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Chapter Text

CHAPTER 1:

Death and Fate were never kind to humans... But there were those with enough greed to gain their favor.

Back then, when he was simply naive and tired, Harry had long since abandoned the ambition to do something for himself. The capability to be selfish was stripped from him, a man who's entire life was lived for others. That was the purpose of the chosen one; Harry Potter . He lived for others, not himself.

Thus, the day he died at the age of 130, he felt as if he had no regrets. His cold and limp hand held by his own grandchildren, and great grandchildren weep for him. Harry has outlived most of his friends. Ron had died first at the age of 97, Hermione followed him 4 years later. His beloved Ginny did not live past 100. Harry had lived for 30 years without his friends and wife.

He lived. He lived for the sake of those around him. His children were close to death as well, but he endured the pain and lived longer

Thus, when all the life he had was squeezed out of him, Harry Potter died at the age of 130, outliving even the great Albus Dumbledore. 

Harry had never planned to wake up, but he opened his eyes to his seventeen year old self. He was back in King's Cross, painted completely white. It was silent, before the great hero of the wizarding world turned towards the cloaked figure waiting for him.

Death had come to grit him after Harry had not visited the entity for a century.

"Long time no see." Harry wryly chuckled. It had been more than a hundred years since he faced death. As a teenager, death was all he knew. Yet as he grew, he understood that there were many things to do besides die.

"I suppose you're here to take me to the afterlife…" Harry murmured, closing his eyes. Death was silent, not speaking to him, but Harry could feel death move towards him. He shuddered at the sensation of the entity's presence. A mixture of hot and cold, welcoming and hostile. Death could be either to others. It could be mercy or a punishment. To Harry, death was both. Death was a punishment for failure, at the same time it was his freedom.

"You're not here for that… aren't you." 

It wasn't a question. He was Harry bloody Potter. Nothing was easy nor simple for him. There had to be some sort of trouble in everything he did.

Thus death outstretched its hand towards him. Death was Harry's old friend.

"Do you wish to live?" Death asked, as if knowing what the answer was. 

Harry blinked in surprise, hesitant before answering. "Not particularly." He didn't need to love again. He had done everything a man could in a single lifetime. He had fought the dark lord for the entirety of his teenage years. He killed a Basilisk at the age of twelve. He helped his fugitive godfather escape from dementors, even mastering the patronus at the age of thirteen. He won the Triwizard tournament and resisted the imperius curse at fourteen. Endured the pain of a blood quill at fifteen. Witnessed Albus Dumbledore die at sixteen, and defeat the dark lord at seventeen. Became head of the auror department by the time he was 26.

His life was eventful— but that didn't always mean it was good.

"But do you wish to fulfill all the desires you could not? As master of death you have a choice…to die or to live once again."

That caused Harry to falter.

Harry was never supposed to be selfish. He wasn't allowed to be selfish. He was raised as a pig for slaughter, raised to be a child who would die for the world. He couldn't be so greedy to think of his own dreams. He lived for others, not himself. Harry was taught, raised, and born to understand and fulfill others wants and needs. The moment he was condemned to the fate of a prophecy, his entire life was not his own. 

The hand offered was not held for a long time, as Harry stared at Death. Truly, death was merciful and cruel. The mere concept of greed was not part of Harry, trembling as he grit his teeth and stared at the hand in great hesitation.

He wasn't greedy.

"It is okay… to be greedy."

"I'm not supposed to be so tactless." 

Harry sighed. He was accustomed to being humble, thoughtful, and absolutely mindful of the wants and needs of those around him. Being selfish ruined his image as the heroic young man that had saved the wizarding world at seventeen. He was the father of four wonderful children and grandfather of many grandchildren that those four had sired. He was… a humble and… selfless man. 

"It is okay to want… Do you wish to live?"

Death once again, tone much more urging.

His hand trembled, hesitantly accepting Death's offer. Harry Potter has lived for more than a century. He had outlived so many people, yet he knew that he never lived for himself. Thus he succumbed to the greedy desire of wanting to live once more. The greed his own relatives had squashed when he was young, the greed Dumbledore had worked so hard to get rid of simply burst and all Harry could feel was the need to want everything in his hands.

"Would I get to live for myself? Will I be able to be who I am?" Harry asked, as if Death would lie to him. It was a thought that would forever be wrong. Because in the end, Death was always honest to him.

Death simply chuckled, guiding Harry towards the train. The experience was similar to when Harry had first entered Kings Cross in his first year.

"That is ultimately up to you, young master."

He has lived, over and over again, wishing to fulfill his own desires. He  had grown in such a time, understanding his own greed and desires. Harry had lived as completely different people with different wants and needs. Although similar to who he originally was, Harry had grown.

In the beginning he was hesitant to show his greed. He hadn't known it would be the beginning of his own future.

Harry had discovered such a thing by the simple taste of it in his second life. His life as James Potter's younger brother, Malcolm Charlus Potter. 

The first time Harry, Malcolm, was allowed to be greedy was when his parents had first asked him what kind of toys he would like. He was five that time. James had even helped him pick out what he wanted, and all he could think of was if he was even allowed.

He was allowed to want. 

Harry Potter, now Malcolm Potter, had brought home 7 toys that day, content and satisfied with himself.

The next time he had felt a complete sense of greed was 6 years after that when he was eleven. His father, Fleamont, had happily allowed him to pick out any books he wished to bring with him. Malcolm had been greedy when picking out the books he wanted, a variety of potions and transfiguration books.

Malcolm had gone to Hogwarts, happily spending his time with James, who was a year older than him, and the rest of the marauders.

The next time Harry felt greedy was when he first met Lily Evans. His wish to spend time with her and James grew with every moment he had felt of his parents in his first life. He had been greedy, asking Lily for help in his lessons, treating her like family, and inevitably having her as his sister-in-law.

His greed grew more and more.

James and Lily had survived, Malcolm had been their secret keeper and never left Godric's hollow. Malcolm had lived with Lily and James the entire time the fidelius charm was active, never leaving and taking care of his nephew, his previous self.

It had been an odd experience at that time, babysitting himself.

His life as Malcolm had been happy, until he had died fighting death eaters. His death had been a catalyst to Voldemort's defeat.

Thus, in the arms of his older brothers and sister, Malcolm died with a smile on his face. 

"I'll… say hi to Reggie for you…"

Malcolm Potter died, unable to keep his promise to Sirius. He couldn't say hi to Regulus, once again standing before the train and smiling at Death.

Harry had decided to live again.

His greed could not be satisfied.

In his third life, Harry woke up into the body of five year old Arcturus Black. 

Harry was absolutely confused in this life. He hadn't been raised in a traditionally pureblood home in the previous two lives. Being a Black meant stricter tutorage, much more specific hobbies, and talents to be perfectly honed. His etiquette had improved well in this life, considering he was the grandfather of Sirius and Regulus. Regardless of that, Arcturus had grown to be a sort of prodigy due to Harry's memories of his past lives.

The third life of Harry Potter was sorted into Slytherin, following the tradition of his family. He was the epitome of it and had learned of how the Slytherins operated. As Arcturus, he was much more greedy than his life as Malcolm. He was a Black after all, destined to be the next lord. Arcturus had been greedy, taking everything he wanted no matter the cost. He had been greedy his entire life. He was praised, worshiped, and over all treated as the future lord he was destined to be. Arcturus' grew to be rather manipulative and cruel.

Even when he began to miss the feeling of having a sibling, his greed did not disperse and like always, he had gotten what he wanted. When he was seventeen, Arcturus' mother announced she was pregnant with their second child. Arcturus became the older brother of Dorea Black, Charlus Potter's future wife and James Potter's aunt.

"Take care of her Arcturus." Hesper Black told her son, little Dorea, in her arms. "She is your only sibling."

Arcturus gazed down at the small child in his mother's arms. Only a few days old, and yet he could sense the magic forming within her. He could help but smile, slowly taking the child from his mother's grasp as he cooed lovingly at it. His mother and father sighing in relief at the sight of their ruthless son melting at the sight of his sister.

"My precious little Dorea. If you ever wish for the world, tell your older brother and I will give it to you." Arcturus said, a promise that had sent shivers down his family's spines.

As years had passed, Arcturus was still greedy, but no longer was it just for himself. Dorea was like the sun to him, a star that he protected from everyone else. It has been Arcturus who had personally sent her off to Hogwarts once his parents grew too weak to leave the comfort of their home. It had been Arcturus who pampered and spoiled her rotten. It had been Arcturus who danced with her when she had come of age. It had been Arcturus who stood beside Charlus as their father gave Dorea away, to wed his brother in law.

It had been Arcturus who his sister last saw when she died. 

He had been greedy and lived longer than when he was Malcolm. His life lasted almost as long as when he had been Harry Potter, dying when he had been at 100 years old.

Once again, Harry died then chose to live another life.

In Harry's fourth life, he had woken up as Clarisse Laurent, a French muggleborn. Harry had disliked this life. Clarisse Laurent was around the same age as James Sirius, born in the august of 2004. While she was first starting Beauxbatons, Harry would be suffering at the hands of the Dursleys.

Clarisse was born into a family that reacted negatively to her magic. Her father avoided her after she turned eleven, her mother once tried to drag her to the church to be exorcised, and her older brother who mercilessly bullied her. They were a considerably religious family, his mother worse than his father.

She attended Beauxbatons and experienced the discrimination of the purebloods to muggleborns. Clarisse had despised them. She hated them all for several reasons that simply traced back to her origins. She was treated much differently, but Clarisse Laurent was a muggleborn with average looks compared to the veela-like students of Beauxbatons. There was a teacher who detested her for her blood and appearance, favoring the more influential students— purebloods.

