He walked a bit away from the magical entrance, all the while his eyes were fixed on the magical train. He could feel the magic surrounding the train, along with the platform itself. The magical wall had magic around it, along with the people milling around the platform beside the train.

Harry took a breath, trying to calm the overload of so many different types of magic. He opened his bag and pulled out his robe. He refused to look like a muggleborn when he was a Lord of an Ancient House and the Heir of three others. While pulling on the robe, he made sure his Lord and Heir rings were not on display, sealed into invisibility by his Parsel spells. He smoothed down his robe and started walking briskly towards the train.

There were several cats and owls, either in cages or walking around or flying over the assembled crowd of witches and wizards. Harry had asked Hedwig whether she wanted to fly from King’s Cross, or she wished to travel from the Peverell Castle itself. After much pondering, which involved destroying more of Harry’s hair’s dignity, she had decided to fly from the Peverell Castle and enjoy the Scottish highlands. Harry had huffed in annoyance. Couldn’t his familiar make this journey with him? His elves were definitely spoiling her!

With a shake of his head, Harry made his way towards the back of the train and climbed into it. From there, he walked to the farthest compartment he could find, opened the door with a flick of his finger and grinned.

Harry entered the compartment, closing the door behind him. The seats were covered with warm brown, maybe leather covers with dark brown paneling. The windows were sliding ones too.

Harry pulled out his wand from the holster with a flick of his wrist, turned around and fired a strong Notice-Me-Not Charm onto the door and then on the window. Satisfied, he flicked his wrist again to let his wand go back into the holster and then sat down beside the window, ready to see if anyone will to find him on the platform.

Harry pulled out a book on potions and settled down for a long read.

It must have been close to the time of departure of the train that Harry came out of his deep musings about some of the ingredients used in potions as he heard someone knocking on the door to the adjacent compartment to his. He could hear someone frantically muttering something and conversing with another someone.

Curious, he let a tendril of his magic uncoil and reach towards whoever was speaking to eavesdrop on the conversation more clearly.

“-nowhere to be found," someone was saying. It was a male voice, maybe someone in their mid-teens. “I searched the whole train, mother.”

“How is that possible!”, a female voice answered in response, slightly panicked and slightly worried. “It could have been that someone else helped the boy, but how is it possible that he isn’t on the train?! Albus promised Ron that he will get to meet the boy today, and I’m afraid Ron will be soon throwing an annoying tantrum." She sounded frustrated now. “Oh, sometimes I hate that old man!”

“Don’t worry, mother," the male, her son, responded. “I will see to it that Ronald behaves. I can always chuck the twins at him.”

His mother sighed. “Yes. Of course," she replied. “I hope the boy is alright. Albus is sometimes so secretive that it grates on my nerves! Letting him stay with muggles……," the voice tapered off as the woman and her son, whoever they were, made their way farther away from Harry’s compartment.

So, Dumbledore had given someone the job of making sure that Harry got onto the train. Not surprising, really. From the feel of their magic, the woman and son both had Light-magical cores. At least, he had gotten a name. Who was this Ronald or Ron?

Harry mused about the woman while the train started moving. At least she seemed to care about his well-being, not like that meddling old fool, who did not even bother to check on whether his pawns were alive or not. Bastard, Harry thought, as he went back to his book.

Half-an-hour later, Harry removed the Notice-Me-Not Charms he had put on the door and the window to see who was ambitious enough to search for him till the back of the train. He was sure at least one person will come to look for the Boy-Who-Lived, whether they be from the Dark or the Light.

Around half-past twelve, Harry heard a great clambering outside his compartment and raised his head with curiosity as the door slid open, and a smiling, dimpled woman greeted him. “Anything off the trolley, dear?”, she asked, nodding towards her trolley.

Putting his book down beside him, Harry slowly stood up, looking at the various options on the trolley. He hadn’t had much chance on tasting all these magical sweets, as Morte had strictly proclaimed himself not to be Harry’s babysitter and the elves, especially Floppy, had declared that Harry needed a strict balanced diet, not too much sweets. His whole family was sadistic!

“All of them are sweets?”, he asked the woman.

“Yes, dear," she answered, her smile still on her face.

“Alright. Give me three chocolate frogs, two cauldron cakes and two Pumpkin pasties, please," he said, taking out some sickles he had gotten by sending Floppy to retrieve them from his Potter Heir account. He was still slightly hesitant to use any money from the Peverell vaults for himself, when he had so little to use before. Though, in buying books, he hadn't held himself back, adding his own personal collection to the Peverell library.

“Of course, dear.” The woman passed him the things he had asked, taking his money and wishing him a good day.

With a smile, Harry closed the door behind him and sat back down on to his seat beside the window. Seems like neither Dark nor Light found me first, but a rather happy lady, he thought.

He chuckled, eating a cauldron cake and a chocolate frog, grimacing as he got an Albus Dumbledore card. “Won’t leave me ever alone, will ya?”, he huffed out, glaring at the image of Dumbledore who frowned back at him, then walked away.

Harry huffed again, stuffing the card away in the deepest recesses of his bag. He kept the other sweets inside too and pulled out the package Ils had prepared for him.

A wonderful lunch later, Harry pulled his book open again, and lost himself to the world of potions.

Sometime later, when the view of the countryside had faded to wilder woods, with forests and twisted rivers and dark green hills flying past the train, Harry again came out of the textbook when he heard a knock on his compartment door.

He looked up to see the same boy he had seen in the Herbology section at Flourish and Blotts opening the door nervously. He looked on the verge of crying.

“S-sorry," he mumbled. “But have you s-seen a toad a-at all?”

Harry tilted his head curiously at the boy and smiled. “Not yet," he replied while putting his book beside him. “But let me check. What’s your toad’s name?”

“T-Trevor.”

“Nice," Harry replied with a smile and ducked down to look for any toad lingering around under the compartment seats. Sadly, there was no toad there.

He sighed slightly, then let a tendril of his magic out, Summoning Trevor the toad.

After a few seconds, where Harry was still ducked down and the boy was shuffling awkwardly, an average sized dark green toad came flying through the door and into Harry’s hand.

Harry looked at the boy - who now stared at Harry with wide-eyes and open mouth - with a sheepish smile. “Seems like your toad, Trevor, can fly," he remarked, holding out the toad towards the still gaping boy.

A few moments of silence passed when the boy finally remembered himself and surged forward to take the toad from Harry with a look of relief.

“Thank you," he whispered in relief, holding the toad closer. “I don’t k-know how you S-Summoned him when you are still a first year, but t-thanks.”

Harry waved the boy’s gratitude away, closing the door softly behind him with a subtle wave of his hand. “No problem," he replied with a grin. “Do you want to join me here?”

“Umm..”, the boy hesitated, glancing back at the door then at his toad and nodded. “If you w-want me to?”

“Sure. Be my guest.” Harry smiled waving at the opposite seat while he sat down on his. “My name’s Harrison Potter, Heir to the House Potter. First year. Nice to meet you.”

The boy, who was in the middle of sitting down onto the seat, froze mid-posture, his eyes widening wider than before when Harry had Summoned Trevor. “Y-You are Harry Potter?!”, he exclaimed in astonishment.

Harry simply raised one of his eyebrows. “It’s Harrison Potter, but yes, I am," he replied.

The boy blushed, stuttering out an apology. “S-Sorry," he mumbled. “It’s just…..I’ve heard so much about y-you. It’s…….”

“Irritating," Harry finished, sighing in annoyance. The boy blinked. “I didn’t even know magic was real just a month ago, man," he elaborated. “How can people think I defeated one of the Darkest wizards in wizarding Britain when I was just a toddler. Not to mention the fact that that wizard was a Dark Lord! It’s hard to believe!”

The boy stared at him, bewildered, then nodded. “I suppose," he replied. Then, remembering that he hadn’t introduced himself, blushed again. “Sorry. My name’s Neville L-Longbottom. Um……Heir to House Longbottom.”

Harry smiled. “Nice to know I can put a name to your face now," he replied, slightly teasing. Longbottom turned redder. “You are a first year, too, I presume?”, Harry asked to keep the conversation flowing.

He had learnt all about the pureblood lines and the Sacred twenty-eight, of which the Longbottoms were a part. It will be good for him to at least have an acquaintance to a sacred bloodline, but it would be way better if he could make Neville a trusted friend too. The boy seemed to be afraid, but his magical core was above average, Light. Besides, this boy was the other prophecy child. If not Harry, then Neville Longbottom would have become the Boy-Who-Lived. Did Voldemort attack this child’s family as well, he wondered, making a mental note to ask Morte when he met the being next.

“Y-Yes," Longbottom replied, looking down at his toad.

The boy was shy too, Harry observed.

“Which House do you prefer to be sorted into?”, he asked curiously.

“Umm…..”, Longbottom looked up at him with mortified eyes. “I want to go to G-Gryffindor. My parents were sorted there, they fought alongside your parents in the war against You-Know-Who.”

Harry stared at Longbottom with slightly sad eyes. “Ok. Did your parents……?”, he trailed off when he felt the boy’s eyes fill with tears. His parents were dead too?

They lapsed in an uncomfortable silence for a few minutes, Neville blinking through his tears while Harry politely looked out the window at the forest rolling by.

After some minutes, he looked back at the boy in front of him. “I am sorry, Neville," he whispered, feeling morose at the boy’s tears. “I didn’t mean to make you sad.”

“I-It’s alright," Neville whispered, his voice croaky. “I brought t-the topic of your p-parents up. I-Its unfair everyone knows about yours while you don’t.”

Harry gave Neville a small, sad smile and looked down at his hands folded on his lap.

“My parents were t-tortured," Neville whispered after a few moments. Harry looked up to see Neville staring back at him with hard eyes. He took a shaky breath. “A witch named Bellatrix Lestrange tortured them to……i-insanity. They are c-currently at St. Mungo’s l-long-term ward.”

Harry breathed out slowly, closing his eyes at those words full of sadness and hatred. He didn’t say anything, slowly got up and sat down beside the boy. He put a hand on the boy’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

That seemed to do it as Neville broke down into sobs, leaning down on Harry’s shoulder. Harry kept himself steady, holding the crying boy’s hand to show his support. He discreetly cast a Notice-Me-Not Charm on the door again.

They sat there in silence after Neville’s sobs had calmed down – a boy with no parents and another boy with parents alive, but still not there.

“Gran says that I will make a Hufflepuff rather than Gryffindor," Neville said after a while, sitting straight in his seat and looking at his toad, who was sitting on his lap.

“Why?”, Harry asked.

“She says I am too soft and afraid.”

Harry chuckled. Neville looked at him with confusion. “Sorry, it’s just…" Harry smiled. “There’s nothing wrong with being a Hufflepuff, Neville," he told the boy softly. “Those badgers are fierce, hard-working and extremely loyal people. A Hufflepuff’s friendship is worth more than anything.” He reclined onto the seat. “I wouldn’t care whether you are a Hufflepuff or a Gryffindor, you will still be my friend.”

“R-Really?”, Neville's eyes shined with hope.

“Of course." Harry nodded. “If you think we wouldn’t be friends after I let you cry on my shoulders, then you will be in a lot of trouble, Heir Longbottom.” Neville smiled at that. “And anyways, if you think you can be a Gryffindor, then there’s nothing stopping you from being one. You’ve got bravery inside you, I could see it when you were talking about the Lestrange witch.” Neville blinked. “Believe in yourself, Neville. You won’t always find Gryffindors who shout out their bravery to the world. There are Gryffindors who will only show their bravery when needed.”

Neville stared at Harry, astonished, then smiled. “Thank you," he whispered.

“You are welcome." Harry grinned.

Before Harry could start asking more questions, there was a loud bang outside and the door clattered open without a knock. Harry raised his eyebrows, surprised that someone got past his Charm. That someone seemed to be a red-haired, freckled boy with big hands and feet and a long nose. He was tall, thin and gangling, his frame covered with robe under which he had on a pant and a shirt.

“Are you,” the boy panted, “Harry Potter?”

Harry was impressed. The boy was so keen on searching for him that he had bypassed his Charm. He tilted his head. “Who are you?”, he asked.

The boy looked at him searchingly. “Are you Harry Potter or not?”, he asked, rather rudely.

Harry frowned at the boy slightly. “Harrison Potter, Heir to House Potter," he replied. “Who are you?”

“So, you are Harry Potter!”, the boy exclaimed, closing the door beside him with excitement. “I’ve been waiting to meet you since I was a kid and heard about you," he gushed out, sitting in front of Harry. “My name is Ron Weasley. I am so happy to finally meet you! What House do you think you’d be sorted into? What is your favourite Quidditch team? Can I see your scar?”

Harry’s frown deepened with Weasley’s rapid-fire questions. This was that Ronald the woman and her son were talking about? He was……exceptionally rude.

Harry hummed at last, narrowing his eyes slightly at the boy. Dumbledore had told this kid that he will meet and befriend Harry Potter. It got to meeting, but Harry wasn’t sure he will ever want to befriend someone like this boy.

“I think I’d be sorted into either Ravenclaw or Slytherin," he replied calmly, watching as Weasley’s eyes widened and his expression turned horrified.

“S-Slytherin?”, he whispered.

“Indeed." Harry raised his eyebrows, watching from the corner of his eyes as Neville stiffened at his proclamation.

“Why?!”, Weasley screamed.

“Aren’t they the House of ambition?”, Harry asked.

“Ambition? What does that have to do with…”, Weasley frowned. “You should get into Gryffindor!”, he shouted. “All the brave witches and wizards go there. Professor Dumbledore was a Gryffindor! You-Know-Who was a Slytherin!”

“What does Voldemort being in Slytherin has anything to do with me being sorted there?”, Harry asked calmly, ignoring the twin flinches the other occupants of the compartment gave. “I’ve got ambition, I might get sorted there. And anyways, I’ve got love for knowledge too, so I can go into Ravenclaw.”

“Books!”, Weasley muttered with disgust.

Harry narrowed his eyes at the boy, ready to rebuke him to hell and back for daring to insult books, when the compartment door slid open, and three boys entered, one with pale blond hair and two bulky boys following after the first one as if they were his bodyguards.

Harry turned his frown on the trio, observing them with curious eyes as the blonde boy looked at Harry with thinly veiled confusion, then sneered at both Neville and Weasley.

“What are you shouting about Slytherin, Weasley?”, he asked snottily, eyeing the boy’s hair and robes. “What do you know about the great House, you blood traitor?!”

“I know that House had You-Know-Who in it, you dirty snake!”, Weasley shouted in reply. “It houses only the Dark and evil, and only creates Death Eaters!”

“You are an absolute idiot!”, the blonde boy sneered. “How dare you insult…”

Harry reclined into his seat, observing the three new additions to his compartment, tuning out the nonsensical debate the messiahs of Gryffindor and Slytherin Houses seemed to be engaging in.

The blonde’s magical core was above average, maybe slightly less than Neville’s, but was Dark in nature. The other two bodyguards beside the boy had Dark magical cores as well, though they were weak, very weak. Effects of in-breeding, perhaps?

After letting the two boys insult each other for five more minutes, Harry decided to intervene. They were close to reaching the castle, maybe half-an-hour of journey was left and Harry wasn’t in any particular mood to suffer through this anymore than he already had.

“As much as this conversation is fascinating,” Harry drawled, giving the two boys a flat stare as they both turned to look at him, “I think we need to introduce ourselves first and then prepare to depart from the train since we are rather close to our school, yes?” He looked at the blonde boy. “I am Harrison Potter, Heir to House Potter.” He nodded beside him at Neville. “This is Neville Longbottom, Heir to House Longbottom.” Then he waved at Weasley who looked slightly confused. “That is Ronald Weasley, though I don’t know his standing in his House.”

Blondie seemed astonished, staring wide-eyed at Harry. Then he seemed to remember himself, and tried to pull back his arrogant and haughty expression.

“So, you are Harry Potter," he remarked, eyeing Harry’s form. Harry kept his blank mask on. “I am Draco Malfoy," he said haughtily. “Heir to the Most Ancient and Noble House of Malfoy.”

Harry’s lips twitched. Finally, he was meeting a proud and arrogant pureblood.

“My father is an extremely powerful Wizengamot member and a close advisor of the Minister himself," he continued. He glanced at Weasley. “You will find, Potter, that some wizarding families are better than others.”

“Oh?”, Harry said, tilting his head curiously at the boy. He had heard about the Malfoys as well from Morte. Lucius Malfoy was a Death Eater, following after his father Abraxas Malfoy, who was a right-hand man of Voldemort and a trusted friend. At least before the man had turned insane.

“Yes, Potter." Malfoy nodded. “A Malfoy’s acquaintance will benefit you more than any Longbottom’s or, Merlin forbid, any Weasley’s." He sneered at Weasley who glared back at him.

“Watch what you are speaking, Malfoy!”, Weasley warned.

“I am watching, Weasley.”

“Interesting," Harry spoke up before the two could again launch into their childish banter. “Do you think Lord Malfoy will approve his Heir befriending the Boy-Who-Lived, when he’s been,” Harry hummed, “more inclined towards the ideals of the Dark?”

Malfoy paled slightly. “My father was not a Death Eater!”, he said indignantly.

“But I did not say that, Heir Malfoy," Harry replied.

“You implied it, Potter!”, Malfoy snapped.

“No, I did not," Harry replied. “I was merely stating the fact, Malfoy. As for being acquaintances, I will be delighted to have yours if you are willing to.”

Malfoy stared at Harry with anger, confusion and shock. Then he gave a narrowed eyed glare to Harry, sneered at Weasley, ignored Neville and stormed out, his two bodyguards following after him.

Harry chuckled. “He didn’t introduce his bodyguards," he remarked while picking up his book and putting it inside his bag. He then glanced at Weasley who was glancing from the closed compartment door to Harry with confusion. “You should get ready, Weasley. We are almost reaching Hogwarts.”

Weasley stared at Harry with more confusion. “I’ll talk to you when we’ll be in our dorms, Harry," he said, then got up and ran away from his compartment.

“Dumb," Harry remarked as the compartment door closed behind Weasley.

“I think I understand what you were saying about your title being irritating," Neville muttered as he too stared at the closed compartment door. He turned to look at Harry. “Lord Malfoy was accused of being a Death Eater, Harry," he said solemnly. “He got out of the accusation by proclaiming himself to be under the Imperius Curse. But nobody knows whether he was telling the truth or not. Please, be careful.”

Harry nodded. “Of course. I will be," he replied.

Neville pursued his lips. “Those two were Goyle and Crabbe, Heirs to their respective Houses. Their families are the vassals of the Malfoys though.”

“Ah," Harry said. “That explains their bodyguard status.”

Neville chuckled. “It does," he said.

Just a few moments after that, the train started slowing down and a voice echoed through the train, “We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes’ time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately.”

Harry frowned at the voice, and sighing, took out his shrunk trunk from his jeans pocket. “So much for shrinking it down," he grumbled, tapping it once with his wand. He opened it and put his bag inside, deciding to let the elves deal with it.

As the train slowed down and came to a stop, Harry heard students thronging outside, creating a racket. He peered at the platform, watching as the students roamed around, most of them making their way towards carriages that stood at a side, being drawn by thestrals.

Harry was very much interested in meeting those fascinating creatures, but he had learned that first years had to ride boats to get to the castle, so he will have to sneak out of the castle to meet them once he was settled.

With that thought, he beckoned Neville and moved to join the throng of students outside at the tiny and dark platform. The night was cold, and Harry could feel the ancient magic of the castle thrumming around in the air. He will need to quickly get accustomed to the wards of the castle, otherwise he might get overwhelmed or something. Morte will tease him forever for dying from overload of magic, of all things.

Harry looked as a lamp came bobbing over the head of the remaining students, accompanied by a gruff voice. Harry eyed the half-giant, easily standing at least eight feet tall, and realized this to be Rubeus Hagrid. The man had beetle-like eyes, glinting from a face hidden by a long, shaggy mane of hair and a wild, tangled beard. He was calling out for the first years.

“Firs’-years! Firs’-years over here!”

The tiny first years all gathered around the half-giant and he nodded at them all.

“C’mon, follow me – any more firs’-years? Mind yer step, now! Firs’-years follow me.”

Harry followed after the half-giant, keeping himself at the last of the group of the first years stumbling through a steep, narrow path. It was extremely dark on either side of the path and Harry presumed thick trees to be present. He could also feel the tingle of the warmth and welcoming magic surrounding the Hogwarts Castle, creating the ancient wards of the old castle.

“Yeh’ll get yer firs’ sight o’ Hogwarts in a sec,” Hagrid called over his shoulder, “jus’ round this bend here.”

Harry felt his breath hitch as he felt the Hogwarts’ wards, its welcoming magic and its sight greet him at once. The other students ‘ooh’d and ‘ahh’d at the sight, the huge castle perched atop a high mountain, its windows sparkling in the starry sky, with so many tower and turrets making such a wonderful sight.

Harry had stopped, staring at the castle and feeling the magic welcoming him. He closed his eyes and let the magic wash over him feeling, if not the Peverell Castle, this place, this castle would have been his first home. He could totally relate to how Tom Riddle must have felt, watching this castle for the first time, spending most of his year inside it searching through the many hidden passages and rooms that the castle must surely have.

It was indeed a place of magic.

Chapter Text

Harry came out of his astonishment when he heard someone calling out his name.

“-rry? Harry? Can you hear me?”

Harry blinked as he found himself face-to-face with Neville. “Neville?”, he muttered.

“Everyone’s already gotten into their boats," Neville told him, motioning his hands towards the shore of the giant Black Lake, where most of the first years were scrambling to sit down into tiny boats. “We need to hurry up. Are you alright?”

“Yeah." Harry nodded, moving forward. “Sorry. I got lost while gazing at the castle. It's beautiful!”

Neville smiled. “Yeah. I can understand the feeling. The castle’s amazing!”

Harry agreed with a nod and they made their way into a boat which already had two girls sitting with each other, staring wide-eyed at the castle.

“Hello," Harry greeted softly while sitting down beside Neville. The girls turned to look at the both of them. One had blonde hair tied in pigtails while the other’s hair was brown and tied in a braid. “I am Harrison Potter, Heir to House Potter.” Harry could feel the girl’s eyes widening and he had to refrain himself from rolling his eyes. “This is Neville Longbottom, Heir to House Longbottom.”

Neville waved at the girls nervously. The girls exchanged a look, then waved back. Before they could say anything however, Hagrid, who was now sitting alone in a boat, yelled out, “Everyone in? Right then – FORWARD!”

The fleet of tiny boats all moved together in sync, gliding over the smooth surface of the lake. Almost everyone was silent, watching the castle overhead as they neared the cliff.

“I am Susan Bones, goddaughter of Madam Bones," the girl with brown hair replied. She inclined her head towards her fellow boatmate. “This is Hannah Abbott, Heiress to House Abbott.”

Harry smiled at both the girls. “Nice to meet you both," he said.

“Nice to meet you two too," Bones said back.

“Heads down!”, Hagrid yelled as the first boats neared the cliff. They all ducked down as the little boats carried them through a curtain of ivy and through a dark tunnel below the castle itself.

Finally, they stepped down the boats in an underground harbour made of rocks and pebbles and then made their way through a passageway that opened out into the damp, smooth grass right at the shadow of the castle.

They climbed a flight of stairs, Neville’s toad giving out a croak the only sound apart from the noise coming from their shoes tip-tapping against the stone stairs. They clambered to a stop in front of a huge, oak front door. Hagrid glanced at all of them over his shoulder. “Everyone here?”, he asked, and without waiting for a response, turned back and knocked three times on the castle door.

The doors swung open at once and a tall, black-haired witch with a stern expression peered out at them.

“The firs’-years, Professor McGonagall," Hagrid said.

“Thank you, Hagrid," the woman spoke briskly, Scottish accent clear in her voice. “I will take them from here.”

Hagrid nodded and walked into the castle.

McGonagall looked at all the first years assembled and nodded. She turned and walked through the entrance hall, the first years following after her. The hall was huge, with flagged stones and stone walls lit with flaming torches. The ceiling was extremely high and there was a grand marble staircase facing them which led to the upper floors.

As they walked across the stone floor, Harry could hear the drone of hundreds of voices from a doorway to the right – from what must be the Great Hall of Hogwarts.

McGonagall, though, led them to a small chamber off the hall. The students crowded together, looking around nervously. Harry resolutely stayed at the back, Neville beside him. He could see a red-head looking around, trying to find him. He ignored it.

“Welcome to Hogwarts," she began, looking at them seriously. Her speech introduced them to the House names, the Sorting Ceremony and the rules to follow, how they would be spending their time at Hogwarts, points earned and the House Cup. Finally, telling them to smarten themselves up, she left the chamber.

Harry put his arms behind his back, and observed the rest of the students – some fidgeting, while others chatting among themselves while some others looking around nervously.

“Do you know how the sorting happens?”, Neville nervously asked from beside him, after hearing Weasley muttering something about fighting trolls.

Harry smiled slightly. “I have an idea and it definitely does not involve trolls," he murmured back, rolling his eyes as he heard the same bushy-haired girl he’d seen at Flourish and Blotts, whispering the list of spells she had studied through extremely fast under her breath. “But I won’t be ruining the surprise for you.”

“Oh." Neville sighed. “I’m so nervous!”, he muttered, looking quite nervous.

“Don’t be," Harry reassured the boy, patting his forearm comfortingly. “You’ll be fine.”

Neville shuffled nervously and Harry shook his head at the nervous boy. Before he could start giving the boy a pep-talk, several of the students screamed, looking at twenty or so ghosts, pearly white and translucent, who had come gliding into the chamber, talking with each other, seemingly ignoring the first years.

“Forgive and forget, I say,” a fat little ghost was saying, “we ought to give him a second chance-”

“My dear Friar,” interrupted a ghost wearing a ruff and tights, “haven’t we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he’s not even a ghost really-”, the ghost paused mid-sentence, along with all the ghosts as they looked together, straight at Harry who was watching them amusedly.

The ghosts’ pearly white sheens became paler.

“Oh, my!”, the fat one muttered, peering at Harry, who merely raised a single eyebrow at him and bowed. “How-?”

“Step aside, Friar," a serious voice said, and a ghost with blank staring eyes and a gaunt face floated near to Harry. His robes seemed to be stained with silver blood. All the students had frozen, wide-eyed and were now looking from Harry to the ghosts. “Who would you be, child?”, he whispered, his eyes boring into Harry’s. “You have touched upon…? At such a young age at that. What does He want with you?”

Harry looked at the ghost in front of him with intrigue. They could feel his correspondence with Death when they themselves have decided to not reach the afterlife? Interesting.

“Move along now," a voice said before Harry could say anything. All the ghosts stayed put, still staring intently at Harry.

Harry could see Professor McGonagall shooting the ghosts a glare. “The Sorting’s about to begin. Baron, please take them into the Great Hall.”

The serious ghost who was the closest to him gave Harry a nod, then beckoned his fellow ghosts out of the chamber.

Professor McGonagall turned to stare at Harry, her face slightly unnerved. “Now, form a line," McGonagall ordered. “Follow me.”

The first years exchanged glances, some giving Harry curious stares - which Harry obviously ignored - and started forming a line to follow after the professor.

Staying at the back, with Neville in front of him, Harry followed after the students. They entered through the double doors, which opened into the Great Hall with four long table for the individual Houses and one long one at the front on a dais for the staff. The Hall had thousands of candles floating in mid-air with the ceiling enchanted to show the starry sky.

They walked in line and stood, their back facing the Hogwarts’ staff. The eyes of hundreds of students stared at them all and Harry watched the upper year students curiously. So many young faces, he thought as he heard the same bushy-haired girl muttering about enchanted ceiling and 'Hogwarts: A History'.

Harry watched from his position at the Gryffindor side of the Hall as McGonagall placed a four-legged stool in front of them with a pointed Hat on its top.

Harry looked on, fascinated, as the Hat twitched and a rip near its brim opened wide like a mouth and the Hat began to sing.

A rather clever and rhythmic song later, Harry amused, stared at the Hat as the Hall burst into applause. The Founders were very brilliant to have put their ideas of sorting into an inanimate object and bewitched it to speak and look through someone’s mind. He wondered whether the Hat could look though a strongly Occluded mind as well, his eyes landing on the Potions Master who was keenly looking through the first years.

Harry’s eyes fell on a professor sitting beside Snape and he felt his eyes widen slightly.

The man had on a purple turban, his face pale and left eye twitching as he positively glared at Harry.

Harry broke eye contact, slightly shaken. Something was up, he could feel his scar twitching, the soul piece that was Voldemort’s trying to tug towards this man. Who was he? How was he here? Was this man Voldemort? But how could Dumbledore allow him to teach here and everyone not panicking at the Dark Lord sitting here? Could he have the Dark Lord’s soul?

Harry shook his head in frustration, ignoring the names McGonagall was calling out from a parchment in her hands. Voldemort’s soul pieces were only in inanimate objects, not any human, since Morte had told him Harry was the only human Horcrux. Then, how was the soul shard inside Harry feeling a tug towards this young man?

Voldemort was in that forest, wasn’t he?

Harry felt his eyes widen again. He hadn’t dreamt about that now-familiar forest for more than five months now! How could he have missed it?! Voldemort’s remaining soul could be anywhere, including residing in some professor, possessing him.

Harry stomped on his urge to groan as he heard ‘Longbottom, Neville’ being called out. He gave the boy beside him a reassuring nod, who gave him a nervous, albeit a determined smile.

Neville walked towards the stool and sat down, taking a breath as McGonagall put the hat on his head. It took more than a minute, but the hat finally shouted ‘GRYFFINDOR’ and Neville removed it with a smile, looking at Harry. Harry returned the smile and nodded towards the Gryffindor table whose students were shouting and clapping for the boy.

Done with Neville’s sorting, Harry went back to stomping down on his urge to scream. He was so not ready to deal with Voldemort on top of Dumbledore. What in Merlin’s name was the man – soul – doing here?! Couldn’t he enjoy a bit of more vacation at that damned forest?! Though Harry had to admit that vacation wasn’t that fun, what with pain and confusion and rage and what-not.

He came out of his thoughts when McGonagall shouted ‘Potter, Harry-son’ and the whole Hall quietened down immediately. And then the whispering began.

“Potter, did she say?”

“The Harry Potter?”

Ignoring the students, Harry marched towards the stool and sat down after giving the professor a nod who was staring at him, bewildered.

As the Hat was dropped over his head, Harry saw the students straining their necks to get a clear look at him. He couldn’t stop himself from rolling his eyes this time.

‘It gets annoying and boring, isn’t it? The gawking?’, a small voice whispered inside his head. ‘What do we have here?’, the Hat mused. ‘Oh, my! Oh, Merlin! What is this, child?’

‘My brain?’, Harry answered with an amused grin.

‘Such cheekiness,' the Hat whispered. ‘But that’s to be expected, isn’t it? A child who can talk like that with Lord Death himself! The Boy-Who-Lived and on probation Master of Death! Such ambition!’

‘I try to impress,' Harry replied.

‘Indeed, child,' the Hat chuckled. ‘Curious, too, aren’t you?’

‘Uh-huh,' Harry agreed. ‘How do you work? Can you see through the strongest Occlumency shields?’

‘I haven’t tried. Children usually don’t have that strong shields, though I am indeed impressed with your progress so far,' the Hat answered. Harry opened his mouth. ‘No, child. I value myself too much to get myself burnt to a crisp by an irate Potions Master. You can charm another object like me and experiment with it. I would rather not participate where Severus Snape is involved.’

‘You are no fun,' Harry sighed.

‘Having fun does not suit a Lord, does it now, Lord Peverell?’

‘I am still an eleven-year-old,' Harry huffed.

‘Physically, yes. But not much mentally. Let’s see which House will suit you the most, Lord Peverell.’

‘You can call me Harrison,' Harry muttered. ‘And how exactly do you sort?’

‘Curiosity, isn’t it, Lord Peverell?’, the Hat mused. ‘You are a curious young wizard. Yet you have got bravery inside you, waiting just to be pulled out in the right situation. Yet you like meticulously planning your actions before you dive into anything. You are loyal, but only to those who have earned it from you. You are hard-working too, nobel to everyone and believe in their equality.

‘Yet,’ the Hat continued, ‘you’ve got a cunning and manipulative mind, interested to play and achieve power. You’ve got ambition to change this world, to stop some of the greatest wizards and witches of all time from doing wrong to those who do not deserve it. You value knowledge, have an open-minded view of the world, yet know its evil side too.’

Harry blinked. That was a rather long summary about his character.

The Hat chuckled. ‘That, in fact, is my job, Lord Peverell,' it told him. ‘Now, which House should I put you in?’, it mused. ‘The Gryffindors might help you bring out your bravery, but they might also annoy you and force you to Hex them to hell. The Hufflepuffs will teach you loyalty, but you are not willing to give that to everyone, are you? Either you or they won’t be able to survive. You could be too chaotic for them.’ Harry took offence to that. ‘You might fit in with the ravens, but you already know your true House, don’t you, Heir Slytherin?’

Harry huffed. ‘You love listening to yourself talk, isn’t it?’

The Hat actually laughed out loud at that. ‘Of course I do, Lord Peverell,' it replied. ‘And I think you going into Slytherin will be a lot more entertaining for me. Those snakes haven’t had a challenge for over half a century, it will indeed get interesting, don’t you think, Heir Slytherin?’

Harry hummed. ‘I just think you are trying to use me here as your bait for entertainment,' he concluded.

‘Don’t you want an old Hat not to die from boredom, Heir Slytherin?’

‘You can’t really die,' Harry pointed out dryly. ‘But if you really want I can ask Morte on what he thinks, ask him whether you can die or not?’

‘I’ll rather have you not, Heir Slytherin,' the Hat hummed. ‘Just cause chaos for me, alright?’

Harry smiled. ‘As you command, My Lord!”, he said mockingly.

The Hat laughed out loud again. “Excellent. SLYTHERIN!”

Harry huffed, removing the Hat from his head and putting it down. He ignored the absolute silence now permeating the Hall (and smiled at Neville who looked nervous, yet was giving him a slight smile) and made his way towards the Slytherin table, the majority of whose students were now staring at him, some giving him a hateful glare while some others, who were more mature and sharp, gave him accessing looks.

Harry sat down beside a shy-looking boy, who was giving him a curious look and who was smart enough to sit slightly away from Malfoy and his bodyguards - which alone got this boy in Harry’s good books.

As a student named ‘Smith, Sally’ joined the Slytherin first year girls, Harry gave the boy beside him a nod. “Harrison Potter, Heir to House Potter," he introduced himself, sitting straight on the bench.

The boy observed him for a moment, then gave a nod back. “Theodore Nott,” he introduced, “Heir to House Nott.”

Harry smiled slightly and watched with curiosity as a deeply tanned boy with black hair got sorted into Slytherin and sat in front of Nott.

“Blaise Zabini," the boy introduced himself, looking first at Nott, then at Harry. “Heir to House Zabini.”

Harry looked at the boy curiously while Nott introduced himself, then nodded and gave his introduction too.

Further conversation was halted as Dumbledore - whom Harry had completely ignored during the whole Sorting Ceremony as the old man twinkled his eyes while sitting at the centre of the table on a large gold chair trying to catch Harry’s eyes - got to his feet and beamed at the students, his arms wide open. Harry could see a slight tension in his eyes.

“Welcome!”, he said. “Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!” And he sat back down.

Most of the Hall clapped and cheered, but the Slytherins only clapped politely, most of their faces blank. Harry could see Snape trying to keep his expression blank as well, his left eye twitching, while the maybe-Voldemort-professor was glaring at the Headmaster.

Harry turned with a frown and looked at the two boys sitting with him. “What did those words mean?”, he asked.

“No idea. The Headmaster is quite old," Zabini grinned at Harry. “I always wanted to meet you, Heir Potter," he added with a smirk. “But I’ve always assumed that you would end up with the lions,” he tilted his head slightly with curiosity, “being all brave and noble and reckless and Light. Never pegged you to be a snake.”

Harry smiled at the boy, picking out some roast chicken, sausages and roasted potatoes from the vast amount of options of food that had filled the before-empty tables and reminded himself to take as much vegetables as he could. He did not wish to anger Floppy by not taking a balanced meal – the elf might somehow find out (that ‘somehow’ would definitely be Morte) and then he would have to deal with an angry and lecturing elf in the middle of the Great Hall.

“You really can’t say that, Heir Zabini," Harry replied. “You’ve never met me before.”

Zabini blinked once, then nodded. “Of course, Heir Potter," he said. “I have never met you, but our esteemed Headmaster and the Daily Prophet regularly had some very interesting facts about you to tell to the public.”

“Did they now?”, Harry asked, calmly chewing through his food. He could see the first years sitting close-by trying to listen to their conversation over Malfoy boasting about his father’s position in the Ministry. “Interesting," he muttered. “I wonder where they got their facts from when I have never met any one of them before.”

“Is it true then?”, a girl, who was sitting closest to Zabini, asked. She had brown eyes with chocolate brown hair tied in some complicated braid and was talking to a blonde-haired girl with icy blue eyes before her attention had landed on Harry.

“What is true then?”, Harry asked politely.

“That you were raised by…..muggles," the girl couldn’t hide her disgust while talking about ‘muggles’.

Harry hummed. “Yes," he nodded, observing how all the purebloods or half-bloods in the hearing range stiffened. “Though it would be rather misleading to say that they raised me," Harry continued. “I was the one who raised myself. My relatives…….detest magic and by extension, me. The feeling’s mutual between us.”

This really got most of the first years’ attentions except Crabbe and Goyle who were busy stuffing their faces with food.

“That means you didn’t grow up with the traditions and customs of a proper wizard, did you?”, Malfoy sneered at him.

“Who said I don’t know our traditions and customs, Heir Malfoy?”, Harry asked blankly.

“Don’t lie, Potter!", Malfoy said arrogantly. “You grew up with muggles who detest magic as you yourself mentioned. And you are the Light’s Golden Boy, Dumbledore’s boy, the saviour of the entire wizarding world," he said mockingly.

Harry narrowed his eyes at Malfoy. “Don’t say things you would later regret, Malfoy," Harry hissed. “You don’t know anything about me.”

Malfoy gave him a sneer, then turned back to his dinner with a sniff.

Harry glared at the blonde’s back, wondering when this boy would finally make him snap. Malfoy was the magical version of Dudley, just richer and more pompous and arrogant.

“I am Tracey Davis," the brown-haired girl introduced herself, looking at Harry curiously, then nodded at the blonde girl beside her. “This is Daphne Greengrass, Heiress to House Greengrass.”

Harry, Zabini and Nott nodded at the girls, introducing themselves as well.

“So, Heir Potter." Zabini looked at Harry again, as they moved to take their desserts from the various assortments available. “How come you know our traditions if you grew up with magic-detesting muggles?”

“Curious, aren’t you?”, Harry smirked at Zabini who grinned. “Let’s say I had a benefactor who taught me things necessary for me to know about the magical world, especially since I had some………Heirships to take care of.”

“Heirships?”, Nott whispered from beside him while the other three first years’ eyes widened.

Harry hummed, trying not to stuff his face with the wonderful treacle tart he had on his plate.

“Care to elaborate, Heir Potter?”, Zabini asked. Harry smirked, filling his mouth with his tart. “Turning out to be quite interesting, aren’t you?”, Zabini muttered.

“I try," Harry smiled smugly.

The dinner finished with small talk, Harry and the others asking each other what subjects they enjoyed or which professor they knew. Harry ignored the stares and whispers the whole of the Hogwarts student body was giving him, or the worried looks some of the professors had while occasionally glancing at Harry. Only Professor Snape seemed to be smug about the sorting, while the maybe-Voldemort-professor seemed parts confused, parts intrigued and parts angry.

Definitely something was up.

“Do you know who that professor beside Professor Snape is?”, Harry asked tilting his head towards said professor.

“No," Nott shook his head. “He’s new. Never heard of him before.”

“Must be for the Defence Against the Dark Arts," Greengrass hummed, glancing at the professor. “That position is rumoured to be cursed. No professor stays for more than a year to teach that subject.”

“Defence, huh?”, Harry muttered, frowning slightly as he kept his fork down, done with his dinner. Most of the students seemed to be done too, whispering to each other while still staring at Harry when they thought he wasn’t looking.

At last, when the desserts disappeared, Dumbledore stood up and the Hall quietened.

“Ahem – just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you," Dumbledore spoke up. “First years should note that the forest in the grounds is forbidden to all pupils.”

That wasn’t going to stop Harry from meeting the thestrals he’d seen before, Slytherin self-preservation be damned.

“And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well.” Here, Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled and flashed to two pair of red-heads sitting at the Gryffindor table. “I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.”

Harry was sure that that wouldn’t stop anyone from hexing someone in the corridor if they were determined enough.

“Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch.”

Harry was planning on going to trial in his second-year. He had found out while doing laps outside the Peverell Castle that he was quite good on a broom.

“And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a painful death.” Here, the Headmaster’s eyes glanced momentarily at Harry as if looking for his reaction.

Harry kept his face blank while a million thoughts raced through his mind. What was the old man planning now? What had he kept in the third-floor corridor that he wanted Harry so badly to check out?

Harry could feel that this plan of Dumbledore’s might have worked if Harry had been a Gryffindor with abusive relatives, with a thirst for someone to approve of him and the thought that his father would have definitely gone there to get into an adventure and solve a mystery. But he was now a Slytherin so Dumbledore might have to come up with something else.

But what was the old man doing, warning Gryffindors away like that? Did he really want students to put their life on the line just because their Headmaster was plotting something for his stupid game? Though this would explain the presence of maybe-Voldemort-professor. It could mean the Headmaster was hiding something that Voldemort needed.

What did Voldemort need the most currently? Mind? His sanity? Nah, Harry shook his. A sane man would think of needing a mind if he was insane, not this man, Harry thought, then frowned at his own thoughts.

Voldemort wanted immortality, that’s what Morte had told him. But the man had already made his Horcruxes (Harry simultaneously sighed and rolled his eyes), so that would mean-

Harry groaned when Dumbledore asked them to sing a song, flicking his wand to let a golden ribbon fly out of his wand, which rose high above the table and twisted itself snake-like to form words.

Nott gave Harry a sympathetic look while Zabini grinned.

After suffering through a really ridiculous song (seriously, who had written these lyrics, Harry needed to pay them a personal visit), they had to wait for those same red-headed twins Dumbledore had twinkled his eyes at, to finish their slow funeral march.

Finally, the song finished and Dumbledore, wiping his eyes (Harry was starting to wonder at the man’s peculiar, weird, I-am-wise-and-could-never-harm-you behaviour), shooed them off to bed.

Harry stood up along with his fellow mates, and his eyes fell on the purple turban, the professor talking with Snape. His scar flared with a sharp tug, the soul shard again trying to reach out to its part but unable to leave Harry’s soul.

Harry pursued his lips, staring at the turban, unsure how he will proceed now that another unexpected player had put his presence inside the castle and was planning to get whatever Dumbledore had that could return the Dark Lord’s physical body back.

Chapter Text

An older girl with a gleaming Prefect's batch on her black robes, directed the first years, ordering them to follow her. She led them out of the Great Hall and away from the grand staircase which the rest of the student body was climbing up on, and made her way under and into the darkness of the dungeons.

After rather a lot of twists and turns, they stopped in front of a bare, damp stretch of stone wall. Harry observed the wall closely and found two small stone snakes carved about a meter apart at the foot of the wall and felt a wave of distinct magic surrounding it.

The girl turned and gave them all a narrowed stare, her eyes lingering longer on Harry. “This is the entrance to the Slytherin common room and opens only when you give the correct password, which changes every week. The Prefects will only lead you around this castle for a week, after that you’ll need to rely on yourselves. It is imprudent for you all if you do not learn to navigate your way around Hogwarts as quickly as you could.”

She then turned and said, “Asphodel.”

The stone door concealed in the stone wall slid open and the girl marched through it, the first-year students quickly following after her. She stopped and turned in the middle of the common room, giving them a moment to take in the huge, underground room.

It had a low ceiling with rough stone walls and green lamps hanging down from the ceiling suspended through metal chains. There were several dark green rugs spread across the whole room, with tables and comfortable looking chairs. There was an elaborately carved mantelpiece at one side with several armchairs which had upper year Slytherins longing on them. There was a wide and long see-through window pane on the wall across from the fireplace, through which Harry could see the black, murky water of the Great Lake. At one corner of the room were some bookshelves housing several old, thick textbooks.

“Welcome to the Slytherin House," the girl said, snapping the attention of the first years to her. “My name is Gemma Farley and I am the fifth-year, female Slytherin Prefect. That-”, she pointed towards a table where a lithe teenage boy was sitting, furiously writing something on a long piece of parchment, “-is Samuel Rowle, the male fifth-year Prefect. There are four more Prefects, two each from sixth and seventh-years. We will be here to provide you any help you need, though it will be very much appreciated if you all wouldn’t come to us for every minor inconvenience since we have our O.W.Ls and N.E.W.Ts this year to focus on.”

She paused. “This House will be like a family to you all. It was founded by the great Founder, Salazar Slytherin. The rest of the magical world assumes and calls this House to be evil, just because it was the House from which the Dark Lord hailed. They will scorn you and treat you like someone evil and thus, you all need to be united and act if you find your own housemate being tormented or abused by the outsiders. Try to find any Prefects to help you, or Professor Severus Snape, who is the Head of House Slytherin and the Potions Master of Hogwarts.” She looked behind them and nodded. “Professor.”

Harry turned with the rest of the first years to find Professor Snape standing behind them with the serious-looking ghost who was staring at Harry with intrigue. Professor Snape gave them all a sharp look, his eyes landing on Harry with an unreadable expression before he gave an almost imperceptible nod. Harry nodded back.

“Welcome to the Slytherin House," Professor Snape whispered, his baritone echoing through the whole room as he marched around them and came to a stop at the place Farley had been occupying, the ghost gliding beside him. “My name is Professor Severus Snape and I will be your Potions professor for the rest of your seven years at this school.” He nodded at the ghost who was still staring at Harry. “This is the Bloody Baron, the patron ghost of Slytherin. He will help you if necessary, however, it will be wise not to anger him with any nonsensical questioning.

“As Miss Farley said, you all are to stay together. Any disparities you have with each other must stay within the Slytherin common room. You all are to present a united front in front of the rest of the students since Slytherins are the most discriminated against.”

Professor Snape locked eyes with every first year one-by-one. “Slytherin House values ambition, cleverness, resourcefulness and determination. Slytherins tend to take charge, showing the qualities of a strong leader. You must exercise caution, keep your self-preservation and follow the rules. Do not get caught, plan before taking any action and never be over-confident to do something detrimental to yourself, because if I find any of you breaking the rules and being found out by some other professor, the consequences will be most severe.”

Most of the first years gulped.

“Take caution in the snake pit – you could gain a true friend here or find your worst enemy.”

He turned to Farley. “Explain to them the curfew, Miss Farley," he told her. “I do not want to deal with first year dunderheads roaming around the castle at inappropriate times of the night.”

“Of course, sir.”

With that, the Potions Master stalked out of the common room with a flair of his robes. Harry’s lips twitched. Dramatic, he thought as Farley explained the curfew rules and then called Rowle, who grumbled slightly, and led them to the boys’ dorms.

The Bloody Baron stared at Harry until he was out of sight.

Not creepy at all, Harry thought sarcastically as he followed after the Prefect with his year mates.

The Slytherins, seeing that they were in the dungeons, had a single room for two occupants, and if you were lucky enough to have odd number of year mates, you could also get a whole room to yourself. But sadly, Harry’s year mates were even.

Zabini and Nott, who were walking in front of Harry, glanced at him.

“What do you say, Theodore?”, Zabini asked as Rowle showed them their dorm rooms. “Do you think we should share a room and let Potter share his with Malfoy?”

Nott smiled slightly.

“I don’t think it will be a very good idea, Zabini," Harry drawled with a roll of his eyes. “Not if you don’t want a dead body to turn up for meal tomorrow morning. And let me give a hint, it won’t be mine.”

Zabini laughed while Nott pursued his lips to stop his from escaping.

“Oh, I like you, Potter," Zabini grinned at him.

“Can’t say the same, Zabini," Harry replied. “Nott, do you want to share the room with me?”

“I am hurt!”, Zabini said dramatically, putting his hand on his chest.

Nott peered at the silver plaque on the door closest to them and shrugged. “Looks like I will be sharing the dorm with you, Harrison.”

Harry grinned at the use of his full name, then looked himself at the plaque. Sure enough, his name was written along with Nott’s on it.

Zabini groaned from where he was standing behind them. “I will be the one sharing the room with Malfoy?!”, he wailed, drawing the attention of the blonde boy who glared at him.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Zabini!”, he boy snapped. “You are lucky to have the privilege of sharing a room with a Malfoy!”

“That is the problem!”, Zabini replied back. “I’ve heard Malfoys take too much time in the bathroom to fix up their hairs!”

“We do not do such a thing!”, Malfoy sniffed, opening the door to his and Zabini’s room just beside Harry's and Theo's with a slam and marched in.

Harry and Nott gave Zabini a pitying look. “You have our support, Zabini," Harry muttered, patting the boy's shoulder once before turning and opening his and Nott’s door with a dramatic flair lesser than that of Malfoy.

“And our sympathies," Nott piped in, smirking and following after Harry.

“We hope you survive the next seven years," Harry said solemnly, trying and failing to contain the amusement from bleeding into his voice at the boy's predicament and thanking Lady Magic for his luck that he wasn't thrown in a room with Malfoy. He really would have murdered the blonde.

Zabini groaned, glaring at both Nott and Harry, then moved towards his room, grumbling about traitorous year mates and pompous pricks.

Harry chuckled and closed the door.

They quietly made their way to their sides of the room. It was average-sized, with two four-poster beds with green covers and hangings, each on one corner across from the entrance door. There were two desks and chairs beside the beds along with decent-sized wardrobes. There was another door which Harry presumed led to a bathroom.

Harry’s trunk was resting on the foot of the bed beside the wall which had a view of the Great Lake with green and silver curtains. Harry opened his trunk, pulling out his school clothes and textbooks to keep them inside the wardrobe and his desk respectively, Nott doing the same at his side.

“Tomorrow will be free, right?”, Harry asked as he pulled out his toiletries and a towel. It was Saturday, so tomorrow was a Sunday.

“Yes," Nott nodded, busy with sorting his robes in the wardrobe.

“Wonderful!", Harry grinned. “Do you want to explore the castle with me?”

Nott looked at Harry for a few seconds, then nodded. “Alright.”

“Great! We need to find the library as fast as possible," he said, then made his way into the bathroom.

After taking a relaxing bath, Harry came out of the bathroom to find Nott and Hedwig having a stare-off. “Hey, Hedwig!”, he grinned, only to find himself the recipient of two glares.

“Why is this owl here?”, Nott asked with a glare.

Hedwig hooted.

Harry blinked once at the boy's question before translating for his Hedwig, “She says ‘why are you here’."

Nott turned back his glare on to Hedwig. “You have your own owlery, you owl!”, he said. “Go and rest there!”

Hedwig gave a series of hoots, her feathers fluffed up in indignation.

“She says ‘Don’t you dare call me an owl! My human has named me Hedwig. And I will rest wherever I want to!’”

“But owlery is for you!”, Nott said. “You will dirty our dorms!”

Hedwig hooted, flying from Harry’s desk to sit on Harry’s head. “She says ‘She loves me!’ Aww, Hedwig! I love you too. And ‘don’t you know magic?’”

Nott looked indignant before he glanced from Hedwig to Harry, then tilted his head. “How strong is your familiar bond, Harrison?”, he asked instead.

Harry grinned. “Quite," he replied, sitting down on his bed, Hedwig still on his head. “And you can call me Harry.”

Nott nodded. “You may call me Theo," he said. “I haven’t seen a familiar bond this strong in an eleven-year-old before. You can really understand what she wants to say?”

Harry nodded, running his hand across Hedwig’s soft feathers. It wasn't complete talking, Harry did not speak owl, but the bond he had with Hedwig allowed him to understand whatever Hedwig was feeling and what she wanted to say.

“Amazing!", Nott-Theo whispered. “You are an interesting person, Potter," he remarked.

“As I said, I try," Harry grinned.

Nott - Theo smiled slightly, then made his way into the bathroom.

Harry, making sure Nott-Theo wasn’t coming out soon, let a small amount of his magic come out and Transfigured a perch on his headboard for Hedwig. “There, Hedwig.”

Hedwig nibbled his ears affectionately, then perched herself on the transfigured perch.

“Are you hungry?”, Harry asked her.

She gave a small hoot.

“Didn’t find any preys today, did you?”

She hooted again.

“Ah. Of course. You were busy travelling to reach me.” Harry thought for a moment, then took a breath. “Alright. Let’s see if this works. Um…..hello? Can any Hogwarts’ house-elf hear me?”

A few moments passed, and then a pop exhoed in the otherwise silent room. Harry grinned as a small elf dressed in a black toga with the Hogwarts crest stitched on it gave him a slight bow.

“What bes Master Potter calling Glus for?”, the elf asked.

“Hello, Glus," Harry smiled. “Nice to meet you. I am Harrison Potter and this is Hedwig, my familiar.” Hedwig gave a hoot. “She’s travelled quite a lot today and is slightly hungry. Can you please arrange something for her to eat on? I’ve got owl treats but she rather prefers bacon.”

“Of course, Master Potter. Glus be arranging bacon for Hedwig. Does Master bes wishing for anything else?”

“Um, no, thank you," Harry replied, then paused. “Wait! Glus? Can you tell me where the Hogwarts’ kitchen is? And is there any room in the castle that most of the students and staff do not know about?”

Glus stared at Harry curiously and nodded. “Yes, Master Potter. The kitchen bes on the floor just below the Great Hall. You bes accessing the kitchen through a painting of a bowl of fruits. Just tickle the pear.

“And there bes a room…..on the seventh floor. In front of the painting of the dancing trolls," Glus paused.

Harry tilted his head. “How do I access it?”

“Walk three times in front of the wall, Master Potter," Glus explained. “You bes needing to think about what type of room you be needing. It will appear.”

“Wow!”, Harry murmured. “Thank you, Glus. I really appreciate your help.”

Glus bowed and popped away. A few moments later, there was a plate full of bacon resting on Harry’s desk. Hedwig gave a happy hoot and flew to his desk to munch on them.

Just then, Theo came out of the bathroom. He raised his brow at the food. “Where did you get that?”, he asked curiously.

“Just asked someone politely.”

Theo raised his brow again, then nodded. “You summoned an elf, didn’t you?”

Harry grinned, pulling out a book from his trunk on Occlumency. He needed to keep himself proficient now that he had to deal with not one, but three wizards Master at the mind arts.

The next day, after getting their time-tables from Professor Snape - who shot all the first years a glare that seemed almost a tradition, seeing as the second and upper years seemed to be waiting in amusement for that - clearly warning them to reach every class on time and to not do anything stupid, Harry, followed by Theo and an excited Zabini-call-me-Blaise-Harry-dear, made his way around the castle to find the library.

They explored the castle as much as they could, before getting lost somewhere or the other. The staircases were tricky as hell and the castle had a weird habit of changing some rooms and doors to confuse everyone.

Harry could feel the ever-changing magic permeating the castle, touching everyone and everything inside it. Harry’s surface magic was quite happy to interact with the castle’s magic, which Harry had to tamper down lest someone else sensitive to magic find out.

He tried to convince Theo and Blaise to go with him into the Forbidden Forest so that he could meet the thestrals, but they vehemently refused.

“We are only first years, Potter," Theo said, storming his way towards the library. “And we are not Gryffindors! If Professor Snape finds us sneaking into the forest, breaking school rules on the very first day, he will remove our hides from our body and use us as his potion ingredients.”

Harry grumbled beside him, Blaise snickering at Harry, but followed after Theo. They found a comfortable, hidden table inside the library and sat down together, Harry browsing through a Runes book he had found in the library while Theo and Blaise pulled out their textbooks.

From the next day, Monday, their classes started. Slytherins had most of their classes with Ravenclaws, some with Hufflepuffs and one – Potions – with Gryffindors.

It was confusing travelling around the huge castle, but as Farley had mentioned, the first years found themselves being led around by one Slytherin Prefect to and from every class. They had to walk fast to keep up with their seniors, but it was worth the effort as the Prefects often told them about tricky staircases, doors or rooms and often pointed out shortcuts.

They had three classes every week on Herbology, which was conducted by a small, smiling Professor Sprout, the Head of Hufflepuff House. They had to deal with magical plants in the greenhouses situated in the Hogwarts grounds, outside the castle. Harry found out Theo was rather interested in deadly and dangerous plants and often found him spouting random facts about them.

Then, there was History of Magic, held two times per week, and taught by an actual ghost. The first reaction that Professor Binns had given on seeing Harry was flee the room, and came back only when Harry sighed and sat down at the very back, Theo and Blaise giving him curious looks. The lessons on History though were extremely boring, and Harry found himself half-asleep only after fifteen minutes after the commencement of the class. He had decided to read history books instead of trying to listen to the droning voice of Binns about goblin wars.

They had to stay up at midnight on every Wednesday for their Astronomy lesson which was conducted on the Astronomy Tower. Harry found it fascinating to look at the stars and galaxies through his telescope, though it was rather irritating to memorize all those names and charts.

Their Charms lesson was conducted by Professor Flitwick, who was a short, little man. When Harry felt the man’s magic, he realized the professor to be actually a half-goblin. The professor had squeaked when he had read Harry’s name from the register and had toppled out of sight from over the stack of books he was standing up on. Currently, the Charms’ lessons were mostly theory, and Harry found himself half-interested and half-bored.

Transfiguration, which was taken by Professor McGonagall, was slightly interesting. She was a strict teacher and gave all of them a talking-to the moment everyone had settled down.

“Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts," she told them all sternly. “Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned.”

She turned her desk into a pig for her demonstration and then started explaining the complex magical theory employed to transfigure objects, and Harry listened with rapt attention as he himself revised what he had learned about the magical theory till now.

After writing notes on the theory, they were each handed over matchsticks and told to change them into needles.

Harry had stared at the matchstick slightly offended, then controlling himself, he had pulled out his wand. This will be his first-time doing magic in a class, that too with his wand. He calmed down his breathing and concentrated on his magic, letting only a small portion out and channel through his wand. He willed his magic to transfigure the wood, and watched in fascination as his magic turned the matchstick into a sharp, shiny needle.

Theo, who was sitting beside him, stared at Harry’s needle with slightly wide eyes, then looked at his shiny and slightly pointed matchstick with annoyance.

“How did you do that so fast?”, he whispered to Harry.

Harry blinked, glancing around to see that no student had yet changed their matchsticks.

Oh, he thought. “Well,” he spoke slowly, “you just need to will your magic to do that.” He tried to explain. Theo frowned. “You can feel your magical core and magic, right?”

“Slightly," Theo replied.

“Then concentrate on your core and let your magic flow out through your wand. Will your magic to change this wood into metal. Your magic will comply," Harry explained.

Theo was frowning now at his matchstick, while Blaise, who was sitting in front of them with Malfoy, had his head slightly tilted, no doubt listening in on to their conversation.

“Ah, Mr. Potter!”, Professor McGonagall said when she saw Harry’s needle. “Very good, you transfigured your matchstick rather quickly. Five points to Slytherin!” She smiled. “Now, try changing it back, and once you do that, try to give more detail to your needle.”

Harry nodded and concentrated back on to his task.

Half-an-hour and another ten points added to Slytherin later, Harry made his way out of the Transfiguration class, a small smile on his face. McGonagall was pleased with his artistic detail, Malfoy was spitting mad glaring at Harry any chance he got, while Blaise, Theo, Davis and Greengrass kept shooting him intrigued looks.

The class that Harry had been equal parts looking forward to and dreading was Defence Against the Dark Arts. He wanted to learn what defensive spells would be taught at Hogwarts, but was reluctant to face a professor who had somehow gotten Voldemort’s soul residing in him. Harry was tempted to let his magic out and feel the man’s magic and soul, the way he had learned in some Soul Magic books, but he wasn’t keen on risking his discovery yet.

Maybe-Voldemort-professor or Professor Quirrell - as Harry had found out the man’s name - might feel Harry looking for his soul and he wasn’t sure he wanted that to happen. Not yet, at least. Should he call Morte and ask him about this?

Turns out, Harry needn’t had worried so much. The class had gone on with a too-much stuttering professor and some half-readable notes since they couldn’t really understand what the professor was trying to speak.

Harry wrinkled his nose at the strong smell of garlic permeating the whole classroom, yet he could feel a small amount of Dark Magic around the room, which he had found as another evidence that Voldemort actually was here as Professor Quirrell’s core was more Neutral than Dark.

The man had told them he had gotten the turban from an African prince as a thank-you gift for getting rid of a troublesome zombie. Most of the students found that hard to believe, considering the stuttering the professor had, along with the disposition that he was even afraid of his own shadow.

But Harry was unsure. For one thing, this professor had the soul of Voldemort, one of the most powerful Dark wizards of all time. Surely, the man knew that? He must be one of the wizard’s followers, for him to willingly(?) take on the soul of Voldemort.

Harry was confused on how he would figure this out, not to mention the game Dumbledore was playing, bounding the third-floor corridor of the castle.

On Friday, the last working day of the week, Harry got a small note from Rubeus Hagrid, sent to him through Hedwig during breakfast.

“When did you make friends with him, Hedwig?”, Harry muttered as he opened the note and read through it, Theo and Blaise looking at him curiously.

Hedwig hooted.

“He just asked you?” Another hoot.

“How did he know you were my familiar?”

Hedwig tilted her head, apparently not able to figure that out. Harry looked back at the messily written note.

Dear Harry,

I am Rubeus Hagrid. I am sure you remember me from your first day here. I wish to meet you, Harry. I knew your parents from back when they were students here, and we were good friends. Do you want to meet me at around three?

I live in the hut close to the Forbidden Forest. Hope you will come over!

Hagrid

Harry tilted his head, considering this. Hagrid was quite an unknown figure to him. Morte had told him about Hagrid slightly, when they had thought Dumbledore would send that man to get Harry from his relatives.

Harry knew Dumbledore had given the man a sanctuary at Hogwarts when the half-giant had been kicked out for keeping a dangerous beast in the castle. So, Hagrid was obviously a fan and a staunch believer of Dumbledore.

Harry was pretty much sure who had put Hagrid to this task.

“What do you guys know about Hagrid?”, Harry asked looking from Theo to Blaise with a questioning gaze.

Theo hummed when Blaise shrugged. “He’s considered mostly useless," Theo said. “Lives all year round in that hut of his. Was expelled from Hogwarts more than five decades ago, I think. He’s been considered odd and has an unhealthy obsession with dangerous creatures.” Theo glanced at Harry from the corner of his eye as Harry buttered his toast. “He’s a pet of Dumbledore.”

“Thought so," Harry muttered as he passed Hedwig some bacon to feed on. “What do you guys say?”, he asked, passing them the note from Hedwig when they gave him confused looks. “Fancy a visit to Mr. Hagrid?”

“Mentioning your…..parents," Blaise muttered. “Seems slightly desperate and….pathetic, doesn’t it?”

“Dumbledore’s way of getting things done, I believe" Harry muttered as he folded the parchment and put it inside his bag. “Do you guys want to come with me?”

Theo shook his head. “I need to finish my homework today," he replied. “And I’d rather not deal with that man. Who knows what kind of beasts he has living with him in that hut of his?”

“Not that large ones, I think," Harry muttered as he tried to remember the size of the hut. “At least, I hope so.”

Blaise grinned. “Let’s go then!”, he said excitedly. “I’m willing to risk my life just for you, Harry dear.”

“I am taking back my offer," Harry drawled. “I’d rather have Neville go with me.”

Harry and Neville hadn’t gotten much chance to interact seeing how they had their classes in separate schedules, but they at least nodded and waved at each other whenever they crossed paths. Harry had noticed Neville to be slightly alienated from the rest of the Gryffindors – Weasley had befriended the two remaining boys, and Brown and the remaining girls except Granger were mostly giggling and whispering together. Neville did interact with Granger sometimes when Harry had seen them in the library together, mostly Granger lecturing the other boy on something or the other.

He had introduced Neville to Theo and Blaise, but they obviously hadn’t formed any sort of camaraderie yet.

“You wound me so much, Potter!”, Blaise sighed dejectedly. “But I suppose I could bear the presence of your lion to brave the adventure of visiting Rubeus Hagrid for you.”

Harry shot the boy a dry look while Theo snorted into his plate. “Taking drama classes much?”, Harry asked with a raised brow. “Let’s see how your dramatics fare in front of one Severus Snape.”

“Oh…”, Blaise trailed off. “Say, have I told you two how much I don’t like potions?”

“Several times," Theo replied, putting his utensils down. “Let’s go. We have double Potions. With Gryffindors.”

“Ooh!”, Blaise muttered, scraping the last bite of his food. “It will be fun to watch Professor Snape verbally rip the Gryffindors apart," he said with glee, quickly getting up.

Theo chuckled while Harry sighed.

“I’ll see you later, Hedwig," he said, giving her feathers a soft nudge before getting up.

The Potions class was held in the dungeons, in a dark and cold room with pickled animals floating in glass jars all around the walls.

Harry along with Theo and Blaise sat down on the second seat, Theo and Blaise together while Harry purposefully kept his partner stool empty.

When the Gryffindors got in, all talking loudly, Harry sought out Neville’s eyes and beckoned him towards his bench.

Neville gave him a relieved smile and sat down beside him.

“Hello, Harry," he greeted while taking out a parchment, quill and his textbook.

“Hey, Neville," Harry greeted back. “How have you been?”

“Alright," Neville shrugged when Harry raised his brows. “Gryffindors are rather loud. It gets irritating sometimes. Not to mention…..”, he hesitated, then sighed, “Ronald’s been ranting and whining about how you’ve turned traitor when you should have been sorted into Gryffindor. You have betrayed your……parents and are turning evil and joining You-Know-Who.”

“Amazing," Harry muttered. Before he could give more sarcastic comments, Weasley marched up to him from where he’d been glaring at Neville and him and gave them a red-faced glare.

“Neville!”, he hissed. “How dare you join the traitor?!”

Neville sighed. “He’s not a traitor, Ron," he said with annoyance.

“Yes, he is!”, Weasley shouted, garnering the attention of most of the Slytherins. Harry could almost see Malfoy laughing gleefully behind his pureblood mask at the drama Weasley was creating, sweeping Harry in it as well.

Weasley turned towards Harry. “How dare you, Potter?!”, he shouted. Harry merely stared at the boy blankly. “How dare you get sorted into Slytherin when your parents were in Gryffindor?! When your parents died for your useless self?! They would have wanted you to be a Gryffindor, like them! How could you do this to them?! To all of us who trusted you?! How could you become a slimy snake when you were supposed to be a Gryffindor and my friend?! How could you join the House of Evils?!”

Harry’s hand twitched, a rage akin to the one he felt when talking about Dumbledore or his relatives engulf him. How dare this idiot talk about his parents like that when he did not even know them?! How dare he insult a whole House like that?! He could feel the other Slytherins, who were previously enjoying the Gryffindor shouting, now glaring at the boy.

“Tell me, Weasley,” Harry gritted out, his hands clenched into a painful fist to stop himself from casting a Torturing Curse at the boy, Unforgivable and Azkaban be damned, “did you personally knew my parents?”

“Of course not!”, Weasley shouted. “But my parents and Professor Dumbledore knew them!”

“Oh?”, Harry tilted his head slightly, letting a bit of his inner core magic touch the boy, his lips twitching when the boy shivered. “So, Professor Dumbledore and your parents sent you here to tell me that my parents would have wanted me in Gryffindor?”

“N-No!”, Weasley stuttered. “They did not! But they are disappointed along with the rest of the Wizarding World when you decided to go into Slytherin!”

“Disappointed, are they?”, Harry asked, letting his Death Magic touch the boy. The whole room was getting colder, everyone shivering while Weasley had turned deathly pale. “But get this, Weasley," he whispered, "I neither know Professor Dumbledore nor I do your parents, so I am terribly sorry for not feeling any guilt. As for my House, Slytherins aren’t evil.” He sneered at the boy. “They are ambitious, determined and clever, smarter than your sorry excuse of a self.”

Harry gave his most deathly glare to the boy. “Now, get lost before I decide to hex you straight to the hospital wing for a week.”

Weasley, stupidly, glared right back at him while Harry tried to take back his inner core magic which was straining to turn this boy into a corpse. Harry wasn’t ready to deal with homicide yet. “You are evil, Potter!”, he shot back. “You are a bloody Slytherin. You should have died instead of your parents.”

Harry stared at the boy, his lips parting slightly in shock. He knew children could be cruel, without even knowing so, but this was beyond anything he could’ve imagined.

Gulping down the hurt and shock and anger and loneliness and so many conflicting emotions that he felt shooting through his mind, Harry calmed himself down, pulling up the strongest Occlumency shields that he could over his emotions. He had died, he wanted to shout. He had gotten free from this stupid world, but Fates wanted something else from him, something that his idiotic soulmate had embarked on and had gotten side-tracked from.

Suddenly, he felt tired, drained.

Harry stared with an empty eye at the boy, seeing Weasley falter and look unnerved.

Finally, he sighed and, letting a small tendril of his magic lose, turned the boy’s red-hair into neon green with streaks of silver.

Neville, who had stood up at Weasley’s last exclamation, looked at the Gryffindor’s hair, then back at Harry.

At last, the whole class burst into laughter, even Malfoy who was staring at Weasley as if he hadn’t seen anything funnier before.

Just then, Snape marched into the class.

“Fifty points from Gryffindor and a month of detention with me, Weasley,” he barked, glaring at the boy, “for making such an inconsiderate remark to a fellow classmate!”

Weasley paled, while Harry ignored him, trying to restrain the remaining tendrils of his magic floating around due to his emotions, especially the magic of his inner core. It wouldn’t do to have the Potions’ professor even get a slight feel of that magic.

“Now, get back to your seat or I will have you cleaning the whole castle with a toothbrush!”

Weasley looked like he wanted to protest, then took one look at the angry professor and scrambled to his seat.

Snape’s eyes flickered to Harry, a slight concern visible, but he didn’t say anything, instead pulling out his register and took their attendance, glaring at Weasley when the boy’s name came.

Neville, on the other hand, was giving Harry his whole attention. “Harry," he whispered, taking Harry’s hand from where they were on Harry’s lap into his. “You know Weasley’s an idiot. Do not take his words to your heart, alright? He does not know what he’s speaking.”

Harry gave Neville a small smile. “Yeah, I know," he muttered, catching a glimpse of Theo’s and Blaise’s concerned glances. “I am fine.”

Neville squeezed his hand. “You deserve this life, Harry," Neville murmured, then turned to listen as Snape started his lesson.

Harry smiled to himself at the support and concern his friends were showing for him, not to mention the concern that had clearly been visible in the Potions Master’s eyes. He took a breath, then concentrated on the dramatic introduction their professor was giving.

Harry smiled. Severus Snape was dramatic indeed.

Chapter Text

The rest of their Potions class had passed on quickly, Professor Snape asking as many questions as he could to Weasley, docking points from Gryffindors and insulting Weasley so much that the boy looked close to tears at the end of the lesson.

Professor Snape also asked questions to Harry (about the potion created from asphodel and wormwood) and Neville (difference between monkshood and aconite), which the both of them were able to answer, thankfully.

The Gryffindor muggleborn, Granger, repeatedly tried to offer her answers as well, raising her hands as high as she could, but the Slytherin Head of House decided to completely ignore her, instead concentrating on insulting the rest of the Gryffindors.

After insulting half the class on the answers given wrong, the professor put them all in pairs and ordered them to make a simple potion to cure boils.

Harry was hundred percent sure potions shouldn’t be taught like this, but who was he to judge Dumbledore? After all, the man had decided to keep Professor Snape here to keep a lookout on him, ignoring how the man wasn’t good at teaching. Harry supposed the man was only good at research and creating potions.

After the completion of the class, Harry quietly asked Neville whether he wanted to accompany him and Blaise to go and see Hagrid who had invited Harry over. Neville looked both reluctant and curious, and at last, his curiosity won out and he agreed to join them.

Before they could get out of the classroom with the rest of the students though, Snape called out to Harry. “Mr. Potter, if you would stay for a minute.”

Harry blinked once in surprise but nodded nonetheless, telling his three friends to go ahead.

When the class was empty, Harry hesitantly walked towards the professor’s desk. “You wished to talk with me, Professor?”, he asked slowly.

“Yes, Mr. Potter," Snape looked up from the parchment he had been perusing. “Sit," he ordered, Conjuring a chair in front of his desk for Harry. Once Harry had taken his seat, he steepled his fingers together. “I investigated and inquired around about how to go about taking a magical child out of their muggle relatives under extreme situations, but there are some hurdles.”

Harry blinked, taken off guard. Then, he remembered the promise Professor Snape had made to him while they had finished Harry’s shopping. “Oh," he whispered. “I appreciate your thoughtfulness, Professor.”

Professor Snape looked at Harry with a blank look. “Even if we prove that those…….relatives of yours are not fit for your guardianship, you will be given off to either your godparents or your magical guardian.” He sighed. “Your godparents – Sirius Black and Alice Longbottom – are indisposed, they are in no condition to take you in, let take care of you. And your magical guardian is-was Albus Dumbledore, but my account manager has informed me that he was discarded when they found out he wasn’t looking out for you. And I couldn’t find out who is your magical guardian now which is, honestly speaking, quite worrying.”

Harry was surprised quite a lot. Professor Snape had actually taken effort to get Harry out of his personal hell-hole. It was true Harry didn’t need any rescuing now, but if he hadn’t met Morte, he would have given his complete loyalty to Snape for at least making an effort to get him out.

Harry pursued his lips. “Professor," he started slowly, "I know who my current magical guardian is.”

“Do you now?”, Professor Snape asked, raising his eyebrow slowly.

Harry nodded.

“How did you find out?”

“He gave me a visit, told me about Dumbledore and the war and the magical world, in general. Gave me an option of taking me away from my relatives and changing my guardianship.” Harry was reluctant to tell everything to Professor Snape, but he was willing to give a rough picture. The man was trying to help and he had promised he won’t tell anything to Dumbledore.

Professor Snape was staring at him. After a pause, he asked, “When did you meet him? And for that matter, what is his name?”

Harry bit the insides of his mouth while contemplating Professor Snape’s question. How much was he willing to trust Snape? It was good that he was trying to help Harry, but it was also a fact that Severus Snape was a Slytherin.

“I will only tell you, professor, if you make an Oath of Secrecy," Harry decided finally. “I am not willing to share this with you and have Dumbledore somehow finding out about this.”

Professor Snape pinched the bridge of his nose. “For your information, Mr. Potter, I am an excellent Occlumens.”

Harry sighed. “And for your information, professor, I know that you are an excellent Slytherin as well.”

Professor Snape’s lips twitched. “Very well.” He took out his wand, first waving it in a complicated motion around them. Harry felt some Silencing and Secrecy Wards going up around them. “I, Severus Tobias Snape, do hereby swear on my magic that I will not share anything that Harrison James Potter tells me here, in the privacy of my wards to anyone in any way, shape or form, unless he gives me his express permission to do so.”

Done, Professor Snape put back his wand and raised his eyebrow at Harry, giving him an expectant look.

Harry smiled slightly. “Thank you, Professor," he said. Taking a breath, he continued, “His name is Morte Peverell.” Professor Snape’s eyes widened at the name. “He contacted me when I was nine and had severely gotten injured from an accident.” Professor Snape frowned making Harry grimaced. “It was rather…pathetic, professor. I do not wish to talk about that.”

Professor Snape gave a slow nod.

“He told me everything he deemed worthy of me knowing, including the war, the Light and Dark Factions, their ideals and what my position was in the Wizarding World.” Harry sighed. “Frankly, I was quite horrified to realize that people were hailing a toddler as their saviour or whatever. Professor,” Harry hesitated, “he also told me a little bit about you.”

Professor Snape’s lips thinned.

“I know it’s a breach of privacy, but he was warning me that you would hate me since you had a fierce rivalry with my father. And for what it’s worth, I apologize for his behaviour towards you.”

Professor Snape did not look at Harry, only commenting, "Do not take me for some damsel in distress, Mr. Potter. For what it's worth, I returned what I got to your father." He waved his hand at him to continue.

“He told me about Dumbledore too.” Harry’s eyes flashed. “How he manipulated that damn prophecy-”, Professor Snape stiffened, “-and then, manipulated my parents to stay here in Britain and sacrifice themselves for me! He taught me about the traditions and customs of the Magical World, about the purebloods and half-bloods and Voldemort.”

Harry observed as Professor Snape flinched at the name. He could feel a very small wave of Parselmagic twisting on the man’s left forearm. Harry’s eyes narrowed. The Dark Mark!

“And,” Harry looked at Professor Snape carefully, “I agree with the Dark Lord’s ideals.” Professor Snape’s eyes snapped to meet his eyes in shock. “Not the later ones, but the initial ones he had regarding the equality of all and revival of the old and forgotten magic. I agree if nothing is done about it, the magic as we know it will slowly die down and everyone will be bereft from its wonders.”

“You do not side with Dumbledore?”, Professor Snape asked slowly.

Harry shook his head. “I do not trust that man, Professor," he replied. “He left me with the people who absolutely hated magic, tried to Obliviate me when I was merely seven and had the gall to read my mind and then try to plant false memories.” Harry closed his eyes, gritting his teeth. “And he bound my magic," he bit out. “Bound my magical core when I was merely a toddler, giving me access to only twenty-five percent of my magic. How can I trust his ideals when he is willing to do something like that to a child?”

Harry opened his eyes to find Professor Snape staring at him with wide-eyes. “Dumbledore…….bound your core?”, he said slowly.

“Yes!”

“You have…..un-bound it?”

“Yes. Had a goblin take care of it.”

Professor Snape took a breath, his eyes flashing with rage. “That old manipulative piece of….. Tell me, Mr. Potter, how does this Morte Peverell know so much about everyone? And how does no one know about him? He is a Peverell, for Merlin’s sake!”

“Not exactly," Harry corrected. Professor Snape raised a brow. “It’s a long explanation, Professor, and it is not the right moment to tell you that. He took the Peverell name so that he could easily take my guardianship……since I myself am the Peverell Lord.”

Professor Snape blinked once. “You…….are the Peverell Lord?”, he asked, emphasizing the word ‘Lord’.

“Yes," Harry nodded. “As I said before, professor, I won’t tell you everything, but Potters are the descendants of Peverells and there are some clauses that need to be satisfied to get the Peverell Lordship and Heirship, which I did.”

Professor Snape frowned at Harry for a while, then sighed. “Do you trust this Morte, then?”

“Of course," Harry replied. “I trust him with my life. He is…….like a father to me.” Harry grinned. “He has a really weird way of showing he cares, and I am happy I get to learn so much from him.”

Professor Snape nodded. “I hope your instincts are correct, Mr. Potter," he said. “I presume Dumbledore knows nothing about this?”

Harry smiled. “If he had known, he would have marched right into Gringotts and caused chaos," he said. “I sincerely hope he does not find out, at least not for now.”

“I pray that too, Mr. Potter," Professor Snape drawled out. “So, what do you plan on doing regarding the coming war?” Harry raised a brow. “I presume this Morte of yours has told you the Dark Lord isn’t dead yet? He’s very much alive, biding his time.”

More like trying to sneak into the third-floor corridor, Harry thought as he sighed. “I am currently undecided, Professor," he replied. “The Dark’s ideals are actually for the betterment of the magical world, but if Vold-the Dark Lord returns and goes around killing and torturing the masses again, I will need to eliminate him. He might have been blessed by Lady Magic once upon a time, but I am not willing to deal with an insane maniac hell-bent on killing innocents.”

Professor Snape was giving him a wide-eyed stare once again. Harry was quite proud of himself for shocking the strict professor like this twice now.

“Lady Magic?”, he whispered.

“Uh-huh.” Harry nodded. “The man proclaimed himself a Dark Lord, Professor. Someone can call oneself a Lord or a Lady of some type of magic only when they’ve been blessed by Magic herself.”

“Dumbledore?”

“Never actually called himself a Light Lord, Professor," Harry answered. “People just assumed it. He’s not actually a Lord in the true sense.”

“Your…mentor seems to have quite a knowledge about these things, Mr. Potter.”

“Obviously," Harry smiled. “He is quite old.” Harry laughed internally as he heard a grumble inside his head.

Professor Snape raised his eyebrow at the amusement shining in Harry’s eyes, but did not ask. “Very well," he said. “You have my support, Mr. Potter. I will appreciate it if you told me whatever your future decision will be regarding the condition of the magical world.”

Harry nodded. “Sure, Professor.”

“Alright then. You may go.”

“Thank you, Professor," Harry said. He got up, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

Before he could exit out of the room, Professor Snape called out, “You deserve to live, Mr. Potter. Never take any dunderhead’s words too seriously.” Harry turned to stare at the professor who wasn't looking at him but writing something on his parchment. “Get out!”

Grinning, Harry walked out of the class.

The remaining classes passed by quickly, and Harry found himself walking towards the small hut situated near the Forbidden Forest with Neville - who was still shooting Harry concerned looks - and Blaise - who for some reason had decided that visiting the home of the Keeper of Keys was one of the greatest adventure he had embarked on, and hence was going fully prepared with his wand in his hand, some roasted chicken wrapped in a paper napkin in his pocket and for some very odd reason, a small key-chain with a very tiny teddy bear in his left-hand pinky finger.

“For the last time, Zabini,” Harry spoke slowly, eyeing the teddy bear dangling from the boy’s finger, “why do you need that soft toy for this Merlin-damned adventure?!”

Blaise tutted when Neville snickered from Harry’s other side. “It’s a lucky charm, Harrison. You wouldn’t understand its powers.”

“Did you, or did you not, grow up in the magical world?”, Harry drawled. “There’s no such thing as a lucky charm! There are only potions, like the Felix Felicies!”

“Smart," Blaise muttered to himself, before loudly saying, “Don’t question this, Harrison! We need every spare bit of luck to deal with that giant of a man since I don’t suppose you can brew that potion?”

Harry ignored the boy’s question and knocked on the door. He heard frantic scrabbling and a bark coming from the inside. Then he heard Hagrid ordering his must-be dog, “Back, Fang – back!”

“See?”, Blaise whispered from behind him. “That’s what I was talking about.”

The door opened and a big, hairy face appeared, looking down at Harry. “Harry!”, the man exclaimed followed by more barking. “Hold on!”

The door opened wider and they got in looking at the small space that Hagrid called his home as Hagrid tried to restrain an enormous black boarhound by its collars.

The space was really small, even though Hagrid could have used an Expansion Charm. There were hams and pheasants hanging from the ceiling, a copper kettle boiling on the open fire and there was a massive bed at one corner with a patchwork quilt over it.

Blaise was clearly trying not to show his disgust at the space. Neville looked ready to faint at the sight of that huge dog, while Harry stared at Hagrid.

“Mr. Hagrid," Harry nodded politely. “Thanks for inviting me over. This is Neville Longbottom and this is Blaise Zabini.”

Hagrid gave a smile. “No need t’ call me Mister, Harry. Call me Hagrid.” He waved his hand at the large, two chairs facing the fire. “Sit down," he said.

They sat down, Blaise irritated at having to sit on such an old and breaking furniture, while Neville froze when Hagrid’s dog, Fang, launched his tongue at the boy’s cheek, then put down his head on Neville’s lap to pour out all his saliva on the Gryffindor’s robes, who whimpered.

Hagrid smiled at Neville. “Know yer grandmother Neville, very fierce lady. And Zabini, yer mother is from Italy, eh?”

“Yes," Zabini nodded as he eyed the cakes Hagrid was putting in front of them. Harry took one, knocking his knuckle on it. His eyes widened when a rather alarming ‘cluck, cluck’ came from them. He quickly put them down.

Hagrid poured down boiling water into a large teapot, then prepared tea for them.

“I knew yer parents, Harry," Hagrid said, now concentrating his attention on Harry who felt himself stiffen. “Very great and nice people, they. I saw ye last when ye were a babe, the size of my hands. Delivered yeh to the Dursleys when…..”, he took out a large cloth and sniffled.

“Oh?”, Harry asked, breathing in the tea Hagrid had passed them all in huge cups. “How much did you knew my parents?”

“Eh?”, Hagrid asked, looking up from his cloth-turned-handkerchief. “Yer mum an’ dad? Well, Harry. Saw them grow up here at Hogwarts. Fell in love with each other and got married, then had yeh. Joined Dumbledore’s side ter fight again’ evil, ye know. Died heroes. Such tragedy.”

Wouldn’t have happened if your Dumbledore hadn’t used them like some sacrificial lambs, Harry thought while nodding absentmindedly. His eyes fell on a piece of paper lying on the table under the tea cosy.

Surprisingly, or not so surprisingly if you looked at this out-of-the-blue meeting invitation from Hagrid, the paper was a cutting from the Daily Prophet mentioning a break-in at Gringotts the day of Harry’s birthday.

Harry raised his brows as he read the small article.

“Yeh readin’ the news, eh?”, Hagrid asked. Harry looked up to see Hagrid looking at the piece of the paper. “Lucky it wasn’ stolen, isnit?”

Harry raised his eyebrow. “Was that Vault yours, then?”

Hagrid laughed. “Neh, Harry," he replied. “Me don’ have enough to open a vault, nay. I fetched that item jus’ a few hours earlier before the break-in," he continued. “The vault owner had asked Dumbledore for his help ter keep the item secure. Ged tha’ we got it before the thief did.”

“Excellent, actually," Harry said with a smile, Neville and Blaise frowning beside him. “Why did the Headmaster send you when the owner had asked Dumbledore to?”

“He trus’ me, of course," Hagrid answered, beaming proudly. “Great man, Dumbledore. Took me in when no one wanted to do anythin’ with me. Saved me from bein’ send to Azkaban for somethin’ me didn’ even did.”

“Oh? That’s..nice of him," Harry muttered.

“Innit?”, Hagrid asked with a smile.

There was a silence for a while, where Neville and Hagrid both fidgeted, Blaise eyed the whole space again and Harry observed the fire.

“Say, Hagrid," Harry asked, looking up from the burning fire. “Is this owner of the vault Dumbledore’s very close friend?”

“Eh? Yes. Yes, he is," Hagrid nodded. “Why?”

“Well, this man must trust Dumbledore really very much to ask him for his help for something a wizard or a witch was willing to risk angering the goblins for," Harry explained, knowingly making his sentence confusing.

“Yes," Hagrid nodded slowly. “Yer right.”

“So, that item's secure now?”

“Of course," Hagrid nodded, smiling again. “Dumbledore secured it.” Hagrid hesitated. “Ye know, I would’ve come ter get yer if ye hadn’t asked for a professor. Dumbledore promised me I’d be the one to take yeh to Diagon.”

“Why?”, Harry asked, making his voice as curious as he could while pinching Neville - who was opening his mouth - in his hand to stop the boy from speaking anything.

“Jus’....It woulda been coincidental, yeh know?”, Hagrid said. “I was the one who took yeh to yer relatives’ home, I’d be the one to introduce you to Diagon.”

“Ah," Harry nodded. More like introduce me to the whole of the magical world, and fill my mind with the greatest wizard of all time, he thought bitterly. “That makes sense.”

They talked a little bit more, Hagrid asking how their first week at Hogwarts had gone and telling them about the Weasley twins who loved sneaking into the Forest and about some creatures Hagrid had met himself.

Finally, after a little over half-an-hour later, Harry along with Blaise and Neville, were making their way back to the castle.

Blaise was giving him a questioning look, while Neville was grumbling about huge dogs and wet robes. Harry only gave Blaise a pointed look and the boy nodded.

Once they had had their dinner and had gathered in Harry’s and Theo’s room, Blaise hounding Theo’s whole bed to himself and Theo giving them a questioning look, did Blaise exclaimed, “What in Salazar’s name was that all about?!”

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance while he sat down on his desk chair, facing the two boys.

“Remember the welcoming feast?” They both nodded. “Then, do you remember the end-of-feast speech that Dumbledore gave?” They nodded again. “Did you two find anything peculiar in that?”

Blaise frowned in thought while Theo raised his brow. “The old man mentioned not to go to the third-floor corridor," he answered.

Blaise’s eyes widened. “You think that item is in Hogwarts?”

Harry gave the boy a dry look. “I do not think, Blaise, I am positive," he drawled. “And it’s some sort of test, a game that Dumbledore set up for me.”

Blaise and Theo exchanged glances.

“Why do you think that?”, Blaise asked.

At the same time, Theo asked, “What item exactly?”

Harry scratched his cheek in thought. “That old man’s been trying to manipulate my life since I was a toddler, this is nothing new. Maybe he wants me to prove to him that I am his perfect Light golden boy or whatever," he answered Blaise, before turning to look at Theo. “As for that item,” Harry frowned, “I am uncertain what it exactly is. Though I am sure it is priceless, something that can grant you……..how do I explain this?......immortality?.......maybe….something like that.” Harry waved his hand, “The point is, it’s an extremely precious artifact, and it belongs to someone who is either too foolish or actually trusts Dumbledore too much for him to hand it over to the Headmaster, who gave the job of retrieving it to Hagrid, who I am sure is clumsy and gullible enough to give away actually what it is to anyone smart enough to interrogate.”

“So…..”, Blaise drawled out, “Are you planning on figuring out what the item is?”

Harry closed his eyes. “Dumbledore clearly wants me to," he replied. After a pause, he asked, “Do you guys know anyone who is, at the very least, as old as Dumbledore, trusts him immensely and has some kind of item that can….well, give life……body?....immortality?”

Blaise thoughtfully frowned while Theo pursued his lips.

“I don’t think that there’s actually anything out there that can give you immortality," Blaise remarked.

Except Horcruxes, Harry thought wryly, on the price of your mind and magic.

“There is actually," Theo said quietly. Harry’s eyes snapped to the boy’s. “Have you heard about the Philosopher’s Stone?”

Harry blinked. “An item”, he said slowly, “that can change any metal to pure gold, and that can produce the Elixir of Life?” Harry’s eyes widened. “It’s real?!”

Theo nodded. “It is the highest achievement in Alchemy," he explained. “And, I think, up until now, only one alchemist, Mr. Nicolas Flamel, has succeeded in making that stone.”

“Amazing!”, Harry whispered. No doubt, Voldemort was trying to get that stone in any way he could. The wizard wanted immortality and a body, and this would grant him that.

“How old is that guy?”, Blaise asked, his eyes sparkling with interest.

“I am not sure," Theo answered. “But I think he’s something close to six-hundred years.”

“Merlin!”, Harry whispered in astonishment while Blaise whistled. “Do you know any way to contact him?”

Theo raised his brow. “Why?”, he asked. “Wanting some immortality?”

“Don’t be absurd!”, Harry rolled his eyes. “I need to make sure the item kept here is actually that bloody stone.”

“And do you really think he will actually tell you?”, Blaise asked dubiously.

“I don’t know," Harry answered with a sigh. “But I can give it a try. Maybe my name will actually be of use for once.”

Blaise and Theo snorted. “I will enquire about him from my father," Theo said. “Maybe he can tell us something.”

“I will ask mother as well," Blaise offered as well. “She has a habit of knowing random and downright weird facts sometimes.”

“Thanks," Harry smiled at the two. “And I,” he smirked, “will contact my guardian.”

Chapter Text

The next day, which was the weekend, Harry left his Slytherin friends with Neville – Theo and Neville excitedly chatting about some dangerous plants – and made his way to the seventh-floor, searching for the painting of the dancing trolls the house-elf Glus had told him about.

After roaming around the corridors of the floor for an eternity in search of the apparently elusive painting, Harry finally found the thing in front of a bare, uninteresting looking stone wall - gaping slightly at the ridiculousness in it - before turning around to envision and pace for a room he needed to meet Morte.

As a huge stone door materialized in front of Harry on the empty wall, Harry grinned and made his way into the room. It was almost same as the one he had back at the Peverell Castle, minus the bed, the balcony and his en-suite bathroom.

“Morte?”, Harry called out softly, taking a seat at his usual armchair beside the warmly glowing coals in the fireplace.

“Missing me, are you, Mr. He-is-quite-old?”, Morte snarked, materilizing on his armchair, a mug of coffee in his hand and a glare on his face.

Harry grinned, happy to meet his guardian and to banter with him about nonsense. “Don’t be ridiculous, Morte," he chided. “You are old. Older than this stupid mortal plane anyways!.”

Morte grumbled about impolite brats, taking a swig of his coffee. “Why did you call me here then?”, he asked. "I was quite busy with my paperwork, unlike a certain someone."

"It wasn't my idea to burden myself with paperwork, was it?", Harry asked, ignoring Morte's, "Wasn't mine either.", and continuing with, “And can’t your ward want to meet you, hmm?” Harry shot the being an innocent smile.

“Stop that! It makes me sick," Morte snapped, looking disgusted at Harry's, frankly, beautiful smile. Harry rolled his eyes. “Now, tell me!”

“Don’t act naïve," Harry snipped. “You already know!”

“Do you really think he will reply to you?”

“It’s worth a try.”

Morte shrugged his shoulders. “Very well. Ask then.”

Harry sighed out. “You are ridiculous," he told his guardian. “Morte, can you pretty please tell me where Nicolas Flamel lives?”

“Of course I can," Morte answered, sniffing. “He lives in Ottery St Catchpole, in Devon.”

Harry blinked. “He lives in U.K.?”

“Yes.”

“Care to tell me more about Mr. Flamel?”, Harry asked. “He doesn’t anger you with his immortality?”

Morte rolled his eyes. “No, he does not," he answered. “The Philosopher’s Stone is not like a Horcrux, far from it actually. It requires immense knowledge and study in the field of Alchemy to make that Stone, not to mention patience and time. It is not a shortcut and it does not violate one of the basic laws of life, tearing off the soul itself.”

Harry hummed thoughtfully. “How does it work exactly?”

“The Stone’s small piece is used as an ingredient in a potion that is created to make the Elixir of Life," Morte answered. "This Elixir, when drunk, renews the cells of a human body, re-energizing the magical core, hence making a human survive a little longer. But if you stop taking in the potion, your body would start collapsing back, the way it normally does in old people and voila, I am there to welcome you to my plane.”

“That is so cool!”, Harry whispered. “Why would Mr. Flamel give away his lifeline and the greatest discovery of his life to Dumbledore?”

Morte smirked. “Simply because he trusts Dumbledore," Morte replied, grinning mysteriously. “Flamel met Dumbledore when he was a teenager. Meeting a brilliant man, Flamel became interested in him. Later on, Dumbledore worked closely with Flamel on some topics of Alchemy.”

“Does he know what Dumbledore is doing with his Stone?”, Harry asked.

“I am sure he has some ideas," Morte said evasively. “Write him your letter, alright? And,” Morte grimaced, “Lady Magic might give you a task.”

“What task?”, Harry asked curiously.

“She hasn’t made it explicitly clear. She will visit you once she’s sure whether she wants to give it to you or not," Morte answered, shrugging half-heartedly while sipping his usual dose of caffeine.

“Alright," Harry slumped down on his armchair. “Now care to explain to me why Voldemort is riding around on my Defence professor?”

Morte gave a really amused grin, “That sounds so wrong," he muttered. Harry made a disgusted face and glared at Morte. “Can’t really tell you when you’ve already figured out most of it," Morte remarked after half-heartedly wrestling down his grin.

“So, he’s possessing Quirell?”

“More or less," Morte hummed.

“Can’t we like, do exorcism and trap him in some object?”, Harry asked.

Morte chuckled. “That only happens in books and movies.”

“But..”, Harry sighed. “You are Death!”

Morte hummed. “I am. But you forget that I need a mortal to keep me linked to the mortal world and that might be you. So, until you get the title of the Master of Death, we won’t be able to do something about Voldemort.”

"Great," Harry sighed.

They stayed for a while more, talking about some more random things, before Morte decided he had had enough of Harry’s company and shadowed away. Harry shook his head, summoning the Peverell house-elves.

The elves were extremely excited to chat with Harry, Floppy sternly asking if he was taking care of himself or not.

Once his strict interrogation was over, Harry returned back to the library to join his friends, Neville missing, Theo informing him about Granger storming over and kidnapping away their favourite Gryffindor.

-------

The next few days passed without much event, the Slytherins enjoying the torment Snape was putting Weasley through.

On Wednesday, they got a notice pinned in the Slytherin common room about their first Flying lesson, to be held with the Gryffindors.

Typical, Harry thought after reading the notice, the Hogwarts’ staff wants as much chaos as is humanly possible.

The next day, during breakfast, Harry saw with narrowed eyes as Malfoy and his bodyguards provoked Neville and fought with Weasley. Harry was thinking about going and hexing Malfoy but McGonagall intervened. Harry was sure either Malfoy or Weasley will sooner or later engage in some drama and Harry would be pulled in it if Neville got involved.

Finally, at three-thirty that afternoon, the Slytherin first years made their way onto the grounds for their first Flying lesson.

All was going well, Harry even got to chuckle when Madam Hooch corrected Malfoy’s wrong broom holding, until Neville panicked while handling his broom and landed quite heavily on his hand. Harry winced when Madam Hooch declared Neville’s wrist to be broken and warned them not to do anything while she escorted the Gryffindor to the hospital wing.

Neville’s face was pinched in pain and he walked away with Madam Hooch. Harry made sure to remember to visit the boy once they were done with the lessons.

No sooner were the professor and Neville out of earshot that Malfoy burst into laughter.

“Did you see his face, the great lump?”, he asked, mirth clear in his voice. Malfoy’s bodyguards along with Parkinson and Bulstrode joined the laughter while the remaining girls in Slytherin ignored him.

Harry restrained himself from hexing the boy straight to the hospital wing beside Neville, while Theo and Blaise rolled their eyes.

“Not again," Theo sighed.

"Shut up, Malfoy!”, Patil snapped.

“Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?”, Parkinson said. “Never thought you’d like fat little cry-babies, Parvati.”

“Look!”, Malfoy said, darting forward and snatching something out of the grass. “It’s that stupid thing Longbottom’s gran sent him.”

Harry eyed the small crystal ball and realized it to be a Remembrall. “Give it here, Malfoy," Harry said softly, his voice laced with annoyance.

Malfoy hesitated slightly, no doubt remembering the incident with Weasley at their Potions class. “What can you do, Potter?”, he snapped, his arrogance winning over his self-preservation.

“You really don’t want to find that out, Malfoy," Harry replied blankly.

“Oh, shut it, Potter!”, Weasley decided to interfere. “We know how to defend our own from you slimy snakes. You don’t need to do whatever you are trying to do.”

Harry gave the ranting Weasley a glance, then decided to ignore him. “Malfoy," he repeated.

Malfoy glared at Harry but acquiesced, handing the Remembrall over to him.

“Good.” Harry took the ball, swiping his hand away as Weasley tried to grab it. “Weasley, do you really want me to turn your whole body green and silver this time?” He asked, his eyes on Weasley’s still neon green hair. Harry’s magic will keep the hair green until Harry decided it was enough, which he was never likely to deem.

Weasley’s face turned red. “You dare?!”, he shouted. “You slimy Slytherin! You go around roaming the castle as if you own it, and now you are acting like you are the bloody leader of these Slytherins, ordering them to give you Neville’s Rememberall, you traitor!”

Before Harry could give the boy a piece of his mind about Slytherin unity, Malfoy snapped, “Excuse you, Weasel," he sneered. “Potter is nobody’s leader! I gave him that stupid crystal ball because Longbottom’s his friend and he has the right to defend him. Don’t go around saying things you do not understand!”

Harry smiled slightly, first time happy that Malfoy at least understood a little bit of Slytherin rules. He hadn’t returned the ball to Harry because he was Neville’s friend, but because he did not want any student of some other House to see Slytherins fighting amongst themselves. They needed to present a united front.

“I do not understand!”, Weasley shouted. “Malfoy, you scum! You took Harry into your House and turned him evil, turned him against me! He was supposed to be a Gryffindor! How dare you!”

“Not again!”, Blaise sighed from behind Harry.

“Weasley, shut up, already!”, Patil and Brown groaned together.

Harry raised his eyebrow at the disgruntled look the rest of the Gryffindors had. Seemed like Weasley’s rant about Harry being evil and Slytherin was still going strong in the Gryffindor common room.

“Weasel,” Malfoy sneered, “use your mind! I did not sort Potter into my House. The Hat did. Go and play your blame game with it!”

Weasley’s face turned redder, contrasting sharply with his green hair. “I challenge you to a race, Malfoy!”, he shouted.

“On a broom?”, Malfoy sneered. “Are you sure, Weasel? Are you even able to compete against me?”

“Of course I am able, you snake!”

“No, Ron!”, Granger admonished, suddenly appearing beside the boy to clutch his forearm tightly. “Don’t you remember what Madam Hooch said? She will have you expelled if she saw you!”

“Shut up, Granger!”

And off they went.

Harry shook his head at both the idiots. He could understand Weasley’s recklessness, but what in Salazar’s name was Malfoy thinking? If anyone saw them-

Well, there goes that, Harry thought as he saw McGonagall narrowing her eyes at the two specks flying unsupervised in the sky.

A long lecture to the two boys - in-between which Madam Hooch returned adding her own lecture to the mix - a great many points deduced and a week worth of detentions later, Harry and the others found themselves slowly flying around the grounds.

-------

After dinner, when they were lounging around in some of the armchairs, Harry heard Malfoy boasting to whoever would listen about how he had challenged Weasley to a duel at midnight in the trophy room and had tipped Filch, the Hogwarts’ caretaker, about the sneaking out.

Harry rolled his eyes, hoping that Neville wouldn’t get caught up in this stupidity. He had gone to meet the boy in the hospital wing, Theo and Blaise tagging along, and returned the Gryffindor’s Remembrall. Neville’s wrist had been healed and he was resting there, telling them he will be released shortly after dinner. Harry just hoped Neville was resting in his dorms and not roaming around the trophy room.

-------

Turns out, Neville got dragged into the drama that was to get tricked into a trap which had Mr. Filch waiting for them.

Harry listened to the tale as Neville told him how he had forgotten the password to the Gryffindor common room and had to wait for anyone to open the entrance door till late after curfew. How Weasley and Granger had stumbled out the door, Granger urging Weasley - who had dragged a reluctant Seamus Finnigan out with him - not to go to the duel. How Weasley had continuously refused and then, the Fat Lady who apparently guarded the entrance door, had gone away to visit some other portrait.

The four, three of whom were reluctant, had to tag along with Weasley, and almost got caught by Filch.

“And we somehow found ourselves in that forbidden third-floor corridor!”, Neville told them with a shiver.

Blaise’s and Theo’s eyes widened.

“What did you find there?”, Blaise asked excitedly.

“Are you really a Slytherin, Blaise?”, Harry sighed. Blaise only grinned. “Go on, Neville. What did you find there?”

Neville took a deep breath. “A……t-three-headed dog," he whispered, his eyes wide.

“A Cerebrus," Harry breathed out, his eyes widening in disbelief.

“It was enormous, and so scary! I hadn’t felt so scared in my whole life!”, Neville shivered again.

“I wonder what that dog is doing there?”, Blaise asked with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

“No idea," Neville muttered. “Though Hermione did see some sort of trapdoor beneath the dog. I didn’t notice that though, too busy with the thing’s three heads.” Neville whimpered. “And there were no wards to keep us out! Hermione just shot a spell….something starting with an A?-”

“Alohomora," Harry supplied.

“-yes, that!”, Neville nodded. “And the door just opened. Nothing to stop students from going in there!”

Harry hummed. Should he talk about this with Susan Bones? The girl’s aunt was Amelia Bones, the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Surely, this must be dangerous, letting a Type XXXXX creature in a school full of students.

“We need proof," Harry muttered to himself. “Neville," Harry said, "do you know any Gryffindors who might be willing to help a Slytherin and who are daring enough to do some……..digging around?”

Neville blinked. “Um, well……There are the Weasley twins, third-year Gryffindors. They are famous for causing lots of trouble. You remember Hagrid mentioned them trying to sneak off into the Forbidden Forest, right?”

Harry nodded. “I do," he replied. “But can they be trusted? I do not want them to go around telling anyone what I might ask them to do.”

Neville frowned slightly. “Well, I can’t be sure about that," he said. “They are pranksters, you can never trust them with things like secrecy, I guess.”

Harry reclined into his chair in the library, where they were sitting together. “Alright. I want to ask them. Can you send them my message that I need to meet them for a favour?”

“Okay," Neville nodded, while Blaise and Theo exchanged looks.

-------

“Ah! Look Forge! The ickle firstie who wants a favour from us!”

“I can see, Gred! How interesting!”

“Do you think we should prank him-”

“-for turning our little brother’s hair green?”

There was a pause, where Harry stared at the twins, who were exchanging glances, grinning ridiculously before bursting into a, “Nah!”, simultaneously.

Harry, who was sitting on a chair inside an abandoned classroom on the first floor, smiled, amused at their conversation. He had told Neville to ask the twins to meet him there. “Messers George and Fred Weasley," Harry nodded. “Harrison Potter, nice to meet you both.”

“Oh! Look at that, Gred!”

“I do, Forge, I do! He’s got manners!”

“Should we thank him, Gred?”

“I think we should!”

They together looked at Harry and started speaking again.

“Thank you, oh great, Boy-Who-Lived!”

“Our messiah!”

“Yes. The one who pranked our brother with such an amazing and interesting shades of colours.”

“Though, I say, Forge, it would have been more entertaining if he had snakes instead of those wonderful green strands!”

“Oh, we wish!”

Harry chuckled. “That might have been too much for your brother to bear. Permanent trauma to the brain might get me into trouble," he said. He tilted his head. “You know, you guys remind me of someone.”

“Oh?”

“Who, Mr. Potter!”

“We thought we were unique!”

“Don’t worry.", Harry smiled. “You guys are unique. Just the way you talk. I know three…..triplets. They finish each other’s sentences just like you two do.”

“Ah! Very interesting!”

“We will love to meet them!”

Harry shrugged. “I don’t know if I could have you meeting them. But anyways, I need a favour.”

“Yes, yes," they nodded together, sitting down in front of Harry with eagerness.

“But first we have some questions," one of them said.

“Go ahead," Harry nodded.

“Does this favour involve any rule-breaking?”, the other asked.

“Yes.”

“Does it involve getting into danger?”

“Hmm, yes.”

“Will it cause chaos?”

Harry raised his eyebrow. “In the long run, yes," he smirked.

The twins exchanged a look. “Will it cause chaos to some adult figure?”, they asked together.

“Definitely.”

“Excellent!”, they grinned. “We’re in!”

Harry blinked. “Wait! Just like that?” They nodded. “What do you want in return?”

They exchanged another look. “Look at that Gred!”

“Ickle firsties’ offering us something in return!”

“What are you willing to give us, dear Harrison?”, one of them asked.

Harry steepled his hands together. “What do you guys want? Anything reasonable and I might provide it.”

They looked at each other, an entire conversation flashing between them without words.

“We want a boon from you," one of them spoke up, completely serious this time.

“We won’t demand anything out of your limits, Harry," the other said.

“Or something you won’t be able to provide or which might cause you problems.”

“It will be completely in your rights and easy to provide.”

Harry looked from one twin to the other, looking for any hidden plans or intentions. He debated the merits of giving two ingenious pranksters a boon, then slowly nodded his head. “Alright," he agreed. “I am willing to give you a boon in which you may ask me for something that I am able to provide well under my limits in exchange for you doing me the favour I ask of you without telling anyone anything in any way possible without my permission.”

They nodded.

“So mote it be.”

“So mote it be!”, they said together, slightly surprised.

Harry felt a Binding Magical Oath bind the three of them.

“Alright then, Harrison.”

“What favour do you want?”

Harry smirked.

-------

Two weeks passed.

On the weekend, when September was close to an end, Harry got a letter. Hedwig delivered it with the rest of the owls in the morning while Harry was eating breakfast with the rest of the students in the Great Hall.

“Hey, Hedwig," Harry greeted her, smiling as she dropped the letter beside Harry’s plate and perched herself on his head, hooting at him her ‘hello’. “Who sent this, hmm?”

She hooted.

“Ah," Harry nodded, Hedwig tightening her claws at his scalp. He winced. “Long journey, then. You should rest.” Another hoot. “Of course. Here.” He handed her bacon and she nibbled on them happily, then went to start picking through Harry’s messy strand of hairs.

Theo and Blaise were looking at the letter with curiosity. They raised their eyebrows at him when he looked at them.

“It seems our very old friend would respond to my letter," Harry remarked.

Their eyes widened simultaneously. Quickly finishing up with their breakfasts, they made their way to the hidden corner in the library they had claimed as theirs.

Harry broke the seal and pulled out the parchment, reading through the letter, a frown slowly appearing on his face. He read it twice, then passed it over to Theo and Blaise who began reading it with interest. The letter was rather informative.

Mr. Potter,

Let me say how surprised I am to get a letter from you so out of the blue.

You made me smile with the sheer amount of curiosity you have, young man. I will be delighted to meet you face-to-face once, if we get a chance sometime in the future. Not many young minds are interested in the old Art of Alchemy. It needs Mastery in Runes, Arithmancy, Potions and knowledge on metals and materials – the muggle study of Chemistry.