She hated the muggles for not accepting and understanding magic. She hated the bigoted purebloods whose blood was diluted and filthier than hers. In this life, she began to understand that the lines between magical and non magical weren't too big. Muggles and purebloods were bigoted, narrow-minded, and utterly stupid when it comes to one another. On one hand, Wizards had the upper hand when it came to mystical prowess. The capability to see the future and perform otherworldly magic was something the wizards had as an advantage. On the other hand, Muggles outnumbered them and were more advanced. Nuclear weapons had already existed in Clarisse's generation, and those bombs would certainly wipe them out.

Despite that, Clarisse Laurent was ruthless and was a prodigy just like Arcturus. With a perfect mastery that even most purebloods could not surpass, she trampled on the people who had ridiculed her. Upon graduating in her seventh year, Clarisse Laurent's speech was filled with condemnation hidden within sugary words of thanks. Her malice beneath a sweet honey-like tone that had sent shivers up the spines of those who had bullied her.

Thus, Clarisse Laurent, a muggleborn, had forced several pureblood families to their knees and had them worship her like a god. Her greed was not satisfied, as she razed through the french ministry and took control. She had become minister by the time she was 27, becoming the boss of most of the people that had cursed at her for being a 'mudblood'. She had been far too satisfied in that life.

"Let it be known that blood will not matter in war. It is to be the predator or the prey. Mudblood I am, but I swear on my magic that I will have you all down on your knees begging for mercy." Clarisse  had said such words when she was in her seventh year, and her promise was fulfilled.

Clarisse Laurent died at the age of 98, content with a hint of malice as she wrote her will.

Harry woke up in King's Cross again, filled with malice and excitement as he moved on to the next life. His greed and malice grew, until insanity had come to him.

In Harry's sixth life, he was reborn as Sirius Black's illegitimate son, Orpheus Black. He was Sirius' bastard child with a Russian woman, Nadia Markova. Sirius had been drunk in a bar, eighteen years old and a fool. Nadia was frustrated with work, twenty years old and drunk.

In the end, Nadia found out she was pregnant two months after her night with Sirius. Having tracked down the man when he was a year old, Sirius had found out he had a son. Fear had swallowed Sirius, almost disowning Orpheus until realization had come to him in the form of his memories. Sirius feared becoming like parents, thus participating in raising him. That is, until he was arrested.

Nadia had gotten close to Sirius, she never fell in love, but she cared for him as her friend and the father of her child. Thus, she had frequently sent letters to Azkaban about Orpheus, always stating that she believed he was innocent. Orpheus had lost his father when he was four after all.

Orpheus had been furious with himself when he couldn't save Sirius, his godfather, now his own father. Thus he attended Durmstrang in his sixth life, diligently studying the dark arts once again, just like when he was Arcturus. He was a Black once more, and determined to live up to the noble name. The Markov family was no normal family either. They were a noble house in Russia, but not on the same level as the Blacks. Perhaps the Lestranges, but not the Blacks.

"Matushka, will I ever see my father again?" Orpheus once asked his mother when he was twelve, during a quiet and calming yule. Nadia brought him into a warm embrace, caressing his pitch black wavy hair.

"One day… one day you will…"

As Orpheus, Harry was his own godbrother. With his own determination, he had gotten in contact with his other self when he was in his fifth year, making the other Harry Potter twelve. They had regularly corresponded throughout the years and when Harry was in third year, the boy had found out they were godbrothers. Harry was absolutely delighted, constantly writing to Orpheus during the summer.

The Triwizard tournament had started in Harry's fourth year and Orpheus was in his seventh year. It was the first time the two personally met, which Orpheus immediately darted towards Harry with an absolute fondness that had his younger self feeling giddy. Orpheus had been able to meet his father during that time— it had been a messy crying session between father, son, and godson. 

Orpheus was Durmstrangs champion, to which he had taken advantage every way to keep his god brother safe. He had been cruel towards Karkaroff, snapping at the man when he tried to help and storming back to Harry. The two had worked together for the entire tournament, and when the maze had come, Orpheus was a mess. Over and over again, Orpheus had told Harry to run when danger came.

"Do not fight anyone head on. You are still a child, live your life to your own desires. If you're in trouble, run or look for help."

In that maze, Orpheus was the one who found the cup with Harry. It was Orpheus who landed on the graveyard with Harry. No one died, as Orpheus had mercilessly sent a curse towards Peter Pettigrew, refusing to let the man even raise his wand to him. Harry had been frightened. The boy had learned to be selfish, hiding behind Orpheus as the older boy grabbed the unconscious Peter Pettigrew, and ran back to the cup.

That day, Peter Pettigrew was arrested, and Orpheus and Harry won the tournament bringing glory to Hogwarts and Durmstrang.

In his sixth life, Orpheus Black had taken custody of Harry Potter the moment he graduated, made sure his father was freed, and promised that Peter Pettigrew would rot in Azkaban. Voldemort did not resurrect in Harry's fourth year, but returned in the boy's sixth year.

To the dismay of the death eaters, Harry Potter's skills were honed by Orpheus. Harry was capable of fighting like a veteran, and was fine with looking for help if need be.

Major events had been delayed due to Orpheus' interference. The battle for the prophecy had begun when Harry was in his seventh year. The order of the Phoenix had fought the death eaters, not children who would not battle against adults.

In this life, Orpheus Black had fallen through the veil in place of his father. In this life, Harry Potter did not lose a father, but a brother.

Orpheus Black died at the age of 21, by the spells created by Bellatrix Lestrange.

The last thing Harry had expected to wake up to in his thirteenth life was an all too familiar red canopy hanging above him. His vision was atrociously blurry, groaning as he looked around him. The Gryffindor dorms was a place he could not particularly forget, the place where he found solace in his first and second life. He had only been a Gryffindor for two of his lives, ironically.

He groggily searched for some glasses, finally realizing the symptoms of his atrocious vision. His eyes were awful. He finally felt a pair of round rimmed glasses, grimacing at the all too familiar object. He grit his teeth, shoving the glasses on his face as he swung his legs over the bed, as he sat on the edge. Face in his hands as he groaned and cursed under his breath.

"Harry? Mate, are you good?" 

Harry closed his eyes, hearing the voice for the first time in years. He looked up to see the concerned expression of a ginger haired boy, frown upon his face as he tilted his head. Harry could only give him a wry grin.

He turned towards the closest mirror in the room, conveniently just by his bed. Unlike his previous life's well kept blonde hair and violet eyes, he had pitch black, messy hair and vibrant green eyes like the killing curse. There was a scar on his forehead, something that Harry had detested dearly. He had to stop himself from smashing his head to the wall, gritting his teeth as he hopped off the bed and ran a hand through his hair.

With well practiced precision, Harry smiled brightly, removing all kinds of suspicion that had been directed towards him. He chuckled quietly, patting the other boy's shoulder.

"I'm okay, Ron. Just tired." Harry said.

"Well if you say so mate." Ron shrugged, before he grinned. "Well come on now! I still want to test out your firebolt before the year ends. He wouldn't want that broom cooped up in the broom shed." 

Harry smiled wryly, nodding as he ushered Ron out the room. It was just him now, sliding down to the floor as he continued to curse in different languages. He stared at his own calloused hands, unlike the unblemished ones that belonged to his most recent life. He sighed, snapping his fingers as the date appeared before him in golden numbers and letters.

June 5th, 1994, 8:36 am

He desperately wanted to scream. Biting his tongue to restrain his own voice before slamming his fist on the door. After centuries of living different lives, the master of death was finally back to being Harry Potter in his 13th life. As expected of an unlucky number, he awoke to his unlucky self. Harry was ready to kill himself at this point.

"Third year… there's still some time before that bastard Riddle comes back." He murmured, closing his eyes before slowly getting up from the floor. He moved towards the bathroom, slightly annoyed at his own appearance. It had been so long since he wore such a face, the face that belonged to a Potter. 

"Wonderful… I have to deal with this bullshit again."

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 2:

Once, as Malcolm, he had discovered every single secret passage there was to Hogwarts with the marauders. He had been a Gryffindor, and his ability of parseltongue had been stripped from him in most lives. Thus, in most of his lives, he never accessed the chamber of secrets again. Regardless, he knew all the shortcuts that even the marauders map did not show him.

He hadn't done so alone. Malcolm had altered the lives of the marauders by simply existing. Malcolm was friends with Regulus Black, and had a relationship similar to James and Sirius. Where one was, the other was sure to follow. Regardless of the fact that both were from different houses, Malcolm and Regulus were an inseparable duo— until Walburga had demanded her youngest son become a death eater. 

Evidently, Regulus was one of the reasons why he pursued his own greed. Regulus had been the one to teach him etiquette, the politics of Slytherin, that being greedy didn't always mean you were a bad person. Malcolm often spoke of how it was Regulus who made his life better than before.

Malcolm had been heart broken, but never gave up on Regulus, even when Sirius had condemned his own little brother. But he had failed. Regulus had tracked down the locket and died trying to take it. Malcolm had realized this when Kreacher came to him, sobbing as he presented the Slytherin's locket.

Kreacher had come during a small gathering between the marauders, sans Peter. Sirius had nearly killed the elf, until it had sobbed of Regulus' dying wish. Sirius had paled, watching as Malcolm took the locket from him. The youngest Potter had looked absolutely murderous, storming towards the Potter Manor's ritual room, and threw the locket to the floor.

The spell 'Fiendfyre' had left his lips, as the locket was burned. After that, Malcolm had rightfully broken down, sobbing of how he lost his best friend and brother. The rest of the marauders were speechless as they watched the locket burn and Malcolm wail. A few weeks after that, they held a funeral for Regulus, Malcolm being the last to leave. There hasn't even been a body. They buried nothing but one of the few prized possessions Regulus would have never given away.

His bond with Sirius had been damaged after that. Sirius who was regretful and guilty, Malcolm who had been bitter and furious. It was a known fact that Malcolm had greatly favored and cared for Regulus, knowing that the boy's best friend was now gone had come as a shock.