As for the question you asked, I am surprised you found out so early about the artefact under the protection of your Headmaster, but I am not that surprised if what you say about Albus telling the whole student body to stay away from that part of the castle is true.

I honestly have no idea what Albus is planning, but you are correct in assuming it is not something good for the artefact if he is hinting at you to figure out what it is.

As for me asking for his help on protection, it is a mere fabrication. He asked me several months ago where I was keeping this artefact of mine and then asked me to shift it under the protection of the most vicious race of the magical community. Then he told me that he needed to move the artefact since someone was coming after it.

I let him move it and he assured me it was under the strongest wards he had available to him.

I am not sure how strong the wards actually are, but you needn’t worry as I have made sure that my artefact stays protected wherever it is, whether be it Hogwarts or somewhere else.

I hope we will meet as I am really very interested in having a chat with you.

Until then,

Nicolas Flamel

Blaise looked up frowning at Harry when Harry finally understood what Mr. Flamel was trying to tell him. “Why has he outlined Hogwarts?”, he asked, Theo nodding along with him.

“Oh, Lady Magic!”, Harry whispered. “The man’s bloody brilliant!”

“Of course he is," Theo muttered. “He is the world renown Alchemist!”

“But what does that have to do with underlining Hogwarts?”, Blaise asked confused.

“It does not have anything to do with Hogwarts, Blaise!”, Harry muttered. “By underlining that word, Mr. Flamel is trying to make us understand. He’s not pointing to Hogwarts, but to ‘somewhere else’.”

“That means…”, Theo whispered.

“Yes!”, Harry nodded. “Mr. Flamel has kept the stone safe. Whatever artefact is in Hogwarts is not the original Philosopher’s Stone!”

Chapter Text

Slowly but steadily, another month passed. Harry somewhat settled into a schedule along with his friends. They would attend classes, have lunch, attend some more classes, then settle in the library to do some homework, go to dinner, settle down in the common room to read some book, then sleep. Rinse and repeat.

Harry had gotten few chances to talk with other first years from Ravenclaw with whom the Slytherins shared most of their classes. Terry Boot, Michael Corner, Anthony Goldstein, Padma Patil and Sue Li were the Ravenclaws with whom Harry had chatted about magic and spells, their House almost perfectly signifying their curiosity to know more about whatever they were chatting about, which gave Harry an idea on how to make sure that his generation of witches and wizards knew about the old traditions and customs of the Magical World and the dwindling magic.

Harry had also chatted up with some Hufflepuffs, mainly Susan Bones and Hannah Abbott with whom he and Neville had met on the boat, along with Justin Finch-Fletchley, who was a muggleborn and Ernie Macmillan, who was a pureblood and certainly pompous and left much to be desired, no less a Hufflepuff version of Draco Malfoy but with less family name and wealth.

Apart from connecting and making friends, Harry made sure to stretch and let loose his magic every other day, if not every day. He usually went to the Room of Requirement (the name he had found out in an older edition of the book 'Hogwarts: A History', mentioning a room that was somewhere in Hogwarts that could come up as per anyone’s requirement, though very hard to locate) before dinner to practice his wandless magic and to meditate for his Occlumency shields and magical core.

Harry had tried to feel the magic surrounding the Room of Requirement, but it was hard to understand it seeing as the magic used was extremely old, around the time of the Founders themselves.

The Slytherins were also starting to get a bit aggressive towards Harry. The power plays had started in their year, and Malfoy - as, unfortunately, expected - was on the top, being supported by Parkinson, Bulstrode, Crabbe and Goyle. The rest of the girls seemed unsure, while Theo and Blaise were trying to convince Harry to do something about it or else ‘I will be forced to Hex that annoying, pompous prat to the hospital wing, Potter!’.

Harry was slightly unsure on what to do about that. Currently, the upper years were only observing what was going on among the firsties for now - merely getting the idea of who was more cunning, who was more manipulative, who had better chances of winning the ruling position in their year. When they will be third-years, only then will Harry and his classmates enter the main field of power plays in Slytherin. Harry was contemplating whether to keep his cards currently hidden or show at least one to the observing sly masses of snakes?

If he revealed his Lordship to the students, he will automatically become eligible to challenge the current ruler of the Slytherin House, the seventh-year female Prefect. But he did not want anyone to know that he was, in a way, emancipated for one of the Most Ancient and Most Noble House’s Lordship.

He could use the Slytherin Heirship too, just Summon a snake in the middle of the common room and start chatting with it. Surely the shock visible on every Slytherins’ face would be worth it. But then, every Slytherin will start relating him to Voldemort and assume that he was the Dark wizard’s son or something (which, ewww!), which he definitely did not want. He was as of yet still uncertain about on which side he should choose among the Factions (though it definitely would not be Light, Harry was sure about that). Both the Neutral and the Dark sides had their perks, but dealing with an insane Dark Lord with grandeurs of immortality with the recklessness and decision-making skills of a toddler was not very inviting.

Or he could just use the Black and Potter Heirships, they would surely together outstrip Malfoy’s? But what if the information leaked that he was blood adopted by Mr. Black and somehow Dumbledore found out? He needed to make sure Mr. Black got justice!

Harry was just contemplating screwing the power plays until this year finished and then joining the Quidditch team which will give him some power until he got some information regarding Sirius Black’s trial or something, when he received a letter sealed with the Black House’s seal (the Slytherins who got a look at the seal widening their eyes, getting the shock of the month) informing him that Lord Black had passed away due to the disease he was suffering from just the previous night.

Harry closed his eyes to murmur a prayer Floppy had taught him for Lord Black's departed soul, then pulled out a parchment and a quill to write a small letter to the head house-elf of the Blacks, asking them to take care of the funeral and inquiring whether they wanted Harry to come.

The elf had replied with a polite no, telling Harry the disease Lord Black was suffering from was infectious and Harry could catch it if he went even after the Lord’s death.

After that, the upper year Slytherins have given Harry curious looks along with Theo, Blaise and the remaining Slytherin girls, but Malfoy remained oblivious, taunting Harry for his inability to outstrip Malfoy in power and whatnot - Harry mostly ignoring the annoying boy and reminding himself to make sure to include Lord Black’s name when he did the Samhain ritual at the end of this month.

Soon enough, the morning of thirty-first of October dawned with cold breeze and the smell of baking pumpkin wafting through the Hogwarts’ corridors.

They were making progress through most of the subjects, the professors now having them do wand-movements and incantations of their first spells.

After effortlessly Levitating the feather and making it do some tricks in the air, Harry got awarded ten points by a very excited Professor Flitwick.

Harry again explained how he did the spell so quickly to Theo and Blaise, who were trying for the past several weeks to establish more connection with their magical cores. After a few tries, they succeeded, Professor Flitwick over the moon with the success of his students so quickly.

During dinner, Harry stared at the decorated Great Hall in slight astonishment and slight annoyance. A thousand of live bats fluttered from the walls and ceiling while thousand more swooped over tables in low black clouds, making the candles in the pumpkins stutter. They had changed the old and sacred festival of Samhain to the non-magical Halloween!

With a sigh, Harry sat down on his usual seat at the Slytherin table with Theo and Blaise and began sorting through the loads of dishes that had appeared by house-elf magic on the table.

Just then, Professor Quirell came sprinting through the Hall, his turban askew and terror on his face. Everyone stared at the man as he reached Dumbledore’s chair, slumped against the table and gasped, “Troll – in the dungeons – thought you ought to know.” He then proceeded to sink to the floor in a dead faint.

Or a fake one, Harry thought with narrowed eyes as the whole Hall erupted in an uproar. Harry kept sitting on his seat, calmly staring at Quirell as Dumbledore fired several firecrackers to silent the students.

“Prefects," he rumbled, “lead your Houses back to the dormitories immediately!”

The Prefects of the three Houses sprang to action while the Slytherins barely suppressed rolling their eyes at the complete disregard for their safety by the Headmaster and looked at Professor Snape who was already moving towards them.

“Stay here," he commanded them, his eyes scanning the other professors hastily making their way out of the door to get to the dungeons. “The door will be closed when the staff moves out and make sure to put some wards yourselves. No one will go anywhere or I will have you in detention for the whole year.”

The lower years gulped at the threat, sitting back down onto their seats while the upper years moved to put some wards around the table after most of the teachers had ran out of the Hall, including Quirell, Harry noted.

Before Harry could start contemplating why the man had to use a troll of all things to distract everyone, he saw Neville rushing towards them.

“Neville?”, Harry muttered as the Gryffindor stopped beside him, gasping for breath.

“Harry, I just remembered," he said between gasps, "Ron had said something hurtful to Hermione and I heard Parvati telling Lavender that she has been crying in some girl’s bathroom for the whole day! She does not know about the troll!”

Harry pinched his nose in irritation. “Of all the days…”, he muttered, looking at the upper year Gryffindors as they rushed out the doors. “Neville, go! Go with the Gryffindors or you would be left behind!”

“But, Hermione-”

“I will find her! Don’t worry!”, Harry interrupted. “Go!”

“But! I can’t let you go-”

“Neville, I have a plan! Go!”

“Are you-”

“Yes, I am!”, Harry snapped. “Go! She will be fine!”

Neville hesitated for a moment, shooting Harry a worried look. Then he sighed, nodded and rushed towards the remaining upper year Gryffindors who grabbed him and ushered him away.

Harry looked at Theo and Blaise who had been listening in and had their eyebrows raised.

“How do you intent to save that know-it-all Granger, hmm?”, Blaise asked.

“I hope your self-preservation is going strong, Potter," Theo muttered, munching on a fried piece of carrot. “Because we are not covering for you if you turn up without legs or hands.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “No need to worry, my peasants," he said, sniffing haughtily at them, slightly offended that they thought so low of him. “Just cover for me for a moment, alright?”

Theo gave Harry a blank stare while Blaise grinned. “As you wish, Your Majesty!”, he bowed mockingly.

Harry smirked, then moved away from them towards the edge of the Slytherin table. He took a breath, hoping this plan of his will work.

“If you can hear me,” he whispered, “just give a small indication, Glus.”

There was silence for a moment and then a small, almost imperceptible whisper, “Yes, Master Potter?”

Harry sighed in relief. “Glus, I need your help, please," he said, pleadingly. “A first year Gryffindor named Hermione Granger is crying in some girl’s lavatory on the lower floors, I think," Harry continued. “She does not know there’s a troll on the loose in the castle. Can you please find her and Apparate her to an unoccupied Gryffindor girl’s dormitory or bathroom? She might get in danger.”

“Of course, Master Potter. Glus bes helping Miss Granger," the elf replied back in a whisper.

“Thank you," Harry whispered back with a smile, relieved, then went over to his friends.

“Glus bes apparating Miss Granger to a Gryffindor bathroom, Master Potter.” Harry heard when he was settling beside Theo. He nodded.

“Thanks," he whispered again.

Blaise was looking at Harry curiously. “What did you do?”, he asked.

Harry merely smirked.

Theo sighed. “House-elf, of course," he muttered.

“Oh," Blaise muttered in understanding, looking slightly disappointed at the obvious answer.

Harry grinned. “So, what do you guys think? Who could have let that troll in?”

“Let him in?”, Theo asked confusedly. “Why would someone let the troll in? There are numerous trolls living further north of Hogwarts. One must have strayed off.”

Harry shook his head. “Have you read about the Hogwarts’ wards, Theo?”, he asked.

“No," Theo replied slowly.

Harry nodded. “The Hogwarts’ wards,” he explained, “especially the ones close by and on the castle itself, do not allow any creature that can either harm the students or that have the intention of doing so to enter the castle. Take, for example, the friendly dog upstairs.” Blaise snorted. “It wouldn’t have been able to enter the castle without either the Headmaster or one of the staff members manipulating the wards to let it in. It's only residing on the third floor because, most likely, the Headmaster altered the wards around the castle momentarily to get it in.” Harry shrugged. “Hence, someone must have let the troll in for some reason.”

“Wow," Blaise muttered. “Why do you think this someone brought the troll in the castle then?”

“Maybe the Headmaster did," Theo muttered. “To test you, Harry. After all, he needs his golden boy to be good at…..troll combat?”

Harry rolled his eyes.

“Or it’s just an idea to celebrate Sam-Halloween better. You know, welcome the Boy-Who-Lived into this world as much dramatically as possible," Blaise suggested with a snort.

“Or,” Harry drawled out, “someone is trying to distract everyone to get a chance to try and steal some very precious artifact from a certain dog.”

Theo and Blaise blinked, their eyes widening.

“Of course!”, Blaise muttered. “Who wouldn’t want the Philosopher’s Stone!”

“Who do you think is after it, Harry?”, Theo asked, his brows furrowed. “As far as I think, only some professors must know about this artifact being kept here for protection," he rolled his eyes at ‘protection’, “so, one of them is trying to steal it, yes?”

Harry nodded. “Yes," he agreed. “The stone is precious, not to mention you get gold and immortality.”

“Who do you think is daring enough to try to steal it from Dumbledore?”, Blaise wondered. “It must be someone from Gryffindor.” He chuckled before his eyes widened with mirth, “Do you think it could be McGonagall?”

Harry gave Blaise a ‘are-you-really-serious’ look.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Blaise waved his hand. “Who do you think it is?”, he asked.

Harry shrugged, making it as casual as he could. “I have a few guesses," he replied, not intending to even mention Quirell’s name, never mind Voldemort. He knew Theo’s father and grandfather were both followers of the Dark Lord, and while Blaise’s mother was Neutral, she leaned more towards the Dark. It wouldn’t do to tell them anything about Riddle, and confirm it for the man’s followers that the wizard was alive. At least not yet. “Who do you think is capable of supplying a Cerebrus to Dumbledore?”, he asked, changing the topic. “I only have one guess and it seems the man quite fits it.”

Theo shook his head. “The keeper, of course," he muttered. “Loves dangerous creatures, that giant.”

Blaise raised his eyebrow. “Do you think he’s after the stone?”, he mused.

“Don’t be this dense, Zabini!”, Theo snapped, sounding irritated. “That giant worships Dumbledore. He will protect the artefact with his life if Dumbledore asked him to.”

“Right," Blaise drawled out, rolling his eyes.

Harry sighed. “Do you guys think Hagrid could be bribed to tell how to get past the Cerebrus?”

Blaise blinked. “You know,” he said slowly, “the way I see that man, I think you wouldn’t even need to bribe him. He will spill it out to you if you chat with him long enough.”

Harry rubbed his temples. “That’s what I thought," he muttered. “Well, at least the artefact’s not real.”

They lapsed into a contemplative silence, eating their meal. Most of the upper year Slytherins were standing around, their wands alert for any threat, while the lower year Slytherins were sitting together, whispering to each other, tense.

Almost half-an-hour later, they saw Professor Kettleburn, the Care of Magical Creatures teacher, walking towards them with a distracted look on his face.

“We found the troll,” he began, looking at the Slytherin Prefects, “it was on the first floor, not in the dungeons. Professor Snape is currently dealing with it along with the rest of the staff to get it back to where it was. He has told me to inform you all to go back to your common rooms and make sure your entrance is perfectly sealed. No one is to get out, or else…..”, he paused, concentration evident on his face, “'those dunderheads will surely find themselves cleaning the dungeons with a toothbrush.’”

Harry couldn’t stop the snort that came out of his mouth. The other Slytherins shot him a glare and he smiled innocently.

“Go off then," Kettleburn said, shooing them all with his hand. “Stay in your dorms.”

The Prefects turned to shoot them all a pointed look, and they all swiftly got up to follow after the Prefect leading them into their common room. Harry sighed in relief, already planning to sneak out with the help of his elves so that he could do the ritual for Samhain in the Room of Requirement. Hopefully, Quirell had gotten the damn Stone and he wouldn’t be further causing more chaos like this.

-------

Turns out, the man hadn’t gotten it yet. Harry saw the professor next day sitting on his chair on the staff table in the Great Hall, looking slightly pale. He tried to bite back his groan as he sat down on his usual spot at the Slytherin table with Theo and Blaise. It was Sunday, and after the attack of the troll, most of the students had decided to sleep in late.

“Say, Theo,” Harry asked as he put some toast and scrambled eggs on his plate, “how many first years do you think will want to join a club started by a fellow first year?”

Theo raised his eyebrow in curiosity while Blaise looked at Harry with questioning eyes. “Depends on why you are creating the club," Theo answered. “Why do you want to create a club?”, he asked.

Harry hummed, buttering his toast. “I’ve got an idea for a while now," he replied. “Not sure whether I should go with it or not. I mean, if Dumbledore finds out what exactly is the reason behind it, he might ban it or something.”

“Are you thinking of creating a following for you when you become the next Dark Lord?”, Blaise asked with a smirk.

Harry looked at Blaise blankly. “Maybe," he answered seriously.

Blaise paused, his eyes widening in surprise, then slumped down when Harry smirked. “Almost got me there," he muttered.

Theo snorted. “Why do you-”, he began but got interrupted.

“Harry!”

Said boy looked towards the voice to find Neville making his way towards the Slytherin table, ignoring the glares he was getting from the other Slytherins.

“Neville," Harry greeted, smiling as he shifted slightly to make space for the Gryffindor. “Good morning. Are you alright?”, he asked frowning at the slight black circles under the boy’s eyes.

“Oh, yes!”, Neville answered, grinning while he sat down. “I was just worried about you," he said. “I thought you would march head-on to tell Hermione about the troll.” He smiled sheepishly. “How did you do it anyway?”, he asked. Harry raised his brow. “How did you teleport her to the Gryffindor girl’s bathroom? Everyone was so confused when she stormed down the girl’s dorms with her hair wild and skin pale in the morning. She was furious on who had manhandled her into the dorm’s bathroom when she was actually on the first floor.”

Harry smiled. “Good then that you remembered her last night," he remarked. “The troll was apparently on the first floor rather than the dungeons.” Theo and Blaise nodded. “She might have died or been grievously injured.”

Neville flushed, then paled. “Oh, Merlin!”, he whispered. “Thank you, Harry, for doing whatever you did,"he whispered. “Well, she and Ron then got into a shouting match. Ron called her a bossy, know-it-all and she insulted him by telling him how much of an annoying, irritating prat he was.” Neville winced. “If not for the twins, the shouting match would have gone on.”

“Oh?”, Harry asked curiously. “What did they do?”

“Blasted some firecrackers in the common room.” Neville grimaced. “Very loud," he told them. “My ears are still ringing. Told everyone that they were still working on making them less loud and make them so that they come out in more shapes and sizes.”

“Amazing!”, Harry muttered in amusement. “What?”, he said when his three friends shot him a dubious look. “They are geniuses, you can’t deny that!”

Neville still looked uncertain. “Well, anyway," he muttered. “How did you transport Hermione to the dorms without her knowing anything?”

Harry grinned. “You need to figure it out yourself, Neville," he replied mischievously.

“Wh- Why?!”, Neville looked pleadingly at Theo and Blaise when Harry continued with his breakfast. “Do you two know?”

They nodded. “But he didn’t tell us," Theo answered. “I figured it out. You can do so too, Longbottom, you just need to think.”

Neville frowned at them and sighed. “Well, I’ll think, then," he mumbled. “What will you three do after breakfast?”, he asked while Harry eyed the staff table.

Professor Snape seemed really cross and was occasionally glaring at Quirell. Looks like someone has some idea about Quirell’s motives, Harry thought as Quirell rushed out of the Great Hall from the staff doors and Snape followed after, limping slightly.

An injury, Harry mused. Professor Snape had actually thought about the artifact yesterday then. He must have understood this troll incident to be a divergence. Harry smiled. At least there was one competent magical in this school.

“What do you guys say about creating this club?”, Harry asked turning back towards his friends and grinning when they gave him curious looks.

Chapter Text

“So, let me get this straight,” Blaise asked, his brows furrowed in a frown, “you want to create a club that will exchange information about the muggle and the Wizarding World?”

They were sitting in the library, in their hidden away table at the very back. Harry had made sure no one will get any chance to listen in onto their conversation and so, had put a Silencing Charm and a Notice-Me-Not Charm around the table, wandlessly and non-verbally before they had started their discussion about Harry's idea.

Which seemed to be going in a way Harry hadn't thought much about. Neville looked remarkably confused, Theo had a thoughtful expression on his face while Blaise was being his usual self, repeating everything Harry said and annoying him enough to make Harry itch to hex the boy into oblivion.

“Yes, Zabini," Harry bit out, now mostly annoyed. “How many times will you ask this?!”

“I just…..don’t understand why we need to know about muggles!”

Harry sighed exasperatedly, getting irritated over having to explain the same thing to the same person twice. “Blaise, listen to me! The magicals actually think non-magicals to be some sort of……..insects or something, when they are actually not! They don’t have magic, yes,” Harry said, slightly loudly to stop Blaise from arguing, “but they have science. They can’t fly using brooms and may not be able to Apparate, but they’ve got better, faster methods of transportation. They’ve got planes, which can transport them to the other side of the world in just five hours and they’ve got rockets that can take them to the moon.”

“T-They can go to the moon?!”, Neville asked with wide eyes.

“Yes!”, Harry nodded. “They actually landed there in nineteen sixty-nine, we are currently in nineteen ninety-one," he answered. “They are far more advanced than what the magicals think them to be!”

Theo and Blaise exchanged glances. “Well, that’s worrying," Theo said. “But what exactly do you intend to do with this club? Teach everyone about muggles only?”

“No," Harry shook his head. “That is not the only objective. We will give the club's description as being interested in making muggleborns interact with those who were raised in the Wizarding World, so each can share something about their own world with others. In that way, the Headmaster and the staff will, hopefully, assume that purebloods are learning more muggle customs instead of the other way around, while in reality we will actually try and familiarize the muggleborns and the half-bloods raised in the non-magical world with the traditions and customs of the Magical World. They need to know what world they are joining is like. I only want the first years to join this club currently - we will think about the upper years later. It will become easier for them then to accept the old festivals and rituals of our world.” Harry looked at the wide-eyed boys staring at him. “Do you guys understand now?”

Neville and Blaise nodded.

“This is brilliant actually," Theo murmured, looking both thoughtful and happy. “How many first years do you intend to invite then?”

“Not too much," Harry replied. “We will first need to get permission from Professor Snape to start the club. I think it will be better for us to start with some Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. Ravenclaws are too curious to refuse and I’ve almost established good acquaintance with Bones, Abbott and Finch-Fletchley.”

“That’s good enough," Blaise nodded.

“What about the Gryffindors?”, Neville asked.

Harry shared a glance with Theo and Blaise.

“Neville,” he said, “you are, of course, welcome." He sighed. “But I don’t think it will be a good idea to call any other Gryffindors in the club yet. They don’t like listening, they will mostly cause chaos.”

Neville frowned, then sighed. “Yeah, you are right," he muttered, probably imagining Weasley and his brood of 'Slytherins are slimy' rant. “Well then, where will you conduct the club?”

Harry grinned.

It did not take much effort to get permission from his Head of House to start the Club, which Harry named the Club of Introduction. Professor Snape took one look at the parchment Harry had prepared which explained his club’s objectives and goals, smirked at Harry and signed it, thus giving him permission to start it.

For a room to conduct it, Harry found one on the fifth-floor – an unoccupied classroom filled with numerous chairs and tables. Harry asked for Glus’ and other elves’ help to restore the room, adding a soft grey rug with some comfortable chairs and one centre table.

Harry asked the Room of Requirements for books pertaining to Wizarding traditions, customs and history to stock up in the room as well.

He then asked Glus to put his own magic and to only allow students that had their names on the parchment Harry will later provide to the elf, and added his own Privacy Charms on the door to the Club room.

Once the room for the Club had been prepared, Harry had only one thing remaining to do and that was telling the first years about the Club.

It was nearing mid-November by the time Harry had prepared everything for the club. The month had brought with it the chilly breeze. The mountains around the castle had turned icy grey and the Great Lake like chilled steel. With the advent of winter had come the start of Quidditch, which involved the players of each Hogwarts Houses’ quidditch teams to practice every chance they got and the remaining students to go crazy for the first match of the season.

The Quidditch made it both easy and hard for Harry to invite first years to his Club. It was easy as almost all Gryffindor first years were extremely excited about the games, so they wouldn’t give his Club much thought, thereby, diverting any disaster that might happen. But it also made it slightly harder for Harry to talk with muggleborns and half-bloods about anything other than Quidditch.

Eventually, he convinced Susan Bones, Hannah Abbott and Justin Finch-Fletchley from Hufflepuff and Terry Boot, Michael Corner, Anthony Goldstein, Lisa Turpin and Sue Li from Ravenclaw. From Gryffindor, Neville, of course, will be joining them. And from Slytherin, Harry along with Theo and Blaise. Tracey Davis has also asked them to let her join and Daphne Greengrass had followed Davis in curiosity.

On Wednesday, the eighteenth of November, Harry held the first meeting of his club.

But the problem started before the meeting could even begin.

Harry hadn’t given the name of the students joining the Club to Glus yet, thinking some other curious Ravenclaw might decide to join it at the last moment. And so, when Neville entered the room designed for the Club, Harry saw Hermione Granger, of all people, following after the nervous boy.

“Harry," Neville smiled slightly. “Hermione got curious when she heard about this club from…”, he trailed off, frowning, then turned to Granger with a raised brow, “Where did you hear about this again?”

Granger, who was eyeing the first years taking their seats around the round centre table, turned to look at Neville. “I heard you talking about this with Susan, Neville," she answered.

“Oh," Neville flushed, shooting Harry an apologetic look.

Harry sighed slightly, but nodded. “Please take a seat, Neville," he said, beckoning the boy to the chair beside him. He turned to look at Granger, who was now staring almost hungrily at the books stacked on the bookshelf at the back wall. “Miss Granger, take a seat. You may listen to what we are going to discuss today and then decide whether you want to become the Club’s member or not.”

Granger opened her mouth to speak, but shut it when Harry shook his head. Shooting him a frown, she sat down beside Sue Li.

Harry did not exactly have any problem with Granger. He only shared one class with her and that was Potions, where Professor Snape never allowed her to speak. But, every time he had seen the girl, either in the library or in the corridors, he had seen her being bossy and acting as if she was the only one who knew anything about magic. She talked down anyone trying to explain her something she did not understand about the Wizarding World, sometimes ranted in the Gryffindor common room about the magicals being so backwards (Neville had told Harry this with a grimace) and started acting downright rude to anyone she thought knew more than her.

All this behaviour did not amount to a very good interaction with the bushy-haired Gryffindor. Not to mention, that she was a muggleborn and yet acted as if she knew more about the Wizarding World than those who had actually grown up in it.

“Alright, then," Harry began, looking at his fellow fourteen schoolmates. “Welcome to my Club. I hope you all will enjoy what we are going to do here. But before I start with what this group’s goal exactly is, I want all of us to introduce ourselves to each other. So, I’ll start with myself. I am Harrison Potter, Heir to House Potter. I belong to House Slytherin. I enjoy reading. Nice to meet you all. Neville, you go on.”

Neville nodded, smiling nervously as all their schoolmates’ eyes fell on him. “H-Hello. My name is Neville Longbottom. H-Heir to House Longbottom. I am from House Gryffindor. I love plants.”

Harry could see Davis’ and Greengrass’ eyebrows shoot slightly in surprise, while Granger and the other muggle-raised looked confused.

“Wait!”, Granger interrupted Anthony Goldstein who was sitting beside Neville. “What is this about Houses and Heirs? Why aren’t you two simply introducing yourselves? Why add your surname to a House?”

Harry looked at Granger. “Why aren’t you in Ravenclaw, Granger?”, he wondered. Before she could say anything, he raised his hand. “Not now, Granger. Let everyone introduce themselves. I’ll explain after introductions.”

Granger shot him a frustrated glance, but nodded.

“Go ahead." Harry nodded to Goldstein.

“Hello, everyone," Goldstein smiled. “I am Anthony Goldstein. I am from Ravenclaw. I love learning and finding out about new things.”

“Hello," Boot said, sitting beside Goldstein. “My name is Terry Boot. I come from House Boot. I am a Ravenclaw. I really enjoy playing chess and gobstones.”

“I am Michael Corner. I am also from Ravenclaw." Corner smiled slightly, waving. “I absolutely love reading books.”

“I’m Lisa Turpin. I am in Ravenclaw too," Turpin said. “I enjoy reading about both muggle and magical history.”

“I am Sue Li. My family originally hails from China, but my mother is from Britain, so my father let me attend Hogwarts. I am Heiress to House Li.” Li smiled. “I love gardening.”

“I am Hermione Granger," Granger said. “I am the first in my family to have magic,” she said proudly, “and my parents are dentists.” The wizard-raised students exchanged confused looks. “I love reading books and am so happy to learn about magic. It’s such a fascinating world, yet they seem to be really back-”

“Granger," Harry interrupted, his stare unimpressed. “Just an introduction, not a complete history.”

Granger glared at Harry. “Why can’t I talk about myself?! This is a club for us, not for you to order us around!”

“This might be a club for everyone, Granger,” Harry gritted out, annoyed, “but I created it, not you. As such, I will be the one who will decide what exactly will happen here, not you.”

“That’s so unfair!”, she argued. “This is dictatorship, Harry, you do-”

"It’s Potter to you, Granger," Harry interrupted calmly. “And this is not a dictatorship. I made this Club to have its members share information and knowledge about their respective worlds. Not to share what they think about the magical or the non-magical world.”

“But the Wizarding World is really backwards!”, she shouted, furious. “Look at all the advancements we have made, and look at wizards and witches, still using quills and parchments and wearing old-fashioned clothes-”

“Granger," Harry warned as she remained oblivious to the hated glares his Slytherin mates were shooting her. “Do you want to get out of this Club meeting?”, he asked.

“No! Why would you-”

“Then I advice you to shut your mouth and let others introduce themselves.”

Granger opened her mouth again, but then her eyes fell on Greengrass and Davis staring daggers at her. She blinked. “Fine!”

Harry looked at Justin who was staring at Granger wide-eyed. “Finch-Fletchley, please go on.”

Finch-Fletchley looked from the silently fuming Granger to everyone else. “Hello," he began slowly. “I am Justin Finch-Fletchley. I am a muggleborn and from Hufflepuff. My parents actually wanted me to go to Eton, but I told them I wanted to know more about magic. I like playing chess and enjoy horse-riding.”

“I am Susan Bones," Bones said. “I belong to House Bones and am a Hufflepuff. I enjoy talking with new people and am interested in studying wizarding laws.”

“I am Hannah Abbott, Heiress to House Abbott. I am also from Hufflepuff," Abbott introduced. “I am interested in travelling around the world once I graduate. I enjoy learning about different customs and traditions of different regions.”

“I am Tracey Davis, Heiress to House Davis and belong to House Slytherin," Davis said. “I enjoy Duelling and chess.”

Harry raised his eyebrow at the girl’s interest, thinking about maybe asking her to duel with him.

“I am Daphne Greengrass, Heiress to House Greengrass and I, too, belong to House Slytherin," Greengrass sniffed. “I enjoy politics and law.”

“I’m Blaise Zabini, Heir to House Zabini.” Blaise grinned. “I enjoy seeing people in chaos.”

Harry sighed while everyone else gave the boy looks varying from confused to amused.

“I am Theodore Nott, Heir to House Nott," Theo said, after giving Blaise an unimpressed look. “I am a Slytherin and enjoy learning about plants.”

Harry grinned after Theo finished. “Good," he said. “Now that the introductions are done, we’ll start with why exactly I created this club.

“You see, some of us come from the non-magical world and so we have absolutely no knowledge about the Wizarding World-”

“You are wrong actually," Granger interrupted and Harry forced himself to take a calming breath. “I have read several books on the Wizarding World, Harry, and I know about this world. In fact, I read about you too, in the books ‘Modern Magical History’, ‘The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts’ and ‘Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century’.

“I was truly fascinated to find out that a baby had actually defeated the most powerful wizard in Britain.” The Slytherins tensed, Theo and Blaise glaring at the ranting girl while Greengrass and Davis gave Harry side-eyed glances. The Ravenclaws were giving Harry curious looks. “I mean, what are the chances that something like that could happen? Though I suppose, I agree on Ronald on this one, you should have gone to Gryffindor, since Professor Dumbledore, the greatest wizard of all time, belongs to that House. Did you know he defeated Grindalwald single-handedly? That duel between them is regarded-”

Harry took out his wand and fired a Silencing Spell at Granger, effectively shutting her hero-worship of Dumbledore. Talk about anyone, but don’t praise Dumbledore in front of Harry and he’d be fine. He trusted his Occlumency shields, but not with praises and hero-worship of Dumbledore.

“Now that she’s silent,” Harry began ignoring Granger’s glare as she tried to counter Harry’s Silencing Charm with no result, Theo and Blaise snorting beside him, “I can actually continue on what I was saying. So,” he looked at the wide-eyed stares of his classmates, “this Club is for us to exchange our knowledge regarding our worlds. For instance, those of you who come from the non-magical world could not understand why we told our Houses or what does the Heirships mean.”

Most of his fellow mates nodded, Granger as well with tears of frustration in her eyes.

Harry ignored her completely. “The Wizarding World has its own rich traditions that are followed by most of the Wizarding families. Tell me, how many of you have read or heard about the Wizengamot?”

Everyone in the room nodded. Granger tried to speak, her mouth moving, but no sound came out.

“Isn’t it like the decision-making body of the Wizarding World?”, Finch-Fletchley asked.

“Yes." Li nodded. “The Wizengamot acts as the legislature as well as the judiciary of the British Wizarding World.”

“It dates back to before the time of the Hogwarts’ Founders," Boot continued. “When the Ministry of Magic was established in the fourteenth century, the Wizengamot was included in it. The Ministry’s building is built around where the original meetings of the Wizengamot were held, in present day London.”

“Amazing!”, Finch-Fletchley muttered.

“But what does this have to do with Heirs and Houses?”, Goldstein asked.

Harry looked at Theo. “Want to explain this?”, he asked.

“Of course," Theo replied. “The Wizengamot has seats and each seat have votes that depends on whether the seat is of an Ancient House or a Noble one. The Minister, and the Heads of the major departments in the Ministry along with ten recent receivers of the Order of Merlin, First Class, get a certain amount of votes too.

“The seats of the Wizarding families in the Wizengamot are divided into the Most Ancient and Most Noble Houses which are only five – four belonging to the Hogwarts’ founders while the remaining to a very ancient and revered family line, the Peverells. These seats have twenty votes each.”

Most of the first years’ eyes widened. Granger waved frantically to get Harry’s attention who sighed and removed the Charm from around her with a wave of his wand.

“Why do these five Houses have so much votes?”, Granger demanded.

Greengrass spoke up, “Because they were one of the many witches and wizards who helped in establishing the Wizengamot itself, Granger.”

“But isn’t that unfair?”, she asked, looking at everyone.

“It’s not unfair, Granger," Davis replied. “Those five family lines are very old and sacred. Any one related to those lines becomes very important since these lines’ family magic are extremely rare.”

Granger blinked. “But giving them so much sway over important matters of legislations could result in the body making wrong decisions for the public!”

“Granger," Harry said. “I get what you are trying to say.” He gave a nod. “Twenty votes can decide and turn around any bill being passed, even if the bill is not good for the magical world. But the thing is, these seats require a certain amount of money to be given to the Ministry – a sort of income tax if you will. If a Lord or a Lady claims and occupies their seat in the Wizengamot, they need to start paying for their seat every year to be able to vote from there.”

Theo nodded. “The higher voting points the seats have, the more money payment it requires.”

“Oh," Granger frowned. “That…..is alright, I suppose," she mumbled.

“But what if they are not able to pay?”, Corner asked.

“Then, that seat either remains empty or the family sells it to someone else," Davis answered. “Mostly, the families decide to get in a vassal-contract with more wealthy and powerful families, like Houses of Crabbe and Goyle. They are indebted to House Malfoy. In this way, their seats still have their family names, yet the voting decisions go to Lord Malfoy.”

“The Gaunts,” Harry spoke up, “sold their seats almost a century ago due to the rising debt they were facing. Almost most of them passed away fifty years ago.”

“So,” Granger asked, looking at the Slytherins, “are there any…Lord or Ladies occupying these seats currently?”

“No," Blaise shook his head. “There are no known Lords, Heirs or even indirect descendants of these families, except maybe the Smiths, who claim to be the descendants of Hufflepuff, yet are not able to claim their seat in the Wizengamot.”

Harry waited for anyone to mention something more, but no Slytherin did. He tilted his head, smiling slightly. “There are some rumours that there was one descendent of Slytherin,” he started, looking side-eyed as all the Slytherins stiffened apart from him, “from the Gaunts. His original name is unknown, though most of the magicals know him as Voldemort.” Everyone in the room flinched, while the muggleborns looked uneasy.

Granger nodded. “I read in several history books that he could speak Parseltongue, the language of the snakes. Can you believe? Talking to snakes, of all animals?”

“I can actually," Harry said, smiling slightly. “There’s nothing wrong with talking to snakes, Granger. They are themselves a species, most of them unharmful. I find the ability rather fascinating as there is more to it than only talking to snakes. Parseltongue can be used to fire off spells, and since the language is sacred and has magic laced in it, the spells are extremely powerful.”

Granger frowned at Harry. “I did not read about this type of magic," she said.

“Because it is classified as the Dark Arts," Harry replied nonchalantly while the Slytherins stared at him with intrigue and shock. “The classification scheme here in Britain means that that type of magic automatically gets banned.”

“But Dark Arts are dangerous!”, Granger exclaimed.

“When did I say they are not dangerous?”, Harry asked iinocently.

“But….”, Granger floundered, “it is good then that they are banned. The Dark Arts are terrible!”

Harry hummed. “Well,” he said, changing the topic, “we weren’t discussing the Dark Arts, we were talking about the Wizengamot and Heirships.” He nodded at Theo.

“After the Most Ancient and Most Noble Houses come the Most Ancient and Noble Houses, each having ten votes. The Longbottom and Malfoy Houses belong to this category.” Neville blushed when everyone looked at him. “Then comes the Ancient and Noble Houses which have Potter and Greengrass Houses among others.” Harry nodded at this when everyone looked at him. “They have seven votes. Then there are the Noble Houses like Crabbe and Goyle which have three votes.

“Since the Wizengamot is so ancient, the ways of the ancients is still being followed. The Wizarding families, thus, have one Head of House, who are the Lord or Lady of the House and has the responsibility to represent their House in the Wizengamot, take care of all the House affairs among other things. Their first-born is their Heir, meaning the one who will take their responsibilities once they relinquish their title or pass away.”

“So, when you say that you are Heir or Heiress to these Houses-?”, Goldstein asked.

“Yes," Harry nodded. “It means that we are next in line to take the title of Lord or Lady of our Houses.”

“But your House does not have any Lord or Lady," Granger said, staring at Harry.

Harry narrowed his eyes at her as most of the members looked at her with a frown. She did not had tact, did she? “Yes, thank you, Granger," Harry drawled out, annoyed. “For pointing out the obvious.” She flushed. “Lordships could only be taken once we reach our majority which is seventeen in Britain. Hence, I can’t take the Lordship of House Potter yet.”

Granger mumbled something and looked down.

“So,” Finch-Fletchley asked hesitantly, “is there no way to get the Lordship before reaching the age of seventeen?”

“There are," Greengrass answered. “The Lordships can be taken if the House’s rule state it explicitly that it could be taken by the Heir in some cases. Otherwise, if a Heir is emancipated either by their guardians or because of some other reason before reaching the age of seventeen, then also they can take the Lordship.”

“So why don’t you get yourself emancipated and take the Lordship, Harry?”, Granger asked.

Harry breathed out. “Because I don’t think my guardian will let me get emancipated just to take on my Lordship," he answered. “Besides, I am not yet ready to go through the meetings in the Wizengamot.”

“And no one will take him seriously, Boy-Who-Lived or not," Greengrass added. “He’s only an eleven-year-old, while the Wizengamot has Lords and Ladies older than a century.”

“That explains the backwardness," Granger said.

“Will you shut up with this bad-mouthing the Wizarding World, Granger?!”, Davis snapped. “You don’t even know half of the things about this world! How can you just judge it when you’ve only been here for two paltry months?!”

Greengrass sneered at her. “Muggleborns," she said with distain. “They think they know everything about the magical world when they don’t even know about Magic itself.”

“Wh- How dare you!”, Granger stood up. “I know about magic! I have magic! Just because you’ve grown up in the magical world-”

“That’s it, isn’t it?”, Harry said calmly, interrupting the shouting girl. “They’ve actually grown up in the magical world, the way we have grown in the non-magical one. The way you know about the non-magical world, Granger, is similar to how they know about the magical world. You can’t find everything in a book, just the way you can’t know about the very minute things in everyday life.” Harry raised his eyebrows at Granger, then gave every non-magical-raised a serious look.

“Think on what I’ve said. You aren’t just moving from one town to another, you are moving from one world to another – a world which has magic. This world has its own set of rules and laws, its own rich culture and traditions, which you all will need to know if you want to become a part of this world. Just the way you have to adapt when you move from one country to another and not those around you, you have to adapt here as well.

“I mean,” Harry smiled, “there must be a reason behind why the magicals still use quills and parchment, why they still follow the rules laid down by their ancestors centuries ago? There must be a reason why they celebrate Samhain and Yule instead of Halloween and Christmas, right?”

He smirked when all of them looked thoughtful, including Granger, and the Slytherins hid their triumphed looks. “I want you guys to think on it," he repeated again. “I think we should stop this meeting here. If you guys are still interested, you all are very welcome to attend the next meeting which will be held on next Wednesday here. You all are also urged to bring any other interested first year, though no upper years are allowed currently.”

“And Granger,” Harry looked at the Gryffindor, who blinked, “you are welcome to come here as well, though I’ll ask you not to interrupt again and be rude about it. Also, refrain from bringing any other Gryffindors, at least not yet, since they are more likely to cause chaos than listen to what others have to say.”

She pursued her lips, then sighed and nodded.

“Excellent.” Harry nodded at them, pulling out a parchment from his robe pocket. “If you guys are sure that you will come for the next meeting, please put down your names here. And if anyone else wishes to join this Club, you will need to contact me or Theo, Blaise and Neville, so that we can add their names here, otherwise they wouldn’t be able to enter this room.”

All of them nodded, moving to put their names on to the parchment Harry passed on. It already had Harry and his friends’ names. The parchment had the Protean Charm on it, so that when new names would be added, they would automatically be copied to the parchment Harry would give to Glus.

Once the names were written down, Harry bid the others farewell letting them out. Greengrass and Davis gave him small smiles, waving them goodbye.

Once only Harry and his friends had remained, they grinned at each other.

“Looks like the first meeting went extremely well, didn’t it?”, Theo asked.

“Yeah," Blaise grinned.

“I am sorry for bringing in Hermione," Neville said guiltily. “She was……so rude about you..”, Neville grimaced.

Harry patted the boy’s shoulder. “It’s alright, Neville "he said. “Granger’s annoying and rude sometimes, but she has a brilliant mind. Once she stops seeing everything in such a…….manner as she does, she might become more understanding.”

“Let’s just hope Granger does not say anything more stupid in the coming meetings, otherwise Greengrass and Davis will actually murder her very painfully," Blaise remarked with a grin.

Neville winced, while Harry and Theo nodded with matching smirks on their faces.

“They looked so furious," Neville muttered. “Oh! And Harry! Fred and George told me to tell you that they’ve got what you asked them for. They asked me to tell you to meet them whenever you want their masterpiece.”

“Excellent!”, Harry smiled brightly. “Tell them I want to meet them tomorrow after dinner in the same room we had met.”

“Okay," Neville nodded.

“What have you asked them to get you, Potter?”, Blaise asked curiously.

Harry smiled. “Oh, let’s just say that it’s a weapon of mass upheavel for the magical world.”

His three friends shared confused looks, making Harry cackle.

Chapter Text

“Harrison!”

“We missed being in your presence so much!”

“How are you, our favourite firstie?”

“And favourite little snake too!”

The Weasley twins chorused as they came in through the door, shutting it beside them and sitting down in front of Harry with big grins on their faces.

Harry was sitting on the chair beside the teacher’s desk in the abandoned classroom on the first floor, the same room in which he had met the twins before for his 'business' proposal.

He smiled at them. “Congratulations on winning against my House in Quidditch," he said. “And I assumed that Ronald would be your favourite firstie, not me.” Harry quirked his eyebrows at the twins when they gagged.

“Oh, please, Harrison!”, began one of them.

“Don’t say offending and hurtful things like that!”

“Our dear Ronnikins is far from-”

“-our favourite firstie.”

“Thank you for the congratulation, by the way, Harrison." They grinned wide, high-fiving each other. "And it was inevitable that you would congratulate us for winning. Our team is better than the other Houses'."

Harry rolled his eyes at that, leaning back in his chair while the twins went back to being dramatic.

“Such blatant rudeness!”, one of them said, dramatically clutching his chest and making a pained expression.

“He’s ruining our good name-”

“-the great Gred and Forge Weasley!”

“It should be Forge and Gred, dear Gred.”

“No, dear Forge, I’m afraid you are quite wrong there.”

“Hmm. We need to discuss this.”

“I agree, dear Forge.”

They both turned together to look at Harry, who was listening to their exchange with amusement.

“Harrison-”

“-we wanted to ask you something.”

Harry raised his brow. “Is this the boon?”, he asked, perking up.

“Ahh-”

“-not that quickly, ickle snakie.” They shook their head in sync, wagging their index fingers in a no.

“We will discuss that in some distant future.”

Harry frowned at them.

“Currently, we wish to know-”

“-what exactly you did with our brother’s hair?”

“You see, we’ve been trying to get a spell or a potion-”

“-to last that long.”

“But it isn’t working!”

Harry tilted his head slightly. “You guys are already tempering with potions and spells?”, he asked. “Doesn’t that require advanced knowledge of Arithmancy and Runes?”

“Yes, it does," they said, nodding without elaborating.

“We’re talented like that.”

“Indeed," Harry muttered slowly, studying them with a curious look, slightly impressed. “You two are talented, alright," he agreed. The twins’ eyes sparkled. “Well, hypothetically speaking, it was accidental magic since I was extremely furious at Ronald for insinuating something about my parents when he clearly did not know them.”

“Of course," they agreed, nodding seriously. "We do apologize for what he said, Harrison."

Harry nodded, before continuing, “I’d say I commanded my magic to let his hair stay that way until I want it to return back to their original state.”

The twins’ eyes widened and they exchanged a glance before staring at Harry with awe.

“You know, Harrison,” one of them began slowly.

“-that is very hard to do.”

“In fact, we haven’t heard anyone-”

“-to be able to do that.”

“Yeah.” Harry nodded. “I realized that when I came to the magical world too. I theorize that I have made a good connection with my magical core to be able to do that.”

They nodded. “That’s interesting," they said, frowning slightly in thought.

Harry let them think for a while, then cleared his throat to get their attention. “Well, then, you brave lions," he said. “Can you give me what I’ve asked you for?”

The twins shared a devilish smirk. “Of course, Mr. Potter," one of them said while the other fished out a small dark red pouch from his robe pocket. “Here.”

Harry took the pouch with trepidation and opened it to pull out some parchments. “Amazing!”, he breathed, looking through them. “Good job, guys. Thank you so much!”

“You are welcome, dear Harrison.”

“We strive to please.”

“And we enjoyed doing this immensely!”

Harry grinned. “So, about that boon of yours," he said. “When will you guys ask for it?”

The twins shared a silent conversation.

“Not yet, Harrison.”

“We will tell you when we think we know we are ready to ask for it.”

Harry sighed. “Fine! Do as you wish!", he muttered. “Though the curiosity might kill me.”

The twins laughed.

-------

Soon, November turned into December and they were nearing the Yule holidays.

There were three more meetings for the club, each on a Wednesday, and Harry was happy to see more first year students joining the Club in curiosity.

From Hufflepuff, Ernie Macmillan, Megan Jones and Sally-Anne Perks had joined, and from Ravenclaw, Stephen Cornfoot and Padma Patil who had dragged her twin Parvati Patil along with her, had visited the meeting.

They had all had discussions about the Wizengamot and how the laws were passed and what were the roles of the Minister and the Chief Warlock.

Harry had introduced them to the subjects which were previously included in the Hogwarts curriculum – like the Wizarding Traditions and Customs, classes on how to use quill and write on parchment, along with classes that were on Alchemy, Broom-designing, introduction to wandlore and the Dark Arts that were taught to sixth and seventh years – and were now removed citing the reasons of less student participation and extended budget issues.

Harry had also slowly started discussing about the Wizarding history and the Pagan holidays – about how way earlier, even before the times of the Founders, the magicals and non-magicals co-existed peacefully, how then divisions and discriminations had started and slowly a war had begun to brew among them.

While talking about the magical world, Harry had also made sure to introduce his magical-raised classmates to the increasing advancements in the non-magical world, about science and technology and the non-magical’s use of logic and deductions to advance in the fields of science to create fantastic tools.

The Slytherins were initially hesitant, sneering at the idea of learning about muggles, but once Harry had mentioned how these muggles had actually landed on the moon and had satellites reaching the far planets - already having observed planets like Mars, Jupiter and Saturn - did they get interested enough to listen.

Harry told them about the advancements in non-magical weaponry, about nuclear bombs and missiles and tanks.

“We, magicals, do not have spells or curses that can kill even hundreds of humans in one go," Harry informed them gravely. “Non-magicals, on the other hand, killed around one-hundred-and-fifty thousand people with just two bombs. If I don’t mention the catastrophic effects the radioactive radiations caused, killing several hundred thousand more later on.”

Most of them had wide-eyed looks, staring at Harry in shock, even Granger who must already have known about the effects the nuclear weapons had on Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

“And these were only the initial weapons the muggle government of the United States had used. In nineteen-seventy-one, Russia succeeded in testing a thermonuclear bomb that is hundred to thousand times more destructive than those used in the second World War," he continued. “Don’t take muggles as if they are powerless, pathetic creatures. They have already discovered power that, if unleashed, will destroy the whole planet, including themselves.”

“But,” Neville whispered, his face pale, “how can they create something so dangerous?”

“Scientific curiosity," Harry answered. “And the race to win on how advanced weapons they can create. Urge to keep themselves well-stocked so that nobody dares attack them. There are so many divisions, based on colour, religion, boundary, country and so on. So many reasons to fight, so much unrest.”

“That’s so……..barbaric," Davis muttered.

“It has become a race," Granger whispered. “They’ve forgot how to be friendly, how to let everyone live and to live themselves. They’ve strayed away from nature and forgotten peace.”

“Wise words," Harry murmured. “That is why I want every magical to actually know what non-magicals are capable of. It’s not the seventeenth century where they’ll use pitchforks and swords to attack. Magicals need to be strictly away from them, keep their magic….hidden, so to speak. Because if they ever found out, their awe and interest will soon turn into jealousy and fear.”

“We can try eliminating them," Greengrass muttered.

Some of the students present gasped.

“No, we can’t," Harry replied with a shake of his head. “A war won’t give anything except destruction and deaths. Besides, non-magicals outnumber magicals one to maybe a hundred thousand.”

That discussion had left almost everyone feeling solemn and fearful, and Harry had tried to reassure them that they haven’t yet been discovered and they could do everything they could in the future to make sure it never happened.

------

Once the Yule holidays started, most of the students left the castle to celebrate the festival with their families.

Malfoy had bragged as much as he could, making very unsubtle jabs at Harry for not being wanted by his family as Harry had signed in to stay at the castle. Neville, Theo and Blaise had offered Harry an invitation to their homes, but Harry had refused, planning on calling his elves and maybe Morte to celebrate and perform Yule ritual in the Room of Requirement.

The only annoyance was, that for some reason, the Weasleys were staying too, and that meant Ronald was staying at the castle, trying to either insult Harry by calling him a traitor and a Slytherin, or trying to befriend him when he figured out his insults won’t affect Harry much, except solidify Harry’s resolve to let the boy’s hair stay the way they had been since the start of the term – obnoxious green and silver.

The only highlight of the Weasleys staying was the twins’ pranks on any victim they could find, going so far as to bewitch snowballs to follow Quirell and bounce off the back of his turban. Harry was amused, especially since the twins were not only annoying a professor, but the greatest and the most powerful Dark wizard of all time as well.

The Great Hall was already being decorated before the holidays even started with the help from Hagrid and Professors McGonagall and Flitwick with twelve Christmas trees, holly and mistletoes. As similar to Samhain, Harry was both awed and annoyed at the mugglization of the Wizarding festivals in the magical world itself.

On the twenty-first of December, Harry called his elves in the Room of Requirement after dinner. He had taken extreme pain to sneak out onto the seventh-floor, especially when Ronald Weasley was trying to make friends with a ‘slimy Slytherin’.

Floppy and the others popped in with the Yule log and the necessary food and sacrifices they needed for the ritual. Harry would have preferred to do it outside, maybe in the Forbidden Forest, where there was more natural magic, but they had to make do.

Once the ritual was done, Harry and the elves blissfully at peace with interacting with natural magic and their cores energized, they started sharing the food they had offered for the ritual and chatted with each other, the elves telling him how they had found some wild animals sneaking into the castle and Harry ranting about Ronald and how boring the lessons were.

Harry was making progress steadily through the books Morte had told him to go through, about the Dark Arts and Harry’s affinities. It was hard to understand such advanced rituals and spells that required so much magic and power mentioned in them, and Harry found it often annoying that he could not practice most of them without killing himself, but it was amazing to learn so much about things and magic that most of the magicals did not even know about.

While they were talking, Harry felt the magic shift in the Room and looked around to find Morte sitting on an armchair, his hands crossed over his chest with a frown on his face, while Lady Magic was standing beside him, smiling as she gazed at Harry and the elves.

“Harrison," she greeted. “Happy Yule.” She looked at the elves who had their eyes widened and were bowing at her. “Hello, Floppy, Ils, Ashy, Kuzz and Uvum. Happy Yule.”

Harry smiled at her, standing up from where he was sitting cross-legged on the floor. “Lady Magic!”, he bowed. “Morte! Happy Yule!”

Morte grumbled a ‘Happy Yule!’ followed by how unfair it was that he had only one festival to his name and how mortals did not give him his much needed respect. Harry rolled his eyes at his mentor while the elves chorused a ‘Happy Yule!’ to Lady Magic, staring at her in awe.

“What do I owe the pleasure of your visit, Lady Magic?”, Harry asked as he moved towards the two beings, imagining two armchairs – one beside Morte and other in front of him – for the Room to give. He sat down on the one beside Morte, motioning for the elves to do whatever they wanted to.

Lady Magic sat down too, giving Morte an amused smile, before turning towards Harry. “I wanted to see how you were doing, Harrison," she replied. “You have grown since we last met.”