Regardless, Malcolm still died 7 years after his best friend, promising that he would greet Regulus for Sirius. Although he had always thought he could never fulfill such a promise, Malcolm became Arcturus. Once Regulus was born, Harry's third life had smiled and said hello to his previous life's best friend.

Harry groaned quietly, hands in his pockets as he moved towards the sounds of wailing and sobs. Moaning Myrtle's bathroom had been a place he once frequented due to its historical connection, quite unfortunate. The second floor's girls' lavatory had been abandoned for 50 years after a ghost had decided to haunt it after their death. The ghost in question?

"Oh Miss Warren~" he called out to her in a sing-song tone. "Are you there?" He asked, as if ignorant to the ghost.

As expected, Myrtle exited the stall she had been crying in. Seeing Harry, she immediately brightened, remembering the charming boy that had come to visit her the year before. Harry smiled pleasantly at her, waving at the ghost as she squealed in delight. He chuckled as Myrtle flew loops around the bathroom, amused at the mere excitement the ghost felt. 

How pitiful.

"You've come to visit me! No one has ever wanted to visit me." Myrtle sobbed in joy, moving towards Harry. "Whatever do you need? Do you need to speak to someone? I'll promise to listen!" 

Harry only shook his head, but smiled regardless of her insistence. "I only need you to keep quiet about this. I'll be doing very… bad things. Surely, I would get in trouble if anyone were to find out what I've done. Could you keep quiet?" He asked, noticing the uncertainty in her expression.

He quickly added, "It'll be our little secret. No one but us will know." He offered his pinky finger, as if to make a promise with the ghost.

Myrtle gasped, excited as she nodded. They pretended to lock their fingers together, a false promise between the living and the dead. Harry smiled, "Thank you ever so much Miss Warren. I couldn't possibly trust my friends with this, they'll just tattle! But you? You're mighty kind." 

An adoring look morphed on Myrtle's expression, as Harry took a few steps back until his hand hit the edge of a certain sink. He smiled, winking at myrtle.

§Open.§

Myrtle gasped, a bit frightened as the sink moved. Harry only turned to her with a friendly look. "I wanna explore Hogwarts. I have to be brave and check this out as well, right? I'm Gryffindor after all." 

"Oh! How brave." Myrtle fawned, as Harry summoned stairs. He spared the ghost one last look, before walking down the stairs. His friendly expression immediately turned blank, then he scowled. Coming so close in contact with such an obsessive and naive ghost was both a nuisance and convenient. 

Among the ghosts of Hogwarts, Myrtle Warren was one of the most gullible. It only took a few sugary words and acts of kindness for her to do anything as others said. But you had to indulge her frequently to take her loyalty. It might be a hassle, but Harry was capable of doing so for the rest of the month until it was summer break. He didn't need Myrtle telling other teachers of his activities. She needed to be absolutely loyal to him, to the point she would devote the rest of her afterlife to him. 

Harry was quiet as he went down to the chamber. He hummed as he saw the state of it. The entire chamber had the same rotting smell Harry was familiar with, causing him to snarl. He whipped out his wand and began to simultaneously clean the place while also observing the rotting corpse of the basilisk. It had already been a year, yet there was still some flesh and muscles remaining in the corpse.

Narrowing his eyes towards it, he couldn't help but murmur several complaints upon the corpse. He took a closer step, twirling his wand like a baton. The corpse wasn't in bad shape. Its teeth and bones were still intact, but the issue was the remaining muscular tissue hanging off the bones. Harry snarled, waving his wand in an aggressive manner.

" Fiendfyre! " He yelled, as the flames began to devour the flesh. He carefully maneuvered the fire to only burn the flesh, not damage the bones. What he needed were the bones. "That's good enough."

The basilisk was nothing but bones now. Harry wore a satisfied smile, inspecting the Basilisk bones. The bones and flesh together would have given him a hefty fortune. But the bones still had its uses even before they could be sold. 

"Well this is gonna take long." Harry groaned, running a hand through his hair. 

Some bones were slightly burned, blackened by the flames of his spell. Although it might not seem much, it would prove more of a nuisance to Harry than anyone else. The constant urge to just grab the skeleton and rip its pieces was there, as his annoyance raised and fell. Inconveniences like this were never welcome to him, not after he began his third life and moved on to the next. Him waking up as Arcturus had allowed the Black madness to seep into his soul, making his anger unstable and unpredictable.

"Tsk, I should have made a spell more efficient than Fiendfyre." He clicked his tongue, shoving his wand into his pocket. Hand raised, he closed his eyes and focused on the lingering remnants of the Basilisk's soul.

He found a dark mass trapped within the skeleton, a smile creeping up his face. Opening his eyes, he revealed vivid green eyes reflecting the killing curse, an insidious smirk on his face.

§There she is. Rise from the dead, dearest Amarantha.§

The black mass reacted immediately to his alluring voice. Although it was still the voice of a child, a bit high pitched and none too similar to what he once sounded like. The soul still reacted, feeling the power within him as the black mass moved towards his outstretched hand. He grinned, cradling the mass in his arms. He cooed at the wandering soul, eyes glinting.

§Forgive me for having slayed you my dear, it seems I woke up too late. No matter, you will continue to serve me diligently, correct?§ Harry apologized, the darkened soul forming into a ribbon like form, coiling around his arm. He felt satisfied with that. 

It has been long since he last held the Basilisk in his arms. Timelines were fickle, and with Amarantha's reaction to him, at least one of his previous incarnations were part of the timeline he now existed in. That was an issue with Harry's reincarnation. Some incarnations of his could exist in the same timeline, the same universe, so long as they never directly interacted. Incarnations being the ones possessed by his current soul, and not variant selves.

§I promise to restore you to your glory soon enough. I just need some time… and a certain someone's blood.§ He hummed, caressing the black mass. §You will be patient, right?§

The mass coiled tighter around his arm. §Yes… my lord.§

§Very good. Placing you here was a good idea after all. My father must be sulking now because of it.§ Harry smirked. The mass— wraith Harry would have preferred to call now, seemed to shake as if laughed with him. He couldn't help but coo at it. "Good girl." He spoke in English, waving his hands as the wraith floated over his hand.

The wraith coiled and flinched, before slowly pressured into a smaller and smaller size. The wraith grew darker as it grew smaller and a dark green gem landed on Harry's palm. The wraith trapped within it, humming softly as he raised it up.

"It won't take long till I get that bastard's blood. Honestly now, I envy him for actually being related to father and elder brother."

Harry exited the chamber with a green gem in hand, walking up the stairs to Myrtle Loyally guarding the lavatory. He smirked, before dawning a look of gratitude towards the ghost. "Myrtle! You actually stood guard." He exclaimed with a surprised tone.

Myrtle turned towards him with a beaming smile. "Of course! Why wouldn't I?"

Harry scratched the back of his head. "Well… I never expected for you to be so considerate… my friends have often told me after all." He murmured. It wasn't particularly a lie. Hermione had tattled to a teacher in their first year and many of those he trusted had stabbed in the back by telling others of his actions. In his first life they were somewhat a nuisance with how Dumbledore easily manipulated them— but who was he to blame ignorant children when he was one himself?

Myrtle gasped, "Oh no! What horrible people they are!"

"Oh! Oh no. They're wonderful, really they are, but sometimes… sometimes they think what they're doing is best for me. You can say they can be rather controlling at times." He chuckled nervously, avoiding eye contact with Myrtle. The illusion was set and anyone who could see him would have thought he had overbearing friends. Which he sometimes did; in the form of Hermione Granger. "They're good friends…" 

"Well— I don't think they are! They should respect your decisions and privacy." Myrtle huffed, crossing her arms. Her voice sounded quite violent and aggressive as she spoke. After all, Myrtle Warren was a victim of severe bullying when she had been at school and died simply because she was a muggleborn. Knowing that someone was being bothered in a similar manner of bullying caused her to recoil and burst in anger. 

This was one of the few reasons why Harry had decided that Myrtle and Peeves were his favorite of Hogwarts ghosts. Myrtle was naive due to her immense empathy and sympathy and Peeves was a wondrous troublemaker that would bring amusement to him.

"Well… thank you Myrtle." He gently thanked her. "To be honest, I had planned to make the chamber my own little place. Being around others is quite suffocating and…"

"Oh! I understand that completely. When I was still a student, I'd come here for some time away from Olive Hornby." She explained. "I promise to keep this a secret." 

"That's comforting. Look on the bright side! Every Time I have to go to the chamber, I'll see you." He chuckled, grinning at her. "It's nice to see that I have a friend who understands." 

The ghost faltered, before crying out tears of joy. This was Myrtle Warren's biggest weakness. She was a friendless child when she had been alive and now was a ghost disliked by the majority of the students. She was vulnerable to kindness and becoming someone's friend was a blessing.

"See you later Myrtle!"

"See you Harry!" 

Harry left the lavatory, rubbing his thumb against the green gem. He felt satisfied with Myrtle's enthusiasm and eagerness towards him. Ghosts were especially useful to him after all.

"Mate, where've you been?" Ron yelled. He looked quite agitated, having searched for Harry for a few hours now. "You've made Hermione so worried! You should've told us you'd be busy, we would have understood and— and— have you ever eaten? You still look like skin and bone. Dear Merlin." Ron grumbled.

Harry smiled, nodding as Ron nagged at him. The two moved efficiently as Harry took the lead. Ron did not notice when he was being guided. Harry was quite glad with his ignorance, moving towards the great hall. It was already lunch by the time Harry had left the chamber, Amarantha's gem now hanging on a chain around his neck. He hid it beneath his uniform, comforted by the presence of the basilisk.

"Oh! Harry. Ron's finally found you." Hermione smiled, patting the seat beside her. Harry quietly sat beside Hermione, as Ron sat opposite to them. She had a book opened as she ate, glancing towards him in slight concern but continued to smile.