Harry smiled slightly. “It has been more than two years, Lady Magic," he remarked. “And I’m a child still.”

“Of course," Lady Magic laughed. “I hope your studies under Lord Death are going smoothly? Without him causing any mess that might make you stray away from your path?”

“Yeah," Harry answered, a wide grin coming over his face. “Morte’s behaving himself.”

Lady Magic chuckled when Morte shot Harry a scathing glare. “Mind your tongue, Harrison, or you might lose it.” Morte sniffed. “Besides, it’s you who causes disaster whenever we conduct your lessons.”

“That’s because I’m still learning how to control my core, Morte," Harry shot back.

“It is commendable that you learned so fast how to control your magical core, Harrison," Lady Magic said with a proud smile. “I am extremely happy that you have such a wonderful connection with your magic.”

“Thank you, Lady Magic.” Harry grinned, his cheeks slightly warm at the praise. Morte usually praised him with an insult, so Harry wasn’t used to much compliments.

They lapsed in silence for a while, and the elves decided it was good time to offer Lady Magic and Morte some offerings. Harry was amused at the irony. Lady Magic was eating the offering that was actually, originally, for her.

“Harrison?”, Lady Magic spoke up after a pause.

“Yes?”

“I needed to talk to you about something.”

“Sure," Harry said curiously.

“You know that Mr. Riddle is……….possessing Qurinous Quirell, yes?”

Harry nodded.

“Have you studied how more than one soul could affect the mortal body?”, she asked.

Harry frowned, trying to recall anything like this he might have read. “I…..don’t think so," he replied, glancing at Morte.

Morte sighed. “The mortal body is specifically designed to house only one soul, Harrison," he explained. “Since Quirell’s body is currently housing his soul along with Riddle’s, it is deteriorating. His body’s slowly decaying since it can’t handle having two souls.”

Harry gave them a confused look, “But doesn’t Riddle only have like, one percent of his soul left?”, he asked.

“That is why Quirell is still alive, Harrison," Morte replied, before smirking to himself. “If Riddle had his whole soul residing with Quirell’s, the man’s body would have died in over a week after the possession.”

“Oh.” Harry turned to Lady Magic. “So, what do you intend for me to do? Quirell will surely die if Riddle doesn’t leave his body, won't he?”

“I say let him," Morte said. “That man deserves it after letting a soul possess him.”

Harry shot Morte an annoyed glance. “Quirell must believe in Riddle’s beliefs to try to help him, Morte," he chastised. Then he frowned. “Wait. Does he believe in the man’s initial beliefs or the one’s after the guy went insane?”

“It’s a mixture of both," Lady Magic replied. “Quirell was a Muggle Studies professor here at Hogwarts before he went to travel across Europe to search for Riddle. And unlike most magicals, he actually knows what non-magicals are capable of. Hence, he believes that either the magicals should eliminate the non-magicals, or they should completely separate away from them.”

Harry bit his lips. “Alright," he said slowly. “Combination of ideas then. So, do you want to save that man’s life?”

Lady Magic frowned. “I won’t do anything," she said after a pause. “I think Riddle already has few ideas prepared to combat this body decay.”

“Obviously," Harry said as he rolled his eyes, remembering how Riddle was a prodigy while he was a student.

“His way of achieving this might be……..hazardous.”

Harry groaned. “Is he planning on letting lose another creature or something?”, he asked.

“No," Lady Magic answered while Morte snorted. “He won’t do something of that sort. But he might hurt a magical being.”

“What else is new?”, Harry muttered.

Lady Magic shot him an annoyed look. “This is serious, Harrison," she chastised. Harry sighed. “He might harm one of the purest races of magical species and I do not want to see someone I’ve chosen as a Lord destroy himself, his host and an innocent creature like that.”

Harry rubbed his temples. “Obviously," he muttered to himself, feeling more than annoyed. “Riddle will, of course, try to hurt a unicorn as well. His list keeps increasing.” He looked at Lady Magic. “Has he already started hurting them? And how does they even help with body decay?”

“No, he hasn’t yet. Though the Fates have hinted that he might try sometime in the future when he truly gets desperate," Lady Magic answered. “And unicorn blood, Harrison. It is extremely powerful and can bring someone back from the brink of death.” Morte grimaced. “If Quirell drinks a unicorn’s blood, it will provide him with enough time to survive and get the Stone.”

“Which is obviously a fake," Harry muttered.

“Yes," Lady Magic nodded. “But killing a unicorn is considered one of the gravest crimes you can commit against creatures – killing someone so pure that couldn’t even defend itself. Quirell will live a cursed life, and that curse will pass on to Riddle’s soul as well.”

Harry took a deep breath. “Can’t you warn him off or something?”, he wondered. “Visit Riddle in his dream and give him some piece of mind?”

“No.” Lady Magic shook her head. “I won’t warn a man who has lost himself due to his fear, when he had so much to fight for, when he was chosen as a Lord, when he had so much potential to help the magical world, yet lost all of it due to his bad decisions.”

Harry pursued his lips. “No offence, Lady Magic,” he said tentatively, “but you could have guided him when he first made his Horcrux, or maybe later when he was contemplating making more.”

“Yes, I could have," Lady Magic said, a sad look passing her face. “But we are not supposed to interfere so much with mortal affairs or to affect their decisions. This,” she indicated between herself and Harry, “is already too much interference from our side. But the Fates want to do something about this destruction that the magicals are heading towards and if we hadn’t done anything, there might not be a plane to interfere. And I am not sure I could have been able to stop Riddle when he was so adamant on making more Horcruxes.”

Harry sighed. “I understand," he said. “What can I do then? About the unicorns and Riddle?”

“Not much, Harrison," Lady Magic replied. “You don’t need to do much. Just try to get in contact with any unicorn roaming in the Forbidden Forest.”

“Will I be able to contact them?”, Harry asked curiously.

“Yes," she answered. “If they find you worthy enough, which I think you are, they will talk to you. They use a sort of telepathic link to talk, and not many have ever had any conversation with them for it to be well known in the magical world.”

“So,” Harry drawled with a grin, “you, Lady Magic, are telling me to break this school’s rules?”

“Don’t act so innocent, Harrison.” Lady Magic rolled her eyes. “You were already planning on visiting those thestrals in these holidays. I just gave you another worthy reason to break the rules for.”

Harry laughed. “I thank you then, Lady Magic," he said, standing up to give her a grand bow.

“Ah, no need to be so dramatic, dear," she said, smiling at his theatrics.

“I just need to figure out how to sneak out of the castle," Harry mused. “Do you guys think the Weasley twins will help me?”

“Ah, them," Lady Magic laughed. “You know they are the Chaos’ favourite? He adores them.”

“Obviously." Harry rolled his eyes along with Morte. “It is really obvious. And do you know how much they remind me of the Fates?”

“Yes," Lady Magic nodded. “The twin talk. So similar.”

“So, do you think they will help me?”, Harry asked, looking from Morte to Lady Magic.

“I have a better idea, Harrison," Lady Magic said with a mischievous smile. “Just wait till the last day of Yule, you’ll find out.”

Harry looked at her curiously, raising his eyebrows when Morte let out an unhappy sound.

The morning of the last Yule day, on the twenty-fifth of December, Harry woke up to find a small pile of gifts at the end of his bed heaped in a miniature hill.

With a happy quirk of his lips, Harry settled down beside the pile to see what his friends had decided to gift him with. Harry had himself sent Neville a book on rare and exotic plants. To Theo, he’d given a book on extremely dangerous plants and beasts while to Blaise he gifted a muggle adventure novel. He’d sent his house-elves pouches of galleons, instructing them to buy whatever they liked for themselves and not something for him or for the castle. He’d also sent Morte a necklace with a white skull as a joke. And he'd sent the members of his Club boxes of sweets with ‘Happy Yule’ wishes.

The first package was from Theo, a book on Runes and their uses in warding, which Harry grinned at, noting to himself to thank Theo once he got back. The second was from Neville, a copy of an ancient book talking about old magic and traditions, which Neville mentioned he had found in his family’s library. From Blaise, he got a book on the history of the Dark Arts, Harry quirking his eyebrows when he read Blaise’s note warning him that this book was illegal in Britain and ‘you better hide it from that old man, or I will be dragged into Azkaban along with you, Potter’.

Harry got several boxes of sweets from the members of the Club, while Granger had sent him a book on non-magical World War history.

For some reason, he had gotten a gift from Hagrid too, with whom he hadn’t actually talked after that ‘I was supposed to fetch you from your relatives’ home to take you to Diagon so that you could become brainwashed about Light and curious about that artefact’ talk (though Ronald seemed determined to befriend Hagrid for some curious reason). When Harry opened the small package, he found a wooden, hand-carved flute.

Shrugging, he put it away and looked at the last two remaining gifts. He picked the smaller one and opened it to find a well-used novel of H.G. Wells’ 'War of the World'. He found a note tucked inside the first page which was written in Professor Snape’s handwriting.

Mr. Potter,

Your mother enjoyed this book immensely and had given it to me to read through. I did read the novel, but never got a chance to return it to her due to the fight we had during our fifth-year.

I must apologize, but I was hesitant to tell you that I and she were good friends. I ask of you to refrain from asking about her yet; I will be more willing to tell you about her when I think I am ready to.

Also, I can not act too friendly with you since he wants us to remain at odds with each other.

Sincerely,

Severus Snape.

Harry read through the note once more, then looked at the book with his breath frozen in his throat. His mother had used this same book to read through the very same words, he thought as he turned the pages with his racing heart.

After a few moments of looking through the words and brushing his hand over the words ‘Lily Evans’ at the bottom of the first page, Harry turned to the last package resting beside him.

He tilted his head as he felt magic around the package, not just any but ancient and Death’s.

Harry commanded his magic to flow out slowly and wrap around the package, groaning when he felt slight compulsions to use the gifted item and sneak out towards the library at night, after curfew.

Dumbledore, he thought furiously, as he looked for any Monitoring Charms as well. Finding none, he broke the compulsions with his magic and opened the package hesitantly.

His eyes widened when the Cloak fell down on his lap, its folds gleaming silver. He picked it up and felt the Cloak’s magic wrap around him, while his inner core’s magic rushed out to bond with the Cloak.

“The Invisibility Cloak," Harry muttered in awe, running his hand over the smooth, fluid-like surface of Death’s Cloak. “Damn! This is what she meant!”, he murmured when he recalled Lady Magic’s confusing words a few days ago. “She wants me to sneak out using this cloak. Explains why Morte was not amused.” Harry chuckled, remembering one of the requirements that Morte had told him about that needed Harry to find out and ‘master’ the Three Deathly Hallows. “Looks like I only need to find that Stone.”

Harry looked and felt the Cloak’s magic for a while before he found a note in the package written in sloppy handwriting with Albus Dumbledore signed at the bottom.

Your father left this in my possession before he died.

It is time it was returned to you.

Use it well.

A Very Merry Christmas to you.

Albus Dumbledore

Harry glared at the note. Such a convenient way to try and get Harry’s trust by saying that his own father trusted Dumbledore to give him his Invisibility Cloak when, in reality, the man had asked for the Cloak himself.

Harry really wanted to know why his father thought it a good idea to give such an Heirloom to someone else when he could have used it to hide himself or Harry’s mother.

Sighing Harry tucked the Cloak inside his trunk, in the compartment which had his study room, then put all his other gifts inside his trunk at the concerned compartments.

Closing his trunk, he decided to deal with breakfast and Ronald first, and then worry about whatever Dumbledore was planning.

At afternoon, after Harry had his lunch with the remaining students and the staff, he found himself tucked on a comfy armchair in front of the fireplace in the Slytherin common room with the book he had received from Theo. Not many Slytherins had remained for the holidays, only some odd upper years who were either too focused on their studies or felt left out in their own families.

Harry felt bad for them, but he really couldn’t do anything. Currently, there were none of them in the common room and Harry let his mind wander while staring at the warmly burning flames.

Dumbledore had put compulsions for Harry to use the Cloak to visit the library. What did the Headmaster want Harry to discover there? Was it some book about the Philosopher’s Stone? Or was it about that Cerebrus? Did Dumbledore want him to break into the Restricted Section or something?

Harry had felt the magic around the Restricted Section and it wasn’t that restricting. There was literally a rope dividing the rest of the library from that Section, along with some minor wards to keep lower-year students out. A determined first-year would be easily able to get into the Restricted Section if he tried hard enough.

Though Harry didn’t know what kind of enchantments the books in the Restricted Section had.

But that was beside the point, Harry needed to figure out how the Hogwarts’ library related to the third-floor corridor?

“Deep in thought, Mr. Potter?”

The question brought Harry out of his thoughts, and he looked up to find the Slytherin House’s patron ghost, the Bloody Baron, hovering beside his armchair, staring at Harry with curiosity.

“Mr. Baron," Harry greeted the ghost with a nod. “What do I owe the pleasure?”

“Oh, the pleasure’s mine, Mr. Potter," Baron said, gliding in front of him, his pale ghostly face staring at Harry. “We’ve been so curious since you came to Hogwarts. I would really like to know how you got into contact with Him? You reek of his presence. And, somehow, you’ve visited his plane too.”

“Quite interesting," Harry muttered to himself. He had seen how all the ghosts would stare at him if he passed them, either pale due to fear or intrigued and curious. Even Peeves wouldn’t try to prank him, however much the Weasley twins tried to convince the poltergeist. “How come you ghosts are able to sense him when you’ve refused to pass on into the afterlife?”

Baron stared at him for a moment, then sat down on an armchair (more like hovered over it). “We might have refused the afterlife, Mr. Potter,” he began slowly, “but that does not mean that our souls haven’t passed on. This form,” he indicated at himself, “is just an essence of our original souls. In a way, we have a connection to the afterlife.”

Harry furrowed his brows as he listened to Baron’s explanation with intrigue. “That’s interesting," he murmured. “I haven’t yet started reading such details and complex matters of the soul.”

“So, he is mentoring you?”, Baron asked.

Harry stared at Baron. “How much can I trust you?”, he asked. “No offence, Mr. Baron, but you and the others come under Hogwarts’………..jurisdiction?”, he said confusedly. “I don’t know how much the Hogwarts’ Headmaster and the staff can ask you and how much you are required to answer them.”

Baron shook his head. “That depends on the ghost, Mr. Potter," he said. “If the ghost in question feels loyal to some professor or the Headmaster, they will answer them if asked. No one can force us, however, to tell them anything though. We are indebted to Hogwarts itself, the Ley Lines below that provide us enough magic to have this form, not to any witch or wizard.”

“Oh," Harry murmured in understanding.

“As such, you can trust me, Mr. Potter," Baron continued. “I wouldn’t tell even my fellow ghosts if you ask me of such.”

“And,” Harry asked dubiously, “what will you get out of knowing this?”

“Really, Mr. Potter," Baron gave him a disappointed look. “You are a Slytherin! You can figure the reasons out yourself.”

Harry sighed. He knew what the ghost will get out of this. As far as they could tell, Harry had, in a way, the blessings of Lord Death. And now, Baron had found out that Death was mentoring Harry himself. That implied Harry might become a powerful Necromancer or something in the future, and since the ghosts came under Death’s domain, Harry will be able to control them, mostly through commands, that they wouldn’t be able to refuse.

“I won’t tell you more than what I am willing to share, Mr. Baron," Harry replied. “And I do have a……request, of sorts, in return.”

“Of course, Mr. Potter," Baron smirked. “What is the request?”

“I ask you to provide any help or advice from you when I require.”

“Just for this little information?”

“It’s not little," Harry answered, raising his eyebrows at the ghost, slightly offended.

Baron stared at Harry with some contemplation, then nodded slowly. “Alright, Mr. Potter," he replied. “I will not promise to provide help, as you say, every time, but I will try to give you necessary assistance if you so require. Though, it would be prudent to keep in mind, that anything that disrupts the image of this House will not be helped.”

“Of course," Harry nodded in agreement. He wouldn’t do anything to get himself and his House in trouble. “And you are not allowed to tell whatever I tell you to any other ghost or any other living being for that matter.”

Baron nodded.

“Alright, then. Go ahead.”

“When did you meet Him?”, Baron asked.

Harry closed the book resting on his lap and reclined comfortably on his armchair. “That Samhain night. I don’t remember more than seeing him healing my scar and telling me about death.”

Baron looked at Harry with a small frown, then grinned. “Answering like a true Slytherin, aren’t you?”

Harry grinned.

“Well, then," Baron smirked. “How did you meet Him next time?”

“I died.”

Baron blinked. “Why did He let you leave His plane then?”

“I passed His test," Harry answered.

“There must be some reason behind that test, yes?”

“There is.” Harry nodded. “But I’m not comfortable sharing that.”

Baron hummed. “How much knowledge do you have about the Forbidden Arts then?”

“Enough to get sentenced to a life-sentence in Azkaban?”, Harry answered, slightly unsure.

Baron smirked. “Interesting. Dumbledore’s golden boy-”

“I am nobody’s golden boy!”, Harry snapped.

“Are you now?”, Baron asked, tilting his head curiously. “Albus seemed to be extremely sure that you will become his......what to say.....pawn pretty easily.”

“Yeah," Harry drawled out sarcastically. “Because throwing a child with magic-hating relatives gives you easily malleable pawns.”

“Ah," Baron nodded. “That explains your Slytherin tendencies.”

Harry narrowed his eyes at the ghost.

“It does," Baron shrugged. “Now then, if you are not on Dumbledore’s side, then whose side are you on?”

“Undecided," Harry answered. “I don’t know whether I will be able to deal with Voldemort’s insane tendencies.”

“Never mind that he killed your parents?”, Baron asked curiously.

“Dumbledore had equal hand in their murder," Harry muttered staring at the fireplace. “Besides, the goal the Dark Side had was actually worth fighting for. Equality in magic, equal rights to every magical creature, returning the old traditions and rituals of the magical world - they are all worthy goals.”

Baron smiled. “You remind me of another Slytherin, you know, Mr. Potter?”, he said after a moment of pause. “He was new to this world too, believed in what you do, wanted to change the world.”

“Oh, Salazar!", Harry muttered, slumping down. “I remind you of Riddle?”

“You know him?”, Baron asked, surprise colouring his voice.

“Morte told me about him.”

“Ah, of course," Baron muttered. “How much do you know about him then?”

“Enough I think," Harry replied. “How closely did you knew him?”

Baron gave Harry a thoughtful look. “He was a brilliant student. Had a muggle father, so he got bullied in Slytherin during his first and second years. Once he discovered his Slytherin heritage though in his fifth-year, he became the ruler of the House. United most of the purebloods on the grounds against muggleborns and muggles. Performed his first mistake in fifth-year too.”

Harry stared. “You know about him creating….?”

“Yes," Baron nodded. “I never told anyone since I wanted that boy to succeed. And when he claimed to be a Dark Lord, I thought he would become more reasonable and act wiser. But alas!”

“How old are you?”, Harry asked suddenly.

Baron blinked. “That is rather rude of you to ask, Mr. Potter.”

“It’s rude to ask that to ladies," Harry pointed out. “I don’t think you are a lady.”

Baron frowned at him. “I am from the time of the Founders," he finally replied.

“Woah!”, Harry gaped. “You are about a thousand years old!”

“Thank you for reminding me, Mr. Potter.”

Harry ignored the ghost’s sarcasm. “You must know so much about magic!”, he whispered. “Teach me! Please! And you are so very welcome to join my Club!”

“No, thank you, Mr. Potter," Baron sniffed. “I’d rather not suffer through children.”

“But-”

“And don’t you have Lord Death as your mentor?”

“He grumbles most of the time!”

“Not my problem.”

“Pleasee!”, Harry shot the ghost his puppy-dog eyes which worked on Ils all the time.

Baron narrowed his eyes at Harry. “Fine. I’ll answer your questions. But only for half-an-hour.”

“Every day," Harry added, nodding eagerly. “Tell me, what do you know about the Chamber of Secrets?”

Baron cursed.

Chapter Text

In the end, Baron couldn’t tell Harry much about the Chamber of Secrets since Salazar Slytherin had made it extremely deep under the castle, and warded it against anyone and anything that couldn’t speak the language of snakes, thereby making it inaccessible to almost anyone who wasn’t his Heir, even the ghosts.

Harry had asked the ghost whether he’d seen Tom Riddle entering the Chamber some time in the past, but the ghost had only huffed, stating that he did not make it his habit to stalk around teenagers in the castle, no matter whether the teenager was a prodigy or not.

Baron had only said that he had an inkling the Chamber’s entrance would never be more than above the third or maybe the fourth floor, since he’d heard that Salazar Slytherin did not prefer staying very high up from the ground.

Harry had nodded, happy with the small clue.

Harry had wanted to search for the famous Chamber since he’d read about it in ‘Hogwarts: A History’, but it looked like he wouldn’t be searching for that place anytime soon though, what with the soul of Salazar Slytherin’s Heir possessing a professor and the Headmaster of Hogwarts himself plotting something behind the closed doors of his office.

Later that night, well after curfew time, Harry found himself opening his trunk to pull out the Invisibility Cloak of his father to sneak out towards the library, his mind whirling with thoughts about what Dumbledore wanted Harry to do there exactly.

Pulling the Cloak over his shoulder, Harry fastened it and watched, amazed, as the Cloak shortened itself to reach till Harry’s ankles and resized to fit Harry perfectly instead of looking like a cloth hanging from a hanger. Smiling at the cold familiar magic of the Cloak surrounding him, Harry pulled the hood over his head, watching interestedly as his body vanished and then, began his journey to Hogwarts’ library.

Keeping a lookout for any patrolling professor or Prefect, Harry reached the closed doors that formed the entrance to the library. He made sure to let a small tendril of his magic feel any outside magical presence, and lo and behold, he found another Compulsion Charm on the door handle of the library, this one urging him to run towards a particular suit of armour a few corridors away if anyone found him roaming the library after curfew.

With an annoyed sigh, Harry made sure there was no old man’s magic lingering around except the Compulsion, and made his way over to the suit the Charm was pointing him towards.

After ducking away into an alcove from a muttering Filch, Harry found the suit and saw a room just beside it with its door ajar. He could feel a Monitoring Ward around the door, its magic totally belonging to Dumbledore.

With his hackles raised, his magic and wand ready for his protection, Harry eased though the door, feeling the Wards giving out a warning.

Harry looked around the room curiously. It was dark, disused classroom, with piles of desk and chairs at the corner of the walls along with an upturned waste-basket. What intrigued Harry the most however, was a large, magnificent mirror with ornate gold frame, propped against the wall facing Harry, standing on its two clawed feet.

Harry stared at the inscription carved around the mirror’s top with a frown, his eyes fixed on the word ‘Erised’.

“Desire," Harry murmured and his eyes moved towards the end of the carving. “I show not your face, but your heart’s desire.”

That’s what Dumbledore wanted Harry to look at, Harry thought with a frown as he felt the man’s magic entering the room. Harry couldn’t see the man himself and discerned that the man must be using the Disillusionment Charm.

He wants to know what I desire the most so that he could judge me, Harry concluded as he curiously moved to look into the mirror.

He himself wanted to know what his heart's desire might be. Did he want revenge against those who were responsible for his parents’ death, against Voldemort and Dumbledore? Or did he have the desire to be away from any war? Or did he want the prophecy that the Fates had told him about gone away, to let him live in peace, maybe with his parents and friends?

As he walked carefully towards the mirror, he pulled his Occlumency shields tighter to not give any reaction that might be too giving of his feelings to the old man spying on him.

He took a breath and looked, and felt his breath get struck in his throat as his eyes widened minutely.

“Oh," he whispered as his eyes landed on a red-haired, green-eyed woman and a tall, thin man, hair so similar to Harry’s that it was almost uncanny, standing beside him in the reflection of the mirror, smiling down at him with tears in their eyes.

Harry looked behind his parents to find the five beings – Morte in his black robe and black hair, Lady Magic with her white beautiful robe and smiling face, and the three Fates with their mischievous smirks, standing with some old, smiling men and women Harry could only assume to be his ancestors – his grandparents.

Harry slowly touched the mirror, his eyes widening more as he saw a small flicker in his peripheral and stared with a horrified sort of fascination as a glowing soul shard blinked in and out of his vision.

“Looks like your deepest desire is a family, Harrison," Lady Magic whispered from the mirror, staring at Harry with a happy smile.

“We are so, so happy-”, Clotho grinned.

“-that you consider us-”, Lachesis continued.

“-the part of your family as well, dear Harrison," Atropos finished.

“I just want to know,” Morte drawled, “why is that shard flickering here, in your desire, Potter?” He pointed at the soul shard of Riddle.

Harry internally frowned, while outside he kept on a mixture of confused, happy and sad.

I absolutely have no idea, Harry thought.

“Of course you don’t," Morte grumbled, shooting a glare at the flickering soul of Riddle.

“Do be quiet, Lord Death," Clotho piped with a roll of her eyes. She had an amused glint in her eyes, that the other two of her sisters shared.

“Harrison has a soul bond with dear Tom," Lachesis added, quite unhelpfully, if Harry was being honest.

Atropos nodded. “Deep within, he will desire to have a soulmate.”

Harry scowled at the three Fates. I don’t desire a soulmate, he grumbled in his mind. Besides, they aren’t real.

“Oh, come off it, Harrison.” Clotho grinned a mischivous grin.

“This bond is quite similar to what a soulmate bond might have been like had it been real," Lady Magic spoke up. "Though, you know, remove the whole going insane and creating so many Horcruxes thing, along with trying to kill you part."

Harry frowned at the four female beings, and decided to ignore them for the time being, and instead focused his attention on his parents – his mother and father who loved him enough to have died for him, sacrificing their everything just to keep him alive.

“Mother, father," he whispered as he looked at them with a sad smile on his face. They smiled back at him. I wish you hadn’t listened to Dumbledore and just ran away to some different country, he thought. I wish you were still alive and I had grown up with you in some other country. We would have been happy.

Harry took a shaky breath and looked away. I promise I will find a way to summon you, he thought. With one final look at them to memorize their faces, he turned around. It wouldn’t do for him to stay here, in front of a mirror that showed his deepest desire and linger on the moments of what ifs.

If he did pass all the tests Morte had, he will get the title and learn how to meet them himself. Until then, he would wait. Wait to see his parents, thank them, scold them a little for not thinking about saving their lives and just for once being selfish.

-------

The next two days, Harry spent most of his time in the library with a Notice-Me-not Charm thrown around his table to ward off the evil that was the youngest Weasley, and read any books he could find on about the mirror of desire. He even went so far as to ask Madam Pince, the easy-to-be angered librarian, about any books here in the library that were solely focused on magical mirrors.

She had given him a narrowed look, probably accessing his worth on whether he deserved her help or not, and finally Summoned a book from one of the many stacks of the library, handing it over to him. After thanking her, Harry had looked through the book, skimming through the pages illustrating mirrors which could be used to communicate through large distances, or ones which talked back giving advice on looks, or mirrors which showed how you would look if you had a different gender, though Harry wasn’t sure why magicals wanted to know that.

He finally did succeed in finding an article on the Mirror of Erised – a mirror extremely old and dangerous, with several unknown spells weaved through it, which could skim through one’s subconscious and show them their deepest desire. The book talked about people losing themselves in whatever they saw, entranced, or turning mad over not knowing if what it showed was real or even possible.

Harry grimaced at the thought of going mad while staring at his deepest desire, and concluded that his decision on making sure never to look in that mirror again if he could help it was an excellent one.

After the research on the mirror had been over, Harry had browsed through books on magical creatures, especially on unicorns or thestrals or centaurs or acromantulas, since the forest beside Hogwarts seemed to be home to several magical species.

-------

On the third night, just a few hours before it turned the thirtieth of December, Harry once again sneaked out, this time to enter the Forbidden Forest, resolved on either stumbling upon at least one unicorn or a thestral. He repressed a sigh as he realized this kind of sneaking out was something a Slytherin would never do, especially into a forest literally named the Forbidden Forest.

Snape would really have his hide if he found out.

Grimacing at that unhappy thought, Harry tightened his hold on the hood of his Cloak and walked swiftly towards the killing tree named the Whomping Willow. He hadn’t yet figured out why there were so many dangerous things around a castle which housed around a thousand students, a quarter of them reckless Gryffindors, another quarter of them curious Ravenclaws and the other half having the tendency to get into ridiculous dares. He was sure he would never figure that one out.

With a quick look around him, Harry ducked into the forest.

It was silent. Not much moved, except the gentle, cold breeze that ruffled the few fallen leaves on the ground. Snow was scattered on the forest floor, frost freezing the twigs and the silent trees that had dense canopy covering the forest almost completely, with only a little amount of ray of moonlight entering the forest over uneven breaks of the canopy, streaking the forest into something otherworldly.

Harry slowly walked deeper into the Forest, his eyes taking in the trees and the dark permeating the whole of the forest. He could feel the magic surrounding the trees and the grass and the creatures residing here, connecting them all together.

It must have been more than half-an-hour later when Harry came across a centaur in a small clearing.

His eyes widened as he stared at the tall creature standing there with a bow in his hand and a quiver at his back filled with arrows. The centaur himself was staring up at the sky with a frown. He had red hair and beard while his lower horse-body was chestnet with a reddish tail.

Harry debated on whether to chance a meeting with this proud creature or leave him alone.

In the end, Harry’s curiosity won out, and pulling the hood of his cloak off his head, he slowly came out into the small clearing.

“Greetings, centaur," Harry said softly, bowing slightly when the centaur’s eyes moved away from the twinkling stars in the heaven and turned to stare at him. “My name is Harrison Potter. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

The centaur blinked at him. “Mr. Potter," he spoke, staring at him with intrigue. “Such a fascinating wizard you are," he muttered. “My name is Ronan. I can’t say whether it’s a pleasure or not to meet you, but I am intrigued. What are you doing here?”

Harry blinked at the centaur, awed and confused in equal measures. “Well, I needed to-”

“Ronan!”, a sharp voice interrupted and a black-haired and black-bodied centaur but wilder-looking than Ronan, marched into the clearing.

“Bane.” Ronan nodded at the other centaur, his head going lower, signifying this Bane to be the leader. “Meet Mr. Potter," the centaur said, while nodding towards Harry.

Harry bowed again to Bane. “Harrison Potter, Centaur Bane.”

“Potter?”, Bane muttered, staring at Harry with a frown. “Are you that boy-who-lived?”

Harry frowned slightly at his title, keeping his annoyance strictly internal. “I am," he said slowly. “Though I would really prefer Potter or Harrison over that nonsense.”

Ronan’s lips twitched, his eyes which were again gazing at the stars coming down to stare at Harry, while Bane frowned harder. “What are you doing here, Potter?”, he asked harshly. “You are not supposed to get into this forest!”

“I know. And I apologize," Harry said. “I need to find-”

“Not that!", Bane cut him off. “You specifically are not to enter this forest, Potter," he proclaimed. “The stars speak of something extremely dangerous if you got in here, and I’d rather you not destroying the only sanctuary the magical creatures have left in magical Britain.”

Harry’s frown turned more pronounced, but before he could defend himself, Ronan spoke up.

“Don’t you think you are judging too harshly, Bane?”, he asked. “The stars seem uncertain still.”

He turned to look at Harry. “You see, Mr. Potter,” he spoke, “we centaurs have been reading the movement of the planets and the stars since ancient times. We thought we knew what will happen, but something changed on the night Voldemort attacked you. Something that caused a ripple through the events of the future. The planets and stars seem to still be in uncertainty as their motion is almost impossible to discern. It seems like you have some-”

“Enough!”, Bane interrupted Ronan, his harsh glare staring daggers at the other centuar. “We do not share our knowledge with wizards, Ronan! Keep that in your mind! Let whatever is to happen, happen. We do not interfere in the affairs of humans!” Bane turned his glare on Harry. “You should go back to your castle, Potter!” Bane turned his back on Harry. “Ronan, come!”, he ordered, then began walking back from where he had come.

“Mr. Potter.” Ronan looked into Harry’s eyes. “The one’s you seek here will only be found when they want to be found.”

Harry pursued his lips and nodded. “Thank you, Centaur Ronan.”

With a nod of his head, Ronan turned back and followed after Bane, leaving Harry alone in the clearing.

Harry took a deep breath and looked up at the stars sprawled over the patch of sky visible from the forest ground. Seems like he would have to make multiple trips into the forest on these cold nights to find any unicorn if what Ronan said was true.

Harry frowned at what Bane had said, about him causing this forest harm. He did not have any ill-intention towards this magical forest. In fact, he was following Lady Magic’s wish to warn the unicorns.

But he couldn’t completely ignore what the centaur had said. The centaurs were believed to be extremely good at reading the future through astrology, though their predictions could take as long as a century or centuries to come true. Whatever Bane had read in the stars must have something to do with the prophecy, since the Fates themselves had told him that his decision could very well destroy the magical world.

Real helpful that, Harry thought with annoyance. It would have been better if they’d told him the exact words of the prophecy, at least it wouldn’t make Harry anxious about what decision it talked about.

A soft snort pulled Harry out of his thoughts and he looked around to spot a pair of white, shining eyes staring at him from the darkness of the trees surrounding the clearing Harry was standing in. Harry blinked, his heartbeat picking up slightly, and strained his eyes to clearly see which creature this was.

Harry and the creature had a bit of a staring showdown, Harry with slight fear, after finally which the creature decided Harry wasn’t any threat and moved slowly towards him.

Harry's eyes widened as he realized it was a thestral now walking into the clearing slowly, towards Harry, its body now emitting a soft glow of Death’s magic. The creature’s body was huge, with its leathery skin stretched over bones, its wings close to its body. The thestral was completely black with its eyes the only thing white.

“Hello," Harry greeted softly, raising his hand forward.

The thestral slowly sniffed his hand and then butted its head against it, giving him a nudge.

“Want me to pet you?”, Harry asked with a smile as he moved his hand to run it across the thestral’s leathery skin along its head. “I’ve been dying to meet you guys, you know," Harry told the thestral, almost feeling stupid since he knew the creature couldn’t really understand him. At least not yet. “Such fascinating creatures you thestrals are. Morte was really smug when I told him that, since you guys come under his domain.”

The thestral gave a soft rumble.

Harry smiled. “I know you can’t understand me," he said. “Just let me pass all those tests. Once I get the title, we will have chats over…….meat, I suppose.”

Harry stayed with the thestral for a while, gently running his hand over his head and wings while the thestral enjoyed it. He tried to coax the creature to lead him to his herd, but either the thestral did not completely understand him or he was enjoying the attention more than anything.

More than half-an-hour later, Harry sighed. “I should get back to the castle," he told the thestral. “If anyone found me, I will be expelled for sure. Though I think that old man will love to have his golden pawn showing Gryffindor tendencies.”

He got a snort in response.

“I think you actually understand me," Harry muttered in accusation. The thestral only stared. He huffed. “I don’t suppose you know where the unicorns are?”

The thestral blinked, its eyes staring at Harry with curiosity.

“Well,” Harry muttered, “it was worth a try, I suppose. I’ll see you later then.”

The thestral shook its head, then turned and walked away.

Harry hummed. “Bye, then," he muttered, pulling his hood back up.

Once completely invisible, Harry started walking back towards the castle, the magic surrounding Hogwarts guiding his way back.

-------

The next day, after lunch, Harry was sitting alone on his table in the library reading a book specifically on unicorns, when somehow, the Weasley twins found him, walking right through his Charms.

“Wonderful Charms you’ve got working here, Harrison," one of them remarked, both of them taking a seat opposite Harry with amused grins on their faces.

“Not good enough apparently to keep you two out though," Harry said, closing his book. The Charm was average, but still, the twins were only third years and mustn’t have that powerful Occlumeny shields to see past it.

“What can we say, Harrison-”

“-we are just that good.”

“Interesting," Harry muttered as he stared at them. They must either know about Harry’s preferred table in the library, or they were really determined to find him. “Well, why did you guys seek me out?”

“Couldn’t we just want to-”

“-chat with our favourite little snakie?”

Harry raised his eyebrow at the twins. “Sure thing," he muttered. “Chat away.”

The twins grinned.

“Do you know our-”

“-dear ickle Ronnikens?”

Harry gave them a dry look.

“Looks like he knows, Gred!”

“I see, Forge!”

“Well, dear Harrison! We found from one of our amazing sources-”

“-that our little brother is trying to make friends with you!”

“We were so happy-”, they clutched their chests with a dreamy look.

“-that our brother is finally growing some common sense.”

“Befriending evil little snakes!”

“But then we realized that-”

“-the snake himself might not be much interested-”

“-in befriending the particular brand of lion our dear brother belongs to.”

Harry snorted. “I’m quite relieved someone apart from my close friends realized that," he drawled out.

The twins grinned.

“So, we started digging around-”

“-playing detectives-”

“-on why exactly our dear Ronnikins wanted to make you his friend-”

“-when just a few days ago, he was spouting nonsense about betrayal-”

“-from a certain saviour of ours.”

Harry raised his brow. “What did you two find out then?”, he asked curiously. He had thought Ronald was trying to befriend him just because he was the Boy-Who-Lived, after realizing that insulting Harry in front of everyone would not work in his favour.

“Well, dear Harrison,”

“we first found out that our dear brother knows about that cute-”

“-fluffy-”

“-little-”

“-puppy residing in this very safe castle.”

Harry chuckled. “Yeah," he nodded. “Neville told me. He, along with Ronald, Finnigan and Granger had stumbled into the third-floor corridor.”

The twins blinked, exchanging a look.

“Ah! That explains it!”, one of them muttered.

“Looks like we’ve got a horde of brave and daring firsties this year.”

Harry smirked.

“Now that that mystery is solved-”, one of them muttered.

“-we heard dear Ronald talking with Hagrid about Fluffy.”

“Fluffy?”, Harry muttered.

The twins grinned. “The aforementioned puppy, dear Harrison.”

“The name suits him, doesn’t it?”

“Ironically, yes," Harry muttered.

The twins laughed loudly. Once they calmed down, they continued their tale.

“Turns out Ronald found out something is being hidden there-”

“-something about Hermione Granger mentioning a trapdoor there-”

“-and Ron’s sure that-”

“-on Halloween-”

“-Snape let the troll out-”

“-to distract everyone so that he could steal-”

“-whatever is in there.”

Harry frowned at the twins. “Ronald told you two all of this?”, he asked.

“Nah.” They shook their heads in unison.

“Heard him chatting about this with Hagrid, Seamus and Dean.”

Harry hummed. “You two think Ronald might go in there? With the idea of an adventure?”

The twins exchanged another glance.

“He might try playing hero-”

“-when he’s sure you won’t do anything about it.”

Harry tilted his head. “Why should I get into whatever mess the Headmaster is creating?”, he asked.

The twins looked at each other again, lifting their brows.

“You do know-”, they started slowly.

“-what is actually being hidden there-”

“-don’t you?”

Harry tapped his finger on the table, a thoughtful expression on his face. “I might have an idea," he replied.

“And who do you think-”

“-the Headmaster is hiding it away from?”

“I might,” Harry stated slowly, “have some guesses.”

“This guessed person-”

“-whoever they are-”

“-could harm anyone that came in their path?”

Harry nodded slowly. “Chances are high," he replied.

“Well then,”

“-our dear brother might be a little prat-”

“-but we wouldn’t particularly like it-”

“-if something happened to him.”

Harry nodded. “Obviously," he muttered. “I’d say to openly talk with him about this. Tell him it’s the Headmaster’s and the staff’s business, not his. He should concentrate on studying, not interfering in things he has no idea about.”

“We will try-”

“-but he doesn’t listen to us.”

“Always brushes us off.”

“Then tell your Prefect brother, Percy Weasley, was it?”, Harry replied. “Or you can sic Granger on him.”

The twins frowned.

“We suppose? Our dear brother and Hermione will surely cause too much unrest if we did that-”

“-our perfect Prefect brother though, he will definitely scold the living shit out of us.”

“Careful, Forge. Harrison’s just a firstie. His ears might start bleeding.”

“Oh, my! You are right, Gred! I must apologize to our innocent little Harrison.” They both looked at Harry with wide, dramatic eyes.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Don’t bother," he said drily. “Just go and take care of your Gryffindor brother.”

“Right you are, Harrison.”

“Call us if you need any more flavours!”

Harry gave them an unimpressed look.

“Yes.” One of them nodded. “We will really love to collect another boon from you!”

“Sure," Harry drawled out.

They both got up and saluted him with a grin, then turned and walked away.

“I hope Ronald does not cause more problems," Harry muttered to himself, returning back to his book. He did not want to deal with an adventure-seeking first-year Gryffindor on top of an insane Dark Lord possessing a professor and an equally insane Headmaster.

Chapter Text

Harry skipped the next night and sneaked out the night after that, the night of New Year’s Eve. He’d seen several couples sneaking around the castle, at least among the students that had remained over the holidays, looking for hidden crooks and rooms to celebrate their own new year. He'd really wanted to scare them with some scary noise or some nonsense like that, but decided to leave that to Peeves and had come out of the castle.

Harry roamed around the Forest for more than three hours, celebrating the new year inside the darkness and magic of the forest.

In his excitement and urge to meet at least one unicorn, Harry wandered more than quite deeper into the forest.

When he stumbled across a large cave, its ceiling low, and hidden away from plain sight with a large amount of undergrowth and vines and tress growing around it, Harry realized he either must have taken a curved path to reach the mountains along the village of Hogsmeade or he must have walked further away from the castle than he thought, since the mountains surrounding the Forest were rather far away. And knowing Harry’s luck, he was sure that he would not find the magical village just a few paces away.

Harry looked curiously at the cave – dark and foreboding and looking extremely uninviting – and decided to call Floppy.

As she popped in, Harry pulled down the hood of his cloak and gave her a sheepish smile.

“Hey, Floppy," he greeted her sheepishly.

Floppy first eyed Harry’s surrounding, her brows furrowing in confusion. After taking in the dark forest and the cold wind rustling the canopy of the trees, her eyes landed on Harry and she narrowed them threateningly at him.

“What bes Little Master doing here?!”, she demanded.

Harry winced at the judgement in his elf's voice.

“Does Little Master not knowing that leaving the castle at night timies like this, in the forest, being dangerous to him!”

Harry opened his mouth to explain, but Floppy did not let him speak.

“Little Master bes breaking the school’s rules and roaming around the dangerous forest in the middle of the night!”, Floppy wailed out, her hands settling on her waist in her full-lecture mode. “Does Master Harry’s be knowing how-”

“Floppy!”, Harry whined. “Lady Magic told me to come here!”

Floppy paused in her rant. “Why bes Lady Magic asking Little Master to come here?”, she asked, a frown appearing on her face.

“She wanted me to contact the unicorns residing here," Harry answered.

“Lady Magic’s being putting Little Master’s life in danger!” Floppy huffed, her arms coming up to cross across her chest. “She should not be doing that.”

Harry smiled slightly. “She did not, Floppy," he replied. “I’m sure she will help me if I got into any danger here.”

Floppy frowned at him.

“Come on, Floppy! Don't be mad! Please take me back to my dorm room.” Harry gave her a hopeful smile.

Floppy looked like she was a minute away from re-starting her lecture again, but then sighed. “Fine!”, she said. “Lady Magic better being looking after Little Master!”, she muttered, taking Harry’s hand intp her.

Harry felt a little ruffle in his hair, a gentle warmth that was Lady Magic, and smiled as he got transported to his dorm, stumbling slightly at the disorientation that house-elf apparition gave.

“Little Master better bes taking care of himself.” Floppy grumbled, glaring daggers at him.

Hedwig, who was sleeping on her perch on the headboard of Harry’s bed before Harry and Floppy had popped in, gave an agreeing hoot.

“I will. Thanks, Floppy," Harry replied as he unfastened the invisibility cloak and deposited it on the bed, then made his way to Hedwig to gently pet her feathers. “Sorry for waking you up, girl.”

Floppy gave Harry a look that clearly stated she did not believe Harry to follow after her instructions, huffed at him and popped away.

Harry looked at Hedwig. “Why does she think I was willingly putting myself in danger?”, he muttered to her.

Hedwig replied with a sharp hoot, fluffing her wings.

Harry rolled his eyes at her. “I do not give off troublemaker vibes!”, he grumbled. “Besides, Lady Magic sent me there!”

Hedwig’s amber eyes narrowed at Harry. She gave a series of hissing hoots.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were a snake," Harry replied instead, watching amused as Hedwig fluffed up in indignation. “And thestrals are very interesting creatures. I have every right to go looking for them!”

Hedwig hooted again.

“What do you mean I might not get the title?!”, Harry asked with annoyance. “I think you’ve been spending too much time with Morte!”

Hedwig fluffed up more.

Harry rolled his eyes at his familiar, feeling a smugness run through his and Hedwig’s bond. “Yeah, go on, why don’t you?!”, Harry sniffed. “Why don’t you become his familiar. See how he treats you then!”

Hedwig’s amber eyes locked with Harry’s emerald ones and they had a staring contest. After a few moments, Harry chuckled and Hedwig gave a soft hoot.

“Sleep, girl," Harry whispered, stroking her white chest. “I’ll wake you up in the morning.”

Hedwig bobbed her head once, then tucked herself into her wings, going off to sleep.

Harry smiled at his familiar, then softly padded over to the bathroom. After freshening up, he got out and made his way to his bed. He folded his cloak and tucked it into his trunk. Lying down on his bed, he tucked his covers over him, shivering slightly at the coldness that seemed to be permanently in the dungeons.

Harry closed his eyes to get at least a few hours of sleep, hoping he wouldn’t dream about possessing a certain professor.

-------

The next day, during lunch, Harry got accosted by the youngest Weasley.

He had come early to eat his lunch quickly as usual, not in the mood to suffer through Dumbledore’s twinkling eyes staring at him at random moments, either keenly observing him or trying to read his surface thoughts.

Harry was planning on spending the rest of the afternoon in the library with some books once he got out of the Great Hall, but when Weasley, who usually came to lunch in a hurry and ate up everything as fast as he could, came early and made his way over to Harry who was sitting at the end of the Slytherin table, away from the upper year Slytherins, he realized his plans might be in danger of being destroyed by a very, unfortunately, determined Weasley.

Harry felt annoyance crash over him and he stiffened as Weasley sat down on the Slytherin bench, in front of Harry. Harry could almost feel the judgement rolling off of the upper years when they saw the Gryffindor who occasionally called them evil sitting on their table.

“Harry-”

“It’s Potter for you, Weasley," Harry interrupted, calmly taking a bite of his roasted chicken.

Weasley frowned at him. “Potter, then," he mumbled. “I wanted to ask you something.”

Harry glanced at the boy with an accessing look. He wanted nothing to do with any adventure, and Harry was sure Weasley would most definitely ask something regarding the third-floor corridor. “What?”, he asked.

“Have you,” Weasley lowered his voice, glancing around him to make sure no one was listening, “seen the third-floor corridor?”

Harry gave a blank look to the boy. “Seeing as the Headmaster has warned the whole school to stay away from that corridor,” Harry drawled out, “I don’t know why you are asking me that. And I don’t ‘wish to die a very painful death’, Weasley.”

Weasley shook his head with annoyance. “No, Harry! You are not getting it!”, he whispered. “There’s something valuable hidden there and Snape’s trying to steal it!”

Harry raised his eyebrow in surprise. He hadn’t thought Weasley would actually openly accuse Harry’s Head of House while sitting on the Slytherin table itself. “And why would Professor Snape want to steal whatever is hidden in there?”

“Because he’s a git!”, Weasley muttered.

“Careful, Weasley," Harry replied, a sharp smile forming on his face. “He’s my Head of House.”

“But, he is!”, Weasley insisted, voice low, his face flushing slightly. “He was the one who released that troll during Halloween to distract everyone so he could sneak in there! Don’t you get it?”

“And what proof do you really have, Weasley?”, Harry asked, eating some carrots, deciding to indulge the boy for a while for his own entertainment.

“He was limping after the troll was taken out!”, Weasley replied.

“You saw him limping?”

“Yes!”, Weasley nodded. “Dean pointed out that Snape wasn’t limping before the troll incident. And then I heard him threatening Quirell!”

Harry’s eyes narrowed. So, Professor Snape really did doubt Quirell. Harry wasn’t sure what the Potions Master was thinking after he’d gone to check on the third-floor corridor on that Samhain night.

“I know, right?”, Weasley asked, looking at Harry with excitement shining in his eyes. “And Quirell’s so afraid of Snape too!”

“But why would he threaten Quirell?”, Harry asked.

“Well, because,” Weasley glanced around again, nervous, “Hagrid told me that some of the professors have helped Headmaster Dumbledore put protections up there. So, I think, Quirell’s protection might be the only thing keeping Snape away, aside from Fluffy.”

Or Snape, along with Fluffy, are keeping away Quirell, Harry thought with annoyance. “And who is this Fluffy?”, Harry asked.

“Oh!”, Weasley nodded excitedly. “It’s a three-headed dog guarding the trapdoor! It’s huge!”

Harry frowned slightly at the boy’s excitement. Did he really wish to get himself killed so soon?

“And why is there a Cerebrus in a castle full of students?”, Harry asked slowly.

Weasley blinked, frowning. “I…”, he looked confused. “Well, the Headmaster needs to protect this thing.”

“And what is this thing, exactly?”, Harry asked. He was beginning to think that the Headmaster might have something to do with Ronald Weasley’s recent need to befriend Harry and get him on the trail of the fake Philosopher’s Stone.

“I don’t know, Harry!”, Weasley answered. “But whatever it is, Snape is after it! We need to stop him!”

“We?”, Harry asked, putting his spoon down, his lunch done. “I don’t know what you are trying to achieve here, Weasley, but I’m not going to get myself into trying to protect something I have no business knowing about. It’s the Headmaster’s and the staff’s business.” Harry stood up. “Now, if you will excuse me.”

Harry walked out of the Great Hall, trying to pull down his irritation as Weasley moved to follow after him. He needed to go to his common room now, as library was most definitely out of the question.

“But, Harry!”, Weasley protested as he moved quickly to keep up with Harry’s fast paces. “What if Snape stole it?!”

“Then he will use this thing as a potion ingredient," Harry replied with gritted teeth.

“But-”

“Weasley!”, Harry stopped abruptly, coincidently in front of the office of the professor they were talking about, and turned to give Weasley a glare who almost crashed into him. “If you are so worried about that thing being stolen, go to your Head of House, or better yet, inform the Headmaster. I am a student here, not an authority figure to go to.”

Before Weasley could open his mouth to argue, a low drawl remarked, “Well said, Mr. Potter.”

Harry looked to find Professor Snape standing on the threshold of his office, his arms folded over his chest, his robes black as ever, staring down his hooked nose at Weasley.

“Thank you, Professor," Harry replied, nodding politely.

“Now, Mr. Weasley,” Professor Snape whispered intimidatingly, “why were you disturbing one of my snakes?”

“N-Nothing," Weasley stammered out, his face gone pale.

“It wouldn’t do to lie, Mr. Weasley," Professor Snape drawled out.

Weasley turned and ran away.

“Ten points from Gryffindor for lying and turning tail," Professor Snape drawled out, then turned to Harry to give him a slightly narrowed glare. “I do hope, Mr. Potter, that you are not indulging in any Gryffindor tendencies that might not be tolerated?”

“No, Professor," Harry replied, ignoring the flashes of visiting the forest, while looking at the man’s hooked nose. “I’d rather suffer through hours of Professor Quirell’s stuttering than go for an adventure in some forbidden corridor.”

Snape stared at Harry for a few seconds, then turned back into his office, the door closing shut behind him.

Harry breathed out slowly, resolving to let Weasley have green and silver hair until the term was over and turned to go back to the common room. It seemed like a book, an armchair and the warm burning fire in the hearth of the Slytherin common room had his name written on them.

-------

On the night of the fifth of January, Harry sneaked out again. He had to wait for the few days’ gap since it was the full moon on the second, and Harry had no plans of getting any monthly problems as of yet.

Hedwig had given him an annoyed look when she’d come back from hunting and Harry had informed her of him going out. But she’d completely denied to help him when he had asked her to accompany him to search for the unicorns.

Harry wasn’t sure how many times he’d need to sneak out of the castle to find just a single unicorn since the Yule holidays were soon coming to an end and Harry absolutely did not want to sneak out when the castle was full of so many students and the patrols were high, his invisibility cloak notwithstanding.

Harry walked through the trail close to Hagrid’s hut, making his way carefully into the forest. The forest was dark, as usual, with frost covering the most of its surface, Harry trying his absolute best to not slip on it. He walked through a trail, coming across a fork and choosing a direction randomly.

Harry breathed in the chilly winter air, shivering at the cold and putting more energy in his Warming Charm. The magic of the forest was ever-present, and Harry let his magic swell out slowly to feel the natural magic surrounding him more.

As his magic swelled around him, he felt the forest’s magic gently feel his and a gentle tugging sensation made him take a route off the trail. Feeling curious, he followed after the magic guiding him to something, hoping dearly this something was not anything deadly enough that he couldn't deal with.

It must have been close to an hour of following after the tug of the magic around him that Harry came across where it was leading him to. His eyes widened.

Standing just a few feet away from him was a tall, fully-adult, male unicorn, its mane pure white, glistening without even needing any light. Its horn was long, black in colour. The unicorn’s eyes though, they were pure gold, reminding him strongly of Lady Magic. The unicorn was looking at the place where Harry was standing curiously.

Harry pulled down his hood and bowed, staying in that position, looking close to the unicorn’s hooves, waiting patiently for the magical creature to either recognize him or reject him.

After a few seconds of silence, where Harry had his breath stuck in his throat, the unicorn gave a soft snort.

Harry looked up to find the gold eyes fixed on him.

‘We recognize you, young wizard,' the voice, soft and ethereal, echoed in his head.

“Thank you," Harry muttered, straightening himself up from the bow.

The unicorn nodded. ‘Thank Lady magic, young wizard. We would be alert against the threat, yet will like to get the warning when said threat is confirmed.’

Harry took a breath. “You can read my thoughts?”, he whispered.

The unicorn nodded.

Harry frowned slightly. “Don’t you guys value privacy? Morte and the rest are like that too, just keep reading my thoughts!”, he muttered, indignant.

The unicorn snorted. ‘This certainly explains why you have the potential to be Lord Death’s Master,' he remarked.

Harry bit his lip. “Yeah, Morte wonders about that often.”

The unicorn had an amused look in his eyes.

“Well, I’ll pass your message on to Lady Magic," Harry said. “She did say that the Fates had only hinted at her about that threat happening. She’s not completely sure.”

The unicorn nodded. ‘As I have learned, young wizard. Farewell.’

Harry bowed slightly this time. “Farewell. It was a pleasure to meet you.”

The unicorn gave another nod, then turned and walked away from Harry.

Harry let out a deep breath. He had had a chat with a unicorn of all magical creatures! How amazing was that! Though he couldn’t really brag about this to anyone except maybe his elves.

With a disgruntled huff, Harry turned around. “Thank you," he whispered to the surrounding natural magic, which gave him a soft nudge, and Harry smiled.

Magic was truly amazing!

Chapter Text

Once the holidays were over and the students had returned back, the castle of Hogwarts went back to being noisy.

Harry greeted Neville, Theo and Blaise with a smile, thanking them for their gifts while they thanked him back, telling each other how they had spent their Yule at home.

Harry was happy for Theo and Blaise, but Neville-

“What do you mean she wasn’t happy?”

Neville winced at Harry’s angry tone, slumping down on his chair in the library where they were sitting in their usual table after dinner.

“Gran says my grades aren’t good enough," he mumbled, looking sadly at his hands, fidgeting with his robes.

“But your grades are the highest in Herbology!”, Harry pointed out.

“And you are not that bad in Charms," Blaise added.

Neville did not look up from his hands at anyone of them. “Herbology’s not good enough for her," he replied softly. “And, according to her, Charms are soft.”

"Soft? What soft?!", Harry muttered, staring at Neville confusedly. “And what is good enough then?”

“The subjects my parents excelled at.” Neville shrugged, his eyes filled with pain and resignation. “She wants me to be like them.”

Theo and Blaise froze in their seats opposite Harry and Neville.

Harry bit his lips. “But you are not your parents, Neville," he said softly. “You are your own person. How can she expect you to be them?”

Neville’s lips quivered. “Gran wants me to be like father," he whispered. “She lost him….in the last war, and now…”

“Neville," Harry whispered, putting his hand over the Gryffindor’s shoulder in sympathy. It was quite cruel of Neville's grandmother to have such an expectation of her only grandson about how exactly he should be, and to compare him to his father when Neville hadn't even gotten to know his parents personally.

“She even told me to use my father’s wand," Neville told them after a pause, pulling out said wand and stroking it softly.

Harry stared at the dark brown wood with a frown. “That is your father’s wand?”, he asked slowly, glancing at his Slytherin friends who were themselves frowning at the wand.

“Yes.” Neville nodded, looking at his father’s wand with longing. He rubbed the wand with his fingers softly, as if touching every creak and crevice of the wood would reveal to him how his father was like.

Harry sighed, squeezing the boy’s shoulder. “That explains it," he muttered.

“What?”, Neville asked, looking up from his wands to Harry with confusion.

“Neville, your magical core is quite powerful," Harry explained. “Your magic is quite strong, yet when you fire off your spells in Charms or in Defence, they seem to be weak.”

Neville blinked, his brows furrowing in fear. “W-What? Why?”, he asked.

“Because this wand did not choose you, Neville," Theo answered, his eyes still fixed on the wand.

“Yes.” Harry nodded. “When I met Mr. Ollivander, he told me that every witch and wizard had their unique magical core, and only a unique wand will adapt to a unique core.” Ollivander hadn’t told him this exactly, he’d read about this in one of the books on wandlore he had in the Peverell library. “This, your father’s wand, has given its allegiance to your father, and so won’t work well for you. You need a wand compatible with your own core.”

Neville was gaping surprisingly throughout Harry’s explanation while Theo and Blaise were nodding along.

“You should talk to your grandmother about this," Blaise suggested.

Neville’s expression turned fearful. “She will get angry," he whispered, looking frantically at them. “She wants me to always use my father’s wand.”

Harry hummed thoughtfully, while Theo and Blaise exchanged glances. “You can ask Professor McGonagall to help you in this," he suggested slowly. “Tell her that your wand isn’t working properly for you, and that you’ve found out in the library or that we’ve told you what Mr. Ollivander had told us about wands, and that this is your father’s wand. Ask her to help you convince your grandmother. I can send a letter to Mr. Ollivander and request him to write a letter to Lady Longbottom explaining this.”

Neville bit his lips, glancing at them with worried eyes. “You think it will work?”, he asked nervously.

“It might," Theo said, nodding along with Blaise. “Professor McGonagall might be strict, but she will surely help you once she finds out that your problem is genuine.”

“Besides,” Harry grinned, “what better way than to have a strict lady be told off by another strict lady?”

His friends chuckled, Neville’s strained slightly with nerves.

-------

The next several days flew by, with their amount of homework increasing more as they neared the end of January.

Harry had continued his Club meetings after the first week, on the Wednesdays again, though this time Granger did not join them, stating that she needed to start her preparations for the exams. The Ravenclaws in the Club had been astonished at her fervour for preparations, but then had shrugged and moved on.

Harry continued his Club with the talk about the Olde Magick, and how way earlier, people were so close to nature, worshipping it along with this natural magic.

“The early Greek and Roman myths talk about pagan gods. These gods had domains over natural resources and anything or any phenomena the ancients couldn’t explain," Harry told them, smiling at the way all of them listened with awe and interest.

“One of the deities worshipped was Lady Hecate, or what us, magicals, call Lady Magic," he continued. “Lady Magic is the being from whom every form of magic comes from, be it ours, the goblins’, the house-elves’ or any other magical creature’s. She’s the being who ties all the magicals together with her magic.”

“So, wait," Justin spoke up, frowning in thought. “Magicals believe in magical gods?”

Harry looked at the Slytherins. “Not everyone," Theo answered for him. “Only very old families believe in the gods and beings. The rituals that they conduct during the sacred festivals like Yule and Samhain, are the ways through which they connect to these higher beings.”

“They are real?!”, Stephen Cornfoot, a Ravenclaw muggleborn, asked with astonishment and disbelief written clear on his face.

Theo and the other Slytherins, who actually must have been the ones who practiced these rituals, looked slightly unsure on how to answer that.

“You will only be able to find that out if you conduct those rituals.”, Harry answered this time, leaning forward in his seat. “Nobody really knows whether they are real are not. For those who do not practice these rituals, these are just Dark Arts that these old families are carrying out illegally. And for the old families, it is a way for them to keep connected to their ancestors, to keep these sacred beliefs still alive.”

“So, we will really need to do these rituals to figure it out?”, Padma Patil muttered.

“You can’t really conduct them out in the open," Blaise drawled out. “As Harry said, those rituals are forbidden by the Ministry.”

“Why?”, Susan asked, frowning at that bit of information.

“Because they come under the Dark Arts," Daphne replied.

“What are the Dark Arts?”, Justin asked, slight annoyance colouring his voice.

That’s what I wanted you to ask, Harry thought with an internal smirk. He glanced at the Slytherins who all were sitting with slightly confused looks, their blank masks in full effect.

“That,” Harry drawled out, “is rather hard question to answer, Justin. The magic in the Wizarding World is divided into three categories – Light, Neutral and Dark – the way our magical cores have slowly evolved and divided.”

“Evolved?”, Theo asked as the rest of the Slytherins turned simultaneously to stare at him.

Harry smiled. “Yes. Magic and our magical cores weren’t divided some two thousand years before, just like the magical creatures now who do not have their cores divided. It’s just the way witches and wizards started favouring particular types of spells and rituals that our magical cores started changing. And this is the result. We all are divided when the magic itself isn’t.”

All of his clubmates gaped, including the Slytherins.

“So, you mean,” Davis spoke up slowly, “that we, ourselves, divided magic?”

“Exactly.”

“But,” Ernie Macmillan spoke up, “how come you know this? How can you be sure this is actually what happened?”

“Good question," Harry smiled. “You see, I’ve got a magical guardian who is well-versed in knowledge regarding these facts. I think he knows more about the magical world than anyone else. And he offered me some of his books, that were really old, I might add, and had information regarding the old times and such.”

Ernie nodded slowly, likely thinking Harry’s magical guardian to be Dumbledore while the Slytherins were giving him intrigued looks, Theo and Blaise along with Neville more so.

“So, anyways. Broadly speaking, there is not that much of a difference between these magic types," Harry continued. “They all need a magical, a magical core, maybe a spell and a wand-movement and you’ve got whatever you want done.”

“So, why are these Dark Arts illegal then?”, Hannah asked, looking more confused.

“Because they specifically require something in return," Harry answered. “I really do not have much knowledge about the Dark Arts,” who was he kidding, “but from what I’ve read in some books, the spells and rituals that are classified Dark require the castor to give something back.”

“But aren’t we giving magic in return?”, Terry asked.

“No.” Harry shook his head. “The magic that we are using through our cores provides us a way to enact those spells. These are taught in complex magical theories and I haven’t yet gotten the chance to read though them much, but that’s what I’ve understood so far. So, our magical cores give magic and to specifically do these Dark spells, we need to give our emotions or maybe memories, blood, maybe a small body part, or a sacrifice.”

“As in………killing animals?”, Neville asked hesitantly.

“Yes," Harry answered, watching carefully as most of his fellow mates’ faces turned pale. “That is why the Ministry does not want magicals to perform these Arts. Some of them are deadly and dangerous if not performed properly. And some might even make you lose yourselves. If you do not properly know what you are doing, you can go insane, since these Arts have the deadly effect of making you quite obsessive.”

“How?”

“The power rush," Harry answered after a pause. “The Dark Arts make you feel connected to your magic since, in order to perform them, a magical needs to have a very good connection with their magical core. And once you start performing these spells, you will feel your connection increase. In fact, you can even feel the magic flowing out of you and it is quite an intoxicating experience for several magicals.”

“So, it is good that the Ministry has banned the use of these Arts," Justin spoke up.

Harry saw the almost imperceptible frown on the Slytherins increase, since they were the ones who hailed from Dark families.

“Yes," Susan nodded in agreement. “I mean, what is the use of spells and rituals that can turn you mad?”

Several of the club members nodded.

Harry hummed, giving a slight glare to Daphne and Tracey, who looked like they wanted to argue.

“You are right, in a way," Harry said, nodding at Justin and Susan. “But tell me guys, have you heard about the Patronus Charm?”

Most of the first years except the magical raised blinked in confusion.

“Yes," Hannah nodded slowly. “It is considered one of the most powerful of Charms. Not many witches and wizards are able to cast it, especially the full corporeal form.”

“It is used to ward off Dementors," Ernie added. “Takes on the form of a guardian animal that may represent the castor.”

Harry smiled. “Good," he said. “It is a Dark spell.”

Almost all of the students’ jaws dropped.

Harry grinned, smug.

“But…..”, Susan exchanged a glance with Hannah, “how could it be a Dark spell? It wards off Dementors!”

“What are dementors?”, Justin asked.

“They are Dark creatures," Blaise answered. “Huge, with decayed-body like appearance, almost all of it covered by a black robe. They can suck out your happiness just by being near you.”

“Very dangerous," Neville added helpfully, looking pale.

Justin himself was looking pale. “Have anyone of you seen a dementor?”

“No. And, believe me, you wouldn't want to meet one," Daphne answered with a shiver. “We’ve only read about them. It’s better to stay away from them.”

Harry nodded. “Well, moving on," he said. “As I said before, Dark spells need, let’s call it, a payment in return. The Patronus Charm needs you to focus on your happiest memory so that you can cast out that guardian spirit to ward off a dementor. The stronger and happier the memory, the stronger is the Charm.”

“Oh," Susan muttered.

“As I said,” Harry grinned, “it’s a Dark spell since it requires you to use your memory. And since it’s a Dark spell, it comes easier to Dark magicals.”

“But,” Neville frowned, “isn’t Dumbledore Light? And he can cast the Patronus.”

“I didn’t say only Dark magicals can cast it, Neville," Harry replied. “A Grey or a Light magical can also cast it. It’s just that it comes more easier to a Dark magical.”

“So why don’t the Dark magicals use it?”, Sally Anne-Perks asked curiously.

“Because most of them actually believe this spell to be Light," Harry answered, smiling in amusement as he saw his Slytherin friends and mates be frowning in both thought and confusion. “Since the Charm is used as a defence against one of the Darkest creatures in the magical world, and the Charm itself takes the form of an animal which glows and is literally made of light, it is an easy misunderstanding to have.”

Harry looked at Lisa Turpin. “Lisa, you love reading about history, yes?” She nodded. “Have you read about Herpo the Foul?”

Lisa frowned, concentrating to recall any facts she might have read about the man. “Not much," she replied at last. “He was a Dark Lord in the third century BC. Considered insane. He…”, her eyes widened, “he’s the one who made the dementors!”

“Exactly.” Harry nodded. “Herpo the Foul was a genius. He had no intention of actually creating them. You guys can think of him as a mad genius who got too much interest in the types of magic that are actually, genuinely very dangerous.”

Harry looked at the magical raised. “Have any one of you heard about Soul Magic?”, he asked slowly.

Theo took a sharp breath, staring at Harry wide-eyed.

Harry nodded, before turning and giving everyone a serious look. “I don’t care whoever you tell about any of our Club meetings, but do not tell anyone about what we are talking today, especially do not even mention the words Soul Magic.” He took a breath. “It is really dangerous and even slight knowledge about it can have you shipped off to Azkaban.” And he was not taking any chances as his magic slowly flowed out and created a sort of Secrecy Ward solely made from Harry's wish around the room that wouldn't allow anyone to talk about these certain topics with anyone who wasn't in this room until Harry allowed them to - a sort of Taboo on the word 'Soul Magic' and the creation of dementors.

Some of the members gulped, but nodded, their curiosity winning over.

“Herpo, whose actual name was Hieronymos, got really interested in that magic," Harry continued. “He wanted to see what he could do about that branch. So, he found an island in the middle of the North Sea and started conducting experiments there.”

“What….kinds of experiments?”, Sue asked hesitantly.

Harry pursued his lips. “That is better left unanswered," he replied after a pause.

Sue took a breath, and nodded.

“As expected, at the end, his experiments went very wrong, though what he really wanted to get out of that, I do not know. Those awfully-went-wrong experiments created the dementors," Harry went on. “He couldn’t control them, couldn’t even talk with them and finally decided to research and create a spell that could help him keep them at bay. He finally created the Patronus Charm and spread around the knowledge on how to cast it anonymously.”

“Unbelievable!”, Lisa muttered.

Harry nodded. “Later on, when he was close to nearing death, he created a……sort of ward, we can say, that tied most of the dementors on the island he had first created them in.”

“That later became Azkaban," Susan murmured.

Harry hummed.

They stayed silent for a minute or two, lost in their own thoughts.

Harry wasn’t really sure why he had decided to mention Soul Magic here, especially since all of them were only first-years and if anyone found out what they had been chatting about, it would really get them all in trouble.

But he supposed if he needed to keep at least his fellow schoolmates and friends open-minded, he needed to share some of these things with them. The magicals needed to know about various branches of magic and learn which were truly dangerous and which were only rumored to be.

“I think the talk turned too…….dark today," Daphne murmured, eyeing the others’ terrified faces.

“Yeah.” Neville agreed, gulping down his fear.

“We should talk about rainbows, candies and unicorns next turn," Blaise suggested.

Everyone laughed , albeit the hesitation and nervousness still lingered.

Chapter Text

Slowly, the month of January passed and on the first of February Harry found some time to celebrate the festival of Imbolc by performing a simple ritual to again thank Lady Magic. It was held halfway between winter solstice and spring equinox. The festival itself was celebrated more for divination, purification and to welcome spring season, requesting the natural magic to fill the world with the beauties of spring. For some, this was the best traditional time for pledges and rededications for the coming year.

The same night, Harry got a dream from Lady Magic.

He found himself standing in the black nothingness he’d found himself in when he’d first met the beings properly, but this time less oppressive.

“That is because Lord Death isn’t present here, Harrison.”, Lady Magic said with a smile. “Welcome back.”

Harry smiled back at her. “Lady Magic.”, he greeted, bowing a little. “Do you guys always stay at this place?”

Lady Magic hummed, waving her hand to Conjure two armchairs for Harry and herself. “This is like a common room of ours, the way you children have at Hogwarts. We meet here, but our own planes are different.”, she answered, indicating for Harry to take a seat while she sat down.

“Oh.”, Harry said, sitting down as well. “That’s amazing. So, I wouldn’t be able to visit them myself by any chance?”

“Not yet, no.”

Harry sighed exaggeratedly. “Oh, well.”, he mumbled. “So, why the visit? Anything about the unicorns?”

Lady Magic nodded somberly. “It is clear Riddle finds the idea of using their blood to gain more time more appealing.”, she said. “Please warn them.”

Harry sighed. “Of course.”, he replied. “I would. Though how would they protect themselves? Voldemort must be determined to find them since it's about his survival and he might try to raid the whole forest.”

Lady Magic smiled. “The unicorns know a way, Harrison.”, she replied mysteriously. “Just give them the warning, the rest they will take care of themselves. Riddle won’t be able to find them.”

“But wouldn’t that make him more desperate?”, Harry asked with a frown. “I mean, his host is dying.”

Lady Magic gave a light shrug. “Either he would have to use some other way or he could simply leave Quirell.”

Harry hummed thoughtfully. “How much time does Quirell have anyway?”, he asked, trying to recall if he’d seen any signs of decay in his Defence professor apart from the man’s stuttering turning more awful. He got that Voldemort wanted to keep his host completely off the radar from a certain Headmaster, but did he really had to overdo that stupid stuttering?

“Maybe till July or August when he would completely die?”, Lady Magic answered with a thoughtful frown. “It is slightly uncertain to pinpoint when exactly, since Riddle’s soul is so small, but I think he has at most until August.”

“Until this term then.”, Harry muttered. He looked at Lady Magic with curiosity. “What are the other ways to save a body from dying apart from murdering a unicorn?”

“Not many.”, Lady Magic answered with a sigh. “There is the Elixir from the Philosopher’s Stone which could save someone, a potion which is highly volatile and unsteady to make since it requires a Necromancer’s presence and one or two sacrificial rituals.”

Harry whistled. “Murdering a unicorn is the only way Voldemort has.”, he muttered, then winced. “I feel slightly bad for him.”

Lady Magic sighed again.

“Do you think….”, Harry hesitated, “..should I ask for Mr. Flamel’s help? He might be receptive of maybe sending a vial of the Elixir he makes?”

Lady Magic blinked, surprised, and stared at Harry. “You….You would do that for the man who….?”

Harry bit his lips. He sighed, his shoulder's slumping down slightly in confusion and annoyance. “It’s not about Voldemort.”, he replied after some contemplation. “I feel bad for Quirell. The man only wants to help someone else in achieving what he believes to be good for the magicals.”

Lady Magic looked torn between confusion and surprise.

“And if I apply the same arguments, Voldemort himself wanted to do something for the magicals in his own twisted sort of way.”, Harry continued. “And Riddle, the man who got lost somewhere along the way and became Voldemort, actually was….is blessed by you. And,” Harry averted his eyes from Lady Magic’s intrigued gold ones, “he and I had such a similar childhood. If I hadn’t had Miss. Coulson, D and you guys, I might have turned out like him too.”

“Harrison…”, she whispered, her eyes sad.

Harry took a breath. “I might not have forgiven Riddle and Voldemort for killing my parents, or for murdering and torturing so many magicals, but I know what Riddle had felt when he was a child. I can understand how his thought processes must have worked, and I can try to imagine why he is so afraid of dying.”

Lady Magic was silent for a while, looking at Harry with something akin to wonder. Harry tried not to make eye-contact with her. That was so weird to look at - a literal being looking at him with wonder of all things.

“You are such a good person, Harrison.”, she whispered at last, a happy smile spreading across her lips. “I am extremely proud of you.”

Harry’s eyes widened slightly as he looked at the smiling face of Lady Magic.

“And it is completely up to you, whether you want to help your professor or not.”, she continued. “If you want to help, then nobody would judge you-”

“Since nobody would know about it.”, Harry muttered wryly.

She smiled. “It’s up to you, Harrison.”, she repeated again. “And thank you for those offerings, they were delicious.”

Harry raised his eyebrows. “That explains why the food seemed lesser than what I had offered.”, he mumbled.

Lady Magic laughed as she gently ruffled his hair.

The next day, Harry got dragged by Blaise and a reluctant Theo to a Quidditch match which didn’t even had their team playing. Harry liked Quidditch, alright, but he did not much enjoy sitting and watching. Instead, he preferred to play himself and as such, had decided to plan how to sneak out in the night to warn the unicorns against his Defence professor and his fellow parasite, instead of sitting through a match which, again, did not even had his House playing.

But his friends had other plans and had decided to make him sit through a game which would decide how much the Slytherin team needed to score in the next game. Neville, who was sitting beside a very enthusiastic group of first year Gryffindor boys, waved at them with a smile from across the stands. Harry waved back, sitting down beside Blaise and Theo on the Slytherin side.

It was a Gryffindor against Hufflepuff match. Since the Gryffindors had defeated the Slytherins in the previous match, the Slytherins were a bit behind them, but if Gryffindor lost this match and then Slytherin won against the match with the Ravenclaws held the weekend after the next, then the Slytherins would win the House Championship again.

Cormac McLaggen, who was a second-year Gryffindor, was the Seeker of the team, though the guy seemed too cocky and self-important to be able to see beyond himself and spot the snitch, Harry thought as he eyed the boy who was literally waving his hands at the audience of the students.

“What does he think himself to be, huh?”, Theo muttered as the boy waved even at the Slytherins, most of whom sneered at him.

“We’ve got ourselves a junior Dumbledore.”, Blaise drawled out, both Harry and Theo snorting in response.

“Which House do you think would win?”, Harry asked, looking at the Hufflepuff team. Most of the Hufflepuff players seemed to be lower years.

“I am hoping on the Hufflepuff team.”, Theo muttered in response.

“I am betting on the Hufflepuff team.”, Blaise replied. “I mean, look at that idiot.”, he nodded in McLaggen's direction. “Do you think he has any chance of winning against Diggory?”

“Diggory?”, Harry asked, not familiar with every player like Blaise-I-know-everything-Zabini.

“Hufflepuff fourth-year.”, Blaise answered. “Cedric Diggory, excellent Seeker and almost a perfect student. His father, Amos Diggory, is in the Ministry.”

“Do you know about everyone?”, Theo asked with a raised brow.

Blaise smirked. “Of course. You should know about everyone.”, he replied.

Theo rolled his eyes in response. “Gryffindor did win against us the previous match.”, he said, re-directing the conversation before Blaise could start praising his gossiping skills.

“That does not mean McLaggen’s good.”, Blaise said. “We do not have a good enough Seeker. Terence Higgs resigned since this is his seventh-year and so Flint had to find some other Seeker. Bole’s not a good one.”

Theo hummed.

“How much time would this match take, do you think?”, Harry asked as Gryffindor scored a goal, the students at the Gryffindor side of the stands erupting in loud cheers. The commentor of the games, Lee Jordan, best friend of the twins, was shouting loudly for his team.

“Who knows?”, Theo responded.

“Hope Diggory gets to the snitch fast.”, Blaise muttered.

Harry nodded. The Gryffindors had good Chasers, Beaters and Keeper, and Wood had trained them well enough. The Hufflepuff Chasers were good, but they did not had the coordination the Gryffindor ones did. The Seekers of both the teams were hovering high above the match. Harry could make out the guy in yellow robes scanning the pitch with keen eyes for the snitch while the Gryffindor Chasers scored goals.

The match went on for a while, with Gryffindor in the lead seventy-forty, when Diggory shot down suddenly. McLaggen immediately jolted, following after the other Seeker, but Harry was sure the boy hadn’t spotted the snitch hovering in the middle of the pitch.

“Looks like Diggory has spotted the snitch!”, Jordan commented as the student body leaned in as one to see which Seeker would get to the snitch first. “McLaggen follows, but it seems like it’s too late as Diggory moves his hand………and catches the snitch! Hufflepuff wins with one-ninety points to seventy!”

The Slytherins clapped along with the loud cheers from the Hufflepuffs and groans from the Gryffindors.

“Slytherin needs to win next match to win the House Championship.”, Blaise said as they got up to go back into the castle.

“Professor Snape would surely give them severe detentions if they do not win the next match.”, Theo added with a wince.

Blaise and Harry chuckled. “Our Head of House sure does love the House Cup in his office, doesn’t he?”, Harry drawled.

“Hey.”, a voice interrupted their light chat, and they turned to find Neville smiling from behind them.

“Neville.”, Harry smiled back, Theo and Blaise greeting the Gryffindor as well.

“Harry.”, Neville looked hesitantly at Theo and Blaise. “May I talk with you? Alone?”

Harry blinked. “Sure.”, he said, giving Theo and Blaise nods. They nodded back, then turned and resumed their walk back to the castle.

Neville fidgeted with his robes, glancing around nervously.

Harry took the boy’s hand and led him slightly off the path connecting the castle and the Quidditch pitch. He tilted his head curiously, “What is it?”

“I….um…..my gran.”, Neville mumbled. “She still hasn’t budged about…..the wand.”

Harry paused, frowning. “Professor McGonagall wrote to her, right?”, he asked slowly.

“Yes. She actually wrote to gran three times.”

“And Mr. Ollivander’s letter reached her as well?”

“Yes.”

Harry sighed. “She’s……stubborn.”, he muttered, looking towards the castle.

Neville chuckled softly. “That she is.”, he replied fondly. “But what do I do now? It’s so hard to convince gran about anything. I don’t want to do magic with my father’s wand when it would only work perfectly for him.”

Harry’s eyes had narrowed while he was looking at the castle’s huge doors. It was nearing evening, the gentle breeze ruffling through the grass over the Hogwarts grounds.

He turned back to Neville. “Don’t worry, Neville.”, Harry said. “I would figure something out. If nothing else, we could sneak off to Diagon to get you a wand without your gran finding out and tell her after we’ve bought the wand.”

Neville’s eyes widened in both shock and horror. “But-”

“No buts.”, Harry interrupted. “Just….give me some time to think it through.”

“Oh, okay.”, Neville murmured. “Let’s go then.”

Harry nodded. “Go ahead.”, he said. “I would catch up to you. I remembered something I needed to take care of.”

Neville looked at Harry with confusion, but Harry waved at him. “Go on.”, he said, making a shooing motion with his hands.

Neville frowned, but sighed and nodded. “You better not get into something dangerous.”, he warned.

“Why do people always think I’m getting into trouble?!”, Harry whined.

Neville rolled his eyes and shrugged. “See you, Harry.”, he waved.

Harry waved back, but his eyes were fixed on his target. Pulling out his Invisibility Cloak that he had tucked inside his robe pockets, he made sure nobody was watching him, and put it on. Pulling the hood over, he vanished. Letting his magic pull out and coil around him, he let it create Silencing Charms around him and then swiftly walked towards the Forbidden Forest, where he’d seen the two cloaked figures entering just a moment earlier.

He quickly walked into the forest, letting his magic mix with the forest’s and guide him to his targets for he recognized who the two cloaked figures had been. The first one was Quirell, with his quick walk into the forest, and the second one was Snape, prowling into the forest after Quirell.

Harry’s heart beat faster as he realized Quirell might have already started attacking the unicorns. He needed to find one fast and warn them against the man.

And Snape must have followed after to either threaten Quirell or just to tail him to find something against the professor.

Harry quickened his pace, the magic understanding his urgency and guiding him through the forest quickly.

He slowed down when he heard voices coming from just in front of him.

“Quirell.”, Snape’s voice reached Harry, completely neutral and icy.

“Professor S-Snape.”, Quirell stuttered. Harry moved slowly and quietly, peeking from behind a beech tree. Quirell and Snape were standing in a small, shadowy clearing. Harry couldn’t see his Head of House’s face but he could see Quirell’s, and they were flashing red. Harry could feel the small tug in his scar, as he stared at the professor. “I d-don’t know why you wanted t-t-to meet here of all places, Severus…….”

“Oh, I thought we’d keep this private.”, Snape responded. “Students aren’t supposed to know about the Philosopher’s Stone, after all.”

“O-of c-course…….”

“Have you figured out how to get past that beast of Hagrid’s yet?”, Snape snapped.

Harry’s eye brows raised. His Potions professor sure was straight-forward. He wondered what Snape would do if he found out the Dark Lord was actually possessing the stuttering man in front of him.

“B-b-but Severus, I-”

That stuttering was really annoying.

“You don’t want me as your enemy, Quirell.”, Snape threatened, taking a step forward, towards Quirell.

“I-I don’t know what you-”

“You know perfectly well what I mean, Quirell. You were trying to get past that beast! I’m enraged with your little bit of hocus-pocus.”, Snape snapped again. He folded his hands across his chest. “I’m waiting.”

“B-but I d-d-don’t-”

“Very well.”, Snape interrupted.

Harry gave out a frustrated sigh. One wouldn’t complete his damn sentences while the other was too damn impatient!

“We’ll have another little chat soon, when you’ve had time to think things over and decided where your loyalties lie.”

Quirell stuttered, but Snape ignored the man, throwing his cloak over his head and strode out of the clearing.

Harry stayed still where he was, staring intently at the man standing still in the middle of the clearing. The man’s eyes were flashing, and he seemed to be turning paler, his forehead sweating.

“M-master.”, Quirell murmured softly.

“SSeverus is too ssmart for hiss own good, Quirinuss.”, a voice spoke up softly, the sound too much gone into Parseltongue. Harry took a sharp breath, freezing in place. It was the first time he had heard the voice of the monster who’d killed his parents, the Dark Lord who had spread so much terror and fear of him over the whole magical Britain and the leftover of the genius man that he had heard about from the beings, the man who had gained the blessings of Lady Magic as a Lord. “We musst be careful.”

“Of c-c-course, Master.”, Quirell nodded. He scanned the clearing, then moved towards the direction of the castle.

Harry released the breath he’d been holding, his shoulders slumping slightly. He needed to find a unicorn, preferably as fast as he could.

“Help me, please.”, he murmured, gently guiding his magic to brush through the magic of the forest. “I need to find one of them. Fast.”

Harry felt the magic tug him, and he moved his legs swiftly, following after the tug.

He hadn’t yet decided whether he would write to Mr. Flamel to ask for his help, and he wasn’t sure the alchemist would be willing to give the Elixir of Life itself to a child, Boy-Who-Lived and all that nonsense notwithstanding. But Quirell did not deserve death, though he supposed it would be more peaceful for the man if he died.

Harry shook his head, shaking himself out of his thoughts as he felt the forest’s magic’s tug turn insistent. He looked up and found a unicorn standing just a few feet away from him, staring at him curiously.

Harry’s face turned warm and he bowed. “Apologies for not noticing you.”, Harry muttered.

He heard a snort. 'Colour me surprised, young wizard. It has rarely ever happened that someone has missed our presence just because they are lost in thought.’, the soft voice echoed in his head with a hint of amusement. Harry flushed. ‘We meet again.’

Harry looked up slowly, “Yes.”, he murmured. “Lady Magic sent me to warn you. Please stay hidden, the threat has been confirmed.”

The unicorn’s eyes turned sad and he gave a nod. ‘Of course, young wizard. You and Lady Magic have our sincerest gratitude for delivering us the warning.’

“You are very welcome.”, Harry replied.

They lapsed into silence, Harry staring at the shining mane of the unicorn while the unicorn in turn, looked at Harry with his piercing gold eyes.

‘You seem to be in some dilemma, young wizard.’, the unicorn said after a pause.

Harry blinked and looked at the unicorn’s eyes. “Um, yes.”, he said slowly. “I just….”, Harry frowned. “May I ask you a question, if you don’t mind answering?”

The unicorn tilted his head slightly, staring at Harry. ‘Go ahead.’

Harry took a breath. “Should I help Quirell?”, he asked at last. “I don’t want the man to die, but I also hesitate to help……Voldemort in any way.”

The unicorn stayed silent for at least a minute. ‘That is a hard question to answer, young wizard.’, the unicorn replied at last. ‘I do not know how the future would unfold if you help him or decide not to. But I do know that no innocent deserves to die.’

Harry bit his lips. “Nobody is innocent here.”, he muttered.

‘Perhaps.’, the unicorn nodded. ‘But your decision to help also depends on another person.’

Harry blinked.

‘Ask him.’, the unicorn continued. ‘He would unknowingly decide for you. At least then, you would have the peace of mind in knowing that you tried.’

Harry’s eyes widened. “You…”, he mumbled. “Of course! That is so simple.” He looked at the unicorn with bright eyes. “Thank you so much! That really helps! I could ask him!”

‘Welcome, young wizard.’, the unicorn nodded. ‘You should return back to your castle now. I must return too.’

“Of course.”, Harry nodded with a smile. “Thank you.”

The unicorn gave a nod, then turned and disappeared through the thick trees.

Harry felt the forest’s magic tug him towards the direction of the castle. “Thank you too.”, he murmured as he turned and started making his way back to the castle, the magic tingling through his hair.

Chapter Text

When Harry returned back from his adventure in the forest – for the lack of a better term – the dinner was almost over. Theo and Blaise, along with Neville who was sitting in the Gryffindor table beside a very focused Granger with a book, gave him curious looks, their eyes perfectly asking him what he was up to.

Harry waved his hand at them to stop them from worrying and asking, and quickly filled his plate with some chicken and vegetables before they disappeared off the table, to be replaced by dessert.

Once the dinner had been over, Harry once again reassured Neville that he would think up something about convincing his grandmother, and they parted ways to their respective common rooms.

Harry sat down on one of the couches in the common room, lost in the thought of how to draft the letter he would write to Mr. Flamel when Malfoy, who seemed to be itching to get into some sort of fight with someone, came prowling over to him flanked by his two bodyguards.

“Not spending your time with that Weasel, Potter?”, Malfoy sneered.

Harry looked away from where he was staring at the glass windows showing the black depth of the Lake, giving Malfoy a flat look. He spotted Theo and Blaise look up from their chess match they had just started from his peripheral.

“Which Weasley are you talking about, Malfoy?”, he drawled out.

“The one who seems to follow his hero around like a love-sick fool.”, Malfoy replied with a mocking smile. “How romantic, isn’t it?”

“Sure, Malfoy.”, Harry smiled. “The way Goyle and Crabbe follow you around, yes?”

Malfoy’s ears turned slightly pink. “Shut up, Potter.”, he growled. “At least they are useful.”

Harry hummed. “Indeed.”, he drawled. “You do need them. As for me, I am better at intimidating others without needing the help of two fellow Housemates.”

Malfoy’s years pinked further. “I do not need them to intimidate others for me, Potter.”, he spluttered. “They come under House Malfoy’s debt. Not that you would understand such things, what with growing up with muggles and spending time with blood traitors and mudbloods.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed at the slur against those who came from the so called non-magical parents. He understood why the purebloods hated them, especially when the muggleborns were introducing more of the non-magical world’s traditions and making the magical world stray away from Magic, but that did not mean the magicals should go around calling them derogatory terms.

“Seems like Lord and Lady Malfoy forgot to tell you not to use terms unfitting for an Heir of a Most Ancient and Noble House.”, Harry drawled out. He stood up, stalking closer to Malfoy, and letting a small amount of his surface magic circle the Malfoy Heir. The boy blinked, his eyes widening slightly. “And don’t ever again use that term in front of me, Malfoy, or you would be spending the remainder of our Hogwarts’ term in the hospital wing re-growing your tongue.”

Malfoy did not say anything for a moment, staring at Harry slightly open-mouthed, while Harry kept his glare firmly on the boy. Theo and Blaise had also stood up, while most of the Slytherins were either openly staring (the lower years) or discreetly observing (the upper years).

Malfoy finally opened his mouth. “Why, Potter?”, he sneered. “Did that hurt your poor, little sensibilities?”

“No, Malfoy.”, Harry spoke up, trying not to hit Malfoy with either his magic or his fist. “It did not hurt anything of mine. But it might get you in harm’s way.”

“Are you threatening me, Potter?”, Malfoy asked, his eyes narrowing.

Harry tried not to roll his eyes. “What does it look like, Malfoy?”, he drawled with a raised brow.

“That you are pathetic, Potter!”, Malfoy almost shouted. Harry’s eyebrows went higher. “How dare you get sorted into Slytherin when this House clearly does not suit you! You do not belong here!”

“Do I, now?”, Harry asked with a twitch of his lips. “Why don’t you go and tell this to the Sorting Hat? I am sure he would appreciate your opinion.”

“Don’t be so smug, Potter.”, Malfoy spat out. “You must have tricked the Hat into sorting you here!”

“Contradicting yourself, aren’t you, Malfoy?”, Harry asked, crossing his arms across his chest. “If you think me resourceful and tactful enough to trick the Sorting Hat that was Charmed by the Hogwarts’ Founders themselves into it sorting me here, then why would you think that I do not belong in this House?”

“Y-you….”, Malfoy stuttered.

Theo and Blaise snorted beside Harry. Malfoy turned to sneer at them. “And you, Nott!”, he snarled. “What do you think your father would do when he finds out you’ve been playing buddies with the Boy-Who-Lived?”

Theo shot Malfoy an unimpressed look. “It’s not when, Malfoy,” he drawled, “my father already knows that I’m on friendly terms with Harrison. And he does not seem to have any problem with it.”

“And why do you think befriending me is a problem, Malfoy?”, Harry asked innocently, batting his eyelashes when Malfoy turned to glare at him.

“You come from one of the Lightest families of Britain, Potter!”, Malfoy sneered. Harry could see some of the upper years pursuing their lips in annoyance in his peripheral. “Don’t try to act innocent!”

“And why exactly would that be a problem, Malfoy?”, Harry asked, tilting his head slightly, amusement dancing inside his mind. If Malfoy really lost it and spoke in front of everyone that he supported the Dark, then the boy would definitely get Lord Malfoy in trouble, especially if someone who was on Dumbledore’s side heard him, not that any Dumbledore-supporter would be in Slytherin.

“Because-”

“Draco!”, hissed Pansy Parkinson, who till now, had been listening to the argument standing a few feet away from Harry, Malfoy and their group. “You need to calm down!”

Malfoy looked back at her, his brows furrowing in confusion. “What?!”, he demanded. “How dare you-”

“Draco, you need to calm down!”, she repeated again, taking his arm and literally dragging the frowning boy away, towards the boys’ dormitory, Crabbe and Goyle following after them. They could hear Malfoy’s ‘My father would hear about this!' - at which several lower year students snickered - followed by some muffled shouts and then silence.

Harry turned to look at Theo and Blaise who had twin expressions of annoyance and amusement on their faces.

“Well,” Harry drawled, “that was fun.”

Theo sighed, while Blaise snorted.

-------

It took Harry about four days to compose his request letter to Mr. Flamel. He was hesitating, wondering how would the great alchemist see him when he would read Harry’s letter asking him for the Elixir of Life which must have taken him so much time to create. Harry hoped Mr. Flamel wouldn’t be too offended at Harry’s request and would refuse him a little less harshly.

Taking a deep breath, Harry attached the two individual letters to Hedwig’s legs in the Owlery where Hedwig liked spending some of her free time aside from in Harry’s room and around the open grounds and forests of Hogwarts.

“Take Mr. Flamel’s letter first, girl.”, Harry told her softly, stroking her white feathers. “And be careful. Nobody should read Mr. Flamel’s letter aside from him, alright?”

Hedwig fluffed up and hooted.

“Of course.”, Harry mumbled, nodding his head once. “I trust you. Take care, alright?”

Hedwig bobbed her head once, nibbled Harry’s fingers affectionately, then spread her wings and took off through the huge open window of the Owlery.

Harry watched his white familiar’s form until it disappeared behind some distant trees.

“Who was that second letter to, Harry?”

Harry turned to look at Neville standing close to the entrance, fidgeting nervously. He sighed. “An academic.”, he replied. “I need his help.”

“Oh.”, Neville nodded, biting his lips. He stared past Harry’s shoulder, outside the window. “Do you think writing to gran like that would help? I mean, she did not listen to Professor McGonagall, why would she listen to a first-year student?”

Harry shrugged. “I couldn’t think of anything else.”, he replied.

Harry had actually written a letter filled with a little bit of rage directed towards Lady Longbottom on behalf of Neville. He had politely told her that she had no right trying to force her grandson into being something he was not, and that trying to force the boy into becoming good into things he was not interested in would cripple the Gryffindor’s chances of a successful and happy future. If Neville was interested in Herbology, she should encourage him so, and not force him to get better in other subjects.

After that rant, he had told her what he knew about wands choosing their own magicals, that every magical had a different magical core and thus needed a different wand for their magic to work perfectly.

Harry told her that while making Neville use his father’s wand was sentimental and would definitely make Neville feel like he had his parents with him, it would deter the boy’s core development and cause problems in the future.

He hoped that she understood, otherwise he really would need to sneak Neville out, maybe with the twins’ help or something, to buy the Gryffindor a compatible wand. He dreaded doing that because, sneaking out into the Forbidden Forest was one thing, sneaking out to Diagon Alley would definitely get him on the hit-list of his Head of House if the man somehow found out, and he clearly did not want to get on that man’s bad side.

Neville bit his lip. “I hope this might work.”, he mumbled. “What did you write in it exactly?”

Harry smiled slightly. “Just told her what I learned from Mr. Ollivander.”, he replied.

“Just that?”

“More or less.”

----------

Almost a whole month passed, filled with studies, discussions and weekly Club meetings, along with a match of Slytherin against Ravenclaw, in which Slytherins won with barely forty points.

Harry did not try to sneak out again into the forest, concentrating more on his studies – both from school and the assigned readings he had to do from Morte. It was especially hard to read some of the Darker books outside of his trunk, so he had to sneak sometimes in it while Theo was asleep during the nights.

The studies from the school weren’t that difficult, but they involved lots of theory in almost all of the subjects. Harry breezed through Charms and Defence, Transfiguration’s theories were slightly difficult but Harry made through, while Herbology was slightly boring since he was not that much interested in flora.

Potions went alright too, they got entertaining sometimes when their Head of House would pick up on some annoying Gryffindors, like Ronald, though Harry got irritated at the man when he picked up on Neville. Snape mostly left Harry alone, preferring to observe from the sidelines. They did not have had any chat after the one they had at the beginning of the term, though Snape did occasionally ask Harry some questions whose subject matter were out of the first-year syllabus

Astronomy was alright, and Harry enjoyed looking at stars and some galaxies through his telescopes. But History of Magic continued to have the same effects on the student population, Professor Binns’ drowning voice talking about goblin rebellions sending them all to either deep sleep or making them fall in a stupor.

The discussions in Harry’s Club were knowingly kept light after the talks of Herpo the Foul and Soul Magic. Harry had asked the muggleborns to explain the magical raised about the muggle economy, politics and everyday life.

The magical-raised were especially surprised when they learned that the non-magicals had invented machines that could fly high in sky or go deep into the oceans, and the fact that they used medications different from potions, and that they suspected there might be aliens outside in outer space, and that they were able to use X-Rays and Ultrasound waves to ‘look’ inside human body.

“It is quite fascinating.”, Sue muttered thoughtfully. “How do muggles use these waves exactly? They are like ripples in water, yes?”

Harry blinked. “The magical world….does not know about the electromagnetic waves? Or sound waves?”, he asked slowly.

“What?”, Tracey asked with a frown.

“Right.”, Harry muttered. The magical world did not really need to know about the electromagnetic spectrum when they did not need electricity or anything pertaining to that, for that matter. “Well, it’s like this. Imagine the water waves travelling in a pond, but then make them invisible and increase their speed, like, some million times. The electromagnetic waves are that. Visible light, that we see from the sun, or the light coming from a Lumos, is a form of electromagnetic wave.”

“That is….”, Theo murmured, “new.”

“It’s part of non-magical science.”, Justin said. “Though taught at higher level than what we’ve attended so far.”

Harry nodded. “I read about them a little bit in a library close-by once.”

“Well, anyways,” Blaise murmured, turning to look at Michael, “what were you saying about these aliens?”

Harry sighed at Blaise's unhealthy fascination with aliens.

A few days later, they were sitting in the library going through some of their homeworks, when Neville came over to them, a brilliant happy smile on his face.

“Harry!”, he said excitedly, clutching a piece of parchment close to his chest. “Guess what happened?”

“Weasley got eaten by that dog?”, Blaise asked with a smirk. “Or got into detention with Professor Snape?”

Neville frowned at Blaise, but shook his head and sat down beside Harry. “No.”, he replied. “It’s something else.”, he said with a grin.

Harry smiled himself, staring at Neville. “Something to do with Lady Longbottom and your wand?”, he asked hoping what he was thinking was correct.

“Yes!”, Neville exclaimed, showing them the parchment. “She finally agreed! I don’t know what exactly you wrote in your letter, Harry, but she said that she was impressed with you and happy that I had made such a…”, Neville paused and looked at the parchment, reading something, “um, ‘fierce and protective friend and I am surprised that Mr. Potter went to Slytherin instead of a combination of Gryffindor and Hufflepuff.’”

Harry blinked at Neville, while Theo and Blaise laughed quietly, their shoulders shaking. “Thank her, I suppose?”, Harry replied after a moment. “So, she had agreed to get you a wand?”

“Yes!”, Neville nodded happily. “She says she will get permission from Professor McGonagall to get me to Diagon during Easter and buy me my own wand!”

“That’s excellent, Neville.”, Blaise said. “Congratulations.”

“Yeah.”, Theo nodded.

Harry slumped slightly in his chair. “Thank Salazar!”, he muttered.

“Afraid Lady Longbottom wouldn’t agree?”, Theo asked raising his eyebrows at Harry.

Harry nodded. “I was dreading I’d have to sneak Neville out of Hogwarts.”, he mumbled.

Theo raised his eyebrows higher. “Professor Snape would have had your head if he’d found out.”, he said.

“I know!”

“I bet he would have put you in detention and ordered you to clean the whole dungeon with a toothbrush until you graduated.”, Blaise snorted.

Harry winced. “Thank Lady Magic!”

Neville rolled his eyes. “Or we could’ve gone during the summer holidays.”, he said simply. “My personal elf is quite friendly.”

Theo and Blaise gave the Gryffindor an impressed look, while Harry groaned, not having thought of that.

--------

Harry celebrated Ostara in late March in the Room of Requirement. He wanted to invite Theo, Blaise and Neville to the celebration, but he found himself a bit reluctant.

He was sure that at least Theo and Blaise must be doing something in these festivals as well - though he wasn’t sure about Neville - but he wasn’t yet ready to have them meet his house-elves who also came into the Room of Requirement to join Harry or question him on how he knew about these old festivals when he was supposedly living with non-magicals. Besides, he wasn’t sure how much he could trust Theo and Blaise. After all, they were Slytherins.

As such, Harry spent his time performing a small ritual with only his elves. The festival was celebrated on the spring equinox, welcoming the ‘light’ and portraying the balance between the Light and the Dark.

Once the Easter was over, Neville beaming with his new wand, most of the students began their revisions for the upcoming exams beginning on the first week of June.

Harry also tried to get himself to revise, but he wasn’t sure how much his brain would take anything repeatedly before getting annoyed. As such, he kept his readings over some other books he wanted to go through that were suitable to be used in the Hogwarts’ library.

One weekend, while Harry was in the library, reading through a book on Legilimency disguised to look like a first-year Transfiguration textbook, with Theo and Blaise sitting across from him curiously glancing at Harry’s book, Neville came running over to him, out of breath with his face panicked.

“Neville?”, Harry asked as he looked at his gasping friend. “What is it?”

“Ha..Ha..”, Neville panted, his eyes wide, “he’s g-got a-a d-d-dragon!”

“Huh?”, Harry muttered, gesturing for Neville to sit down. “Who’s got a dragon?”

Neville quickly sat down on a chair beside Harry. “Hagrid!”, he whispered, glancing around to make sure no one was eavesdropping.

Harry took a deep breath, trying to not show too much of his annoyance, while Blaise smirked and Theo shrugged lazily.

“Of course, it’s Hagrid.”, Theo replied. “My father told me about that man’s obsession with dangerous beasts.”

“I wonder where he got the dragon from though.”, Blaise muttered.

“Hagrid got expelled from Hogwarts because of this obsession, you know?”, Theo continued.

“Oh?”, Harry asked curiously. Morte had told him about Hagrid and why he was expelled, but Harry wasn’t sure how many students or magicals would know about this. “Which beast did he sneak in?”

“Nobody knows really.”, Theo answered. “It was during my grandfather’s time, some fifty years ago.” Harry noticed Neville coming out of his panic to listen to Theo as well. “A Prefect found Hagrid trying to feed some beast in some abandoned classroom in the dungeons. Informed the Headmaster and got awarded for it too.”

“So, he never told what that beast was?”, Neville asked.

“No.”, Theo replied. “Hagrid denied it. There were some attacks in the school that year I think, and when the Prefect found out Hagrid had some beast hidden inside the castle, the Ministry took that as evidence that that beast was responsible for attacking students. There was a death too.”

“Fascinating.”, Blaise whispered.

Harry rolled his eyes. He was still not sure where the Chamber of Secrets was and pestering Bloody Baron for its location wasn’t working. Harry could not believe that a ghost as old and ancient as Baron would not know where the Chamber was, when just fifty-years ago it was opened by Riddle. Pity that Hagrid got framed for that.

“You wouldn’t find it fascinating if the attacks started happening now.”, Theo drawled.

Neville shivered. “That reminds me.”, he turned to give Harry a pleading look. “Dragon!”

Harry sighed. “Where did you even find about that out?”, he asked.

“Ron was talking about it with Seamus and Dean in the common room.”

“Real secrecy.”, Harry muttered.

“Said that he’d seen a baby dragon hatch out of an egg.”

“How did Hagrid get the egg?”, Blaise wondered again.

“I don’t know.”, Neville replied. “Just that….Dragon!”

“Oh, don’t look at us.”, Blaise said, raising his hands. “We’ve got our own dragon to deal with. I even have to sleep in its presence.”

Theo and Harry both snorted, while Neville gave them a confused look.

“You don’t know how terrifying it is, not to mention annoying! Especially when that annoying being opens its mouth!”, Blaise gave a tired sigh.

“What are you..”, Neville began, frowning.

“Ignore him, Neville.”, Harry interrupted. “Just…..go and tell any professor. They’ll deal with it.”

“But…”, Neville returned to his panicked state, “wouldn’t that get him in trouble? It is illegal to tame a dragon!”

“Of course it is.”, Harry muttered. “But I think the Headmaster is capable enough to deal with it. After all, Hagrid comes under his protection.”

“Um…”, Neville looked unsure.

“We really can’t help Hagrid, Neville.”, Theo said. “Either let it be or tell some professor.”

“Go tell McGonagall.”, Blaise nodded. “She would know what to do.”

“B-but….wouldn’t she a-ask how I-I knew about that?”

“Obviously.”, Harry stopped himself from rolling his eyes. Honestly, sometimes Neville worried too much. “Tell her that you heard Ronald talking about it.”

“And what if…she does n-not believe m-me?”

“Then, let it be.”, Blaise drawled.

“Dumbledore would get in trouble more than Hagrid.”, Theo pointed out.

Harry gave Neville a little shrug when the Gryffindor looked at him with furrowed brows. “You Slytherins really do not like the Headmaster, do you?”, he asked.

Harry smirked. “We never said that.”, he answered.

Neville gave a resigned sigh.

It took a whole week for the Hogwarts’ rumor mill to start working on about the visit they got from some dragon tamers from Romania.

Harry had heard several rumors regarding the baby dragon, who seemed to be closer to the size of an average hippogriff, being whispered around – the one closest to the truth being that Hagrid had been hiding several dragon eggs and had finally been caught, to the most outlandish that the dragon has actually been living in the castle dungeons and was used by Snape in some of his obscure potions.

Most of the professors seemed to be annoyed, the most irritated ones being McGonagall and Snape, the former usually expressing her disappointment with pursued lips and stricter lectures and the latter deducting points more than usual, while Dumbledore had been seen roaming the grounds with a really unhealthy twinkle in his eyes and a spring in his steps as if he and Hagrid hadn’t been given warnings by the Ministry for keeping a class XXXXX creature close to a school full of students.

Harry was wondering what the Ministry would do if they found out about a certain Fluffy residing in the castle behind un-warded doors.

Neville was really relived, telling Harry, Theo and Blaise how McGonagall hadn’t believed him initially, telling him not to go around spreading rumors, but later, when almost half the school had seen smoke coming out of Hagrid’s house, had to concede and go, check the man’s hut.

Ronald Weasley, on the other hand, did not seem to be that happy with the events that had unfolded, even though the Gryffindor got to meet his second-eldest brother, who worked as a dragon tamer, and with whose profession Harry was very impressed.

So, it stood to reason that Harry and Neville bumped into Weasley while they were making their way to their table in the library.

It was around mid-May and weekend, and Harry had decided to spend his afternoon with a book on dragons in the library along with Neville who wanted to revise through his Potions’ notes. Weasley suddenly materialized in front of them from behind a bookshelf, his face showing the emotions of relief mixed with fear and anxiety.

“Harry!”, he exclaimed, grabbing Harry’s forearm and dragging him towards a table hidden behind some bookshelves which, surprisingly, had Granger of all students reading through a thick tome. “Thank Merlin, we met here. I was going to search for you in the whole castle.”

Harry freed his forearm from the Gryffindor, before glaring at the boy. “Weasley.”, he bit out, distancing himself from said boy. “I do not like being manhandled around.”

“Why were you going to search for Harry?”, Neville asked curiously from beside Harry, glancing from Weasley to Granger, who was now focusing her attention on them.

“Well,” Weasley looked from Harry to Granger then back, “I……..we, found out what is being hidden in the third-floor corridor.”, he said, correcting himself when Granger cleared her throat pointedly.

Neville frowned at Weasley while Harry glanced at Granger. “And what is being hidden there?”, Harry asked curiously.

“It’s,” Granger lowered her voice to a whisper, “the Philosopher’s Stone. Nicolas Flamel is a six-hundred-year-old Alchemist and the only know maker of the Philosopher’s Stone. The Stone will transform any metal into pure gold. It also produces the Elixir of Life, which will make the drinker immortal.”, she recited.

Harry’s eyebrows went up. How in Salazar Slytherin’s name had these two first-year Gryffindors found out about the Philosopher’s Stone being hidden in the corridor when this was supposed to be some sort of well-hidden secret of Dumbledore’s? Then again, that old bastard had been trying to get Harry interested into going after that Stone, so it mustn’t be that hard to give some Gryffindors some clues.

Neville gasped beside him. “How……Are you two sure? H-How did you find that out?”, he asked in astonishment.

Granger looked at Weasley who grinned. “Hagrid slipped up.”, he answered, puffing slightly with pride. “Told me the hidden artifact was not my business, but Dumbledore’s and Nicolas Flamel’s.”

“Of course, he did.”, Harry muttered under his breath.

“Ron asked me about who Nicolas Flamel was.”, Granger continued. “It took some time to dig around, but I found his name in a book I’d taken out of the library for some light reading.”