"Harry, mate, here's some chicken. And some bacon. And some—"

"Oh for god's sake, Ronald that's too much!" Hermione exclaimed, frowning at the growing pile of food that Ron was stacking on Harry's plate. The redhead only hissed.

"You're beginning to sound like my mother." Ron retorted, but continued on to pick out food for Harry.

Harry found it funny. Ron insisted that it was Hermione who was acting like Mrs. Weasley, when in fact it was Ron. It was like how Harry remembered it. Ron was the one who constantly mothered him when they had been children, and Hermione was the strict fatherly figure in the group. He was obviously the child who had to deal with his parents bickering.

"No worries 'mione. Ron's only worried. Unfortunately I ended up forgetting about breakfast." Harry admitted as he bit at the bacon on his plate. He was not surprised when Ron slammed his hand on the table.

"Harry James Potter!" Indeed, Ron sounded like his mother. "Do. Not. Skip. Breakfast! It's the most important meal of the day. Do you wanna starve for the rest of the day?"

"And you say I sound like your mother." Hermione rolled her eyes, but narrowed her eyes at Harry. She looked a bit disappointed in him, shaking her head. "But I agree with Ron. Exams are coming up Harry! How are you going to study with an empty stomach?" 

"And, are you even getting enough sleep?!" Ron screeched, pointing towards the dark circles under Harry's eyes. 

A laugh erupted from his lips, startling his friends. Harry was absolutely happy to see his friends again. He had been greedy, wanting and wishing he could see them but he could not satisfy such a desire. After being Orpheus, he hadn't been able to see his friends in a long time. He was content with seeing them act like his parental figures again.

"Thank you." He whispered. "I didn't get much sleep last night. It's been a bit hot in the dorms." 

"Oh… that's understandable. Someone has said that Neville was snoring so loudly that it could be heard from the common rooms." Hermione commented. 

Harry and Ron immediately met eyes, the dark haired boy smirking. Ron's face became as red as his hair, looking away in embarrassment. 

"Ah yes… Neville definitely was the one who kept snoring." Harry snickered, leisurely eating his food.

Hermione hummed, staring at him. "Your etiquette seems to have improved." 

Harry stiffened. He looked down to the knife and fork he was holding, gulping as he realized what Hermione was right. Perfect etiquette had been engrained to his soul after numerous lessons regarding such subjects. It was impossible to get rid of a habit that had stayed with him in multiple lives. But he was Harry Potter again. The boy who had been raised in a muggle household and taught a smidgen of etiquette, both wizarding and muggle. It was an issue. Another inconvenience that grated at his patience.

"Oh… weird… maybe it's my tiredness. I ended up dreaming about some sort of aristocrat fantasy version of us. Dumbledore was a king in the dream, 'Mione was a scholar, and Ron was part of a Baron family." He joked, excitedly explaining his dream.

Hermione immediately perked up at the mention of aristocrat fantasy. It was some sort of genre in muggle fiction. "Is that so? What about you?" 

Harry hummed, "I ended being from a fallen Marquis household. Malfoy was… unfortunately, a Duke family. You-know-who was also in the dream. He was the king of the enemy kingdom that Malfoy was part of." 

"That is actually rather interesting. Go on." Hermione admitted, eagerly listening as she bit at the bread on her plate. Harry couldn't help but smirk.

The capability to create elaborate stories was something he had gained in one of his lives. "Well, my family is considered a fallen family because I am the last member. Mom's family is a Baron family and my relatives wanted to extort me for my fortune! But eventually, I get saved by a bunch of knights who bring me to the king, Dumbledore." 

"Mate, it's like you're the damsel in distress." Ron bluntly stated. He yelped when Hermione smacked his face with a book. The bookworm looked utterly offended, glaring at Ron before she urged Harry to continue. Poor Ron was nursing his bruised cheek.

Harry chuckled, indulging Hermione in his own plot. He had once enjoyed story telling, especially when he had been Arcturus. Creating stories to indulge Dorea's curiosity and creativity. At least a quarter of those stories he had made were of Dorea being the main character, the hero who won the battle against destiny. Some stories were of his first life, altered in a manner that would sound unbelievable— not that he needed to do much with the altercations. 

Hermione was absolutely dazzled, gushing on how she had read numerous regency books. Mostly romance, but regency regardless. They were novels, fiction, but the thought of herself being part of such a world made her melt. Harry understood her sentiment. Fiction often sounded better than reality itself. He had been desperate for an escape once, and drowned himself in books until he began calling a library home. 

"Wait so— Dumbledore tells you you're the chosen one because of a bloody prophecy? That sounds like a load of rubbish!" Ron scoffed. He wouldn't admit it, but he ended up becoming invested in the story when it was mentioned that Ron ended up becoming a knight.

"Well… it would be logical…" Hermione grumbled. "But prophecies can be interpreted in many ways. Who's to say that it was you who was spoken to in the prophecy? Maybe the evil king the prophecy mentioned wasn't You-know-who but someone else in the future." She tried to reason, looking utterly annoyed. "With how complicated and illogical prophecies can be, I am forever grateful to have dropped Divination." 

"Yes, about that— I might drop divination for Ancient runes." Harry commented, surprising his friends. Hermione looked delighted, while Ron was frowning.

"Why? I don't want to give up Divination…" Ron mumbled.

Harry frowned, but shook his head and grabbed Ron's shoulder. "Ron, mate, you don't have to give up Divination. Actually, you're bloody brilliant at it!" He encouraged me. He wasn't actually lying. Ron did have a talent.

"I am?"

"He is?"

Harry shook his head, exasperated of the two. "Yes, you are! Remember when you made the prediction of me suffering but I'm gonna be happy about it?" Ron flinched. Now that Harry's thought about it— Ron genuinely did have a knack for divination that somewhat frightened him. "Well, I am happy… but because Sirius is still on the run… I'm…" 

"Suffering." Ron realized, gasping. "Merlin's pants, I predicted the future! It was vague, but I did it!" 

Hermione only hummed, but she looked proud. Although she may hate Divination with a passion, she was glad to see her friend so happy to accel at it. She was also happy with how Harry was pursuing more difficult subjects.

"I'm gonna buy you a bunch of tarot cards on Christmas." Harry jokingly said, to which Ron blushed. Hermione chuckled, nodding in agreement. "You better be predicting our futures. Who knows, maybe I'll get myself a girlfriend and you'll get a vision of how we're not compatible." 

Hermione grinned, "Maybe not relationship advice, but you might be able to help… just a bit." She pressed her index finger and thumb together, teasingly smiling at Ron. "But you'll have to help yourself with that before you start giving us advice."

"I agree with 'Mione." 

Ron pouted, dramatically huffing and looking away. "What nice friends I have." He sarcastically said, but his eyes showed a deep fondness.

Warmth spread across Harry as she watched the two bicker and tease each other. It had been years, centuries perhaps since the last he's seen them like this. But Harry was indeed greedy, and had focused on himself more rather than his own friends. He watched them in their natural element, feeling his selfishness once again acting up. He wanted everything to stay the same, to do nothing and watch the world burn as he spent the rest of his life having fun with his friends. But he couldn't.

Vivid green eyes met soft baby-blue eyes, a twinkle behind those half-moon spectacles. A gaze all too familiar to him. He smiled, waving at the headmaster who waved back.

Manipulative bastard. He thought as he kept the smile on his face, making sure not to look directly at the headmaster. His mind wasn't somewhere people could just waltz in to.

He was Harry Potter again after all.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 3:

The day before summer break commenced, Harry was called to the headmasters office. Hermione and Ron had instantly become concerned, but he assured the two that Dumbledore only wanted to check up on him. The headmaster's office was not an unusual place for him. He's entered it numerous times in different lives. Arcturus and Malcolm had entered it for completely different reasons after all. While Malcolm was being called to the office with his older brother due to the trouble they had caused, Arcturus had been called into the headmasters office to be told his mother was giving birth to his sister.

The path towards the griffin statue was something Harry had ended up memorizing. There was an inkling of frustration that he hadn't achieved becoming Hogwarts headmasters in his previous lives. But then again, having to deal with hundreds of children must be tiring. 

"Treacle tarts." Harry rolled his eyes at the ridiculous password. He hopped on to the uppermost step of the stairs, waiting for him to arrive at the office.

"Come in." He heard, pushing the door open to see Dumbledore chewing on a lemon drop. Harry had to restrain himself from scowling at those atrociously sour treats. "Harry my boy! It's been a while since we've spoken, yes?"

"It has…" Harry murmured, before scolding himself for the cold behavior. The boy Dumbledore knew was a bubbly and cheeky child after all. "Professor, I don't really know why you've called me here but… can I ask you how Sirius is doing?"

Dumbledore smiled, "He's doing well. Quite happy that you loved his little gift." Said Dumbledore, mentioning the new broom Harry had received. It had been a popular topic in Hogwarts when he first used it during a match, which Harry had been ecstatic about.

"Thank you." Harry exclaimed in joy. His face hurt from smiling so painfully, as Dumbledore chuckled once again. "But again… why am I here?" 

"Oh my boy… I wanted to make sure that you are still fine with going with your aunt and uncle." Dumbledore sighed, his grandfatherly tone was like nails scratching a chalkboard. It was horrible.

Harry had to grit his teeth from yelling at the man. Once again, Harry was selfish and desperately wished he could just lash out and curse at the man. 

"Well… I've thought about it. I could wait for a little while longer. Sirius will be free soon enough, right?" He said, a bit nervous in the eyes of the headmaster.

Dumbledore smiled softly, "Of course. Sirius deserves it and he shall be granted his freedom soon." He stood from his seat, placing a hand over Harry's shoulder. "Have faith my boy." 