“Light reading.”, Weasley muttered with a roll of his eyes. “Anyways,” he turned to give Harry an urgent look, “Snape’s trying to steal that Stone!”

Harry shot Weasley an unimpressed look. “Why do you think Professor Snape is trying to steal that Stone?”, he asked.

“Because it would make him rich and immortal!”, Weasley replied. “He’s a slimy, evil Slytherin!”

“I am a Slytherin.”, Harry deadpanned. Weasley turned red. “I will say again, Weasley, this is none of our business. If you really have any proof regarding whoever you think is trying to steal that Stone, go and tell it to any professor or the Headmaster. Do not tell me, because I really can’t do anything about it.”

“Yes, you can!”, Weasley nearly screamed, drawing the attention of some of the students nearby, along with Madam Pince who shot the Gryffindor a glare. “You are the Boy-Who-Lived! You should try to protect it!”

Harry stared at the silently fuming, red-faced boy, his face blank. Neville was openly gaping at Weasley while Granger was glancing from Weasley to Harry with a frown.

“That title is something the wizarding public gave me, Weasley,” Harry said calmly, “based on an event witnessed only by four people, two of whom aren’t alive, the third was a toddler and Merlin knows what happened to the fourth. So, really, you can’t just go around asking me to get myself into something based on the title that actually does not give me anything more than people gawping at me like the idiots that they are.”

Neville was now gaping at him along with Weasley and Granger.

“That was….”, Neville started.

“W-what….”, Weasley floundered.

“You know,” Granger finally said, turning to Weasley, “I agree with him. You should go tell Professor McGonagall about this. She would be able to protect the Stone better than any of us can.”

“At least someone in Gryffindor has some sense.”, Harry muttered. “Anyways. Weasley, don’t drag me like that again or I would hex you to next week. And quit pestering me about that bloody corridor.” That said, Harry turned on his heel and marched to his table on the other side of the library, Neville following behind him.

They both ignored Weasley’s shout of ‘At least reverse my hair colour back, Harry!’, followed by Madam Pince’s hissed reprimands about shouting in the library.

“I need to warn the Weasley twins about their brother’s adventurous tendencies, I think.”, Harry muttered.

Neville nodded, agreeing.

Chapter Text

Dear Mr. Potter,

I and my wife are doing well, and I hope you and your studies are also doing well, dear child.

I admit this letter was not that out of the blue, though some of the contents surprised me immensely. I do not know for whom exactly you have asked such a huge favour for, child, but I hope whoever it is deserves this.

I have learnt so far in our interactions that you are a brilliant young boy and I hope whoever you are trying to help here would not be harmful to you or to anyone else.

That said, your letter arrived just in time for me to acquire a little bit of the potion you requested me of from our doses. I believe one gulp of the potion would do your acquaintance good for about six months, and I pray to Lady Magic that whoever requires this potion becomes well soon.

That matter taken care of, the questions you have asked are extremely wonderful and I will try to satisfy your curiousity as much as I can. You will find with the potion a package of two books. Both of them, as their titles suggest, are fantastic for introduction to the study of Alchemy. I urge you to read through them thoroughly and carefully. They will answer most of your questions. After your readings, you are welcome to ask more questions. I will be happy to try and provide you with the answers.

And no need to thank me, child, for I am happy to help those who are in need.

Sincerely,

Nicolas Flamel

Harry read the letter with a frown, his mind confused on whether to be happy or afraid. Mr. Flamel had trusted Harry enough to actually send him a vial of his Elixir of Life which Harry needed to use to help one of Voldemort’s follower, someone who might be willing to go on a torturing spree or one willing to murder anyone, whether it be a magical or not.

Harry wasn’t sure how he would repay the alchemist if he asked for it. Though he supposed the life debt incurred from this help might go to either Quirell or Voldemort or maybe both.

That letter, though, made Harry’s decision for him. He would have to find a way to somehow get Quirell to drink the potion so that the man’s body does not decay before Voldemort can get his mind straight and stop possessing his follower’s body.

Harry put down the letter on his desk while biting his lips. The month of May was close to an end and they were nearing their final exams which would be starting from the third of June and ending on the twelfth of June. Most of the students could be found doing revisions in the library or their common rooms, especially the fifth and seventh-year students who had their O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s.

Harry had decided to stop their weekly Club meetings so that the club members could focus more on their studies. The Ravenclaws seemed to be almost mad with their urge to study and score better in the exams along with Granger. Most of Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs seemed to be on the verge of a nervous breakdown, while the Slytherins were keenly studying through their notes, competing for the first position since their families expected them to get absolute best scores in their exams.

Harry, on the other hand, was simply annoyed with Malfoy who regularly tried to show Harry that he was better than him just because of…..something. The Malfoy Heir especially seemed to be angry at Granger who had the top spot in their first-year student hierarchy based on their scores. Harry was very much tempted to give his best in the exams to get the first position just to grate on Malfoy’s nerves, but he supposed getting the second position would do that too. He would focus on his scores when he will be giving his O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s.

Focusing back on the letter, Harry carefully opened the package that had come with the letter in the morning during breakfast. Neville, Theo and Blaise had looked at the parcel curiously, while Dumbledore had his eyes narrowed slightly, but none of them had asked what it exactly was.

It was the end of the day, the curfew had just started and Harry and Theo had parted from Blaise after listening through the boy’s whole rant about the insufferable Malfoy Heir and his hour-long bathing habit with an annoyed expression on his face. The Zabini Heir really had Harry’s and Theo’s complete sympathies. Harry was really glad he didn’t have to suffer through that, otherwise he would have set Malfoy and his hair on fire.

The books turned out to be titled ‘Alchemy: An Introduction’ and ‘The Journey From the Normal Stone to the Philosopher’s Stone: The Beginner’s Guide to Alchemy’. Harry carefully opened the hard covers of the books to read through the index. The books were really interesting and Harry carefully put them to later read through them while making a mental note to send a thank you letter to Mr. Flamel, then carefully pulled out the vial containing the Elixir of Life.

The potion inside was almost clear with a reddish hue. The Elixir seemed to be like water with the same density and viscosity.

Harry glanced sideways at Theo who himself was reading some book at his desk.

Biting his lips, Harry made his decision. “Glus?”, he softly called out.

The elf popped immediately beside Harry’s desk with a soft pop. Harry was sure Theo must be curious about why Harry was summoning a Hogwarts house-elf, but thankfully did not say or ask anything.

“Yes, Master Potter?”, the elf asked, his big blue eyes staring curiously at Harry.

“Hey, Glus.” Harry smiled at the elf. “I need your help. Can you help me with something without informing anyone about this? The matter is quite sensitive, you see.”

Glus blinked at Harry before slowly nodding. “Glus needing to know before I bes telling whether Glus could help or not," he replied.

“Of course.” Harry nodded. He held up the vial. “This is a very delicate and powerful healing potion, Glus," Harry explained quietly. “I have found out that Professor Quirell’s health is not alright, that his body is slowly……..dying.” Glus gasped, his tiny hands quickly covering his mouth, while he looked at Harry with horrified wide-eyes.

Harry did not like telling poor Glus this. “This potion will help him heal if he takes a few small doses of it, but I'm not on enough friendly terms with him to give him this without making him suspicious. That’s why I need your help. Can you find the elf or elves who serve Professor Quirell his food and drinks and ask them to help me?”

Glus nodded eagerly. “Of course, Master Potter. Glus bes knowing them. Just a moment.” With that, Glus popped away.

Moments later, two elves popped in, one Glus and the other slightly smaller than Glus with big brown eyes. “This bes Vivy, Master Potter and she bes the head elf for the staff table," Glus told him, while pointing his finger at the other elf.

Harry smiled at the elf and shook his head when she bowed. “What bes Master needing Vivy for?”

“Hello, Vivy.” Harry smiled again. “And no need to bow and all that, Vivy. Now, I needed your help in giving this Healing potion to Professor Quirell. You see, he’s sick and there is a very rare cure for the..disease that he has. But I know someone who has the cure and he helpfully provided me with this.” He showed her the vial. “Professor Quirell needs one gulp worth of this potion and I think this is enough for that.”

Harry gave the elves a very serious look. “I need you to mix this potion with whatever he eats or drinks and make sure that he actually takes it. And also make sure that this potion does not react negatively with whatever food or drink you are mixing it with. I would greatly appreciate it if you will help me help Professor Quirell, Vivy.”

Vivy blinked, looking from the vial to Harry. “Does Master Harry swear that this Healing potion will not bes affecting Professor Quirell negatively?”, she asked slowly.

“Of course.” Harry nodded readily, feeling the elf’s magic brushing around him to check whether he was telling the truth or not.

Satisfied, Vivy gave a nod. “Then Vivy bes helping Master Potter help Professor Quirell," she said.

“Thank you, Vivy.” Harry shot the elf a relieved smiled, passing her the vial. “Please be careful with the potion. I really appreciate your and Glus’ help.”

Vivy returned Harry's smile, then popped away with the potion.

“You bes welcome, Master Potter," Glus said. “Be sure to call Glus if needing anything.”

“Sure, Glus. Thanks!”

Glus smiled brightly, then himself popped away.

Harry slumped down on his chair with a relieved sigh, trusting the elves to carry out their task effectively for him.

Now that he had taken care of Quirell’s problem and hopefully Vivy or Glus will inform him when the man has taken the potion, he needed to focus on his studies and keep himself from Hexing Malfoy or Weasley to next year.

“If you don't mind me asking, Harrison,” Theo drawled from where he was sitting on his chair, and Harry turned to look at his roommate staring at him with an eyebrow raised and his hands crossed across his chest, “what in Merlin’s name was that with the elves?”

Harry smiled lazily at the boy, turning his chair fully to face him. “I do mind actually, dear Theodore," he replied.

Theo rolled his eyes at him. “Let me rephrase, then, Potter," Theo drawled out. “What in Merlin’s name was that with the elves?”

Harry reclined back in his chair, giving his friend a thoughtful hum. “That is quite a……….personal business, Nott.”

“You don't sound that sure, Harrison.”

Harry smiled vaguely.

Theo stared, deadpanned.

Harry smirked.

Theo looked unimpressed.

Harry shrugged.

Theo opened his mouth to say something, most likely to give some scathing remark, when there was a sharp tap at their door.

Harry grinned and stood up to open the door, cooing at his familiar when she flew in and sat down on Harry’s head with a hoot.

“Wonderful timing, dear girl," Harry murmured to her while he made his way over to his desk, ignoring Theo who muttered something under his breath. “How was your day?”

Hedwig hooted, then followed it by pecking her beak on Harry’s head.

“Excellent, girl," Harry said as he sat back down on his chair, pulling out a fresh parchment with his quill and ink. “I’ve got a letter for you to take to Devon in the morning, so better take some rest.”

Hedwig hooted again, pecking Harry’s head harder this time.

“Ouch!”, Harry winced. “Alright, alright! Fine! You are healthy and perfect to deliver my letter. I apologize.”

Hedwig hooted once then flew over to her perch and settled down.

Harry rolled his eyes at his overly dramatic familiar, concentrating back on writing a thank you letter to Mr. Flamel.

-------

On the next weekend, on the seventh of June while Harry was reading through his notes on Transfiguration in the library, a large barn owl swooped down and deposited a letter on Harry’s notes with the Gringotts seal, before flying away.

Harry picked the letter with a raised brow, his friends curious about said letter but going back to their studies.

The letter was from Nagnok.

Harry broke the seal and read through it slowly, his eyes widening slightly and his heart-rate picking up.

Heir Potter,

I am both delighted and alarmed to inform you that the people we had employed to get proof for a certain individual’s trial have reported with a negative, saying that there are no such trial scripts for any trial held.

It seems like he was sentenced to his punishment without any trial, with no one the wiser.

It is imprudent now, and I would advise you, to open the Wills of your parents as soon as possible, maybe once your Hogwarts term is over. With the Wills open, you can file a petition for an actual trial at the Ministry and the Wizengamot.

Please send your response as soon as possible.

Regards,

Nagnok

Master Goblin

Gringotts

Harry took a deep breath to try and calm himself down before he blew up the library or something. Sirius Black did not even get a trial! How incompetent could this Ministry be, sentencing a man without even giving him a chance to prove his innocence?!

Did Dumbledore know? Did the old man know that Mr. Black had not even gotten a trail?

But who was he kidding? Dumbledore knows everything, and if he wanted to get a full control over Harry’s action then he must have willingly sent Mr. Black without even giving the man a chance for a trial!

Oh, he would tear that man apart! He has taken everything normal from Harry’s life just to get himself more power and get firmer control over the magical world!

“Harry?”

Harry broke out of his rage to find Neville, Theo and Blaise looking at him with barely hidden concern and confusion.

“Are you alright?”, Neville asked slowly.

“Yes.” Harry breathed out, calming himself down. “I’m fine.”

“Doesn’t look like it," Blaise muttered, pointing at the broken quills and ink bottles on their rattling table.

Harry blinked at the quills, before taking another breath and reining his magic back in. The table stopped rattling before Harry waved his hand to repair the quills and the ink bottles.

His friends’ eyes widened before their eyes snapped to Harry’s.

“What happened?”, Neville asked while Theo and Blaise exchanged intrigued glances.

“Nothing," Harry muttered. The three gave him disbelieving looks. Harry sighed. “I got a letter from Gringotts," he elaborated. “My account manager says that my parents’ Wills have been sealed shut and that I should open them as soon as the term is over.”

“Your parents’ Wills weren’t opened after their deaths?”, Neville asked horrified.

“No.” Harry shook his head.

“How is that possible?!”, Neville asked. “A person’s Will is read within forty-eight hours after their death.”

“Not necessarily," Theo said, frowning in thought. “If there are no current Lord, Lady or Heir of a House, then the one overseeing the estate could take the decision to keep the Wills sealed until an Heir or a Lord comes along.”

“Who is your magical guardian, Harry?”, Neville asked curiously.

“Dumbledore sealed their Wills,: Harry muttered while staring at the letter from Nagnok. He needed to send the goblin his answer – he will open his parents’ Will as soon as he got out of the Hogwarts Express. Until then, he needed to be patient and make sure that no one got any wind of this information.

“Why would the Headmaster do that?”, Neville wondered with furrowed brows.

Harry could almost feel Theo’s and Blaise’s mind running in their bid to figure out this new information that Harry had divulged to them. “I don’t know," Harry mumbled, his eyes still fixed on the piece of parchment. “But I am very much interested in finding out the answer to that question.”

----------

The rest of their exams passed by swiftly, with no student casualty to be found, though almost all of the students seemed to be ready to pass out from the shear happiness of making it alive through the exams.

The fifth and seventh-years did not seem to be doing better though, since their exams were still going on, and Harry had seen one nervous fifth-year Hufflepuff dissolve into tears in the Great Hall in the middle of dinner one evening, following which several other students seemed to have their breakdowns as well.

On the other hand, Quirell seemed slightly less pale and stuttered even less, though the man seemed to be awfully alert these days, glancing around and staring at everyone and everything every few minutes. Harry had been informed by a beaming Vivy that she had given the professor the Elixir mixed in with his beverage interspersed over four days so as not to make him suspicious if the potion had a different taste to it. But the man had taken his tea without finding out he had been fed a potion without his knowledge.

Their last exam, which was of History of Magic, ended around mid-noon, and almost the whole first-year student body cheered loudly after their parchments had been submitted.

Harry couldn’t help but smile with the other cheering first-years, glad that the exams were finally over and he could go back to the subjects he wanted to read about instead of revising the first-year syllabus.

“How did the exam go?”, Neville asked when he finally met them outside. Most of the students were making their way to the Great Lake, so Harry and his friends followed after them to relax as well.

“It went alright," Harry replied while Blaise sighed dramatically.

“Don’t ask, dear Neville!", he exclaimed. “It was dreadful! I discovered that magical history consists of more than goblin wars.”

Harry and Theo snorted and Neville laughed.

“I think I am going to fail!”, Neville said when they finally settled on the grass under the shade of some trees close to the shore of the Lake. Harry could spot the Weasley twins with their friend Lee Jordan tickling the tentacles of the giant squid basking in the warm, shallow part of the Lake. “I slept in most of Professor Binns’ classes and had no idea what kind of questions would come in the exams!”

Harry winced. “You could have asked us," he told Neville apologetically. “There are several reference texts in the library.”

Neville groaned, sprawling down onto the ground.

“There, there.” Blaise patted Neville’s head sympathetically.

“Say, Harry.” Harry looked at Theo who was frowning thoughtfully. “I heard that Weasley’s trying to get you to go on an adventure with him into the third-floor corridor?”

Harry hummed. “Who did you hear it from?”, he asked.

“Neville.” Theo nodded towards the sprawled Gryffindor. “Told us Granger found out that the artefact’s hidden in there is the Philosopher’s Stone.”

Harry shrugged. “She did," he replied, gazing into the calm water of the Lake.

“They found it out from Hagrid, I believe?”

Harry nodded with a hum.

“Do you think they’ll try to go, discover the Stone?”, Theo asked curiously. “They are Gryffindors. Adventure runs in their blood.”

Harry smiled. “Who knows?”, he said. “They might. But I hope for their safety they do not get themselves involved in it.”

Harry did not see Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley hurrying towards the castle from Hagrid’s hut.

‘Imperio the thing and command it to hit itsself!’, a commanding voice echoed.

“Yes, Master.” Harry heard the stutter-free voice of his Defence professor before the image of a giant troll standing in the middle of a huge room flashed through his mind. “Imperio!”, Quirell’s voice came again, followed by a bang, a grunt and a loud thud and then another image of the same troll lying out cold on the floor.

Harry could feel Quirell moving, making his way through the room. Everything around him was dark, he could see nothing, yet a feeling of getting closer to his goal was thrumming through him along with excitement and glee.

“This seems to be a puzzle, Master," Quirell’s voice came again.

‘Let me through," the same commanding voice, Voldemort’s voice – for now he was sure he was getting a vision from Voldemort however unknowingly it was – ordered.

Harry felt a sudden shift and then he could see a parchment held in Quirell’s left hand while his wand was in his right. And as Quirell had stated, there was a riddle written on it.

‘Ah, dear SSeveruss," Voldemort said, rage and amusement mixed in his voice. ‘Difficult, but only for a firsst-year. Drink the one in that small bottle, Quirinuss.’

Quirell’s hand quickly discarded the parchment and moved to take the tiny bottle from the table which held seven different bottles of different shapes and sizes.

Again, Harry felt a shift and he found himself back into the darkness.

He felt Quirell move, a slight whoosh and then another image flashed – a small, bare room with nothing except the Mirror of Erised standing in the middle of the room.

“A mirror?”, Quirell’s voice said, surprised. “What enchantments has Dumbledore put in here?”

Harry heard soft tap, tap, tap – the sound of Quirell probably tapping the Mirror’s frame with his wand.

Really, Harry thought with amusement as the image of Quirell presenting the Stone to his ‘Master’ flashed through his eyes. That was Qurell’s greatest desire? Rather…touching.

“How does this work?”, Quirell curiously wondered aloud.

Voldemort, on the other hand, was getting impatient. Harry could feel the Dark Lord’s annoyance and irritation wash through him quite quickly.

‘Iss there anything engraved on the mirror, Quirinouss? Any ssymbol or writing?’

“Yes, Master. It-”

“You!”, an all-too-familiar voice interrupted Quirell, who quickly turned on his heel to look who had shouted so loud.

Harry groaned mentally. How had Weasley gotten in there?! And even if the boy was feeling so adventurous, couldn’t he have selected some other day? Couldn’t he rest this night? The exams had finished just today, for Salazar’s sake!

“Mr. Weasley," Quirell’s voice sounded surprised. “What are you doing here?”

‘Let me, Quirinouss.’

‘Of course, Master.’

Another shift, and Harry could see Weasley standing just past the entrance which had black flames licking through it. The Gryffindor was openly gaping at the professor, his eyes wide.

“I thought it was Snape!”, Weasley said, his voice full of disbelief.

“Ah, dear old Ssveruss," Voldemort drawled, staring at the boy with annoyance. “He doess have the image, doesn’t he? But that asside, Mr. Weassley, what are you doing here?”

“I-I….t-thought Snape was g-going to steal the S-stone tonight!”, Weasley replied, his face turning red.

“What gave that away, Mr. Weassley?”, Voldemort asked, lazily turning around to examine the mirror.

Harry had to admit, even insane Voldemort had a distinct and arresting style around him. The Dark Lord’s aura gave off the impression as if the other wasn’t worth his attention and time, not that Weasley was.

“I…..We found out that H-Hagrid had told a stranger how to go past Fluffy," Weasley stammered out.

“Fluffy," Voldemort sneered, his eyes travelling backwards through the engraved words etched on the frame. “Of coursse, that oaf would name a Cerebruss Fluffy.”

Voldemort looked straight into the mirror.

The image Harry saw made him feel equal parts horrified, irritated and annoyed.

Harry could see the image of Voldemort getting the Philosopher’s Stone, brewing the Elixir of Life and getting his body back. A tall, pale, serpentine body, with white, glistening scales, bald head, no nose and red, ruby eyes.

Harry felt disturbed and wanted to gag.

“What-”, Weasley started, only to be interrupted by another familiar voice.

“Ronald!”, Granger’s voice said sharply as she emerged from the black flames, followed by Finnigan and Thomas.

Harry felt like murdering someone. How in Magic’s name did these four Gryffindors get completely past whatever traps were put up here? Wasn’t that troll awake yet? Who was going to save these idiots?

Come to think of it, how had Weasley convinced those two, along with Granger of all students, to break the school rules tonight of all nights?!

“Ah, more guestss!”, Voldemort drawled, turning to get a look at the other three Gryffindors. “I am rather dissappointed that Harry Potter did not come here. I would have been delighted to meet him.”

Harry refrained from mentally rolling his eyes. “But, then again, he’ss a Sslytherin. Rather interesting turn of event, that ssorting. I had falssely assumed the boy would be ssorted into Gryffindor, yet he ssurprised me, Lord Voldemort himself.” This time, Harry did roll his eyes, mentally, of course.

The four Gryffindors’ eyes widened before they all turned pale.

“Y-you-Know-Who?”, Weasley whispered, his face so pale Harry could count the number of freckles on his face.

“You did not know, Mr. Weassley?”, Voldemort asked curiously. “Did you four really assume that Dumbledore,” he sneered at the name, Harry whole-heartedly nodding at the Dark Lord’s sentiments, “would create thesse elaborate, yet easy obstacless just for anyone? The old fool wantss hiss Boy-Who-Lived and me to have a face-off. Pathetic," Voldemort dismissed as he turned back to continue examining the Mirror.

Harry was impressed. The Dark Lord could think even when he was insane. He wondered how intelligent the Lord really was when he had his whole soul intact.

Harry felt the magic shift around as a sharp ‘Expelliarmus!’ from Granger came towards Voldemort.

The Dark Lord turned with lightning speed, raising a Shield, before firing off four simultaneous Incarcerous at the four Gryffindors.

The four first-years fell down immediately, their hands and legs getting bound tightly to their bodies, their faces turning paler.

Harry felt rage sweep through his whole being, the thought of ‘how dare these eleven-year-olds attack Lord Voldemort’ running through him.

“You would regret incurring my wrath, you mudblood!”, Voldemort snarled, raising his wand at Granger who was staring right in the Dark Lord’s eyes. And Voldemort, being Voldemort, read the girl’s surface thoughts without even trying.

‘His eyes are red! He really is You-Know-Who! Oh my god, we are all going to die! Or get expelled! Should have listened to Harry, not Ronald!’

Harry felt satisfaction swell in him, this feeling completely his. Well, at least she regretted not listening to him. Now, if only Voldemort would read Weasley’s thoughts for Harry to find out what the stupid boy was thinking. Though it wasn’t hard to figure out, seeing how much the boy was trembling while staring wide-eyed at the Dark Lord.

Voldemort, on the other hand, was at the height of his rage and was definitely going to either torture or kill these four Gryffindors if Harry did not find some way to stop the man.

But what could he do? He had already warned Weasley not to get his nose in things the boy had no business in! Besides, he was stuck here, in this connection with Voldemort, he had no idea how to break this connection and wake up in his own body.

Though….he could try something…

‘It would be more beneficial to use one of them to find out the Stone rather than killing them,' Harry thought slowly, emphasizing the certain important words. ‘It will be more prudent to lay low currently than give that old fool more ammunition against…….us.’

Voldemort paused, surprise running through his mind, before he turned thoughtful.

“Weasley!”, he barked, making the four Gryffindors flinch. “Come here!”

The boy in question gulped audibly, his hands trembling beside him, before he quickly got up at Voldemort’s glare and hesitantly shuffled towards the Dark Lord.

Voldemort swiftly got out of the way, revealing the whole mirror to the eleven-year-olds. He pointed the wand in his hands at the mirror. “Look into the mirror, Weasley, and tell me what you see," Voldemort ordered.

Weasley glanced at Voldemort before turning to eye the mirror warily. Voldemort observed the boy carefully and his eyes narrowed slightly when the boy gasped.

“What do you see, boy!”, Voldemort snapped when Weasley only continued to stare at the mirror with wide, wistful eyes.

“I-I’m older and…and I’m the Head Boy," the boy whispered, his tone dreamy and hopeful. “I’m….I’m wearing the badge….and I’ve got the House Cup and the Quidditch Cup….and I’m the Quidditch captain too!”

Harry blinked, not sure what to think, while Voldemort’s only thought was ‘useless! Utterly, pathetically useless.’

The Dark Lord simply raised Quirell’s wand and fired off a spell. The red light hit Weasley right at his chest, the other three screaming behind the boy, and the Gryffindor collapsed, crumbling down on the floor.

“You! Granger!”, Voldemort snarled, pointing his wand at the trembling witch. “Come here and look at the mirror!”

Granger quickly got up, floundering and struggling slightly with her hands tied, and quickly walked over to look at the mirror.

Voldemort observed the girl as her eyes widened slightly and then involuntarily glanced slightly downwards, to where her robe pockets were.

“What do you see?”, Voldemort asked slowly.

Granger blinked, her eyes frantically glancing around. “Um….well, I see myself reading all the books-”

Voldemort snarled, his magic blasting out and slamming into the girl who screamed and smashed into the wall behind her. “Do not. Lie. To me!”, Voldemort barked as he aimed his wand at the girl’s robe pocket and Summoned the Stone. It flew through the air and landed in his waiting palms.

Voldemort stared at the Stone – it was red, blood-red – and elation and glee shot through him. Finally, he would be able to come back, get his body and re-start his campaign back again. He had already been derailed for ten years from achieving his goals because of that stupid boy and that prophecy, he needed to get back and stop that old fool Dumbledore from getting more control of the magical world.

Voldemort put the Stone in Quirell’s pocket, then turned his attention back to the four students. Weasley was out cold, the other two – Finnigan and Thomas were staring at him with wide-eyes and trembling body – while Granger was whimpering slightly, still conscious.

Harry felt the Dark Lord contemplate what to do with the Gryffindors, the most prominent thought being to kill them before they could open their mouths and tell anyone, especially Dumbledore, that they had met the Dark Lord here. Harry also felt the connection between him and Voldemort slipping away slowly, his mind awakening.

Voldemort crouched beside the girl. “Did you really think you could lie to me, girl?”, he asked, staring at the girl’s eyes which were drooping now. She did not say anything. “Do you have a…..friendship with Harry Potter?”, he sneered at the word ‘friendship’.

“N-no," Granger replied. “H-he only..stays with Zabini and Nott. S-sometimes Neville.”

Voldemort hummed. “Then you are useless to me," he spoke, lifting his wand to point it directly at the girl’s head. “Goodbye, Miss Granger.”

A green light shot out of the Dark Lord’s wand, but Harry’s vision had blurred completely now and he lost the connection with Voldemort, gasping himself awake in his bed in the Slytherin dorms.

Chapter Text

Harry was in a state of turmoil. He didn’t know what to do.

On one hand, he wasn’t supposed to know anything about the Stone (disregarding Dumbledore's intentions, of course) or that four complete idiots might have gotten themselves killed by trying to play hero by Voldemort himself. If he went to tell anyone to go check up on whatever in Magic’s name was going on, on that floor, everyone would start asking how he knew something was wrong, and he couldn’t really tell them he had the Dark Lord’s soul stuck inside him giving them a stupid connection!

On the other hand though, he felt slightly responsible for those four since he could have tried harder to keep Weasley away from the third-floor, maybe by informing his Head of House or something. Heck, he could even have told the Bloody Baron to get Peeves’ help to keep any wayward, adventurous student out of that bloody trap. But he hadn’t bothered, too irritated with Weasley to give the boy’s urge to get into adventure much thought.

And now, Voldemort have killed them. Even though Harry had suggested to the man to lay low, because, of course, finding four first-years dead in a forbidden corridor and the supposed Philosopher’s Stone missing did not had signs of some mass murderer, megalomaniac of a Dark Lord being involved, the man seemed to have too strong urges for killing instead of listening to sound advice.

Oh, Merlin, what was he supposed to do now?! Contact Snape? Would the professor even listen to him? And how in Salazar’s name would he explain how he had found out about it?

Well, the Gryffindors were most likely dead by now. And Quirell with Voldemort must have already ran away with that Stone, however much fake it was. Would it even matter when the rest of the world finds out about the tragedy?

Nevertheless, Harry sighed and got out of the bed, pulling out a light robe from his trunk. He cast a wandless Tempus, reading the time to be 1:13 am.

Hedwig wasn’t on her perch, most likely hunting or flying out in the night. Theo, on the other hand, was sprawled out in his bed, breathing softly, completely out and in his dream world.

Harry was tempted to shoot an Aguamenti at the sleeping boy, just out of spite to ruin his friend’s sleep as well, but refrained from doing so, instead making his way quietly into the common room. It was completely devoid of life, the fire in the fireplace on the verge of burning out, only few coals flickering, providing the huge room flickering shadows which seemed to sway over the furniture, as if shifting by themselves to some unknown breeze.

Harry scanned the whole common room and breathed a sigh of relief when he spotted the Bloody Baron sitting on an armchair at the far side of the room, the ghost’s eyes closed.

“Baron.”, Harry said quietly, making his way swiftly towards the ghost whose eyes snapped open on hearing his name being called and landed on Harry.

“Harrison.”, he said, his voice curious. “Why are you up at this time of the night?”

Harry winced slightly and sat down on the armchair beside the ghost’s. “A good question.”, he replied. “Something has happened, Baron.”, he replied slowly. “I need your help.”

“What help?”, Baron’s glowing brows furrowed in confusion.

“The third-floor corridor.”, Harry muttered. “Something’s happened there. Can you please go and check? Stay inconspicuous and do not alert anyone unless absolutely necessary, alright?”

Baron looked at Harry for a moment, weighing his words, before he nodded. “Alright, Harrison.”, he replied, before gliding up and drifting out of the walls.

Harry tried to settle down onto the armchair to wait for Baron to come back with the news, but he was slightly restless. His fingers tapped his knees in agitation as he stared at the ceiling and then at the black water of the lake visible through the glass panes.

It must have been a restless half-an-hour of waiting after which Baron showed up, looking dazed and confused.

“Baron!”, Harry said, standing up. “What was it? Found anything?”

“Yes. I did find something.”, Baron replied, settling down into the armchair he was occupying previously, giving Harry an intrigued look. “Looks like whatever Dumbledore was hiding in that corridor has been stolen, though that is no surprise with the abysmal traps he had set up there.”

Harry blinked. “Who stole them?”, he prompted.

“No idea.”, Baron replied. “When I reached the room where the artefact was hidden, Dumbledore was already there checking through his wards and muttering something under his breath. And not so surprisingly, there were four Gryffindors passed out in there, with rather nasty binding spells on them.”

“Passed out?”, Harry whispered, leaning towards the ghost with a frown. “They aren’t……dead?”

“Were you expecting them to be?”, Baron asked.

Harry shrugged, yet his tense shoulders relaxed slightly with relief.

“No, they seem to be alive.”, Baron replied after a pause. “Dumbledore did say something about heavily induced sleep. I must warn you, Harrison, to stay away from your Head of House, since the man would be heavily incensed once he finds out about this thievery even under the Headmaster and Hogwarts’ protection.”

Harry was still lost in the thought over how in Merlin’s name Voldemort hadn’t actually killed the Gryffindors. He was extremely surprised. That green light of the spell seemed so much like the light he had always dreamt of since he was a child. “Why would Professor Snape be angry over this?”, Harry asked. “The artefact was under Dumbledore’s protection, not his.”

“Yes, it was.”, Baron nodded. “But Severus had contributed in its protection and was warning the Headmaster that someone was clearly after it. Some professor. Obviously, Dumbledore ignored him, and look now, the thing’s stolen.”

“You know what the thing was?”, Harry asked curiously.

“I am not really sure, no.”, Baron shook his head. “Yet, Peeves was telling whoever would listen that he’d spied Dumbledore placing a red stone in the enchanted mirror.”

Harry raised his eyebrows. “Peeves spies on the Headmaster?”, he asked.

“Peeves spies on almost everyone, Harrison.”, Baron huffed.

“Right.”, Harry nodded. “I still don’t understand how you can control that poltergeist.”, he muttered.

Baron smirked. “He’s scared of me.”, he said evasively.

“I would find out eventually.”, Harry mumbled, rolling his eyes. “But that aside, how long do you think would it take for those four Gryffindors to wake up from whatever sleep spell they are in?”

“Poppy would know that, not me.”, Baron answered. “And you should go, sleep now.” He dismissed, turning to look at the fireplace with its dimly glowing coals. “And I would be interested to know how you found out something has happened on that floor.”

Harry smirked. “I have my ways.”, he replied, getting up from the armchair.

“Not sufficient enough ways to get you the full information though.”, Baron muttered. “I’ll find out eventually.”

Harry rolled his eyes at his own words thrown back at him, then gave the ghost a wave. “I’m off to roll around in my bed, then. Night.”

“Enjoy your rolling around, Mr. Potter.”, Baron waved him off. “And good night.”

It didn’t take long for the rumors to start circulating around the castle on why four Gryffindors were lying asleep in the hospital wing with no counter charms to be found, why Snape seemed especially cross these days, why Dumbledore was slightly worried and frowning wherever he was (not to mention, the irritated glares he often threw at Harry; not that anyone noticed that, the oblivious bastards, the lot of them) and the glaring, stuttering absence of their Defence Against the Dark Arts professor.

The most intriguing rumor was that of the curse on the Defence position that the upper years had been talking about and that Daphne had mentioned during their welcoming feast, saying it to be the reason behind no professor staying over at Hogwarts for more than one year to teach that specific subject.

Harry remembered Morte telling him how Voldemort had tried to get that position twice, but to no avail. And that must mean that this curse thing could have merit. After all, Voldemort was not above being petty about making it impossible for others to get something when he himself couldn’t get it.

The urge to find out the particular curse somewhere centered in the castle aside, Harry was happy when the Slytherins won the Quidditch Cup by defeating the remaining Houses with more than fifty points. He hoped he would be able to get into Quidditch team next year to get to enjoy flying here, either as the Seeker or a Chaser, and hopefully contribute in his team winning the Quidditch Cup in the future as well.

Just the day after the whole drama with the stone and Quirell, Neville met Harry and his friends looking half horrified and half mortified.

“Are you alright, Longbottom?”, Theo asked the Gryffindor as he was the first to spot the boy making his way over to them sitting on the shores of the Great Lake.

Harry looked up from his book on Legilimency and gave the Gryffindor a worried look.

“I……I don’t think so.”, Neville swallowed, sitting down beside them and looking slightly pale.

“What happened?”, Harry asked.

“I r-really tried, Harry!”, Neville said frantically. “I really, really tried! But t-they…they wouldn’t listen to me!”

“Who?”, Blaise asked curiously.

Harry sighed. “It’s not your fault, Neville.”, he said, patting the boy’s hand.

“But-”

“No.”, Harry said firmly. “They are all head-strong Gryffindors and they would do whatever they believe is the right thing. I am just glad you did not decide to accompany them.”

Neville shrugged, looking down at his lap.

Blaise and Theo looked from Harry to Neville with furrowed brows.

“We are missing something here, I think.”, Blaise remarked, Theo nodding beside him.

Harry looked at Neville who grimaced. “Ronald was getting really impatient for playing hero, and since he knew I would not get myself into that third-floor corridor mess, he must have decided to take matters into his own hands.”, Harry explained. “And he definitely convinced Granger and his two best friends to accompany him to his adventure.”

Neville sighed. “I heard Ron talking to Hermione about how they needed to stop Professor Snape from stealing that stone.”, Neville mumbled. “I had already heard Harry warning them not to go there, and I had already seen that….t-that dog guarding the stone. So, I decided to wait for them in the common room and stop them from going out into trouble.”, Neville turned pink. “But Hermione petrified me and they ran off out of the room to stop whoever…”

Harry stared at Neville. “Granger petrified you?!”, he asked incredulously.

Neville shrugged.

“You were….you were lying in the common room, petrified, for the whole night?!”

“No.”, Neville shook his head. “The Weasley twins found me after about an hour?”, he said unsure. “They were the ones who alerted Professor McGonagall about their brother and the other three missing.”

“You should’ve told Professor McGonagall, you know.”, Harry said slowly.

“She wouldn’t have listened to me.”, Neville muttered. “Again!”

“Do you know what exactly happened though?”, Blaise asked curiously, leaning forward. “You know, at the third-floor corridor?”

“There are so many rumors circulating already.”, Theo remarked with a nod.

“The latest one says that the same troll which had attacked during the Halloween feast broke again into Hogwarts and kidnapped those four, you know.”, Blaise told them with a grin. “Took them all in that forbidden corridor and demanded them to give him whatever the Headmaster was hiding in there. Then, Quirell heroically intercepted, panicking the troll who knocked all the four Gryffindors out and then took Quirell with him to…..somewhere.”

Harry blinked. “That’s oddly very accurate.”, he remarked.

Theo smirked. “Markings of a great future fiction writer.”

Neville smiled slightly.

“And this other one said that Quirell got kidnapped by that troublesome zombie he had gotten rid of for that African prince. The one who gave him that turban.”, Blaise continued.

“How many rumors are there?”, Neville wondered.

Harry snorted, going back to his book.

“And then,” Blaise, the all-knowing-rumor-king, continued, “this other one said that a very evil spirit was residing in the forbidden corridor and had possessed those idiotic Gryffindors and then knocked them all out when Dumbledore got there.”

“A-are you s-sure it’s t-true?”, Neville stuttered.

“You never know, Neville, you never know.”, Blaise whispered.

Neville whimpered.

“Ignore him, Longbottom.”, Theo sighed.

--

It took Harry almost three days to bribe…err, convince Morte in bothering up to show up in the Room of Requirement. Harry hadn’t had any contact with the being for the last month, what with him finally bothering enough to prepare for his exams and spending most of his time with Theo, Blaise and Neville, trying to convince them, especially Neville, not to panic over there first-year exams.

But now, Harry needed to talk to Morte about some very important things, and did not appreciate Morte ignoring him in favour of whatever poor soul he was torturing in his personal torturing chamber or something.

“You really cannot bribe me with anything, Harrison.”, Morte drawled out, reclining lazily on an armchair while sipping coffee from his black mug. “I am an immortal being. What really can you tempt me with that I would want, hmm?”

“I don’t know,” Harry drawled, “maybe a dictating quill?”

Morte raised his brow at him. “And what, pray tell, would I do with it?”, he asked.

“Dictate your work. So that, you know,” Harry waved his hands vaguely, “you wouldn’t need to write your paperwork down.”

“But that would still need me to dictate.”, Morte said, rolling his eyes. “I would still need to spend my energy.”

Harry shot the being an unimpressed stare. “Your hands wouldn’t cramp.”, he grumbled.

“But my voice would turn hoarse.”, Morte replied flatly.

Harry frowned. “Well, then.”, he sighed. “You should just buy a computer, program it to generate whatever the hell you write in your paper, and let it run on whatever magic is up…down?........there to power it and be done with it.”

Morte smirked. “But Lady Magic wouldn’t let us use Her magic to make our paperwork easier, as I had previously mentioned, Harrison.”

“But why doesn’t she allow you?”, Harry asked with confusion.

“Well.”, Morte drew out the ‘l’. “A certain being, called Chaos, complained that it got boring after a few centuries, just to sit in our dimension and observe all the mortals. So, it was decided that we should start manually writing our reports and exchange it among each other to see what we were up to for the whole century.”

Harry blinked at the answer, trying to process the nonsense the beings’ got into in their boredom.

“I, on the behalf of all the beings, take offence to that, Harrison.”, Morte sniffed.

Harry rolled his eyes. “I don’t understand why it had to be writing reports.”, he muttered. “And what does Chaos report anyway?”

“Precisely what His name says.”, Morte answered, bored. “All the chaos He or His associates cause in the multiverse.”

“There,” Harry said slowly, “is a multiverse?!”

Morte hummed. “Yes. But you do not need to know about it.”, he answered. “It would only give your tiny, minuscule brain a rather painful headache.”

Harry grumbled. “I take offense to that.”, he muttered.

Morte waved his hand dismissively. “Why did you actually Summon me here?”, he asked. “I was rather enjoying my book.”

“You read books?”, Harry asked interestedly, leaning forward eagerly.

“Hmm.”, Morte nodded. “I have rather taken a liking to classic romantic genre. They are very, and I say very, nauseatingly disgusting.”

“What?!”, Harry made a choking sound. “How have you taken a liking to something when you find it disgusting?!”, he exclaimed. Then shook his head, trying to pull himself back together. “You know what? Never mind! Let’s just….let’s just focus on what we were going to talk about rather than your..interests.”

Morte smirked. “I understand now why you love to rile me up.”, he mused out, sipping his coffee obnoxiously.

Harry ignored the being to pull out a piece of parchment from his inner robe pocket, almost throwing it onto the table between them. “Sirius Black was knowingly put in Azkaban without a trial.”, he gritted out.

“Knowingly?”, Morte asked curiously as he scanned the letter from Nagnok without even bothering to look surprised.

“Yes.”, Harry nodded. “Albus Dumbledore knew that Mr. Black was innocent, yet let him be carted off to that stupid jail.”

“And why do you think that?”, Morte asked with a raised brow.

“Because that man has his crooked nose poking in at everything.”, Harry replied, his magic crackling around him. “He obviously knew that Mr. Black was my godfather and if something happened to my parents, I would be given to him. So, he let the man be sent to Azkaban without even requesting for a trial for one of his own member of his bloody Order! And,” Harry took a breath to try to calm himself down, “I’m almost sure that he even knew that Sirius Black wasn’t the Secret Keeper of my parents.”

Morte stared at Harry for a moment with a blank expression. “Why do you think that?”, he asked slowly.

“Because, as much as I know my mother to be exceptional in Charms, even she wouldn’t be able to cast such a powerful Charm as Fidelius at only, what, nineteen?....twenty? And they only knew one powerful wizard who could cast this Charm without much problem and that would be Dumbledore.”, Harry answered, glaring at the table between them. “It really makes perfect sense. Dumbledore heard the prophecy, modified it, made sure some spy of Voldemort’s heard it, then convinced my parents to stay here and made someone untrustworthy a Secret Keeper.”

Harry took a deep breath to fortify himself. “Finally, when Voldemort murdered my parents, he got Sirius Black accused of being the original Secret Keeper, so that he wouldn’t have to relinquish the guardianship over me he somehow got and happily sent me off to the Dursleys to let me be abused.”

There was a moment of silence and Harry looked up to see Morte giving Harry an impressed look. “I must,” he started, “very begrudgingly, mind, admit that you have deduced it very impressively. Though some of it might be a bit off.”

Harry raised his eyebrows questioningly.

“Dumbledore did not choose who the Secret Keeper would be.”, Morte elaborated. “In fact, the man offered to be their Secret Keeper himself.” Harry’s eyebrow shot higher. “He did not insist too much on himself being the Keeper, but he did offer once.”

Harry wrinkled his nose.

“Well, your parents first decided on Sirius Black to be their Keeper, seeing that, you know, he was your father’s best friend since their first year, and your blood-adopted father.”, Morte continued. “But then he and your father got attacked by some Death Eaters and Black got seriously injured.”

Morte turned thoughtful. “And Black had heard so much about Voldemort. He had, in fact, came face-to-face with the Dark Lord a time or two, and knew how powerful the man’s magic was, how brilliant a mind Voldemort had. So, he wrongfully concluded that Voldemort might have found some way to bypass the Fidelius Charm somehow and force out the information from his mind without him willingly giving it.”, Morte told him. “That, along with the fear that he might get very badly injured or killed which would make the Secret compromised, Black begged your parents to switch it to somebody else, somebody they thought would keep the secret with him and continue living hidden away in his home.”

“Who was this person?”, Harry asked calmly.

“The fourth Marauder, Peter Pettigrew.”, Morte answered. “He was a fellow Gryffindor and was, supposedly, your father’s third best friend. Yet he was extremely afraid when the war fully broke out in the magical world and exiled himself in his own home. He stayed away from almost everyone, even visiting his supposed best friends very rarely. He was contemplating how he could join the Dark side since, in his eyes, the Dark Lord was more powerful than anyone on the Light side. So, when your parents and Black requested to meet him and asked him to become their Secret Keeper, foolishly telling him that they were hiding you from Voldemort because the man was zealously looking for you, he gleefully accepted the request.”

“And once he got the opportunity, he contacted the Dark Lord using one of his followers and gave away the location of your parents and you without nary a thought of betraying his friends’ and a child’s life.”

Harry sat in a daze after hearing all of it, his mind whirling with so many emotions that he felt dizzy.

He wondered how his parents and godfather would feel it safe to give the Secret location of themselves to a person who was so afraid of the war that he had locked himself in his own home. How someone could be so cowardly that they would betray someone who had trusted them with their lives, just to save their own hide.

“Did…”, Harry gulped audibly, “did Dumbledore know that this Pettigrew would betray my parents like that?”, he asked.

“Surprisingly,” Morte answered with a wry smile, “Dumbledore had no idea how the Dark Lord would find out about the Secret location of you and your parents. The man had thought to lay up everything, make sure that your mother invoked that powerful protection, but decided to leave the rest to the Fates.”

“I mean,” Morte shrugged when Harry gave him a disbelieving look, “the prophecy did say that ‘the Dark Lord would mark him as his equal’. Marking meant that Voldemort would find some way to find you. And he did find you in the end, when Pettigrew gave him the Secret.”

Harry bit his lip, slumping down. “Is this Pettigrew still alive?”, he asked.

Morte gave Harry a thoughtful look, before nodding slowly.

“And where is he?”, Harry asked slowly.

“He is hiding.”, Morte answered after a moment of silence. “Pettigrew is bidding his time before he could find a way to either not get captured by the Ministry or some loyal Death Eaters who know he was the one who send their master to his demise.”

“Where could I find him?”, Harry asked calmly.

Morte sighed. “You don’t need to go on a manhunt for this man, Harrison.”, he said.

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “How could I possibly not go to look for this man, Morte?!”, he gritted out. “That bastard of a man betrayed my parents, got them murdered and then somehow got my godfather blamed for something he was responsible for! I can’t just sit around and not do anything! I would love to use my Death Magic on him!”

“Harrison?”, Morte said calmly. “Deep breaths. Concentrate on your Occlumency shields. Rein in your rage.”

Harry took a shaky breath, realizing he had stood up in his anger while his hands were shaking along with all the furniture in the room.

After five minutes of deep, calming breaths and concentrating on his shields, Harry sighed tiredly and sat down on his armchair while Morte waited patiently.

“How could I not feel anger at that man for getting my parents killed, Morte?”, he whispered.

Morte gave him a conflicted look. “I am a being, Harrison.”, he said slowly. “I do not understand so many human emotions. Yet I can say that I can understand slightly what you are feeling. And going into a murderous rage over it won’t help you solve the issue. I might not be the Fates, but I am certain you will come across Pettigrew at least once in your life. And when you do, you will have the choice to do whatever you want to do with him.”

Harry pursued his lips, but slowly nodded. “I understand.”, he replied.

“And if you don’t,” Morte said with a smirk, “you can just summon his soul when he dies and torture him as much as you wish.”

Harry smiled slightly. “Would I be able to summon him though?”, he muttered.

“Of course.”, Morte replied. “After all, you do not need the title of my Master to summon a soul; that job description comes under Necromancy. And I’d rather prefer you not being my Master.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Sure.”, he replied drily.

“Well, then.”, Morte said getting up. “Now that that talk’s over, let’s get your magic to loosen a bit. It has been several weeks since you have let it out, yes?”

Harry blinked, surprised at the sudden change in topic, but then nodded, realizing that yes, he hasn’t let his magic free since he’d started revising with his friends for the exams, not getting much chance to sneak out into the Room of Requirement. He stood up.

“Good.”, Morte nodded, waving his hand and vanishing all the furniture away. Harry walked away and stood opposite Morte before taking his dueling stance. “Let’s defeat you thoroughly again.”, Morte said with a smirk.

Harry rolled his eyes at the being, then grinned and let his magic loose, removing all the barriers he had placed on it to mask it away. His magic swelled around the whole room, eager and swirling, ready to obey whatever Harry commanded it to do.

Chapter Text

After over a week had passed after the whole Quirell-Voldemort stealing the stone incident, the four Gryffindors woke up from their induced sleep.

There were again rumors on how the four had turned insane or how they had started crying and telling the mediwitch about how they had encountered a dragon in the third-floor corridor who had put them in the slumber using his fire; Harry couldn’t stop the snort he had given when he had heard Lavender Brown dreamily telling her Gryffindor friends Parvati Patil and Sophie Roper about how Ronald Weasley had bravely fought the troll to save his three fellow Gryffindors.

Morte had simply told Harry that Voldemort had put the Gryffindors in extremely deep sleep, that resulted in them not remembering exactly what had happened in the third-floor corridor after they had somehow gotten past Fluffy the Cerebrus. Hence, almost all of the staff believed that Quirell had gotten greedy and stolen the Stone, while Dumbledore and Snape thought that Quirell was really the one who was working for the Dark Lord, and had stolen the Stone for him.

Soon, the results were declared and unsurprisingly, or surprisingly – for those who had seen with their own two eyes how Harry performed in every class – Granger bagged the first position among the first-years, followed by Harry and then Malfoy (who couldn’t stop glaring at Granger and Harry every chance he got).

Theo and Blaise were among the top ten students, and again, unsurprisingly, Neville had gotten a straight O in Herbology while a barely-there pass in Potions. The Gryffindor was simply happy that he didn’t fail any subject, not even History of Magic, whose professor had the tendency of sending the students to sleep faster than the Dreamless Sleep potion.

Most of the Professors had given Harry a dubious look when their results had been declared, including Professor Snape (who apart from looking at Harry disbelievingly, had also given Harry a stare that promised pain). Harry had given his Head of House a sheepish smile, dreading the time the Potions Master would decide to confront him.

Most of the remaining days at Hogwarts was spent in either sitting on the shores of the Great Lake or walking on the grounds in the warm weather with his friends, or sitting in some abandoned room with some of the members of Harry’s club discussing random things regarding the magical or the muggle world. Blaise especially seemed to have taken a liking to science fiction, especially the ones which had extraterrestrial beings or intergalactic fights for some reason.

Neville had also told Harry that his grandmother had invited Harry to their manor if he wanted to spend some of his time with them. Harry was slightly uncertain since he was planning on studying the subjects he hadn’t been able to while at Hogwarts. He had politely declined, saying apologetically that he had some projects to take care of, but that he was amiable to spending their time together in Diagon for their shopping trip where they could invite both Theo and Blaise as well.

Harry had also told his friends that if they wanted to contact him without their letters being lost, they either needed to address the letter to Harrison Potter-Black (all three of his friends were surprised that Harry also belonged to House Black, even though they had seen Harry getting a letter or two with the Black family seal on it) or somehow needed to bribe Hedwig to their homes so that she could bring their letters to Harry.

Theo, who still hadn’t gotten into Hedwig’s good graces even after it had been almost a year since their amusing meeting in the beginning, grimaced, muttering about secretive friends and their ridiculous familiars.

Harry also spent some of his time before dinner in the Room of Requirement to stretch and use his magic. He hadn’t noticed it earlier, but after dueling Morte that day in the Room, he had realized how he had been losing his connection with his magic, performing the rituals of the magical festivals notwithstanding.

Two days before the school will be over for all the students and their summer vacations will begin, Harry got a summons from Professor Snape through a note passed to him from a sneering fourth-year and one of the Slytherin Quidditch team’s Chaser, Murcus Flint.

Mentally rolling his eyes at the arrogantly sniffing Slytherin, Harry kept his face neutral as he read the note that simply read – ‘My office. At 7 pm. Sharp.’

Already having the idea on what his Head of House might be spitting at him at their meeting, Harry mentally and emotionally prepared himself to maybe, possibly getting a detention for not giving his full potential in the exams.

Theo and Blaise, who were having a second round of chess beside him, gave Harry sympathetic smiles followed by devilish smirks, saying that he deserved it, before returning back to their game.

Sniffing at his friends’ not-so-kind help, Harry returned back to his book he was reading about on Divination and ignored them when they started bickering on how the other was cheating along with the not-so-helpful shouts of the chess pieces giving out their suggestion on how the other was actually cheating.

At seven sharp, just after Harry had his dinner, he knocked on his Head of House’s office door, walking in when the door creaked open.

Professor Snape was sitting straight-backed on his chair behind his desk, his quill scratching away something on parchment. The man waved his hand at a chair lying on the front of his desk, silently ordering Harry to sit down.

Harry sat down on the chair, eyeing the parchment, before looking back at his professor’s concentrated face.

It was a minute or two of waiting, before Professor Snape put the quill in the ink well, charmed the parchment dry, pulled out his wand and erected several Privacy and Anti-Eavesdropping wards on the door, before he stippled his fingers on his desk and gave Harry a searching look.

“Mr. Potter.”, he started.

“Professor.”, Harry nodded.

“There has been some unexpected development.”, he said after a momentary pause. “The headmaster is adamant that you be not given any sort of warning, even if it could potentially save your life.”

Harry blinked once, surprised at the topic before tilting his head slightly. “What kind of development?”, he asked curiously.

“I presume,” the Potions Master drawled drily, “that you have some idea on what was being hidden on the third-floor corridor?”

Harry’s mouth twitched before he nodded. “Yes, I might.”, he replied.

“Then you also must have deduced on who must have stolen it and on whose order this person was working under?”, Professor Snape asked.

Harry hummed, “I might.”

Professor Snape gave him an unimpressed stare. “Then you must already have the idea that there are some chances of him returning back, assuming that that poor excuse of the former professor has some intelligence on how to follow some basic directions to brew an average working potion.”, he drawled out.

Harry tapped his index finger on his knee. “Why are you telling me this, professor, if Dumbledore does not want me to know?”, he asked.