Have faith. Such a detestable phrase. Harry's eyes flashed unimaginable malice, before he smiled thoughtfully. Now wasn't the time. Dumbledore would still be useful for him. Even if the man was none to deserving of Death. Harry had to hide his hand behind his back, clenching his fists until blood began to draw out from the marks his nails made. Dumbledore's voice angered him to an uncertain extent.

"You really don't have anything to worry about, professor. I'll be patient." He promised, tilting his head, smiling with his eyes closed. Something was poking at his mental barriers, clenching his fists even tighter till the flesh on his palm stung. Legilimency was a nuisance and thankfully, Harry had mastered occlumency when he had become Arcturus. 

Dear Morgana, he thought, He's a humongous piece of shit. Once again he thanked Arcturus' parents for being so strict when it came to protecting your mind. They were better teachers than Snape if he had anything to say.

Dumbledore was satisfied with his reply, patting Harry's head like the boy was a fool. As soon as Harry's eyes opened, vibrant green eyes held a dark and malicious look that the headmaster did not see. 

Harry left the office, feeling peeved and murderous. Amarantha must have taken notice, because her gem had begun to exude a calming warmth. He blinked in surprise, before silently calming down. This timeline was slightly different from his original life if a previous incarnation of his continued to exist. Some things were altered, but not enough to move the world in a different direction. 

§Forgive me, my dear… that man is a dangerous enemy of mine.§ He whispered, rubbing the gem with his thumb. His eyes darkened for a second, before resuming his bright exterior the moment he took a sharp turn towards a crowded hall. He spotted Ron and Hermione in the courtyard, leisurely conversing  amongst one another.

He said nothing, but Hermione had taken notice of him. She offered a beaming smile, catching Ron's attention who snapped his head towards Harry. The youngest son of the Weasley family grinned like a madman, waving his arm as if Harry couldn't see them. It was amusing.

"Harry! Over here."

Summer wasn't too hard to deal with anymore. Harry had once again haphazardly mentioned how his godfather was an escaped convict, to which his relatives paled in fear. They had left him alone for the first week, which was majorly convenient to Harry. The boy was peacefully lounging in his room, only leaving to do some chores and eat food. He never joined his relatives at the table, to which they all silently agreed was a good thing. Harry barely interacted with his relatives, not since the fiasco with aunt Marge.

It only took a week for Harry to finally break. He had to clench his fist as to not kick the vacuum cleaner he was using to clean the dusty floors of the living room. He glanced towards his walrus of a cousin, Dudley, who watched his favorite show on the tv. Dinner had already passed, and Harry quietly excused himself to his room. Vernon did not pay much attention to him, choosing to ignore his existence entirely. Petunia was the only one to even glance at him, wary and fearful as she met eyes with Harry.

Those were her sister's eyes, yet at the same time they were not. Lily's eyes were green like grass, green like the foliage of a forest. Harry's were green like poison and acid. It was as if you were staring at death itself.

Privet Drive was quiet, as Harry shut the door behind him and began violently cursing under his breath. He packed his things, made his bed and grabbed all the money he had stolen from his aunt and uncle during the entire week he had stayed there. The money wouldn't be necessary, but it was nice to have some just in case. It wasn't much, but it would have been enough for a cab—if he ever needed one.

He silently waited until there were no more footsteps from his relatives, hearing the irritating sound of the padlock being placed on his door. He murmured yet another chain of curses, waiting longer for his uncle to go to sleep. It wasn't until it was midnight did Harry get to leave. With a little wandless magic here and there, the lock on his door quickly clicked open.

He stood in the middle of the hallway for a few minutes, closing his eyes to feel the wards Dumbledore had placed around the home. He pursed his lips, doing his best to manipulate the wards to make sure that it would be under the illusion he was still living in the house even when he would already be gone.

He hurried down the stairs, only to freeze as he saw the tall and skinny figure of his aunt. Petunia Dursley was sporting a cup of tea, calm yet tired.

"You are leaving." She said, as if she needed more confirmation. Harry was dragging his trunk with him, Hedwig quietly resting in her cage. 

"I am… are you going to stop me?" 

"No… if I've learned anything from being Lily's sister… is that once she's made up her mind, you can't change it." She chuckled. "I'm guessing you are like her that way." 

Harry's heart seemed to clench. For most of his life, people often told him he was like James. Admittedly, he always wanted to be compared to his kind, intelligent, and brave mother. But he had never expected for it to be Petunia of all people who'd fulfill such a small wish. He never expected anything good from his aunt. She may claim to have lost a sister that day in Godric's Hollow but she was too ashamed to show it. 

"Your eyes are just like hers… at the same time they aren't." 

"I may be their son, but I am not a replica of them." 

"Of course you're not." Petunia sighed, setting down her tea as she stood. She stepped towards Harry, a sad smile on her face. "Advance Happy birthday." She said, as she handed him a silver locket with the letter L on it. Harry's eyes widened, opening the locket to see a girl with red hair and vivid green eyes, along with another girl with blonde hair and blue eyes. 

This did not happen in his first life. He never received a gift from his aunt. Such a sentimental thing was almost unheard of. "It belonged to Lily… I have my own, and still keep it safe. Don't lose it, alright?" She gave him a stern glare, but soon turned into a fond look.

Harry faltered for a moment, before pulling the locket to his chest. He pursed his lips, greatly frustrated by the change. Petunia Dursley only showed him this kind of kindness when he was seventeen. The day the Dursleys had to move away for their own safety, stating that only did Harry lose a mother in 1981, but she had also lost a sister. Perhaps it was because Harry was leaving on his own that she had decided to give him some sort of last act of kindness.

"Thank you aunt…" Harry murmured.

Petunia nodded. "You're never coming back here. I will try to make people think that you are still living with us as long as I can… Do be safe, lest you put your mother's sacrifice to waste."

"Of course! Who do you think I am?" 

Petunia gave him a fond smile, "My stubborn little sister's equally stubborn son." 

Harry turned red at that, unable to look Petunia in the eyes. He tried to speak, but nothing came out of his mouth. Petunia seemed to have taken notice of this, stepping away from Harry as he moved towards the door. He opened Hedwig's cage and allowed her to roam the sky, hurriedly leaving Privet Drive. 

Petunia could only watch as the last fragment she had of her sister walked down the dark streets, until she heard a loud crack pierce the air. A sound she had remembered from the time Lily had decided to visit her after graduation. She closed the door, knowing that her nephew would never return. She closed her eyes, pressing her forehead against the wall. The day had finally come. The consequences of the abuse she allowed her husband and son to inflict upon her only nephew. 

"Forgive me Lily… your older sister has failed you once again." 

With that, Petunia Evans walked up the stairs, solemn and guilty as she did not look back. If she did, she would have seen the silhouette of a young lady, smiling sadly at her.

Harry's feet landed on the entrance of gringotts, silence reigning as Diagon Alley slept. It was only one o'clock in the morning, not a single human in sight. He saw some cats roaming the streets, even a niffler trying to smuggle some shiny spoons out of the megarie. The humans slept, but the goblins were working diligently. He entered the bank, seeing rows and rows of goblins arranging and inspecting the galleons they had received.

Many of the goblins turned to him curiously, but Harry paid no mind to them and strides to the very front. "Hello Master goblin. I am sorry to disturbed you at this hour, but it's…urgent." The goblin looked down upon him, as Harry bowed respectfully. The goblin huffed, satisfied with the respect.

"State your name and business." 

Harry smiled. 

"Harry James Potter." There was a hint of recognition on the goblins' expression, as Harry tilted his head. The goblin gave him a skeptical look, as Harry grinned ruefully. 

"I would like a meeting with the Head goblin, Ragnar." 

The goblin fell silent, staring at Harry with wide and outraged eyes. "Pray tell what must the meeting be about?" 

"Ah… well, tell Ragnar that…" he trailed off, eyes flashing brightly. " Damianos has returned." 

The goblins breath hitched, the subtle sound within the bank had completely vanished. Harry glanced towards the other goblins, who's eyes were wide and shocked. He could only hum, patting the trunk he had been dragging with him and hoping that the things he had shrunken were safe inside. The grin on his face was a sadistic kind of excitement as he watched some goblins scramble to their feets and run towards the one he had requested to meet.

Harry didn't have to wait long, as a goblin— Ernok , he had introduced himself, was hastily leading him towards the Head goblin. His trunk taken, promised that it would be properly taken care of. Harry was led deep in Gringotts, passageways that most humans would have never been able to pass through. He stood before a large golden door, two goblin guards standing on each side.

As the two goblins glanced at the fidgety Ernok, they simply nodded and pushed open the doors. What was shown to Harry was a lavish room filled with busy-body goblins, counting, minting, and inspecting all sorts of currency. In the very middle was an esteemed looking goblin, inspecting a diamond through a looking glass. Harry grinned madly at the sight.

"Please wait here. I shall inform the head goblin of your arrival." Ernok spoke, his tone filled with respect as he left Harry by the door. The goblin hurried to the other who was in the middle of the room, whispering to one another. The other goblin's eyes went wide, snapping his gaze to Harry, greeted by an all too familiar grin.

" Damianos !" The goblin yelled, causing the others to fall silent and stare between the head goblin and the boy-who-lived. Both were grinning at one another like fools.

Amarantha's gem buzzed with a mixture of recognition and confusion. The name was familiar, but at the same time it wasn't. The name Damian Was not the name she recognized her master as.

"Ragnar, it's been a while." Harry greeted, meeting Ragnar in the middle of the room.

" A while? Bastard, it has been fifty years since your death! I had begun to lose hope." Ragnar snarled, before taking a good look at Harry. "Goodness me. You became Harry Potter ? What misfortune is this?" 

Harry shrugged, "Seems so. I only woke up a month ago." 

"No wonder. Let us speak in my office." Ragnar insisted, leading Harry away from the curious eyes of the other goblins. The name Damian was a familiar name to the older employees, all watching the pair in amusement.

Ragnar's office was lavish and neat, a large chair just for the goblin. Harry chuckled, having set foot into the office long before he had woken up. Ragnar sat on his seat, gesturing for Harry to take the other chair in front of his desk. The scene was familiar, but at the same time was completely different.

"Fifty years… how dare you stay young while I age like a prune." Ragnar shook his head in disappointment.

"Oh dear me, like a prune ?" Harry snickered, smirking at the head goblin. "I had been told you'd be able to live, at least a hundred more years. How old are you again? 30, 40… "

"I am seventy years old already! I would have been a child when we first met if I were that young!" Ragnar snarled, pointing an accusing finger at Harry. This was the same young man who entered his office fifty-seven years ago, a cheeky bastard that wanted to play god. Unfortunately for Ragnar, he was capable of such. "Now, will you finally let me pay my debt?" 

A cruel grin had sent shivers down Ragnar's spine. A debt . Such an unfortunate bind, much worse to a man filled with such malice. Harry's previous self had been… cruel. Malicious. Wrathful. A man that embodied the sins of wrath and greed that he was capable of getting along with goblins, perfectly. Ragnar was one of the few to have fallen fool to Harry's offers. He could compare it to a single thing— like making a deal with the devil.

Harry leaned back on his chair, arms crossed over his chest. To Ragnar, it was an unusual sight. Harry Potter was a bit gangly, boyish, and looked rather immature. It was a stark contrast to the incarnation Ragnar had met decades ago. The man he had met before oozed power that simply stepping into the room made Ragnar feel like an ant. This boy in front of him was not the same. He did not force upon intimidation that shook one's soul— but Ragnar could see that Harry was capable of it… if those killing curse eyes had something to say about it.

"My vaults. I want access to my vaults, my properties, and perhaps an international portkey. You already know where it should take me, right?" Harry stated, drumming his fingers on the arm rear. 

"That is quite the demand." Ragnar responded, raising a brow. 

"Oh… well it wouldn't be too hard for you, right? Let us not forget how you became the head goblin…" He reminded. He watched as Ragnar closed his eyes, taking in deep breaths before huffing in annoyance. The goblin gave him a stern glare, before walking out of the office. Harry knew that he'd only have to wait, humming a soft tune until Ragnar came back minutes later.

An intricately designed golden key in hand, offering it to Harry who took it with a grin. The goblin also tossed a file towards Harry, huffing as he returned to his desk. He looked through the properties he now owned. From the last standing property of the Potters, the ancestral manor which was thankfully protected, to the properties his previous incarnation had accumulated over the years.

However, Harry's own file intrigued him. When he was Orpheus he had carefully researched his variants' bloodline. Which truly did confirm he was Peverell. However, there was another family in his file that was not included in Orpheus's timeline. 

"Hadrian Jameson Potter, huh? Not Harrison like the other timeline. Well, at least it sounds better."

Name: Hadrian Jameson Potter

Birthdate: July 31, 1980

Parents:

Jameson F. Potter (deceased)

Lillian M. Potter nee Evans (deceased)

Godparents:

Sirius Black (unavailable)

Alice Longbottom (unavailable)

Heirships:

House of Potter

House of Peverell

House of Gryffindor

House of Black (through godfather)

House of Antiphonus

The last family was unfamiliar to him. He didn't know whether it was from James, or magic had decided to adopt him into the family. 

"Is it possible to redirect all my letters to Potter Manor? I don't particularly fancy living in that dreary home I had gotten myself. Maybe in the future I would move there, but the manor is most suitable for this… body." Harry chuckled wryly, gesturing to his rather frail countenance.

"I shall see to it. I will send some goblins to spell your previous living quarters to be able to redirect any sort of letter sent to you."

"What of my portkey?"

"You will get your portkey tomorrow. I assume you have a suitable place to stay for the night." 

"Is that shady inn still in Knockturn? The one that will take anyone in at any time, won't even ask questions, so long as you have money… What was it called…"

"The Black cat. Yes, that shady inn is still there." Ragnar sighed, shaking his head.

Harry smiled brightly, thanking Ragnar and exiting the office with a maniacal grin that promised trouble. The poor head goblin slumped on his seat, rubbing the side of his head. His office doors opened again, causing him to glare at who he had assumed was Harry. 

"Head goblin?" Ernok entered with a wary expression. "Was that… was that really him ?" 

Ragnar nodded, "Yes… Damian has awakened in the body of the wizarding world's savior. I must admit, I actually pity the wixens now. That bastard will do anything it takes to cause so much chaos that it would fuel his own greed." 

"Sir… should we not stop him?"

Ragnar scoffed, "Us? Absolutely not. Damianos is an ally of the goblins. He will not force us into a war between wixens. If anything, he wishes to be a director of chaos for us." 

"It seems so." Ernok sighed, "Shall I prepare the portkey now? Sir Damian would surely like to live at the first sign of dawn." 

"Yes, please do. It would be best for Damian— or would he prefer Harry… Nevermind that! It would be best if that bastard deals with his relatives." Ragnar shooed Ernok away, far too stressed and tired. At first, the appearance of his old friend had caused great joy, but he had been hit with the memories of the man's mayhem. 

"May the fates help the wizards, because we will not."

Harry silently moved towards Knockturn alley, swiftly dodging any person who had groggily opened their doors. His conversation with Ragnar had only lasted an hour before he had exited Gringotts. It hasn't changed much, thankfully. He thought as he observed the alley. 

He found the familiar black cat sign in the alley, grinning as he dragged his trunk towards the inn. Like the leaky cauldron, it was also a pub and inn, however, the black cat was more lax in terms of its guests. No questions were asked, a supposed unspoken rule between employees and guests. He opened the door to a dimly lit first floor, a sleepy looking woman handling the reception.

"'scuse me… a room for the night." Harry requested, as the lady quietly hummed and named her price. He took out two galleons from his pouch in exchange for the keys and darted up the stairs. He'd have to go shopping later on, or perhaps he could get a house elf to do the work for him.

Nevertheless, Harry opened his room— room 7, ironically— and shoved his trunk to the side of the bed and allowed himself to fall to the unexpectedly warm sheets. He buried his face into the pillow, falling fast asleep. In a few hours, his day would finally start, and it would be rather busy. He could only hope that his aunt would keep to his promise and fool everyone of his presence for as long as she could. 

Harry didn't need to be tracked down— by Dumbledore especially. He'd have to lay low and need multiple contingency plans, especially with the Weasleys wanting to invite him to their home in a month or so, just a few days before the Quidditch World Cup. He'd have to find an excuse for them to not go to Privet Drive… Well, he could work on it. 

Right now, all he needed was sleep.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 4:

"At Least you're wearing much more suitable clothes now." Ragnar commented, looking over Harry's appearance. Only a few hours ago, the boy had been wearing an oversized shirt and trousers, along with a sweater that could have been mistaken for a blanket if you didn't look closely. Now, Harry was wearing a white dress shirt, black trousers, and a dark blue coat. He. 

"Thankfully, Madame Malkin's had clothes my size. I've had a house elf bring my belongings to the manor." Harry responded. He strided with an innate kind of grace that could be seen in perfectly educated purebloods or aristocrats— thanks to all the years of etiquette lessons he had to repeatedly take.

"Hm… it was that elf from the Malfoys, Dobby, I presume."

"Now how do you know that?" 

"Someone had heard Lucius Malfoy cursing of losing an elf, suspected it was from Hogwarts. With you suddenly having an elf when you were living with muggles, I simply connected the dots." 

Harry nodded in understanding. As expected, Dobby had come to him after he called out the elf's name. He had given Dobby the address of Potter Manor and instructed the elf to take his things there. From the files he had read, there were still three other elves working at Potter Manor. He had summoned all three, introducing himself as heir Potter —due to him not coming of age yet— and making sure the manor would be spotless once he returned.

Harry still was displeased by his own files though.

"Winly, Clay, and Tulip, are quite happy to have me as their new master." He chuckled. The three house elves, two females and one male had been appointed by his grandfather a few years before James was born. "Grandfather made a good choice with them."

"Is that so? Moving on then…" Ragnar clicked his tongue and presented Harry with an antique pocket watch. Harry could feel subtle yet powerful magic from it. "This is your portkey. It can be used fourteen times— seven times to your destination and seven times back. So think wisely when you decide to take your little trips." 

Harry grinned, taking the portkey and swinging it like a pendulum. "Much appreciated Ragnar. How much will this cost?"

"It's free."

"Oh, now don't be such a spoilsport! Name your price, I will surely pay it." He insisted.

Ragnar was silent for a moment, narrowing his eyes at Harry. "You— nevermind. That portkey would cost at least ten-thousand galleons due to its special uses, but as I am repaying you, it will only be a thousand galleons." 

"The price of a standard Portkey. Very well, take a thousand galleons from my vault."

"Which one?"

Harry took a few seconds to contemplate. But he couldn't help but grin at the question. Due to his previous life as Damian , his wealth was rather… well he could only say that it was part of his own greed. "Vault 433." 

Ragnar grimaced. It had been far too convenient for the man when the vaults available to him were capable of making numerous words. 443 had its own morbid meaning, courtesy of the man who decided the vault would be owned by him. "Why did 343 and 433 have to be available to you?" He asked in exasperation.

Amusement showed in his eyes. The goblin had been frustrated with his precious self, who's to say he could actually deal with the original? Not that Ragnar was aware that Harry Potter was the original Damian, not the other way around. It was amusing to see the goblin considerably ignorant to some things. Death was one of them.

"Goodness… what time is it?" Harry checked, frowning at the clock. It was already half past three in the afternoon. He didn't need to be any more late than he already was. "Well old friend, I must depart now. Can't keep the man waiting." 