Professor Snape sneered. “That old fool might be willing to get you killed with his foolishness but I am not.”, he bit out. “I would be severely indisposed to let something happen to you willingly.”

Harry hummed thoughtfully. “And why do you think Dumbledore does not want me to know about this?”, he asked carefully.

“I do not claim, Mr. Potter, to understand how that man’s mind works.”, he replied. “I presume he thinks you are safe under those blood wards he erected using your mother’s sacrifice around your relatives’ house.”

Harry raised his brows. “Seriously?”, he said incredulously.

Professor Snape nodded.

“But he can’t stay under that delusion.”, Harry exclaimed. “Not when those wards have already fallen!”

Professor Snape blinked once. “Fallen?”, he asked slowly. “What do you mean, Mr. Potter?”

Harry frowned. “I didn’t tell you?”, he asked.

“I would remember something like this if you had told me.”, Professor Snape said impatiently.

“Well,” Harry paused, “just a week after I moved out of that stupid house, the wards fell. And before that, I had felt the blood ward. It was extremely weak with most of it torn apart.” Harry took a breath, looking down at the table between them when he could see anger slowly shimmering in his professor’s eyes. “Morte had explained to me how that ward actually worked. When my mother sacrificed herself for me, her protection lingered on my skin and blood, and Dumbledore used that blood to create this ward around Number Four, using my blood relation with Petunia and Dudley.”

“But,” Harry smiled wryly, “the old man forgot that for the ward to remain around for protection, Petunia needed to at least welcome me and see me as family which she never did, while I needed to view Number Four as my home, which I never did.”

“Hence, it broke.”, Professor Snape whispered, looking tired all of a sudden.

Harry nodded. “The ward was already very weak when I was nine.”, he told him. “And once I moved out and started seeing the place where Morte took me as home, the blood wards simply fell.” Harry sneered. “Dumbledore, of course, felt the ward breaking down but he couldn’t really tell everyone that. And he needed to keep me in the dark, as much removed from the magical world as possible, so he continued to spread around the lie that I am safe and sound and living the dream of unicorns and rainbows with my loving and humble relatives.”

Snape smirked. “Careful there, Mr. Potter.”, he said drily. “Your love for our beloved Headmaster is showing.”

Harry snorted, then turned thoughtful. “I don’t understand this.”, he said. “If Dumbledore knows that the ward is down and I am actually not safe there, then why would he still insist on not telling me that the Dark Lord might be back?”

Professor Snape narrowed his eyes slightly, his mind clearly thinking the same. “I suppose the man does not really care whether you are safe or not.”, he replied at last. “At least, that is what I can deduce from the whole situation. Besides, the Dark Lord would never really look for you in a completely muggle neighbourhood.”

Harry frowned. “I suppose.”, he muttered. “Well, that really shows how much the Headmaster of a school cares about his students. I mean, he must really think I’m out of his control now and better off dead or something, since I am a Slytherin, living with all evil masterminds, planning for world domination in my spare time.”

Snape slowly raised his eyebrow. “So, you are not planning world domination in your spare time, Mr. Potter?”, he drawled. “I must say I am rather disappointed.”

Harry smirked. “Apologies, Professor.”, he replied. “But I need to gain knowledge and connections before going on such a pursuit.”

Professor Snape smirked. “Regardless.”, he said. “Are you certain that wherever you are living is safe from the Dark Lord and his followers?”

Harry hummed with a nod. “The place is warded to hell and back.”, he replied. “With Parsel-spells no less.”

The professor’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Parsel-spells?”, he asked.

“The Peverells were the ancestors of Salazar Slytherin, after all.”, Harry smirked.

Professor Snape’s eyebrows shot higher. “You are actually related to the Dark Lord?”, he asked, his voice indignant.

Harry grimaced, remembering the other way through which he was ‘related’ to the Dark Lord. “Very distantly, professor.”, he replied with annoyance. “And please don’t remind me of that.”

The Potions Master slowly nodded. “That reminds me,” he said, “have you yet decided on which side you want to be?”

“Not yet, professor.”, Harry sighed. “I am hesitant. I do not want to side with an insane man who wants to kill me solely due to a half-heard prophecy, but I also do not want to do anything with that old bastard of a man.”

“I can understand your dilemma, Mr. Potter.”, Professor Snape replied, his eyebrows furrowed slightly. “One side is killing uselessly and causing mass panic while the other wishes to force only a certain type of magic.” He looked at Harry carefully. “Which side’s winning would be most beneficial in your opinion, Mr. Potter?”

“Currently? Neither.”, Harry answered after a brief pause. “If the Light side wins, they would completely ban everything that the ancients held in high regard and distance us from Magic. But if the Dark side wins, they will torture and kill those who do not agree with them. They will create a sort of caste system and reduce the muggleborns and squibs to the bottom of the hierarchy. And they might expose us to the non-magicals.”

“That is worrisome.”, Professor Snape said slowly.

“It is.”, Harry agreed. “I think I will either remain Neutral, which my guardian says is not a very wise decision, or join the Dark side, which requires me to somehow turn the insane Dark Lord, sane.”

“You know the reason behind the Dark Lord’s insanity?”, he asked, sitting straighter.

Harry shrugged. “More or less.”, he replied.

“And, you know how to return back his sanity?”

“Kind of.”, Harry said nonchalantly.

“Do you think you want to return the Dark Lord back to how he was originally?”, Professor Snape asked.

Harry bit his lips. “That is the hardest part, Professor.”, he replied. “I don’t know how much the man will listen to what I have to say about things once he regains his sanity. What if he comes back to mind, but still decides he needs to off me and continue going the way he was, with war and genocide?”

Professor Snape looked slightly pale. “Well,” he began slowly, “I will say that you need to take a gamble in such a situation. You either declare yourself Neutral and move out of Britain to not get dragged into the future war, or you take a chance and return the Dark Lord to sanity and try to bargain with him. Put up condition, since he will owe you a life debt of sorts.”

Harry blinked, before his eyebrows shot up. “That could be an option, actually.”, he mused. “I suppose the Dark Lord will never like to owe someone anything. A good idea, professor. Thank you.”

Professor Snape nodded. “My pleasure, Mr. Potter.”, he said. “I suppose you should return back to your dorms now. And I urge you to be careful.”

“Of course, Professor.”, Harry said as he got up from his chair. He was tempted to tell the Professor the truth, that the Stone that Quirell and Voldemort stole was not real, but that might put his Head of House in danger, either with Dumbledore or with Voldemort. “Good night, professor.”

“Also, Mr. Potter.”, Professor Snape drawled out before Harry could even move. “Don’t think I do not know what you are doing with your exams and grades. I expect your best performance in O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s, if not in these regular ones.”

Harry winced slightly. “Yes, Professor. I apologize.”

Professor Snape narrowed his eyes at him, before sniffing and turning back to his work. “Get out, Potter.”

Harry walked out as swiftly as he could.

--

Before long, all the students were packing up their trunks, emptying their wardrobes and preparing for departure.

Harry, meanwhile, was having a very serious conversation with a barn owl with the help of Hedwig, of course, in the Owlery.

“Hedwig,” Harry was saying, “you need to explain to our friend here how important and secretive this mission is. If somebody finds out, it would be the end of us.” Yeah, he was stretching the truth too far, but he needed to make the barn owl understand that nobody could read this letter except the recipient.

Hedwig hooted the instructions to the barn owl who had his eyes wide and was now bobbing his head in understanding. Hedwig then turned to stare at Harry and gave a screech.

Harry winced. “Sorry!”, he said apologetically. “But I can’t send you, girl. You are too recognizable and I do not want anyone to figure out who has sent that letter.”

Hedwig fluffed up her feathers and huffed her head away from Harry. She hooted at the owl again, then opened her wings and flew out of the Owlery window without looking back at Harry.

Harry sighed. Now he needed to mentally and emotionally prepare himself for at least a month-long tantrum from his familiar. He turned at the owl, perched straight and looking attentively at Harry. “Here.”, Harry pulled out a slightly large envelop from his inner robe pocket and attached it to the owl’s leg. “Please be careful.”

The owl gave a hoot, then spread his wings and took off from his perch, before flying out of the wide window.

Harry watched the owl fly away, slightly worried whether this would work out or not. He had taken precautions, putting some charms on the letter so that the person whose name he had written on the recipient address would be able to open it. He hoped the person would take appropriate action regarding the contents of his letter.

With a last glance at the darkening sky, Harry exited the Owlery and made his way back to the Slytherin common room.

They would be boarding the Hogwarts’ Express tomorrow. He hoped Hedwig was flying towards the Peverell castle and not somewhere else in her anger.

-----------

It was kind of difficult to find an empty compartment when most of the upper years were spread out around the whole train for some apparent reason. But eventually, they managed to find a compartment at the end of the train.

Harry entered the compartment with a relieved smile, followed by Theo and Blaise and some minutes later, by Neville.

Harry had already pulled out a book on Occlumency, this one not charmed to look like any first-year book, and which was being stared curiously at by Theo and Blaise.

When Neville entered the compartment, he found Harry reading a book while Theo and Blaise were looking from the book to Harry back to the book then at each other.

“What are you two doing?”, he asked as he closed the compartment door behind him.

Harry looked up from his book to see Neville settling down beside him with the Gryffindor’s toad un-happily clutched in his hands. “Ogling at my book.”, he said drily before giving the boy a smile.

“And why are they ogling at a book?”, Neville asked, confused.

Blaise made a choking sound at the back of his throat. “It’s a book on advanced Occlumency.”, he answered.

Neville blinked, before his eyes widened and he looked at Harry. “You are learning Occlumency?”, he choked out.

Harry shrugged. “Need to block out some very unwanted mind intrusion.” He was referring both to Dumbledore, who had tried several times this year to read Harry’s surface thoughts, and Voldemort, who had unknowingly pulled Harry into his mind, though Harry was confused if what would be counted as a brain when the Dark Lord was roaming around as a spirit.

“Who was trying to intrude your mind?”, Neville asked confusedly.

Theo and Blaise shared a knowing look.

“Some very unwelcomed people.”, Harry replied evasively.

“But,” Theo looked at Harry with furrowed brows, “why advanced one? If that person is only trying to read your mind without letting anyone find out, they would be only reading the surface ones. And surface intrusion can simply be stopped using local mind barriers.”

Harry hummed, flipping a page. There was a pause.

Blaise sighed. “A little bit of an answer would suffice too, dear Harrison.”, he drawled out.

“I need to create some magical barriers to control a part of my mind.”

“Magical barriers!”, Theo and Blaise exclaimed together, wide-eyed.

“Um,” Neville looked from Theo to Blaise to Harry, “what are magical barriers?”

“Well,” Theo glanced at Harry who continued reading his book, “you know the mind barriers, right?” Neville nodded. “Magical barriers are the advanced versions of them. They are created using pure magic and are very hard to create and manipulate. And,” he shared a look with Blaise, “if they are not controlled and managed carefully, they can be very dangerous. Can block a person’s whole emotions, or memories, and make them completely blank.”

Neville paled.

Harry, on the other hand, paused in his readings, his mind wandering to Voldemort on hearing Theo’s description of the magical barriers. The Dark Lord was powerful, there was no doubt about that. Maybe in his childhood, the man had unknowingly created and employed these barriers in his mind to convince himself that he really did not need emotions and human feelings because, as Morte had told Harry, the man felt that he was above such emotions when no one was willing to actually give and show the child any positive ones. And this, combined with his Horcruxes, had made the man completely lose his ability to feel.

Harry pursued his lips. He would need to discuss this with Morte as well.

“W-why then do people use these barriers?”, Neville asked, giving Harry a worried look.

“Because they need to keep some things strictly hidden.”, Blaise answered. “What better way than to hide your secret behind your own magical shields. But,” he looked at Harry, “only very powerful wizards and witches can create these barriers, like Dumbledore and You-Know-Who. Are you sure you can create such shields in your mind when you are only eleven reaching twelve, Harrison?”

“I can give it a try.”, Harry shrugged, returning back to his book.

His friends looked unsure, but they shrugged and began pulling out their things – chess board in case of Theo and Blaise and a book on Herbology in case of Neville – to pass their time.

About an hour must have passed before they were interrupted by a sharp knock on their compartment door and it slid open to reveal Hermione Granger standing there with a determined look in her eyes.

She marched into their compartment without even glancing at the rest of her classmates occupying the seats, her eyes fixed on Harry who gave her a raised brow.

“Harry,” she began, sitting down in front of him, “we need to talk!”

Chapter Text

“Pardon?”, Harry asked, his eyebrows shooting higher in surprise. He couldn’t figure out why the girl wanted to talk with him of all people so out of the blue.

After the four Gryffindors had been discharged from the hospital wing, the whole of Hogwarts had been buzzing with excitement to finally find out from the real source about what exactly had happened on the third-floor.

And Ronald Weasley had been extremely happy to share with everyone how he had fought against a huge dog, made his way through giant chess pieces by soundly defeating his opposition and fought and taken down a troll (which was extremely unlikely, as Harry had seen the troll knocked out cold with an Imperius). But after that, the boy’s story would become uncertain. Sometimes it would be fighting Professor Quirell with his bare hands (since Quirell was the guy actually missing), sometimes it would be meeting a zombie and chasing it away with just some very well-used first-year spells and sometimes it was meeting a dragon which knocked them out and made them sleep for a week.

And not so surprisingly, Finnigan and Thomas went with the tale, enjoying the attention of the awed Gryffindors, appreciative Hufflepuffs and curious Ravenclaws.

Slytherin House, obviously, stayed away from those idiots.

Curiously though, Granger neither supported the trio of Gryffindors nor denied their claims. She simply stayed away from them, always appearing to be thinking through something, excessively reading through books in the library as if looking for something.

“I need to talk to you, Harry.”, Granger said, bringing Harry out of his thoughts. “Preferably alone.”

Harry glanced at his friends, who were all staring at Granger with varying degrees of intrigue.

“Why alone?”, he asked her, closing his book carefully shut and putting it beside him.

Granger’s eyes trailed after the book, no doubt trying to read its title. “The matter is delicate.”, she replied, looking at Theo and Blaise, barely hiding her distrust.

“Whatever the matter is,” Harry said slowly, “I trust my friends not to go out spreading it around with everyone. So, you can tell me in their presence.”

Granger shot Harry a disbelieving look, before looking at Neville, who gave a nod. She sighed, before turning back to give Harry a serious look. “It wasyouknowwho.”, she blurted out.

Harry blinked once. “What?”, he asked.

“It was You-Know-Who.”, she repeated again, this time slowly. “The person who stole the Philosopher’s Stone. It was him.”

In his peripheral, Harry saw Neville pale and Theo and Blaise blanch.

Carefully, slowly, Harry directed his magic to create an Anti-Eavesdropping Ward and Silencing barriers around the compartment. He looked at Granger’s face carefully. “And why do you think it was Voldemort who stole the artifact?”, he asked slowly, ignoring the flinches of the rest of them.

“Um,” Granger bit her lips, “I…I don’t remember what exactly happened in that room, but…but recently I’ve been having these dreams of…..of two red orbs staring at me, along with a voice that…..has an undertone of…..hissing.” Granger’s hands were shaking slightly. “And when I researched in the library, I found out that Y-you-Know-Who had eyes which were blood red and his voice had an undertone of h-hissing because of him being a Parselmouth. So…so that only makes sense!”

Granger looked at Harry with pleading eyes, as if urging him to believe her. “Besides, if Professor Dumbledore was trying to keep the Philosopher’s Stone hidden, under his own protection, it only makes sense that he was protecting it from You-Know-who! Ronald’s belief on it being either Professor Snape or Professor Quirell pales in front of him needing the Stone!”

Harry hummed, impressed that Granger had remembered this much. And had the mind to connect the dots and realize it to be the Dark Lord who was actually after the Stone.

Neville had paled more, his hands clutching his poor toad rather tightly, while Theo and Blaise were looking at Granger as if they’d never seen her before.

Harry opened his mouth, “Neville, let your Trevor breath please.”

The other four occupants of the compartment blinked, before looking at the rapidly paling toad.

Neville gasped, immediately loosening his grip on the toad, which jumped away from his wizard and ducked under the seats.

Harry turned his attention back to Granger. “Have you told your Head of House or maybe the Headmaster about this?”, he asked.

“I…I…t-thought about telling Professor Dumbledore..b-but”, the tip of Granger’s ears turned pink, “n-no. They wouldn’t believe me! Besides I do not have any proof.”

Harry tilted his head slightly. “I believe the Headmaster would believe you actually.”, he remarked. “The man was trying to keep the artifact safe, whether from Voldemort-”, he ignored the flinches again, “-or from someone else, I cannot say.”

“Y-you,” Neville stared from Harry to Granger and then back to Harry, “a-are you sure Y-you-Know-Who is alive?”

Harry shrugged.

Theo’s and Blaise’s eyes darted from one person to the other, both looking unsure and hesitant about the topic of conversation.

“No one knows really.”, Harry replied finally. “He could be alive or he could be dead. But,” he looked at Granger, “he was a Dark Lord. So, it is possible he might be still out there.”

“B-but….the Killing Curse rebounded!”, Neville exclaimed, looking at Harry with pleading eyes. “That’s what everyone says! There was a pile of ash left at…at, you know, when the Aurors reached the…you know!”

Harry sighed. “Nobody can be sure, Neville.”, he replied. “I mean, who was witness to that event? Voldemort would not tell anyone what had really happened that night if he was alive, and I was merely a toddler then. I don’t remember much of anything.” Except his shouting mother, green light, a scream, meeting Lord ‘death is peaceful’ Morte and that bloody ritual Dumbledore had performed on him, followed by extreme pain. Not much, really.

“So,” Granger looked at Harry, her eyes searching his frantically, “you believe me? That it was You-Know-Who there?”

“It’s not out of the possibilities.”, Harry shrugged. “It could be that he was there. But, Granger,” he shot her a serious look, “me believing whether you are telling the truth or not would not make much of a difference. If you want something to be done about Voldemort being alive, you need to tell someone else, someone with authority.”

“Like Dumbledore.”, Neville muttered.

“But,” Theo said with furrowed brows, “don’t you think if Dumbledore was actually hiding that Stone from You-Know-Who, then he must already know that the Stone has been stolen by him?” He looked at Harry. “Dumbledore wouldn’t actually try to hide the Stone if someone threatening enough wasn’t after it. It makes perfect sense that it was You-Know-Who who actually stole it instead of Quirell, as Granger said.”

Blaise nodded thoughtfully. “And so, he already knows that You-Know-Who stole the artifact instead of Weasley fighting a dragon to death.”

“Death.”, Neville mumbled with a roll of his eyes. “To a week-long sleep is more likely.”

“If,” Theo stared at Harry curiously, “it was really him, how do you think he got in there? The Hogwarts’ wards are quite powerful and are under the command of the Headmaster. Surely, if someone….dangerous like him got in there, the wards would alert Dumbledore?”

“He could have used the Polyjuice Potion!”, Granger replied. “I’ve read about it. It transforms someone into somebody else! For all we know, You-Know-Who could have been roaming around as one of the students.”

Harry really wanted to roll his eyes at that. Not the idea, it was feasible and could be used advantageously if someone wanted to infiltrate the castle and had a steady supply of the potion, but imagining Voldemort using that potion to impersonate somebody else, when the man thought himself to be above everyone, was hysterically hilarious.

“Or he could…could have Imperiod someone.”, Neville muttered.

“What is that?”, Granger demanded, looking at Neville.

“Or he could have just used Quirell.”, Harry murmured under his breath, before deciding he had done enough for the conversation and pulled out his book. He was not overly eager to share what he knew about Voldemort and Quirell with any of his friends, especially when Granger was present.

“It’s an Unforgivable Curse.”, Neville answered.

“Unforgivable?”

“Yes.”, Neville nodded. “These Curses are not allowed to be used. They get you sentenced straight to Azkaban.”

“I’ve never read about them.”, Granger muttered.

“Killing Curse is an Unfogivable.”, Neville mumbled.

“Yes.”, Granger nodded. “Sounds about right.” She immediately stood up. “I need to find a book which explains them. Excuse me.” And she marched out of the compartment without any more fanfare.

“Did she forget about You-Know-Who being alive already?”, Blaise wondered.

“Do you reckon we should warn her not to read books having details on the three Unforgivables?”, Theo asked. “She might get into trouble.”

Harry gave a one-shouldered shrug. “She’s a curious Gryffindor.”, he said drily. “Dumbledore would surely protect her.”

There was a moment of silence.

“Do you really think You-Know-Who is still alive?”, Neville asked.

Harry sighed.

----------

It was nearing seven in the evening when the Hogwarts Express finally reached the King’s Cross Station in London.

Harry had spent most of his time on the journey getting frustrated in his readings about magical Occlumency shields. Seems like no single magical had knowingly tried to create that shield at the age of twelve. The book stated that the magical trying to create such a shield needed to have a mature magical core which is mostly achieved after the magical maturity which happened around the age of seventeen.

Harry really needed to have a chat with Morte and see whether he will advise him to spend his time in an endeavour such as this.

Theo and Blaise had mostly played chess, then read some book or simply stared out the window. While Neville had tried coaxing his toad, Trevor, to come out of its hiding place under the seat. When the little guy had thoroughly ignored the Gryffindor, Neville had given up and settled down to take a long nap.

As the Hogwarts Express decelerated and slowed down to a stop at the station, Harry and his friends stood up, pulling out their trunks and preparing to get out of the train.

Harry’s trunk was already shrunk and in his pocket. He had taken down his robe as well, seeing that he needed to get on the muggle side of the station. His friends were obviously still wearing theirs, since they’d be either Floo’ing, Apprating or Portkeying out of the station.

“Do remember to write us letters, Harrison.”, Blaise said as they opened their compartment door and began making their way through the train. “I will be eagerly awaiting your heart-filled letters.”

Harry rolled his eyes, while Theo and Neville snorted. “Oh, the letter would be filled with something, alright.”, Harry replied, stepping out of the train and scanning the throng of humans scattered around the platform. He was hoping he would spot Morte lurking in the corner and the shadows somewhere. “It just remains to be seen what it would be filled with.”

“I would be very careful if I were you with Harrison’s letter, Blaise.”, Theo drawled, his eyes scanning the crowd as well. “Ah. There is my father.” He nodded towards a man standing close to the wall and looking through the crowd dispassionately. The man looked slightly like an older version of Theo minus the hair and eyes.

“Do you reckon he would like to meet our dear Harrison here?”, Blaise asked as he himself scanned the crowds.

Theo shook his head while Harry snorted. “He would rather suffer through an hour-long lecture from my grandfather.”, he said. “He was rather….displeased when I told him about me becoming your, ah, acquaintance.”

“Understandable.”, Harry muttered, waving his hand towards Lord Nott. “Go ahead. I’ll see you after two months if not before that for our shopping trip.”

“Of course.”, Theo nodded. “Farewell.”

“Bye.”, Neville mumbled.

“Farewell.”, Blaise nodded before tilting his head towards the direction opposite to where Theo had walked away at. “I see my butler standing in the corner there.”

Neville frowned. “Lady Zabini did not come?”, he asked.

Blaise rolled his eyes. “Mother must be busy with something.”, he drawled. “Besides, she says that portkeys never work for her. They hate each other with a passion.”

Harry nodded sagely. “I can understand her sentiments.”, he said. “I’ve only been through Apparition and if all types of Wizarding transportation are like that, then I’m willing to bet I won’t be having any good relationship with them either.”

Neville nodded along, while Blaise rolled his eyes harder. “Yes, sure, your grace.”, he waved his hand. “See you at Diagon.”

“Yeah.”, Harry nodded while Neville waved Blaise goodbye. Harry turned towards Neville. “Seems like-”

“Neville.”, somebody called from behind Harry and he turned to come face-to-face with a stern looking woman, adorning a hat with stuffed vulture on top (at which Harry stared at far longer than decorum dictated) and a red handbag clutched in her thin hands. She looked petite in her long green dress under an open black robe, but her eyes were hard and unforgiving as she scanned Harry’s face.

“Grandma.”, Neville muttered, coming beside her to give her a brief hug. “I’ve missed you.”

“Likewise, Neville.”, she replied, her eyes still fixed on Harry who gave her a polite bow. “Won’t you introduce me to your friend here?”

“Oh, right!”, Neville’s face turned red and he gave her a sheepish smile. “Grandma, this is Harrison Potter, Heir to House Potter. Harry, this is my grandmother, Lady Longbottom.”

“It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Lady Longbottom.”, Harry said as he gave a small smile.

“No, Heir Potter.”, Lady Longbottom said, her eyes scanning Harry from top to bottom. “The pleasure’s mine. I admit, I was every bit surprised and shocked when I received such a strongly worded letter from you, in defense of my grandson no less. I had never imagined you to be such a passionate and fierce friend.” She turned pensive. “Yet, you are the child of Lily Evans who was such a fierce and courageous young lady. The world lost such a good and hard-working person.”

Harry smiled sadly, nodding his head. “Thank you, Lady Longbottom.”, he whispered.

“I thank you, Heir Potter.”, Lady Longbottom said, her eyes turning softer. “For looking after my grandson and Heir, and telling me about your thoughts with such bluntness. I admire those who have the courage to stand up against what they think is wrong.”

Harry glanced at Neville who was slightly wide-eyed and smiling at the same time. “Of course, Lady Longbottom. Neville is a wonderful and a great friend. I would do anything for those I care.”

Lady Longbottom tilted her head slightly, studying him, before glancing at Neville. She nodded, then turned back to look at Harry. “You have the support of House Longbottom, Heir Potter.”, she said. Harry’s eyes widened. “We would be happy to align our House with yours.”

“I…”, Harry had turned speechless. He had not expected something like this to happen so soon. He had been planning on winning over allegiances of Wizangamot families after he had decided on his course of action regarding Voldemort and further planning on his stance.

And House Longbottom was predominantly Light. Lady Longbottom did not know Harry agreed with some of the beliefs of the Dark. “I would be delighted to align our Houses, Lady Longbottom,” Harry began slowly, “but it would be better if we officially did that after I have thoroughly read through and understood the magical world’s ways. I might be lacking in these matters currently.”

Lady Longbottom’s eyebrows went up slightly but she acquiesced with a nod. “Of course, Heir Potter. It would be better.”, she looked at him curiously. “I have heard you’ve grown up with muggles from your mother’s side?”

Harry winced slightly. “Yes.”, he nodded.

“Why the hesitance?”, she asked, not missing Harry’s reaction.

“I do not know what the Ministry and the newspapers and Dumbledore are telling everyone,” Harry started carefully, “but my muggle relatives hate magic.” He took a breath when Lady Longbottom’s eyebrows furrowed. “They hate anything that does not fit in with their idea of normal, and sadly magic does not come into this category. They told me my parents had died in a car crash due to drunk driving and I only found out about magic by accident-”, quite literally, “-when I was nine and it was only confirmed when I got the letter.” Lying by omission, Harry was becoming quite good at it.

“You,” Lady Longbottom looked at Harry with slightly troubled expression, “were not being kept under protection from the Death Eaters, Heir Potter?”

“What protection, Lady Longbottom?”, Harry asked, raising his eyebrows. “My relatives live in a very muggle neighbourhood and I believe nobody living there for more than several kilometres’ radius is magical. Hell, nobody even visited me to tell me how my parents actually had died.”

“That is horrible.”, Lady Longbottom said, her eyes hardening, while her face remained pale. “Is Albus Dumbledore not your magical guardian?”

“I do not know, Lady Longbottom.”, Harry replied with a shake of his head. “I did not even know what a magical guardian was some time ago, let alone that I have one.”

“I do not understand what this magical world has come to with these incompetent fools.”, Lady Longbottom muttered, her voice filled with anger. “Heir Potter, you are very much welcome to come and stay with me and Neville if you so wish. You do not need to return to your muggle relatives.”

Harry smiled. “Thank you, Lady Longbottom.”, he said, nodding of his head in gratitude. “But I do not wish to intrude. Besides, I have some work to take care of. May you and Neville have a fruitful summer. And may the sun give you power and energy, happy Litha.”

Lady Longbottom’s eyes widened and Neville blinked. “A happy Litha to you too, Heir Potter.”, she whispered.

Harry gave a bow to Lady Longbottom, waved at Neville who waved back, then turned and began to march towards the exit into the muggle world. He grinned slightly at the look Lady Longbottom had when he’d wished her a happy Litha, wondering on what she will think about him now. Most of the Light families had almost abandoned the practise of these old festivals even though half of the festivals were Light as they were performed during the days, celebrating the power and life-giving nature of the sun and natural magic.

Harry admitted he did not know whether Lady Longbottom actually had abandoned the old festivals or not, but if she was a staunch believer of Dumbledore then she surely must have. Though the brief interaction he had with the Lady painted a picture of a strong and fierce woman who believed in herself and her beliefs and stayed true to them.

He supposed only time will tell.

As Harry walked out of the magical wall, feeling the magic weaved around it, he scanned the throngs of people walking to and fro from platforms to platforms, again trying to unsuccessfully spot the being. He wanted to get to Gringotts as soon as possible, but it seemed like Morte wasn’t feeling up to being his chauffeur.

Sighing, Harry made his way to the exit of King’s Cross Station while trying to remember whether he had ever navigated to Charring Cross Street in London. Where in Merlin’s name was that place, anyway?

He had never visited London since his relatives preferred leaving him with Mrs. Figg, the spy Squib, and the only time he had visited that place was through Apparition with Professor Snape or shadowing with Morte.

Should he start screaming for Morte or something? Where was the being anyway? Torturing some more souls? Or reading up on his disgustingly interesting romantic classics?

“Why is it that every time that you think about me, it is always with some kind of insulting sarcastic remark?”, a voice drawled from behind him, and Harry turned to grin at Morte’s annoyed face.

“Morte!”, he exclaimed, drawing the attention of some of the people passing them by. Harry had already walked a whole block out of the station until Morte had decided to grace him with his presence. “Fancy seeing you here!”

“Is it?”, Morte drawled, waving his hand. Harry felt Morte’s Notice-Me-Not Charm wash around them. “Are you really that surprised on seeing me here? And what was that thought about me being your chauffeur?”

Harry smiled innocently. “What thought?”, he asked. “I was just thinking about getting quickly to Gringotts.”

Morte sniffed at him. “Take my hand.”, he ordered, grabbing Harry’s hand quickly and immediately Harry felt the shadows engulf them and then spit them out in some dark alley.

Well, spat me out, Harry thought drily as he coughed, sitting up from where he had face-planted on the dirty ground. “That was so uncalled for, Morte.”, he grumbled as he stood up, glaring at a smugly smirking being. “You act so childish!”

“I do not act childish, Harrison.”, Morte remarked as he glared at a hunched-up hag staring at them holding a platter of what appeared to be human nails in her hands. She quickly scurried off. “And you had it coming, disrespecting me in your mind like that.”

Harry rolled his eyes, waving his hand to Scourgify his clothes from the dirt. “That is your fault!”, he pointed out. “You should not read my thoughts! Value my privacy.”

“Yeah.”, Morte drawled. “Value your privacy. So that you could insult me more in your thoughts, yes?”

Harry rolled his eyes harder. “Let’s go to Gringotts.”, he said, eyeing two other hags and one barely-clad man staring at them. “I need to meet Nagnok for my parents’ Will.”

Morte huffed. “Follow me.”, he ordered as he stalked out of the alley, Harry barely keeping up with the being’s long strides.

They emerged out into Diagon Alley, which was crowded with witches and wizards, and made their way towards the white, snowy building of Gringotts.

The goblins guarding the front of the bank paled when they looked at Morte, before bowing at him. Harry smiled, bowing to them before following after Morte.

Morte did not stop to ask any teller or other goblin for help, instead marching right into one of the doors leading off the hall.

Before long, they stopped in front of a door with the same placard Harry had seen when he’d visited Gringotts for the first time, proclaiming whatever it did in Gobbledegook.

Morte slammed opened the door. “Nagnok.”, he said when said goblin jumped slightly sitting on his chair behind his desk. “Wonderful to meet you again.”

“Lord Death.”, Nagnok said, bowing slightly to the being before looking at Harry. “Lord Peverell Heir Potter-Black-Slytherin. Please have a seat.”

Harry winced at his title before moving to sit on the chair beside Morte. “Just call me Harrison or Harry, Master Nagnok, I’ve already told you.”, he said. “All those titles make me feel old.”

Nagnok smirked. “Of course, Harry.”, he said. “I presume you are here to open your Parents’ Wills?”

“Yes.”, Harry nodded. “As quickly as we can, please.”

“Yes, of course.”, Nagnok tapped his long nail on his desk once. “I received your letter, and have accordingly arranged for a solicitor from the Dawlish Law Firm. Mr. Dawlish is a pureblood and knows all the ins and outs of the wizarding laws while his apprentice, Miss. Hestia Jones, the one who would be visiting us, is a half-blood and has studied both the laws of the muggles and the magicals. If we manage to convince her on the genuineness of Mr. Black’s case, the trial would be as good as won. She’s a demoness when it comes to injustices against magicals.”

Harry’s eyebrows had reached his hairline. “Excellent.”, he muttered. He tilted his head at the goblin. “Which side is she oriented towards?”

“That is hard to say.”, Nagnok replied. “She graduated Hogwarts after the war, though I believe her mother sided with the Light.”

Harry nodded slowly. “I hope she thinks for herself then.”, he muttered. “If I like her services, I was thinking about appointing her as the manager of my accounts with the wizarding affairs, if that is, she would be willing to.”

“It would be beneficial, yes.”, Nagnok nodded. “You would have to be careful though.”

Harry nodded, glancing at Morte who was listening to their conversation with a bored look. Harry refrained from rolling his eyes.

Just then, there was a knock on the door.

“Enter!”, Nagnok called out.

The door opened to reveal a young goblin behind whom stood a young woman with short, shoulder-length, open dark black hair, wearing a white shirt and black pants beneath black robes. Her keen black eyes scanned the room before landing on Harry, widening when she stared at his scar slightly visible through the bangs of his hair.

“Master goblin.”, she bowed to Nagnok after entering the goblin’s office, before nodding at Morte and Harry.

“Miss. Jones.”, Nagnok said, Conjuring a chair for her beside Harry. “Take a seat.” As Miss Jones took her seat, Nagnok turned to Harry. “Harry, this is Miss Hestia Jones. She’s the solicitor I told you about. For the Wills of your parents to be opened, it is advisable to have a solicitor so that there would be no disparity while the readings are done.”

Harry nodded.

“Miss. Jones,” Nagnok turned to the woman, staring at her fiercely, who blinked at the goblin, “you are under strict oaths and are not to give anyone, any information regarding anything that we discuss here. Am I clear?”

Miss Jones nodded. “Of course, Master goblin.”

Nagnok nodded. “I am Master Nagnok, the account manager of the Potter and Black accounts in Gringotts. Meet my client, Heir Harrison James Potter-Black of the Houses of Potter and Black.”

Harry gave a nod to Miss Jones. “It is good to meet you, Miss Jones.”, he said.

“Same, Heir Potter-Black.”, Hestia Jones’ eyes were sparkling while she stared at Harry.

“That is my client’s magical guardian, Miss Jones.”, Nagnok drawled, breaking the young solicitor’s almost worshipful gaze away from Harry.

Her brows furrowed as she looked at Morte, who gave her a bland look.

“Pleasure to meet you, Hestia Jones.”, Morte drawled out.

“I..”, she turned to Nagnok. “I thought Albus Dumbledore was Heir Potter’s magical guardian?”, she asked.

“That was in the past, Miss Jones.”, Nagnok said blandly. “That aside, we need to un-seal James and Lily Potter’s Wills.”

Miss Jones was still frowning, before she nodded. “Of course, Master Nagnok. Go ahead.”

Harry held his breath as Nagnok took out two sheets of sealed envelopes from under his desk. He hoped his parents had left some evidence to help their friend from getting out of Azkaban.

Chapter Text

Hestia Jones, a twenty-five-year-old budding solicitor had been extremely delighted when she had gotten apprenticeship under Charles Dawlish, a brilliant fifty-six-year-old solicitor who had the knowledge of every single law and bill that had ever been passed or talked about in the Wizengamot since even before the Ministry had been formed around it.

Mr. Dawlish was harsh, he wanted everything to be carried out perfectly, wanted her not to lose a single client who wanted their services and got particularly murderous if she ever forgot about any law or bill or did not keep up with the on-goings of the Wizarding World, and especially of the Wizangamot.

And he would have definitely lost his marbles if she had ignored the letter from the goblins, of all beings, requesting their firm’s services for one of their clients.

Hestia had been wary at first and there was a good reason behind it.

The goblins never contacted any solicitor for any kind of service. They believed in their own justice system and used their own laws regarding any witch or wizard who had offended them.

So, if they had contacted them for some client of theirs, it meant whoever the client was, was very important to the goblins.

And Hestia could not imagine any single witch or wizard who could be that important to the goblins, since you could not buy your way into the goblin’s non-existent list of important witches and wizards.

And that left her extremely curious.

So, deciding to see what they wanted, she read the whole letter, raising her eyebrows at the condition that she needed to take a magical vow not to tell anyone anything that will be discussed in the meeting. If she agreed to the clauses, she will get a summons from the goblins when their client will be ready to meet her.

Hestia wanted to consult her mentor, ask him what he thought about the letter, but he was out for some important business and that left her alone to decide on whether she wants to take the oath and discover who this mystery client was or refuse the request-cum-order and face her employer’s wrath.

Not having much choice to decide up on, she acquiesced, sending them her reply with the affirmative that she will take the oath once she is called for the meeting.

And that was that from the goblins.

Hestia did not hear any other news and had to wait for almost two weeks before she got the summons from the goblins in the form of a parchment sealed with the Gringotts seal popping onto her desk at close to eight in the evening with the instruction to use that parchment as a portkey.

Her heart pounding in her chest, she took her bag that had all the important documents she could think of and then said the activation password, the parchment in her hands. She felt the familiar tug behind her navel as she vanished from her desk and almost fell down as she landed on a floor of marble in a large hall, a goblin standing just a few metres away from her.

“Ugh.” she mumbled, her hands clutching the parchment tightly to stop the dizziness she was feeling. “Greetings, Master goblin.”, she said with a slight bow to the goblin after she got control over herself, who nodded, handing her another parchment.

“You need to take the oath, Miss Jones.”

Hestia nodded, before taking a deep breath and reading the words on the parchment. She cleared her throat, before pulling out her wand. “I, Hestia Mary Jones, do hereby swear on my magic that I will not tell anyone, through any way, shape or form on whatever is discussed in the meeting between I, Master Goblin Nagnok and his clients without Master Nagnok’s client’s express permission. So mote it be.”

She felt a warmth envelop her before it vanished, signalling the oath to be in place.

“Very well.”, the goblin said before taking the parchment from her and turned. “Follow me, Miss Jones.”

Hestia quickly moved after the goblin who, despite having legs shorter than her, navigated through the confusing hallways and corridors of the bank with well-practised ease.

After taking a confusing number of turns, Hestia found herself standing behind the goblin facing a large bronze door marked with a gold placard that had words etched in Gobbledegook.

The goblin sharply knocked on the door once and opened the door when a voice ordered them to enter.

As the door opened, Hestia scanned the room – it was a typical goblin manager’s room with a large marble desk in the middle. A goblin, whom she assumed was Master Nagnok, was sitting behind the desk in a chair, and sitting in front of the goblin were two wizards.

The one who was the adult, had dark black hair perfectly styled with black robes, staring at her uninterested while the other wizard, who appeared to be a twelve-year-old child with emerald green eyes wearing a green shirt with black slacks, was staring at her with curiosity and calculation.

As Hestia’s eyes scanned the child’s face, they landed on the barely visible, but completely unmistakable scar on his forehead, and her eyes widened. This couldn’t be, could it?

Hestia entered the office, her eyes lingering on the child as the door slammed shut behind her and she somehow felt her fate being sealed. “Master goblin.”, she greeted the goblin, bowing slightly before she nodded at the two wizards.

“Miss Jones.”, the goblin nodded before Conjuring a chair beside Harry Potter. “Take a seat.”, he said before turning to Harry Potter! “Harry, this is Miss Hestia Jones. She’s the solicitor I told you about. For the Wills of your parents to be opened, it is advisable to have a solicitor so that there would be no disparity while the readings.”, he told him as Hestia took her seat.

She could not believe the Boy-Who-Lived was such an important client to the goblins. Wasn’t he living with his muggle relatives? This was his first year at Hogwarts, wasn’t it? She remembered reading The Daily Prophet last July, which had an article about the Boy-Who-Lived returning to the Wizarding World this year.

Hestia came out of her thoughts when the goblin gave her a fierce look. She blinked.

“Miss Jones, you are under strict oaths and are not to give anyone, any information regarding anything that we discuss here. Am I clear?”

Hestia nodded quickly. “Of course, Master goblin.”, she replied. She would never even dare to think about crossing the goblins. They were fierce little creatures!

“I am Master Nagnok, the account manager of the Potter and Black accounts in Gringotts. Meet my client, Heir Harrison James Potter-Black of the Houses of Potter and Black.”

Harry Potter had Black blood in him?

He gave her a nod. “It is good to meet you, Miss Jones.”, he said.

Such a polite young boy, she thought.

“Same, Heir Potter-Black.”, she replied, feeling excited to finally meet the famous Boy-Who-Lived.

“That is my client’s magical guardian, Miss Jones.”, Master Nagnok drawled, breaking her internal squealing as she turned to look at the adult wizard sitting in the room on the other side of Harry Potter-Black.

Her brows furrowed as she looked at the wizard who gave her a bland look.

“Pleasure to meet you, Hestia Jones.”, the wizard drawled out.

“I..”, she turned to Master Nagnok. “I thought Albus Dumbledore was Heir Potter’s magical guardian?”, she asked, feeling confused. Hadn’t the Headmaster of Hogwarts told everyone he was the magical guardian of the Boy-Who-Lived?

“That was in the past, Miss Jones.”, Master Nagnok said blandly. “That aside, we need to un-seal James and Lily Potter’s Wills.”

Hestia still frowned, wondering what had exactly happened for Albus Dumbledore to lose his guardianship, before she nodded. “Of course, Master Nagnok. Go ahead.”

Hestia watched carefully as the goblin pulled out two sealed envelopes from under his desk and put them on the table. “Let’s start with late Heir James Charlus Potter.”, he said, pushing one of the envelopes towards Heir Potter-Black. “Sign the blank space at the bottom, Harry, and then let a drop of your blood on the envelop where you have signed.”

Heir Potter-Black nodded, taking a quill from his magical guardian and signing the envelop.

Hestia, meanwhile, pulled out a parchment and a self-inking quill to write down anything important that would need to be looked through.

As Heir Potter-Black pricked his index finger and let a drop of his blood fall onto the envelop, it glowed white before returning back to normal.

Master Nagnok took the envelop, tapped it once and finally, slowly, opened it.

He pulled out an official, Ministry issued parchment with the Gringotts seal at its bottom.

He glanced at Hestia, who gave a nod.

Master Nagnok turned back to the parchment, his eyes scanning it slowly, before he kept it down on the table and tapped the Gringotts seal two times, activating the magic there to read the Will.

The parchment glowed again, before the voice of James Charlus Potter began speaking, Heir Potter-Black choking slightly.

Hestia could feel pity for the child. He had lost his parents when he was only one, and the Wizarding World celebrated that day to finally be free of a tyrant. She felt guilt fill her chest.

‘Is this thing working?’, the voice said.

‘James!’, a female voice said, exasperated.

‘Right, right, sorry!’

Heir Potter-Black snorted. Hestia glanced to see a sad smile on the child’s face, his eyes swimming with tears. She quickly looked away.

‘I, James Churles Potter, Heir of Lord Churles Hadrian Potter of the Ancient and Noble House of Potter, do hereby declare this to be my last Will and Testament. I swear on Lady Magic that this Will was made solely on my wish, and my wife forcing me to make one – ow, honey! – and that I am neither being forced nor persuaded or coerced into making one.’

‘I appoint Master Goblin Nagnok, the account manager of House Potter at Gringotts as the executor of my Will.’

‘I, hereby, bequeath all of my assets, vaults, properties and any other material that belongs to me and House Potter to my wife Lily Potter nee Evans in the circumstance of my death. If, unfortunately, she passes away too, all of the assets, vaults, properties and materials that belong to me and House Potter are to be given to my son and Heir Harrison James Potter-Black.’

‘Finally, if I and my wife were murdered by Vold-I mean, You-Know-Who on the account of him finding out about our Secret Location, then I wish to make it absolute-bloody-ly clear that Sirius Orion Black was not our Secret Keeper!’

Hestia’s eyes widened.

‘I fucking repeat! Sirius Orion Black was not our Secret Keeper! It was Peter Pettigrew, the fourth Marauder and I bloody hope he is the one rotting in Azkaban and not by brother, because Merlin knows if that happens, I would haunt the bloody Ministry from the afterlife, mark my words, you fucking morons! OW! HONEY!’

‘Signed James Charlus Potter. Witnesses – Sirius Orion Black and Alice Longbottom.’

The parchment stopped glowing, settling back down as if it hadn’t dropped a fucking bomb in the room.

Hestia stared slack-jawed at the parchment, her grip on the quill in her hand lose.

Sirius Black was innocent! Yet the man was rotting away in Azkaban for the past ten years! With the bloody Dementors feeding on his sanity day-in and day-out.

They needed to file a complaint at the Ministry and show this Will as a proof!

What in Merlin’s name had the Ministry done?!

Before Hestia could even open her mouth, she felt the ground beneath her shaking. Her chair shook too, and she looked around in bewilderment as the whole room shook – the weapons adorning the wall, the marble desk and the other two occupants of the room.

Hestia glanced at Heir Potter-Black and her eyes widened further.

The child’s eyes were glowing eerily, same as the shade of the Killing Curse, while his face was blank, the only sign of his rage being his tightly clenched hands, turning his knuckles white.

Would he blow up, she thought as she hurriedly glanced at the goblin, who looked resigned as if he knew this would happen and was just waiting to re-decorate his office, while the – she realized she hadn’t asked the wizard’s name – the magical guardian was giving Heir Potter-Black an unimpressed look.

“Really, Harrison?”, he drawled out. “You already had the idea something like this would happen. Calm down.”

Heir Potter-Black took a deep breath. The shaking slightly decreased. “Calm down?!”, he asked calmly, turning to glare at the man. “Having the idea and actually listening to the damn Will and the proof that Mr. Black is innocent are two very different things, Morte!”, he snapped. “That -that man sealed my parents’ Will and condemned the life of my godfather with those bloody Dementors.”

The man, Morte, hummed. “I agree, Harrison.”, he nodded. “That is why you need to hurry up so that Miss Jones there can file the complaint and have Sirius Black freed, yes?”

Heir Potter-Black’s head snapped towards her and she winced for the child’s neck. Said child pinned her with his disturbingly calculating eyes. “How much time would it take, Miss Jones, to get Mr. Black freed with this evidence?”

Hestia thought carefully. “That depends on how fast the Ministry would work, Heir Potter.”

The child hissed.

Hestia grimaced. “Once the complaint has been filed, it should take me a week to meet Mr. Black, prepare for the case accordingly and then the trial should take at most a week. So about three to four weeks, Heir Potter.”

Heir Potter-Black took a breath again, closing his eyes and a few moments later, the room stopped shaking. He opened his eyes and nodded. “Okay.”, he whispered. “One month is good.” He turned to Master Nagnok. “My mother’s Will, if you would, Master Nagnok.”

Master Nagnok nodded and pushed the other envelop towards Heir Potter-Black, who took the quill he had put on the desk previously, signing it, before re-pricking his index finger and dropping a drop of his blood.

The envelop glowed, before Master Nagnok took it and repeated the same procedure he had done with the previous one.

The parchment started glowing and the female voice of Lily Potter filled the office.

‘I, Lily Potter nee Evans, wife of Heir James Churles Potter of the Ancient and Noble House of Potter, do hereby declare this to be my last Will and Testament. I swear on Lady Magic that this Will was made solely on my own free will and that I am neither being forced nor persuaded or coerced into making this.’

'I, hereby, bequeath my vault eight hundred and thirteen at Gringotts, the land at number fourteen, Garden street inn Cokeworth and my savings in the muggle bank, account number 1477563 to my husband James Churles Potter, or if he passes away, to my son Harrison James Potter-Black, on the circumstance of my death.’

‘Further, if I and my husband are not anymore to take care of our son, Harrison James Potter-Black, then our son is to be placed under the guardianship of his godfather, Sirius Orion Black or godmother Alice Longbottom. If the above mentioned individuals cannot take our son, for some reason, then he is to be placed under Minerva McGonagall. Under no circumstance is to be our son given to Petunia Dursley nee Evans, my muggle sister.’

‘Finally, our Secret Keeper is Peter Pettigrew and not Sirius Orion Black. If we were killed by You-Know-Who, then Peter Pettigrew is responsible for our betrayal, not Sirius Black.’

‘And Harry, if you are listening to this, remember, we love you and would always be with you, no matter what happens. Love you, sweetheart.’

‘Signed, Lily Potter. Witnesses, Sirius Orion Black and Alice Longbottom.’

As the parchment stopped glowing, Hestia slumped slightly in her seat before she glanced at Heir Potter-Black.

The child’s head was bowed, his wild, black hair covering his eyes. He was taking deep breaths, no doubt trying to centre himself and not blow up the office with his magic.

And wasn’t that the most surprising thing?

The child’s magic was powerful and Hestia had felt the magic swirling around them, in the office, before he had pulled it back in. He could control his magic!

Finally, Heir Potter-Black looked up, his eyes piercing as he pinned her with them. “That makes up two evidences of Mr. Black’s innocence.”, he said. “I request you to please get the Ministry to set up the trial dates as soon as possible.”

“Of course, Heir Potter.”, Hestia nodded, straightening up in her chair. “I will contact the Department of Magical Law Enforcement as soon as I get back to my office. The Head of the Department, Madam Amelia Bones is extremely strict and fair, and once this comes to her attention, I am sure she will try her best to serve justice as quickly as she can get her Department to.”

Heir Potter-Black nodded. “I hope so, Miss Jones, I hope so.”, he murmured.

Hestia quickly jotted down to contact the Department before she would contact her mentor. “Also, Heir Potter-”

“Just call me Harrison, Miss Jones.”

Hestia blinked. “Of course, Harrison.”, she smiled slightly. “You may call me Hestia.” Harrison nodded. “So, I was saying – do you want your name to be specified as the one filing for the re-trial or you want it to be anonymous?”

Harrison frowned slightly, before shrugging. “Put my name in.”, he decided. “People will realize it anyway once they find out what the proof is.”

Hestia nodded.

“And, Miss Hestia?”, Harrison asked.

“Yes?”

“Make sure that there is no one to manipulate anything in the court.”, he said seriously. “Request the Ministry to keep this trial as hushed up as possible. I do not want anyone who does not have anything to do with the trial to know about this, and will prefer it if even the Wizengamot members do not find out the name of the person whose trial they will be voting in before the trial itself.”

Hestia frowned slightly, her mind running with how much precision and carefulness she will have to employ in this case.

“Not even the Chief Warlock, Miss Hestia.”, Harrison said, looking at her with a blank face.

“But the Chief Warlock is supposed to know about such major trials at least a week prior, Harrison.”, Hestia replied slowly.

“I do not care.”, Harrison said, his eyes firm. “Request a meeting with the Head or whatever you need to do, I do not want the Chief Warlock or any Wizengamot member, for that matter, to know about this trial before at most a day prior.”

Hestia pursued her lips. “I will see what can be done about that, Harrison.”, she replied. “I will request Madam Bones to keep the trial as secretive as she can.”

“Tell her..”, Harrison paused, before turning to look at his guardian, Morte, who slowly shook his head. Harrison turned back to look at Hestia. “Tell her, that it’s Heir Potter-Black requesting it, and since this is the case of my godfather and blood relative, I want it to be kept as private as possible.”

Hestia nodded slowly. “It might work.”, she said with a small frown. “You are the Boy-Who-Lived-”, Harrison made a face at that title, “-so people might start questioning the Ministry regarding the justice system since even those close to you couldn’t get a fair trial.”, she winced. “The Ministry will try to keep it hushed up, now that I think about it with that angle.”

Harrison scrunched up his nose in annoyance. “Well,” he drawled out, “there is some use of this stupid title at least.”

Hestia smiled, before turning to Master Nagnok, who had been sitting there in his chair, silently, watching them discuss the matter. “I will need the copies of both the Wills, Master Nagnok.”, she said.

Master Nagnok nodded, then tapped his hand twice on both the parchments, creating two copies. He handed them over to her.

“Thank you.”, she nodded as she scanned the words in the Wills. She folded them carefully before putting them in her bag, followed by the parchment she had pulled out for note-taking.

That done, she turned back to Harrison. “Do you require my service with anything else, Harrison?”, she asked.

“No.”, Harrison shook his head. “At least not yet, Miss Hestia.”

Hestia nodded, getting up. “I should return to my office then, to prepare the drafts for the letter.”, she said. “I will send you a letter to inform you about the progress, Harrison.”

“Thank you.”, Harrison nodded.

“Please thank me once I get your godfather out of that hell-hole, Harrison.”, she said, giving a slight bow to Harrison and his guardian – they were her clients, after all – before bowing to the goblin. “Farewell.”

“Farewell.”, Harrison said, while Morte nodded.

“Remember, Miss Jones,” Master Nagnok said, “you cannot talk about this with anyone else except Madam Bones.”

Hestia blinked, before giving Harrison a pleading look. “I need to inform my mentor, Mr. Charles Dawlish about this case, Harrison.”, she told him. “I promise I will be vague. He will murder me if I rushed through it without consulting him.” She did not wish to disappoint Harrison – the boy was in the good graces of the goblins, for Merlin’s sake, but she needed to inform her boss about this case too!

Harrison frowned slightly, before glancing at Master Nagnok and his guardian. “Alright, Miss Hestia.”, he said after a pause. “Just Mr. Dawlish and nobody else. And please, be careful.”

“Of course.”, Hestia nodded. “Thank you.”

Harrison nodded, before dismissing her by turning to face Master Nagnok.

Hestia quickly opened the door and walked out, making her way out of the corridor, getting lost twice, before she found a goblin and requested him to take her out of the maze of corridors. The goblin smirked at her before turning and marching to the left (from where she had come) and led her out into the grand hall of Gringotts. She thanked him, then made her way out of the bank to Apparate into an alley beside the building of their office and quickly walked in.

Putting her bag on her desk, she pulled out some parchments and began to write the letter to Mr. Dawlish to inform him about the case they had gotten from such an important client.