Ragnar nodded. "Be careful. That man is still very much dangerous, even with him behind bars." He started, tapping his fingers on the desk.

"Do you honestly think he'd hurt me?" Harry asked, raising a brow.

"With your appearance? There is a chance." 

"But my magic? He will recognize it immediately. You need not to worry Ragnar…" Harry smiled, a venomous glint in his eyes. "He wouldn't dare cause harm to his only heir." 

862 miles away from Gringotts was where Harry had landed. In a cold, freezing mountain. He stood upon cold concrete, staring at a grand and dark castle. No living thing was present in the place… aside from one.

Harry narrowed his eyes at the castle, closing his eyes. Reaching his hand out, he felt heavy and strong wards protecting the castle— or perhaps protecting the outside world from what was inside. He hummed, vivid green eyes flashing dangerously. The tip of his fingers sparked, and the invisible wards showed themselves to him. A rip formed, and Harry slipped in before it could heal.

Memories of his seventh life emerged, as he stepped closer and closer to the castle. The courtyard was covered in snow and the great doors were frosted. Harry could only sigh, halting in his steps right in front of the door. He pressed both hands on to the frozen wood, pushing with all his might at the rusted hinges of the door. He grit his teeth, failing.

He gripped his wand, eyes blazing in fury as his patience thinned. He took in deep breaths, his grip slackening as he shoved his wand back in and took out another wand. His wand that belonged to his seventh life, kept safe in his vault. The ministry didn't need to know he was using magic outside Hogwarts, and it would be more difficult for them to detect him when he was miles away from Britain. A wand that did not belong to Harry Potter, but to Damian. 

The trace was implemented into the wand, not the person using magic. It could be tricked. The ministry was inefficient that way, something Harry despised greatly when he was in his second and third year. He was just thankful he found out a way to get rid of the trace in case it was placed on his person.

He pointed the wand towards the doors, murmuring a spell he had mastered in said life.

" Incendium Confractus. " 

The bright red spell hit the doors, as the ice began to crack, then shatter. Fire spread through the door, before vanishing into ash. Harry then kicked the doors open, strutting in like he owned the place.

The interior of the castle did not disappoint. There was a grand chandelier in the middle of the room and a rather intimidating staircase. Tinted windows were what was met at the top of the staircase, then leading to two different hallways. Harry hummed, moving up the staircase and taking a left turn. He led himself further to the darkness of the halls. He paused by another darkened door, narrowing his eyes at it.

There was yet another extreme ward upon the door, causing the boy to click his tongue in frustration. He delicately waved his wand over the wood, glaring at the runes carved on to the door. It took nearly thirty minutes for him to perfectly dismantle the protections upon a single door. He suspected only one person to be able to create such complicated runes.

The door leads through a darker, much colder, path up the castle. Harry groaned, clenching his fists as he stomped up the stairs. The temptation to enchant the stairs to move was strong, as he continued upwards, spouting out numerous complaints regarding the issue.

"Why doesn't this damn place have elevators? For Morgana's sake, maybe I should invent those bloody portals before Lysandra Bane… if she even is born into this world… Wait, has she already been born?" He frowned, trying to remember the numerous history lessons he had to study in his eighth life. "She was born on… December 11th, 1991! Yup, she's already been born. It'll only take ten or fifteen years for her to make those portals." 

He snapped his fingers, before taking notice of his surroundings. While he had been rambling to himself, Harry had finally arrived at his destination. He sighed in relief, hurrying to a particular cell within the castle. He stood before it, grimacing at the darkness. 

"Dear Morgana…" 

"Wer ist da?"

Harry stiffened, a mixture of a grin and grimace forming on his expression. He waved his wand again, a bright light forming at the tip of the yew and thunderbird tail feather wand. As the light glows, the man inside the cell hissed in fury. It had been long since he was graced with light, swallowed in darkness for decades. 

"Schalt das aus!"

Harry sighed, shaking his head. He walked closed to the cell, torturing the man with more and more light. Silently, he opened the cell and frowned at the gaunt look of the man who suffered for decades. Starved, barely alive. The best he could describe the man in the cell was the dead still breathing. Such a horrific sight. Harry would have mistaken the man for a corpse if he hadn't spoken. 

The visage of the once great man was ruined by years of pain and isolation. Harry pitied him, sighing as he pointed the wand to the man. Recognition seemed to flash upon seeing the wand in full light, and the man cursed loudly. Anger seeping through a hoarse voice, glaring daggers at Harry. 

"Du siehst schrecklich aus." said Harry, who was frowning at the pitiful sight.

The man grit his teeth at the naturally fluent German that came from the boy's lips. 

"Wer ist da?" the man asked once again. 

Harry hummed, flicking his wand as the light at the tip of it floated above them. A better look at the man, Harry couldn't help but grimace at the rags he wore. He cursed under his breath, gently helping him up to his feet, and slinging his arm over his shoulders. Harry didn't struggle. The man was as light as a feather, only needed to drag him towards a different room. 

I'll have to make sure he's steadily fed with potions. He thought as he checked on the man's weight. He was far to thin, literally skin and bone  

The stairs were once again an obstacle, as the man kept groaning and complaining to Harry. "Would you please shut up? I am trying to help you!" He hissed, earning another grunt from the man. Thankfully, Harry had arrived in a lavish room, dusty, but seemed lavish without.

He set the man on the chair, lighting the fire on the fireplace. His eyes observed the room for a moment. The windows were large, there was a lamp by the side and a fancy looking closet. Harry snapped his fingers, listening to the loud crack.

"Winly, get me substantial nourishment potions, clothes the size of a grown adult man, and a… vile of Hygieia potion." 

"M-Master?! The Hygiea Potion… " Winly stuttered out.

"Yes. Take one of the 50. Don't worry… I swear on my magic that I can recreate it." Harry swore, tracing a golden line in the air. Winly gasped, bowing her head before vanishing away to follow his orders.

Harry hummed, staring at the sickly man before him. "It's been fifty years… to think you survived in the own prison you created." He mused, arms crossed as he looked down at the man.

"Who… are you?" 

Harry smiled, "Here I thought you'd recognize me in an instant."

Winly reappeared with the assorted goods Harry had ordered. The young heir of the Potter house grinned, pointing his wand to the clothes then waving it towards the man. Instantly, the clothes seemed to dress themselves on him and an obvious sigh of relief left his lips. Warmth spread across him, as the cold seemed to slowly leave him.

Harry inspected the vile from Winly. The crystal-like liquid in the vial shined an ethereal glow. So much magic within a single vile. 

The Hygieia Potion was a creation he had learned of in his 12th life. A creation by Amalthea Potter nee Prevost, someone who had married into his family. She had created the potion two hundred years ago. The Hygieia Potion was something that could ultimately restore someone to their glory… a longevity potion that restored a person's youth and allowed you to love at least 50 more years.

He had studied the potions properties, the process and ritual to be used to create the potion. He devoted a quarter of his 12th life to studying the Hygieia potion and recreating it for the sake of his own friends. However, the Potters were in possession of 50— now 49 of the potions.

Harry's knowledge was enough for him to recreate the potion, although with severe difficulty if he ever tried to attempt it. He would never leak the information regarding the potion to anyone else if he could help it. Better to monopolize a rare potion made by his ancestor than share it to fools who wouldn't even be worthy of it.

"This is the famous… Hygieia potion. Named after the Greek goddess of health." Harry explained, waving the vile in front of the man. Eyes gone wide, the man recognized the name of the potion— a myth he had assumed. "I will give this to you… if you can tell me who I am." 

The man glared darkly at Harry, who wore a provocative smirk. A small tilt of his head and Harry was taunting the man even more. 

"You… Harry Potter… I heard of you from… Albus." The man groggily said.

"Don't say his name!" Harry snapped. He despised calling Dumbledore by his first name. He had hated how so many people insisted on naming his second child Albus , thankfully he was smart enough not to name his poor Slytherin of a son after the crazy Gryffindor. "Yes… but you are wrong. Who am I?" 

The man pursed his lips. The temptation was there, staring at the potion that could bring him back to his glory. 

"The boy-who-lived."

"Wrong. Who am I?"

"Harry Potter."

"Who. Am. I?"

"You are the wizarding worlds—"

"Who am I?!"

The flames turned a bright blue, bursting from the fireplace. Winly squeaked, rushing to hide under a table. 

Harry stared at the man in fury, his patience thinning even more. The man refused to say it. They both knew the name to call. Yet such stubbornness was inherited. Harry pointed his wand towards the man's face, forcing him to take a good look at it. Yew, with a thunderbird tail feather core, and 12 and a half inches. 

"Who… am I?" 

The desperation in his voice did not go unnoticed. The man closed his eyes, his trembling voice uttering a name he had not said in decades.

" Damianos… " 

Harry closed his eyes, breath hitching as he heard the name. He had heard Ragnar call him that name, he used it on himself. Yet hearing this man say it caused him to feel an unexplainable warmth. Such a name that had meant so much to him years ago.

"It's nice that you still remember my name, Gellert." Harry chuckled, grinning at the once dark lord who had tears in his eyes. He did not hesitate to hand over the Hygieia potion, which Gellert downed immediately. 

He watched as Gellert aged backwards, more than fifty years of his life restored. Gellert who was around a hundred and ten years old looked like he was in his late forties. It was an obvious difference, as his youth was restored. Harry chuckled softly, glad that Gellerts hair was a platinum shade, almost an ethereal white and not the dead kind of white. His mismatched eyes were clear as day, as the man closed his eyes and revealed them once more.

Harry was disgruntled by the subtle lack of magical power, but he could only suspect it was due to the isolation Gellert had gone through for fifty years. He handed the rest of the potions to Gellert, urging him to drink them all up. Although he was a dark lord, Gellert scowled at the atrocious taste of the nutrient potion. Harry had fed him a variety of it, slowly progressing from being skin and bone.