Chapter Text

It had been three days since Harry had un-sealed his parents Wills and gotten the actual, physical proof of his blood-adopted father’s innocence.

It had been such an emotional experience, hearing his father’s and mother’s voices for the first time.

Harry had only ever remembered his mother’s voice screaming at Voldemort to not kill her son just before her death and that was vague already.

It had been so heart-wrenching to hear the voices of his parents. It gave him a tangible and out-of-body experience, a proof that his parents had been real, that they had loved him enough to sacrifice their lives for him.

Harry’s desire to meet them only grew with that experience.

After Miss Hestia had left, Harry had discussed with Morte and Master Nagnok the chances of Dumbledore finding out about this trial way before they were ready to divulge the information to the concerned ‘authorities’, so to speak, and him doing something to either get the proofs declared invalid or preach about how it wasn't fair to the other Death Eaters in Azkaban for only a single one of them to get the trial after such a long time.

Harry realized after the discussion how much paranoid – which wasn’t really unfounded – he had become regarding Dumbledore and the man’s manipulations.

That aside, Morte had also pointed out that Dumbledore will find out about Harry’s guardianship change around the time of the trial, since the old man would try to ascertain that Harry was his ward and that Sirius Black wouldn’t be able to claim his guardianship as he was Harry’s godfather since the man will be mentally and physically unfit to take in a child. Dumbledore will surely check to make sure that Harry stayed under his ‘care’, and will thus, find out that he was no longer the guardian.

Harry will need to decide on what he wanted to do about his guardianship once Mr. Black was deemed acceptable for taking over it. He wished to connect with the man – wished to ask him about his parents, about their friendship – but he also wished to remain under the guardianship of Morte.

For all that the being acted annoyed and irritated for taking in a ward, Harry could say that Morte was actually a good guardian. Besides, Morte was a being and had vast knowledge of things Harry wanted to know and learn about.

Harry was sure he will need to tell Mr. Black some of it, at least the manipulations Dumbledore had done, and try to make it clear that he wanted to at least stay neutral in the war. For the time being, at least. Or he might join the Dark if their leader somehow miraculously became sane again.

That aside, after the discussion, Morte and Harry had said their farewell to Nagnok (Morte had only grumbled something incoherent to the goblin) and had shadowed into the entrance hall of the Peverell Castle, where Harry had been immediately tackled into a group hug by the four excited elf and an exasperated elf.

Once Harry had settled into his room in the castle, he had taken his dinner with the elves, who had informed him that Hedwig had returned to the castle in the afternoon, but was refusing to greet Harry for some reason. Harry had sighed, equally annoyed and fond of his familiar, before telling them that she was angry at him and to take care of her until she was ready to forgive Harry for his deeds. After that, Harry and Morte had settled down in the library to have a small chat.

“I’ve been reading about magical shields, Morte.”, Harry started.

Morte simply hummed.

“Do you reckon I can create them at this age?”, he asked. “The book mentioned how it was better to start working on them when the magical core is fully mature, and mine is definitely not mature yet.”

Morte hummed again. “Why do you need the barrier anyway?”, he asked.

“To block out Voldemort.”, Harry answered. “It is rather annoying when I get into his mind without any warning whatsoever. Though, I admit, it was useful during all that stealing the Stone thing, but I’d rather knowingly enter the Dark Lord’s mind instead of going to sleep and getting a ride along the man, in some Professor’s body, no less.”

Morte snorted before humming for a third time. “I admit the magical barriers will work perfectly to control and block this connection of yours, but I advise you to work with the normal Occlumency shields for now.”, he said. “The magical barriers require very strong control over your whole core which you do not have, especially over your inner one.”

Harry sighed slightly, but nodded.

“Besides,” Morte said slowly, “if, and I really give a huge emphasis on the if, by chance, you somehow get the title of my Master, your core would go through some changes and it will cause problems with those shields then.”

Harry’s lips slowly morphed into a shit-eating grin. “It wasn’t that hard, was it?”, he teased. “To accept that I will be your Master one day?”

Morte shot him an unimpressed look along with a Stinging Hex. “I said if, not when, Harrison.”, he said, annoyed.

Harry waved his hand dismissively. “It only matters that you acknowledged the truth, dear Morte.”, he drawled out.

Morte shot another Stinging Hex at Harry.

“Ow!”, Harry exclaimed rubbing his forearm. “That one was overpowered!”

“You deserved it.”, Morte sniffed, settling back down into his armchair once more. “Just use the normal barriers until you reach the age of seventeen. I’d rather you not lose your personality.” Morte eyed him. “It is already hard to deal with you, I do not know whether I would be able to fare with a Harrison who does not has his memories, or Magic forbid, had become an emotionally blank piece of flesh and bones.”

Harry snorted, imagining Morte dealing with a version of him that was only bones. It would be interesting to watch, considering Morte had the power to control dead bodies and reanimate bones.

“And of course, that is what you focus on the most.”, Morte drawled out, looking up at the ceiling with an irritated sigh.

Harry waved his hand at Morte dismissively. “That aside, Morte,” he began slowly, “Theo pointed out something on the train that got me thinking.”

“Oh, Lady Magic!”, Morte exclaimed. “Is your tiny, little mind alright?”

Harry rolled his eyes, but continued. “Magical barriers can block a person’s emotions, Morte.”, he said, his brows furrowed. “What if…..what if Tom Riddle unknowingly created these barriers in his mind to block out all the emotions a human feels? Only kept those which suited his needs? Like……anger, rage? Need for vengeance? Fear of dying? His arrogance, and belief that he was above everything?”

Morte’s eyebrows shot up. Frowning deep in thought, the being nodded. “That is quite possible.”, he said. “I will need to ask Lady Magic, of course, to confirm this theory, but it is possible. Riddle’s magic was quite strong when he was a child and he had good control over it, so it would make sense that he unknowingly made his magic to create barriers in his mind to emotionally protect himself.”

Harry blinked. “You do not actually know whether that is the case or not?”, he asked, flabbergasted.

“No, I do not.”, Morte replied.

Harry raised his eyebrows judgingly.

Morte sighed. “For your information, Harrison,” he said drily, “I am neither the Fates nor Lady Magic to know about this. I neither knew Riddle would become a Dark Lord nor that he would create a mess of his soul by trying to escape me in the coming future. And I do not know everything about what the mortals are doing with their magic to ascertain whether Riddle has actually used his to create barriers at some point.”

Harry raised his hands up in surrender. “Alright! Apologies!”, he muttered with a small smile. “I didn’t know you couldn’t use your mind reading, privacy destroying skills in that way!”

Morte gave him a deadpanned stare, before he pulled out a book from nowhere.

“Is that……,” Harry blinked, “is that Romeo and Juliet?”

“Shut up, Harrison.”, Morte muttered, his eyes fixed on the book’s page. “Just go and read something about soulmates.”

Harry grumbled. “It’s not a damn fairy tale!”

On the third morning after the summer vacations began, while Harry was enjoying a light breakfast sitting on one of the chairs in the balcony attached to his room, Morte directly shadowed himself onto a chair beside Harry, startling Harry when he offered him a folded piece of newspaper.

Harry raised his eyebrow, eyeing the newspaper with curiosity, before looking at Morte. He swallowed the scrambled egg in his mouth before asking, “You’ve started reading morning newspaper now, Morte?”

Morte rolled his eyes at him, putting the paper down on the table in front of them. “I enjoy reading through this nonsense for entertainment, Harrison.”, he replied, picking up a piece of toast for himself. “The gossip and speculations in there are way more entertaining than reading through a well-written horror novel.”

Harry eyed the newspaper with new light. “And what entertainment have you found that you’ve decided to share it with me?”, he asked lightly.

“It concerns Hogwarts.”, Morte replied mildly, chewing through toast. “I believe you’ve played a role in it.”

“Ohh.”, Harry grinned, putting down his fork to quickly pick up the newspaper and opened it eagerly.

The first page had the title ‘The Daily Prophet’ in stylized script followed by the main heading – ‘Negligence or Overconfidence: The Safest Place Not So Safe?’, which was further followed by a smaller, yet equally eye-catching heading – ‘Albus Dumbledore Slapped Fine; the Board of Governors in an Uproar’.

Harry’s grin widened as he looked at the picture just below the two headlines.

It was slightly dark in the picture, but it was light enough to spot the enormous three-headed Cerebrus lift its head from the floor, where it was resting, to look up directly at the camera. It then proceeded to open all the three of its head to give out a growl, but the sound couldn’t be heard in the picture. Before the Cerebrus could lung forward at the camera, the picture jerked and blurred before going back to play in the loop again.

Harry smiled at the picture, happy at the work the Weasley Twins had done for him. It seemed like giving them the boon over this picture was worth-it.

He quickly read through the article.

In a surprising move yesterday, Madam Bones, the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement called for an emergency hearing over one Albus Dumbledore, the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, for the irresponsible behaviour regarding keeping a very dangerous creature inside the aforementioned school.

Madam Bones informed the hearing body about getting an anonymous letter from some unknown person, who gave her the above picture as evidence regarding the accusation the unknown person levied on the Headmaster of the school.

Madam Bones proceeded to inform the members of the hearing body about acquiring actual evidence of there actually being a Cerebrus (which the above picture clearly shows) – a three-headed dog, classified XXXXX creature under the classification of the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures – living in the castle for as far back as the start of the school year. Some of the students informed the Aurors of the Headmaster cautioning them at the Welcoming Feast to not go into the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side if they ‘did not wish to die a painful death’.

The hearing members charged Dumbledore guilty of negligence of the whole student body and slapped him with a fine of 5000 Galleons and a warning that if he endangered a single child again, he would be serving a few years in Azkaban.

On the other hand, the Board of the Governors, headed by Lady Augusta Longbottom, issued the statement that they were considering what to do against the Headmaster. While most of them seemed reluctant to suspend the old wizard, Lord Lucius Malfoy was very furious regarding the safety of the students since his own son, Heir Draco Malfoy, has started going to the school himself.

Harry stopped reading the article after that as it mostly contained the unhelpful rant of some influential people.

He had hoped the Headmaster endangering the whole student body like that would at least get the man suspended for some months, but unfortunately that did not happen. It would be so wonderful if somehow the Ministry and the Board got the evidence that Dumbledore had let Voldemort come into the castle. That, in fact, the man had tried to lure the Dark Lord into the castle with the help of a Stone and had gotten the Stone stolen.

Harry wondered what Dumbledore would explain to Nicolas Flamel about the alchemist’s Stone getting stolen, anyway? Dumbledore didn’t know the Stone was a fake, after all.

While Harry was wondering through the peculiarities of the old man’s mind, an owl swooped onto the table beside his tray of breakfast and dropped a letter with the Gringotts seal. The owl then proceeded to stare at Morte with unblinking eyes.

“I think he recognizes you.”, Harry remarked as he put down the newspaper while eyeing the owl and Morte.

“He does.”, Morte nodded, now drinking his usual mug of coffee. “In the Greek myths, owls represent the Ruler of the Underworld.”

“Hades.”, Harry spoke up, remembering his reading through the old Greek and Roman myths.

“Yes.”, Morte replied, offering one arm to the owl, which tilted its head slightly before perching itself on the offered appendage. “I have a particular liking to them.”

“Let me guess.”, Harry muttered drily. “Because they roam around at night. No wonder you get along so well with Hedwig.” Harry tilted his head. “Though, roaming at night should also mean that you like bats, no?”

“No.”, Morte said, his voice harsh. “They remind me of vampires and I detest those creatures.”

“Why?”, Harry blinked, confused.

“They fucking tricked me!”

“Huh?”

“Harrison!”, Morte exclaimed, making the owl jump and perch back onto the table. Harry offered the poor animal a piece of bacon to munch on. “Surely you know those blood-sucking nuisances can shadow using my realm? They tricked me into blessing their kind with that ability, Harrison.”

“But that did make them come under your command, did it not?”, Harry asked, amused. “They are your creatures now.”

“Yes.”, Morte said, slightly whiny now. “But still! It is unbecoming of them to trick a being such as me into giving them an ability that makes them have access to my realm, however miniscule it is. I do not like creatures using the Death realm just to travel from one place to another!”

Harry hummed as he waved goodbye to the owl that had delivered him the letter and was now flying off back to London.

He picked up the letter addressed to him in Nagnok’s writing, breaking the seal and opening the letter.

Harry read through the letter slowly, his eyebrows rising to his hairline, before he snarled. “That bloody annoying old bastard!”, he muttered, his voice cold. “He’s trying to get into my trust vault to pay off his fine!”

“Really?”, Morte asked, leaning towards Harry slightly in curiosity.

Harry almost threw the letter at Morte’s face. “See for yourself.”, he said, before trying to reign in his furious magic rattling the table and chairs around him.

Morte read through the letter before chuckling. “Such a pathetic mortal.”, he murmured, giving the letter back to Harry. “Paying off his wrongdoings through his ward’s own money. Really pathetic.”

Harry took deep breaths, trying to contain his anger at the audacity of the Headmaster. Did the old man really think the goblins would let him get Harry’s money without Harry being present there when they’ve already taken the key Dumbledore had? And did he not even feel anything while trying to steal money of a child? A child, who in the Headmaster’s eyes, must only know the Potter’s trust vault to be his source of survival in the magical world which his parents had left for him?

How bloody rude!

“I was hoping he would get suspended from his position at Hogwarts.”, Harry muttered, nodding towards the newspaper when Morte raised his eyebrow at him.

“That would be hard to do when the man has such a strong support of the Ministry officials and civilians.”, Morte remarked, reclining into the chair. “Besides, he told the hearing body that he had kept the Cerebrus for security reasons, to protect a very important artifact from some untrustworthy individuals.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “And did the man inform the hearing body about that very important artifact actually being stolen under his amazing security?”, he asked, his voice sarcastic.

“He told them that the artifact has been returned to its owner.”, Morte said, drily.

“Last I checked,” Harry muttered, “Voldemort was not the owner of that fake Philosopher’s Stone. Oh! I wish I could’ve gotten Mr. Flamel to visit that hearing!”

Morte chuckled. “That is in the past now, Harrison.”, he said. “You need to concentrate on the future.”

Harry grunted.

“For example,” Morte continued, ignoring Harry’s silent sulking, “you can visit the Black elves and ask them how they are doing since they lost their Lord of House not half-a-year ago. And maybe inform them they might get a new Lord soon.”

Harry blinked, having clearly forgotten about that before groaning. “Merlin! I forgot about those poor elves!”, he exclaimed, getting up from his chair. “I’m such a bad Heir! I need to go!”

Morte chuckled, plucking another piece of toast from the breakfast tray and started munching on it. “Yes, you are a bad Heir.”, he said, receiving a dry look from Harry. “Go on then. Take Floppy with you.”, he shooed Harry with his free left hand.

Harry rolled his eyes at the being before making his way into his room. He went to his wardrobe and pulled out a simple white shirt with black slacks and a black robe.

After depositing his clothing onto his bed, he went into his bathroom and took a shower. He emerged out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. He quickly dressed up, before calling Floppy.

“Hey, Floppy.”, he greeted her with a smile.

“Master Harry.”, she bowed slightly. “What bes Master Harry needing Floppy for?”

“We need to visit the Black Castle, Floppy.”, he told her. “Lord Black passed away a few months ago and the Black elves are now alone. I should go see whether they are alright or not, and how they are faring after their Master’s death.”

Floppy’s ears drooped slightly and she nodded solemnly. “That would be wise, Master Harry.”, she replied. “Should Floppy be taking anything with her?”

“No, Floppy.”, Harry shook his head, holding out his hand to her. “Please take me to the Black Castle. Preferably at the entrance hall.”

“Of course, Master Harry.”, Floppy said as she took his hands.

Harry felt his entire being, being squeezed into a point before he felt his feet hit the hard stone floor. He wobbled slightly, still finding such kind of transportation disorienting.

While Harry tried to keep his mind from getting lost, he heard distinct pops echo around him.

Harry slowly opened his eyes and found himself being stared at by at least fifty house-elves, standing around the grand entrance hall of the Black castle. Harry looked at his surroundings, the walls seemed to be made of some kind of black stone with glittering black and white chandeliers hanging from the high ceiling. There was a grey carpet covering most of the floor with huge decorative vases kept at regular intervals around the perimeter of the walls.

“Heir Black!”, several of the house-elves exclaimed, before all of them bowed deeply together.

The house-elf at the front, who seemed to be older than all of them, wearing a black toga with a slightly larger symbol of the House Black stitched at his chest, stepped forward. “Lord Peverell-Heir-Black-Potter.”, he greeted with his head bowed. “We be extremely happy to welcome you into the castle of the House of Black.”, he continued. “My name is Brog and I be the Head elf of the Black castle.”

“Hello, Brog.”, Harry smiled at the elf before looking at the others. “How many of you are living here.”

“There being sixty elves living in the castle, Heir Black.”, Brog answered.

“That’s quite a lot of you guys.”, he remarked. He nodded at Floppy who was staring at the elves curiously. “This is Floppy, the head elf of the Peverell castle. I hope you do not mind her being here?”

“Of course not, Heir Black.”, Brog replied, nodding at Floppy who nodded back. He turned back to Harry. “Does Master Black wanting to be introduced to the rest of the elves?”

Harry smiled sheepishly as he looked at all the elves staring at him curiously. “Sure.”, he said. “But don’t get offended when I’ll mix your names up. You guys are so many here.”

Brog, along with the rest of the elves, nodded. “Of course, Master Black.”

“You may call me Harrison, no need to call me Master Black and all.”, Harry said before Brog could start introducing the others.

Brog side-eyed him, before nodding.

Half-an-hour and an extremely confusing introduction of sixty house-elves later, Harry felt as if his mind would melt.

“Are there more house-elves that come under House Black living in other properties?”, Harry asked slowly.

“Yes.”, Brog nodded. “There be twenty house elves living in the Black manor and one other who lives at the London townhouse.”

“Oh.”, Harry wrinkled his nose slightly. “So many of you guys.” He took a breath. “I, Heir Black, summon all of the house elves who come under the command of House Black.”

There were several simultaneous pops and then shuffling before twenty more house-elves stood beside the others, looking at Harry with wide-eyes.

“Hello.”, Harry said, looking at all of the new elves. One of them seemed to be extremely old and wrinkly, muttering something under his breath. “Are you alright?”, he asked to the old one.

“Kreacher is not happy to be summoned by a half-blood Master.”, the elf muttered.

Harry blinked while the rest of the elves protested at the elf for calling Harry a half-blood. “I didn’t know house-elves believed in blood purity and all that too?”, he said slowly, looking at Brog and then Floppy who shook her head frantically.

“We bes not believing in that, Master Harry.”, she said, her hands clutching her clothes tightly.

Harry turned to look at Brog, who looked parts embarrassed and parts annoyed.

“We do not believe in such either, Master Harrison.”, he said. “Kreacher lived with Lady Wulburga Black. She had an extreme view on blood purity, sir, and she taught Kreacher such as well.”

“Ah.”, Harry nodded, turning to look at Kreacher. “Have you been living alone, Kreacher?”

“Kreacher bes having Lady Wulburga at the house.”, the elf replied.

Harry frowned before understanding came over him. “Her portrait, is it?”, he asked. Kreacher nodded. “Well,” Harry glanced at Brog before looking back at Kreacher, “it is good that you are so devoted to your Mistress, Kreacher, but I’d rather have you living with these elves here in the castle.” Kreacher looked pained. Harry sighed before crouching down to come at eye-level with the elf. “I know you want nothing more than to live the rest of your life with Lady Wulburga, but living alone would cause you mental problems. How long have you been living there, in the London townhouse?”

Kreacher frowned. “Kreacher is not sure.”, he replied. “Kreacher has been there since Lord Orion was a young Heir.”

“Orion Black.”, Harry muttered under his breath. “Is he Mr. Sirius Black’s father?”

Kreacher sneered. “That troublesome, unworthy Heir, always causing problems to Lady Wulburga, refusing his responsibilities and running away to live with that Potter Heir….”

Harry blinked at the elf. Someone really didn’t seem to like their future Lord Black, he mused. He would need to keep Kreacher away from Mr. Black. “Well, Kreacher.”, he said, interrupting the elf’s rant about Sirius ‘he is nothing in comparison to Master Regulus’ Black. “I am Sirius Black’s blood-adopted son,” Harry started, Kreacher’s eyes widened along with the rest of the elves, “and I will really prefer it if you would not bad-mouth him. At least not in front of me. I understand you have had some problems with the man, but he’s been rotting in Azkaban for more than ten years when he is not really the one guilty for the crime.”

“Master Sirius is innocent?”, one of the elves asked tentatively.

“Yes.”, Harry nodded. “I’ve appointed a solicitor to file for a trial at the Ministry and I hope she will be successful in getting him out of that bloody jail.”

“Master Sirius will come to live here, Master Harrison?”, another elf asked.

“I do not know.”, Harry answered with a shake of his head as he stood up. “Once released he will need to go to St. Mungo’s for treatment since it is not really fun to spend your time with the dementors.” The elves shivered.

Harry smiled slightly. “I had just come here to see how you all were doing after Lord Black passed away.” The elves’ faces dropped and some sniffled. “I am extremely sorry that Lord Black passed away so soon and I didn’t even get the chance to meet him, but death is inevitable.”

Brog looked at him and nodded slowly. “Yes, Lord Peverell. We will be alright.”

Harry patted Brog’s shoulder, then addressed all the elves. “I think you should all stay here, in the castle, and take care of it.” He looked at Kreacher and the elves who had come from the manor. “You all should stay here as well, there are really not many members of House Black for them to randomly come unannounced at the manor or the townhouse. It will be better if you all stayed together here.”

The elves nodded, Kreacher and the manor elves hesitant.

“Take care of yourselves.”, he told them. “I do not want anyone of you to get sick taking care of the castle and not looking after yourselves. If there is any problem to any one of you, you are very welcome to come and tell me at the Peverell castle. I will be happy to help.”

Harry turned to look at Kreacher. “You specially need to take care of yourself, Kreacher. You look malnourished. Take healthy diet and rest.”, he ordered. Kreacher looked torn, but nodded.

Harry turned to Brog. “Do you guys need to bond with me?”, he asked. “My magic is still unstable, but I can try to help if you need stable magical connection with a wizard or a witch?”

Brog shook his head. “No, Master Harrison.”, he answered. “We will bond with you only when you become Lord Black. For now, we are tapping magic from the Ley Lines passing below the castle.”

“Oh.”, Harry nodded. “How many Ley Lines are under the castle?”

“Two, Master Harrison.”

“Good.”, Harry nodded. “Well, then, you all should return back to what you were doing before I came.”, he told the elves. “Please make room for the other elves who have come here and if you all are living beside the kitchens or something like that, I want you all to take guest bedrooms rather than living and sleeping over rags.”

All the elves blinked simultaneously at him, surprised at his command.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Seriously,” he muttered, “you all are the same. Floppy, tell them to get their own beds!”

Floppy sighed beside him. “Please take the spare bedrooms, elvies. Master Harry does not like his elves to live in small quarters when we have such a huge castle with no wizard or witch to occupy it.”

Harry nodded sagely beside her. “Got it, guys?”, he asked before shooing them when they all slowly nodded. “Alright then, go on! Do as I’ve told you all, alright?”

The elves looked at each other before popping away. Only Floppy and Brog remained.

“So, Brog?”, Harry said curiously. “Do you think I can visit the Black library here in the castle?”

Brog smiled slightly before nodding. “Of course, Master Harrison. This way.”, he turned and started leading them up the grand stairs.

The Black library was on the fifth-floor of the castle and covered the whole floor. The library was smaller than the one at the Peverell castle but Harry supposed the books must be spread across the manors and the other houses spread around Britain belonging to House Black.

Harry had heard about the infamous Black library which had every book imaginable on the Dark Arts. Harry couldn’t say whether the rumour was true or not, since he had access to the Peverell library which were Necromancers of all things, the masters of the Darkest of arts. Not to mention he had Morte, who could give him any book on any subject or topic, classic romantic novels notwithstanding.

Harry told Floppy and Brog to chat with each other or do whatever they wanted to, and then happily went to look through the books available in the Black library.

It might take him a whole day to go through all the titles of the books available.

Chapter Text

It took both Floppy and Brog dragging Harry out of the Black library and Floppy threatening to petrify Harry and force-feed him food, that Harry finally heaved a sigh and let himself be pulled out and served a late lunch in the Black family’s huge dining hall.

“Did you guys have to drag me into this huge hall for lunch?”, Harry asked as he warily eyed the food being served into his plate by an irritated Floppy. “I could have happily dined in the library-”

“Master Harry better not be taking the library’s name again!”, Floppy threatened, loading his plate with vegetables. “Master Harry needs to take care of his health first! How will Master Harry read all those books if he doesn’t eat properly! Magic knows, whether Master Harry was taking care of himself in that school of his!”

“I was taking care of myself!”, Harry said, spluttering when Floppy actually tried to spoon-feed him the food. “And I can eat by myself, Floppy! Stop it!”

Floppy huffed, crossing her arms across her chest.

Several of the elves had now come into the hall and were watching the argument going on between Harry and Floppy, no doubt deriving entertainment from Harry’s plight by his evil, mothering house-elf. Brog, himself, was watching them with amused eyes.

“Floppy does not think so.”, Floppy said, but handed the spoon and fork over to Harry who huffed and started eating his lunch.

Harry chatted with the elves throughout his lunch, asking them about the Black House and its history. The Blacks came under the Most Ancient and Noble Houses, the first mention of the Blacks dating back to almost the eleventh century. They were one of the largest, oldest and wealthiest of the families that came under the Sacred Twenty-Eight.

Almost all of the members of House Black were Dark; they were infamous for having very deep and thorough knowledge about the Dark Arts and rituals, and were set in their ways, following the pagan traditions and celebrations, and not merging with those they considered the ‘impure’ of blood.

Currently, only very few members of the House of Black were alive – Sirius Black, who was imprisoned in Azkaban; Narcissa Malfoy nee Black, Andromeda Tonks nee Black and Bellatrix Lestrange nee Black who were sisters and Sirius’ cousins, the third sister herself in Azkaban for torturing Neville’s parents to insanity.

“Can’t believe that….woman is related to me.”, Harry winced. “Neville’s my friend and he’s such a nice, kind guy. I don’t understand what that woman was thinking, torturing the Longbottoms like that.”

“If you be not minding,” Brog said hesitantly, “could Brog be blunt, Master Harrison?”

“Sure.”, Harry nodded, taking a sip of water. His stomach was going to burst with all the food he had stuffed in it due to Floppy.

“Mistress Bella was not being like this when she was a child.”, Brog started slowly. Harry nodded to indicate for Brog to continue. “Young Mistress Bella was a Slytherin, smart and cunning. Everybody was awed by her knowledge and magical prowess, she was powerful, Master Harrison. But then, Mistress Bella became too immersed in dangerous arts and she might have bes done something that cost her, her mind.” Brog hesitated. “Mistress Bella became obsessed with power and with You-Know-Who. It was like she bes changing completely, she became a different person.”

Harry frowned, his mind whirling with thoughts. Voldemort had created several Horcruxes to attain immortality that caused his brilliant mind to deteriorate. It couldn’t be out of the realm of possibilities if one of his followers did that too and lost their mind in the process. But, Morte would have mentioned someone else making a Horcrux, not to mention the fact that, as Morte had told him once, when they were discussing about Horcruxes, he would have dragged Voldemort kicking and screaming himself into his realm if the man wasn’t Magic’s chosen Lord for creating Horcruxes and breaking one of the fundamental laws of the universe.

Bellatrix Lestrange was not Magic’s chosen and she would need to be as powerful and resilient as Voldemort to create a Horcrux and still be alive and walking (not that Voldemort was doing that good in that department, but being a spirit must amount to something than being tortured by Morte in the being’s realm).

“Could it be,” Harry asked slowly, “that Bellatrix Lestrange had done some ritual for, say, getting more power and magic, which had taken her mind and sanity as its payment?”

Brog looked astonished, before he shook his head slowly. “I do not know, Master Harrison.”, he answered. “Elvan magic does not recognize such ritual, Master Harrison. And Mistress Bella did not be visiting the castle after she got out of Hogwarts, so Brog does not know much. I bes only hearing Lord Black mentioning about it.”

Harry nodded. “Understandable, Brog.”, he said. “If she’s really not into a right state of mind, then I might try to help her if I help that man. But forgiving her will not be my decision, that will be Neville’s and Lady Longbottom’s.” He sighed. “Well, that heavy topic aside, may I borrow some books from the library regarding Soul Magic? I am doing some research on the topic.”

Brog’s eyebrows were touching what could have been his hairline if he’d had hairs. “Isn’t Master Harrison a little young to be researching on such topic?”, he asked.

Harry shrugged, Floppy giggled.

“Master Morte bes teaching Master Harry such topic since Master Harry got into the castle.”, she replied. “Brog must not worry over such a thing.”

Brog looked at Floppy. “Who is being Master Morte?”, he asked.

“Master Lord Death, of course.”, Floppy answered, her voice smug.

Harry snorted before he saw all the house-elves except Floppy paling and blanching. Harry grimaced. “Shouldn’t have told them yet, Floppy.”, he muttered.

“Master Lord D-death!”, Brog exclaimed. “What bes Master Harrison doing with Master Lord Death?!”

“Just call him Morte, Brog.”, Harry said, calmly. “He’s my magical guardian so he needs to teach me such. And these topics come under my magical affinity so I would need to know about it all.”

This time the whole house-elf population had their large eyes widened, staring at him with awes clearly shining in them.

“Master Harrison bes having affinity for Soul Magic?”, Brog whispered, his voice reverent.

“He’s being bringing the House of Black so much pride and elevating the name of House of Black to how it was before!”, one of the elves exclaimed.

“There’s being no Masters of Souls in the House of Black for five centuries!”, another exclaimed.

Harry sighed as more and more elves became praising his affinity, happy that House Black had him as its Heir. “Of course you would think about House pride first.”, he mumbled to himself, stuffing his face with his last bite of treacle tart which the house-elves had happily provided him.

Finally, when Harry couldn’t take in Kreacher praising his Master Regulus anymore (how had the topic of affinity for Soul Magic gone to Regulus Black?), he held his hand up, effectively silencing all the elves in an instant. “As much as I would love to hear you all praise each member of House Black, I think I should go back to the library and get some books.”, he announced standing up. “Brog, you wouldn’t mind me borrowing some books, would you?”

“Of course not, Master Harrison.”, Brog said with a small bow. “Master could take anything he wants.”

“Thank you, Brog.”, Harry said, smiling. “And thank you all for the lunch, it was delicious, and for staying and talking with me. I really appreciate it. Remember, if you need anything or have some problem, come to me at the Peverell castle. I will try to help you all if needed, alright?”

All the elves nodded together.

“Good.”, Harry nodded. “I will be in the library for a few more hours and then I would depart. Take care of yourselves.”

With the farewells from the elves, Harry made his way out of the dining hall with Floppy and Brog walking along with him and made his way back towards the library.

He had seen some books on Soul Magic and Horcruxes which he needed to take with him to go through.

----------

Heir Harrison James Potter-Black,

I am happy to inform you, Harrison, that I have successfully conducted a meeting with Madam Amelia Bones, who albeit surprised initially, agreed to allow a meeting with Mr. Sirius Black regarding whether he would agree to wanting a re-trial or not.

I am scheduled to meet him on the fifth of July, two days from now. Once he agrees to and consents to the use of Veritserum, Madam Bones will schedule a trial date, which will hopefully be around the tenth of July.

Madam Bones has also agreed to keep this information hidden from most of the Ministry employees; only those would be told who will be accompanying me to Azkaban for the meeting.

I will be informing you about the meeting with Mr. Sirius Black once I return from it.

Regards

Hestia Jones

Solicitor

Dawlish Law Firm

Harry read through the letter twice before taking a deep breath and slumping down in his chair. Hopefully, Mr. Black will be coherent and conscious enough to agree to the use of Veritserum without Miss. Hestia needing to convince him much.

----

Heir Harrison James Potter-Black,

I have met with Mr. Sirius Black and he has agreed for a re-trail and the use of Veritserum on him, stating that it will not be a re-trial since he did not get one before this.

I admit, I was immensely surprised and thus, told Madam Bones about such who looked horrified at the thought alone. I believe she will check through the trial scripts kept in the Ministry to deny Mr. Black’s claim.

The date of the trial has been scheduled for the eleventh of July.

As for your question regarding coming to the trial yourself, you have the right to come, seeing as you are the petitioner, but you could also send someone as proxy and not come yourself. It is completely up to you.

I will be waiting for your decision.

Regards

Hestia Jones

Solicitor

Dawlish Law Firm

“Do you think I should go to the trial?”, Harry asked, looking up from the letter and at Morte who was reading through some novel titled ‘Sense and Sensibility’.

“Do you think someone will take you from your home at Privet Drive to the Ministry in London for your supposed criminal godfather's trial?”, Morte asked back.

“Hmm.”, Harry frowned. “Yes, my magical guardian will.”

Morte paused while turning the page of his novel. “Well, then.”, he muttered. “Do you want your poor magical guardian to come face-to-face with Albus Dumbledore, the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot?”

Harry blinked. “My magical guardian is in no way ‘poor’, in any sense of the word.”, Harry made air-quotes at the word ‘poor’, rolling his eyes at his poor guardian. “And do you want to come face-to-face with that guy?”

“No.”, Morte deadpanned. “I might reap that man’s soul if I see his eyes twinkling for more than thirty seconds and forty-seven microseconds.”

Harry raised his eyebrow at Morte. “That is oddly very precise.”, he remarked, amused. “Were you practising it with someone?”

Morte huffed.

Harry stared.

“Fine.”, Morte sniffed. “I created the man’s lookalike and stared at its face. Those Magic-damned eyes got on my nerves! Even Lady Magic’s eyes do not do that!”

Harry chuckled. “Man, that shows how much useless time you beings have to spare.”, he said and Morte huffed. “Well……do you think I should go?”

“It’s really up to you, Harrison.”, Morte answered, returning to his book. “If you want to see useless mortals bickering with each other that will make you want to kill half of them as slowly and torturously as you can, then sure, you should go.”

Harry winced, tapping his index right finger on his thigh. “You really think they will annoy me like that?”, he asked.

Morte shrugged. “Can’t say, Harrison. I am not the Fates.”, he drawled out. “But they do tend to get on a sensible person’s nerves, not that,” Morte eyed Harry dubiously, “you are one.”

Harry gave Morte his most unimpressed look before shrugging him off. “I suppose, I shouldn’t go then. Besides, Dumbledore mustn’t think that my new magical guardian is helping me more than he probably should.”

“Any magical guardian other than Dumbledore will be helping you more than they should, according to that old man.”, Morte pointed out drily.

Harry sighed. This will be a long week.

--------

Heir Harrison James Potter-Black,

I am more than delighted to inform you that we have won the case. And it was really very straight forward.

I simply presented Mr. and Mrs. Potter’s Wills with the relevant parts only and the Wizengamot was in an instant uproar. And once Mr. Black took the Veritserum and answered my questions, it became an easy decision for the members to see clearly how Mr. Black had been wrongfully imprisoned.

I also told the Wizengamot that Mr. Black had not been given a trial and had been imprisoned without any chance to prove his innocence.

The Ministry has formerly apologized to Mr. Black for imprisoning him wrongfully and has offered him compensation of one-hundred thousand galleons and to take care of his expenses while he is admitted at St. Mungo’s.

Mr. Black’s mind seems to be not that badly affected by the dementors as compared to the other prisoners, but he does need to rest and take care of his health; and he definitely needs to meet a mind healer for at least a year.

I believe you will be able to visit your godfather around the end of August, if not in the middle of the month. But, I believe, he wouldn’t be able to take your guardianship for at least a year if not more.

Aside from that, Headmaster Dumbledore was asking me about your magical guardian, Morte. I told him I met him once, of course, when I met you. He seems to be extremely curious about Mr. Morte. I believe he will give you a visit soon to ask more about your guardian.

And, that concludes this letter. I will await your response, and whether you want a meeting to discuss anything you wish to.

I am really happy to provide you with my services.

Regards

Hestia Jones

Solicitor

Dawlish Law Firm

Harry slumped down into his armchair, giving out a huge sigh of relief.

They had finally managed to get Mr. Black out of Azkaban, something for which they’d been preparing for three years.

But now that the man was out, Harry needed to decide within the holidays what he wanted to do about his guardianship, and how he will convince Mr. Black that Dumbledore was not the ideal person that he portrayed himself to be.

“How much do you think it will take to get Mr. Black on my side, Morte?”, Harry asked, his eyebrows furrowed as he stared at Morte. The being was scribbling something down on a piece of parchment and muttering under his breath.

Morte hummed, not looking up from his work. “I can not say much, Harrison.”, he replied. “Sirius Black came from a Dark family and he rejected it to join his best friend on the other side. Granted, he did not know the actual reasons behind the war going on in his country for so long, but it might take a while to make him see reason. Also, Dumbledore gave your father and blood-adopted father such leeway when they pulled pranks and bullied students, that Dumbledore became their favourite professor at Hogwarts.”

“Of course.”, Harry muttered under his breath.

“It will be hard indeed to make him stop worshipping his favourite professor and mentor and see him for what he truly is.”

Harry hummed, twirling his wand in his hand. “So, I should start with planting the seed of doubt in his mind, yes?”, he wondered out loud. “Ask him whether anyone knew about him not being the Secret Keeper of the Potters after they switched to that bastard. And wonder why Dumbledore did not try to pull him out of Azkaban when he already knew.”

“That can work.”, Morte said, making a flourish with his quill as he reached the end of the parchment.

“I will do that then.”, Harry nodded, standing up. “Ready for a mock duel in which you will cheat to win?”

“Real life duels will involve magicals using Apparition to one up you, Harrison.”, Morte said vanishing his parchments and quill. “You will need to acquaint yourself to their magic to recognize where they might appear.”

“I will create an Anti-Apparition ward.”, Harry mumbled, crossing his arms defensively across his chest. “And you do not use Apparition, Morte, you use shadows to travel! How in Merlin’s name am I supposed to pick it up when I haven’t yet mastered…you!”

“You can never master me, Harrison.”, Morte sniffed, crossing his arms as well. “And you have got some affinities. Employ them!”

Harry huffed. “You are a being, Morte, how the hell am I supposed to win!”, he pointed out. “Create those dummies for duels as well, because my dignity cannot take any more crushing defeats.”

“You do not have dignity in front of me, Harrison.”, Morte drawled out, getting up from his armchair. “And quit whining now. Let’s duel!”

-----

MINISTRY’S GREATEST BLUNDER: INNOCENT CHARGED GUITLY UNDER NO TRIAL; FINALLY GETS FREEDOM AFTER TEN YEARS SPENT IN AZKABAN

In a sudden summons yesterday, the Head of Magical Law Enforcement, Madam Amelia Bones, called for an emergency re-trail of one of the prisoners sentenced to highest-security cells in Azkaban, Mr. Sirius Orion Black, on a petition filed by Solicitor Hestia Jones on behalf of Heir Harry James Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived himself, after he opened his parents’, Mr. James Potter and Mrs. Lily Potter, Wills and found some anomaly.

According to the Ministry records, Sirius Black was found guilty of being a Death Eater – a follower of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named – who betrayed late Mr. and Mrs. Potter to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and was found to have mercilessly murdered twelve muggles along with a wizard named Peter Pettigrew in a muggle street just after that Halloween night.

But, during the trial, it was revealed that Sirius Black was not the Secret Keeper of the Potters, which was clearly stated in their Wills which also claimed Peter Pettigrew to be their Secret Keeper.

The surprise did not end there. Mr. Black, under the effects of Veritserum, answered all the questions asked by his solicitor, making it completely clear that he was innocent of all the crimes and that Peter Pettigrew must still be alive because he had escaped that day by turning into his Animagus form which is a rat.

And, it was also revealed by Solicitor Jones that Sirius Black did not get any trial in the beginning and was thrown into Azkaban without getting any chance to prove himself innocent.

The Ministry has, of course, given a public apology to Mr. Black, along with one-hundred thousand galleons and to take care of the expenses that will be levied on Mr. Black at St. Mungo’s.

We did not get any comments from Mr. Black, but Solicitor Jones firmly stated, “I was disheartened when I learned about such a plight of the Ministry against my client’s godfather and was determined to get Mr. Black justice.” When asked about Heir Potter, Solicitor Jones refused to comment saying that Heir Potter wished to stay out of media’s light, and will appreciate it if his privacy was respected.

But the question remains that if such a plight could happen against an Heir of a Most Ancient and Noble House, then couldn’t it happen to others as well? The Ministry needs to be careful and must acknowledge and hold justice fairly and justly instead of falsely imprisoning innocents.

--------------------

Two days later, while Harry was contemplating how exactly will Dumbledore enquire about Morte without tipping off the Ministry that he did not have any control over Harry anymore as he ideally went through how to perform surface Legilimency without the victim realizing it, Morte shadowed directly beside Harry – making him squeak (which he will deny until his grave) – and pulled him up, magically Transfiguring Harry’s blue robes into a pair of baggy pant and shirt, deposited Harry’s book onto his armchair, and shadowed him directly into what he recognized as Dudley’s second bedroom, filled with Dudley’s broken things.

“Listen carefully, Harrison.”, Morte spoke-up, transforming the whole storeroom into the room Harry had occupied one year ago when he’d stayed here to get his Hogwarts’ letter with barely a flick of his hand. “Dumbledore’s here and he’s definitely going to enquire about me. Do as we discussed, yes?”

Harry’s confused look transformed into one of annoyance. “He had to visit me, didn’t he?”, he muttered as he nodded at Morte’s question. “He will definitely try his surface reading capability?”

“Yes.”, Morte replied, nodding towards the door when the doorbell downstairs rang. “Go down, or your dear Aunt would ruin five percent of our whole game.”

Harry snorted before moving towards the door. “You better get me back to the castle after I’ve dealt with that nonsense.”

“Yes, yes.”, Morte waved his hands to shoo Harry out of the room. “Just go out and entertain me!”

Harry rolled his eyes at the being before silently and carefully making his way down the stairs. He could hear the unmistakable genial voice of the Headmaster and the stuttering and fearful voice of Petunia having a rather one-sided conversation downstairs.

“- you see, I have a very important message for Mr. Potter that couldn’t wait for the summer vacations to be over.”, Dumbledore was saying. “If you will be so kind as to call him from wherever he is, Mrs. Dursley?”

“D-dumbledore, he’s-”

“Headmaster.”, Harry interrupted Petunia, sure that she was actually going to tell the old man Harry wasn’t here, living in the house, completely forgetting Morte’s warning regarding the painful result of breaking the spell she had been put under three years ago. “I did not know the Hogwarts’ Headmaster gave its students visits during the holidays.”, he remarked as he stopped at the foot of the stairs, ignoring Petunia’s wide-eyes as she stared at him with shock.

Dumbledore chuckled, looking at him. Harry made sure not to hold the old man’s gaze for any longer than five seconds. “That does not happen, Harry.”, he said, before motioning to a still-frozen Petunia. “As I was telling your aunt here, I have a very important information for you that I believe we need to discuss since it concerns your life.”

“Does it now?”, Harry asked, eyeing Petunia who was now looking from Harry to Dumbledore to the stairs. “Why don’t you go back to whatever you were doing before, Aunt Petunia?”, he suggested, breaking the woman’s inner confusion. “I don’t believe whatever the information the Headmaster wants to share will concern you.”

Petunia sneered, glaring at Harry, before she turned her glare to Dumbledore. “You are not invited into my drawing room, Dumbledore!”, she hissed, and if Harry did not know any better, he would have thought she was speaking Parseltongue. “Go chat with that freak-”, she concealed her flinch rather brilliantly, “-in Dud-his room!”

And with that she marched towards the kitchen, the door slamming shut behind her.

Harry stared at the closed door with mild amusement – people like the Dursleys will never learn and adapt – then turned back to Dumbledore, raising one of his eyebrows at the Headmaster, who appeared as if he hadn’t witnessed a mild verbal abuse of an almost twelve-year-old child. “Will you like to come into my room, Headmaster?”, he asked smoothly, his voice mild and polite.

“I will be delighted to, my boy.”, Dumbledore smiled, motioning his hands towards the stairs. “Please lead the way.”

Harry did not say anything to that and sharply turned on his heels and started walking up the stairs. He stopped in front of Dudley’s second bedroom, opened the door and marched right in.

‘His’ bed was barely holding itself upright, with a thin mattress and a threadbare blanket. Harry sat down on it, indicating for the Headmaster to take the chair with one of its legs slightly cracked, kept beside the table which had nothing on it except some spare pieces of paper and two pens.

Dumbledore eyed the chair warily before pulling out his not-Elder Wand (Harry was smug; damn right that Wand shouldn’t be working for that bastard) and Transfigured the chair into a more comfortable one.

Harry couldn’t stop himself from rolling his eyes at the man’s hypocrisy.

“So, what was the important information you wanted to give me, Headmaster?”, Harry asked, trying to ignore the old man’s too bright robes. That explained why Petunia had ushered the man into the house so quickly.

“Ah, yes, my boy.”, Dumbledore nodded sagely. “I believe you petitioned for a re-trial of Mr. Sirius Black?”

“Yes, I did.”, Harry answered, wondering where the Headmaster was going with this.

If the old man believed Harry wouldn’t find out about Mr. Black being proven not-guilty in the court, then he will surely have something coming. For Merlin’s sake, the newspaper – The Daily Prophet – seemed to be having a field day with the chaos the trial had caused in the Ministry. Surely, Harry – who was secluded from the Wizarding World, in the man’s eyes – would get the information from his friends, if not his solicitor.

Speaking of friends, where the hell were they?! Harry hadn’t received a single letter from any one of them, nor any replies to the letters he had sent them asking them about when they wanted to meet him at Diagon.

“May I enquire as to where you learned from about your parents’ Wills?”, Dumbledore asked mildly, his voice barely showing any irritation or anger – the emotions Harry believed the man was actually feeling.

“One of the goblins told me.”, Harry answered, equally mild, deciding to stay as vague as humanly possible. He won’t give any ammunition to Dumbledore and get the man alerted to something Harry wouldn’t like.

“And,” Dumbledore said slowly, his blue eyes intently focused on Harry, “you did not believe to contact any adult regarding the decision of opening those Wills?”

Harry’s eyes narrowed slightly as he stared at the bookshelf kept across from the bed. “Why would I need to contact any adult regarding the opening of my parents’ Wills?”, Harry asked.

Dumbledore sighed. “You should have at least informed someone you trust, my boy.”, he said, staring at Harry as if he’d never met someone who had disappointed him more than Harry had.

Harry wanted to punch the bastard.

“The goblins are a very vicious species of creatures, they might have harmed you, my dear boy.”

“But they did not.”, Harry bit out, planning on sharing this memory with the goblins to get their full support against Dumbledore, not that they weren't in support of Harry. “And I did inform one adult about me opening my parents’ Wills.”

“You did?”, Dumbledore asked, his eyes shining. “Who was he, my boy?”

“Why do you assume it was a ‘he’, Headmaster?”, Harry asked, tilting his head at the man. “I informed Miss Jones, who offered to take the case when it became clear Mr. Black was innocent.”

Dumbledore seemed to deflate slightly at Harry’s response. “That is her job, my boy.”, he said, trying and failing to hide his impatience. “I was thinking along the lines of some adult who could have given you sound advice regarding such a decision.”

Harry rolled his eyes in front of the Headmaster. “It isn’t like deciding on whether to open my parents’ Will or not is that hard, Headmaster.”, he drawled out, feeling more than seeing the old man’s eyes narrow at him and his magic flare out in agitation. “Besides, the magical world is fairly new to me and I do not trust any adult in it. At least I haven’t met any that had won my trust over yet.” Professor Snape could come in the category of Harry’s trusted adults, but the Potions Master was tied with a Secrecy Oath, so there was that.

Dumbledore took a breath. “What about your magical guardian, Harry?”, he finally asked.

Harry was starting to wonder how long they would play this game, where Dumbledore would ask Harry some question that would require an answer involving Morte while Harry would evade it just for his amusement (and Morte's, no doubt; the being must be definitely enjoying himself right now).

Harry shrugged. “He knew. I didn’t need to inform him.”, he answered.

“So, you’ve met him?”, Dumbledore asked eagerly, leaning towards Harry.

“Of course.”, Harry replied. “Who wouldn’t meet their guardian?”

“When did you meet him?”

Harry raised his eyebrow at Dumbledore. “I do not understand why this is relevant to you, Headmaster.”, he said.

“My boy,” Dumbledore said gravely, his expression sad, “as your Headmaster, I have a duty to ensure you are safe and healthy-”

Yeah, like the bastard had ensured his with the Dursleys, Harry thought with annoyance.

“-with your guardian. I have found out just recently that your guardian is this Morte Peverell instead of your family, or your Head of House or me, as your Headmaster.”, Dumbledore continued. “What is truly troubling is that nobody knows anything about this Mr. Peverell and the Peverell line has been extinct for several centuries so it is hard to understand where he came from exactly. And now I hear about this man, who hails from one of the Darkest families of magical Britain, having a guardianship over you. For all we know, this man could be working for Voldemort and will hand you over to him once he comes back to power.”

Harry stayed silent for a moment, thinking through his words carefully. At last, he shook his head. “I have met Morte, Headmaster, and we have talked. I assure you, he does not support Voldemort and his mass killings.”, he said, wondering whether Morte liked the increase in number of souls in his realm due to the Dark Lord murdering so many of them. Then again, the being hated doing paperwork, so it would be more likely that the killings made Morte hate Voldemort more.

“And what is this about Morte handing me over to Voldemort?”, Harry asked, trying to make his voice sound curious. “I thought the Dark Lord was killed on that….night?”

“Ah, yes, my boy.”, Dumbledore nodded gravely. “I apologize for not telling you this sooner, but Voldemort is still out there, bidding his time to come back and start his reign of terror again. The Ministry and almost the whole magical population of Britain though, believes that Voldemort died that night, which is, as I said, not the case.”

Harry stared at Dumbledore for a moment, before nodding. “Well…”, he said, “what was the important message you wished to give me, Headmaster?”

Dumbledore blinked, obviously surprised at Harry for dismissing the whole Voldemort-being-alive-thing without so much as a blink. No doubt, the man was hoping Harry would either start shouting his bloody revenge right then and there or shiver in fear from the infamous Dark wizard who had murdered his parents.

“Ah, yes.”, Dumbledore nodded. “I was here to inform you about your magical guardian being Mr. Morte Peverell, someone whom, I falsely believed, you did not know, my boy.” Dumbledore peered at Harry from above his glasses. “Just to sate an old man’s worry, my boy, if you will please tell me when did you first meet Mr. Peverell?”

Harry stared at Dumbledore, before shrugging. “When I was nine.”, he replied.

“How..did you meet him, my boy?”

Would this guy stop with the ‘my boy’ thing? It was so irritating!

“He visited me.”

“For what?”

A full-on interrogation then.

“To inform me that the accidents that I caused and the freakish things I did was actually magic and that there was a magical world hidden away from the non-magicals, of course.”, Harry answered.

“Did he not offer to take you with him?”, Dumbledore asked, his eyebrows furrowed slightly.

“Oh, he certainly offered.”, Harry answered with a wry grin. “Was all too happy to show me his paperwork and whatnot, but then it seemed like magic knocked some sense into him, and he realized that he travelled around the world a lot and it wouldn’t be good for me to tag along with him everywhere since it would cause problems to the both of us.”

Dumbledore gave a miniscule sigh of relief. “That is good, my boy.”, he said. “It really wouldn’t have been good for you to stay with someone who did not had a permanent residence and who couldn’t provide you with proper care.”

Harry refrained from cursing the man. As if the Dursleys were the epitome of proper health and care, he thought sarcastically. Just look at their darling son, the guy looked like a baby elephant with all the fat he consumed – Harry had seen the guy once or twice while he had come to take care of the Dursleys’ garden every Sunday – his new modified schedule – waddling around the neighbourhood, terrorizing some poor kid, with his hooligan gang of friends.

“Of course, Headmaster.”, Harry agreed, his voice sounding overly sweet to him. “Though I would have loved to get away from my relatives. We seem to have a love-hate relationship going on, where love is positively non-existent.”

“Ah, my boy, you shouldn’t say something like that.”, Dumbledore gave Harry another of his ‘I am very disappointed in you, my boy’ look, which only made Harry want to punch the man more. “Your relatives have given a place in their home to you and do take care of you. This is not the way to show your gratitude to them.”

Harry ducked his head slightly, hoping with all his might to not kill the old man right then and there. It was one thing to chastise someone you thought was being ungrateful to people who had provided them a roof over their head, but it was completely another thing to have the gall to chastise someone you had personally made sure to place with an abusive family about them not being grateful to said abusive family.

Was this guy for real? Should Harry call St. Mungo’s Long-Term Ward for a mentally damaged, manipulative old fool? Where there any mental institutions in the Wizarding World? Was there any calling system in place at the Wizarding World apart from the Floo?

“Of course, Headmaster.”, Harry muttered, trying to keep his breath steady and even.

It really wouldn’t do to kill the bastard. At least, he shouldn’t yet. It will be too easy for the authorities to figure out who had done the deed of taking care of the old fool.

“Well, Harry.”, Dumbledore said as he stood up, dusting his robes. “I must be off now. Will you be so kind as to inform me if Mr. Peverell comes to visit you again?”

“As you wish, Headmaster.”

“Very well, my boy.”, Dumbledore nodded. “Take care.”

Harry nodded back, but said nothing. He kept sitting as he heard Dumbledore open the door and get out before closing the door behind him. He heard him walking down the stairs, heard a shriek and a shout – Dudley and Petunia, respectively – before the front door opened.

Harry shook his head as he felt another ward of Dumbledore – this one which could detect anyone and everyone who weren’t the inhabitants of Number Four crossing the ward and will inform Dumbledore about them.

“Thinks he can detect me entering this puny house.”, Morte said as he shadowed beside Harry, his voice amused. “You did well, it was entertaining to watch you hold in your magic from killing that man.”, Morte continued. “I must say, you’ve got an excellent control over it, I really would have killed the old man before he had even opened his mouth.”

Harry snorted, slumping down on Morte’s shoulder. “I do not understand why he didn’t just write you a letter.”, he muttered, closing his eyes. “Wouldn’t that be way easier than roaming around and asking about you?”

Morte chuckled. “But he does not know anything about me.”, he said. “The Ministry’s got nothing and the goblins won’t say anything. Dumbledore does not like not knowing. I am a new player in his game and he’s unsure. Obviously, he will try to first know as much as he could about me before confronting.”

Harry huffed. “He’s so irritating and infuriating.”

“I know, kid,” Morte said, patting Harry’s head, “I know.”