The boy turned towards his poor frightened house elf, apologizing to Winly and sending her away with the orders of preparing a suitable room for Gellert. Winly happily followed his orders, stating that she was honored to be serving such a powerful heir. Harry merely hummed, turning to Gellert who was comfortably adjusted to his chair. One that the man had claimed his favorite decades ago.

The cold wind of the Austrian Alps blew against the glass windows. Frost covering the glass and melting upon the spell Harry had casted around the place. Silence reigned over them as Gellert quietly rested, allowing the potions and spells to set. Harry could faintly hear some grunts and groans from Gellert, slightly concerned, but shook it off and watched the snow fall.

"Damian? Damianos?" 

Turning his head, vivid green clashed with blue and black. A look of pain, relief, and a sad kind of joy showed on Gellert's expression. He reached out towards Harry, who slowly accepted his hand.

"I really am surprised you remember. I thought you'd have forgotten by now…" Harry chuckled wryly. Gellert's hand felt frail in his, although his was admittedly smaller due to his body. "It's been fifty years…"

Gellert closed his eyes. It was unusual to see the ruthless dark lord shed tears, Harry had seen this scene before, but it never ceased to surprise him. Gellert looked fragile, vulnerable even.

"How could I ever forget?" He asked, outraged. Harry closed his eyes, unable to handle the pain in Gellert's voice. "How could I ever forget my own son's name?" 

Damian… also known as Damianos Grindelwald, Harry's seventh life. Born on October 31st 1916, to the dark lord and an unfortunate muggle born woman who died giving birth to him. His mother, poor Freida Schneider. A muggle born witch with a squib great grandmother— the supposedly last magical member of the Nachtnebel Family of Germany. 

"You even used your old wand to help me recognize you. Mein kostbarer Sohn… " Gellert murmured, rubbing his thumb on Harry's knuckles. "You told me… when you were a child that… that you had dreamt of being other people, that you had suddenly woke up as my son." 

Harry met Gellert's eyes, a pained look within mismatched hues. "You've lived different lives. You are here now, as the boy-who-lived— that is proof, mein sohn. How many… how many have you lived?"

A moment of hesitation passed, but Harry inevitably answered. Gellert had once been his father, and he still considered the man such. Gellert may have loved his mother— hopelessly loved unfortunate Freida, but Damian was his pride, his joy, his most prized possession and the son the man cherished dearly.

" Dreizehn. This is my second time being Harry Potter… Damian is my seventh. This is my thirteenth." He admitted.

A look of anguish morphed on Gellert's face, as he brought Harry's hand close to his face. The back of Harry's hand pressed against Gellert's forehead. "My child… You have suffered more than I did." 

Harry sighed, placing his hand over Gellert's. "I will explain more later. Right now, we need to get you out of here."

"You cannot. Albus—" 

"I said don't say his name!" Harry snapped. 

Gellert's eyes softened, understanding of Harry's agitation. "Alright. Dumbledore ," he carefully said, "has placed numerous spells, runes, and wards that will not allow me to leave. Surely, the next time he comes to check in, he will take notice of my absence." 

"Don't worry about that. I've been awake for a month. I've been planning to smuggle you out of here for that time." Harry explained. "Shame though… I grew up here, and Dumbledore has ruined the memories of it."

Gellert chuckled wryly. It felt like a deep failure to raise Damianin Nurmengard, but his son had taken an immediate liking to the castle. It was a fortress that had protected Damian Grindelwald for his entire life, till the day he died.

"I've prepared a fake body to replace you. The Peverell lineage comes in handy for that." Harry chuckled, a morbid glint in his eyes. "I have altered the wards ever so slightly, and once you're out, I'll return it to what it once was. As a precaution, I'll have Winly apparate you."

"What about you?"

"I'll stay behind for a bit and fix the wards. Maybe even replace our artifacts with fakes." 

Gellert nodded solemnly. He was still weak, thus useless to Harry. 

"Be careful." Gellert simply received a deadpan.

"Honestly now! Not only am I Harry Potter but I am also Damian Grindelwald. Since when have I been careful?"

"Great Harry Potter sir!"

"Young master!"

Harry landed in the entrance hall of Potter Manor. His blurry vision only saw the silhouettes of two hours elves, waving them off like it was nothing. One of the elves— he immediately assumed it was Dobby due to the use of 'great', leading him to the nearest chair. 

"Does the young master want some tea? Food?" 

Harry blinked, narrowing his eyes at the other elf. He recognized the elf as Tulip, the other female elf. He nodded weakly, as Dobby attempted to make him as comfortable as possible. In the end, Harry was grimacing at the hard chair he was sitting on and ordered Dobby to take him to his room. The room usually used by the lord of the house was currently Harry's room, the boy falling to the bed immediately.

He heard the door open again, ushering footsteps as he heard something being set down on the bedside table. A groan left his lips, causing the elves to fuss. He was drained of his energy. Adjusting the wards Dumbledore himself created was a great challenge for him, as well as placing an intricately made fake corpse for Dumbledore to see. He had placed a timer within the wards to alert Dumbledore of Grindelwald's 'death' in a month.

" Skol'ko vremeni?" The Russian words left his lips, baffling the elves that were tending to him.

"Y-Young master?" 

"What time is it?" Harry repeated, grimacing. He gently held the tea cup Tulip had given him, sighing in content to the  chamomile tea prepared for him. The hot liquid going down his throat and calming down his nerves, although just a smidgen.

"Oh! 'Tis a quarter till six in the evening. Shall I prepare dinner?" Tulip immediately questioned.

Harry hummed. "Yes. Make sure to include our guest." 

Tulip bowed, popping away as only Harry and Dobby were left in the room. The heir to the Potter house pushed himself to sit, with Dobby's support that is. He thanked the house elf as he grabbed some of the bread Tulip had prepared.

"I assume my belongings have been arranged." He hummed, glancing around the room. It was large, spacious, with an empty bookshelf and a door that would lead to a walk-in closet and bathroom. 

Dobby nodded, "Yes Harry Potter, sir! Missy Hedwig also arrived. Clay is taking care of Hedwig." 

"That's good. Also, could you get me some water?" He said as he gently caressed the dark emerald gem. He sighed, a bit regretful for neglecting Amarantha.

"Of course!"

Harry nodded, as Dobby popped away. He took off the necklace that Amarantha's gem was hanging off, placing it in his palm. Resurrecting a Basilisk was going to be a difficult endeavor, especially with an ingredient he needed that required another resurrection. 

§Would you prefer I put you in hot or cold water?§ He asked. The gem vibrated, shaking in his palm until it paused for a second. §Hot?§ The gem stayed silent. §Cold then.§ The gem vibrated, as if it were happy.

When Dobby had returned with a bowl of water, Harry dismissed the elf and began to adjust the water's temperature. He gently dipped the gem into the cold water, watching as if vibrated in satisfaction. He hummed softly, placing protective charms around the bowl as he walked towards the closet.

There were some clothes that belonged to his grandfather and father and some new ones that Harry had ordered the elves to procure beforehand. He leisurely picked out a white shirt and black trousers.

He hissed a few comforting words towards the gem before slipping out of the room and towards the dining hall. He could smell the scent of numerous kinds of foods, recognizing some dishes. A small smile graced his lips as he saw Gellert already seated and restraining himself from drooling.

"I hope Tulip prepared enough food." Harry chuckled. There was more than enough, but he was quite glad. Neither of their bodies were in good states after all.

"I must say… that little elf of yours is better than that elf… What was its name?"

"Bamey? Well… he was given to us by Nagel, I think."

Gellert chuckled as he sliced the steak that was served. "You have impeccable memory. Is it an advantage or gift due to your reincarnations?"

Harry tilted his head, contemplating his answer. Harry had been rather forgetful in the beginning, but he had become malicious and vengeful. Due to this, his memory had become sharper and more accurate because of his promise of revenge to those who wronged him. It had become extremely useful in the end.

"Not exactly. It's not like your ability to see figments of the future. Rather, my memory became better and better as time passed." Harry explained.

"I see… why is it that you never tried to stop me?" Gellert suddenly asked, causing Harry to halt before his food could enter his mouth.

He had anticipated this. Gellert was now aware that he was originally Harry Potter. He knew of his identity as the wizarding world's golden boy. 

"... I have lived… many lives, thus experienced many perspectives. In my fourth life, I woke up as Clarisse Laurent, a French muggle born witch. That life, I experienced the abuse from my own family due to my magic and the discrimination of purebloods towards my… kind of people." 

Harry grimaced, unable to find proper words. It took a long minute for him to speak again, looking Gellert in the eye.

"I was born as your son, in a time where it has already become history. I knew of future events, muggle and magic. I agree with you, in a manner. Non-magicals are dangerous. They outnumber us, have weapons that can eradicate an entire country. Their own people slaughter and massacre one another. We wouldn't have survived if we didn't take action immediately." 

Gellert frowned, seeing the look of utter defeat and frustration on Harry's face. The grip the boy had on his fork grew tighter and tighter, magic swirling in the air. He could feel it, but watched as Harry struggled and spoke of the future.

"I have lived in the future four times. We've advanced, but the muggles have grown and progressed faster. Your plan… it had the right goal, but the way you wanted to go through with it would be proven difficult." 

Gellert leaned back on his seat, "How so?" 

A pregnant pause swallowed them, before Harry spoke again.

"They still outnumber and outmatch us. We won't be able to force them into subservience. What we need is some kind of… total isolation until our world has caught up to them." 

Harry's voice was caught in his throat. Memories of his eighth and eleventh life spiraled through his mind. The horror he had discovered in those two loves had been atrocious, both solidifying his hatred towards muggles.

"In one life… I discovered something… so utterly horrifying that I pity muggle borns for being… being exposed to muggles. These children are in grave danger, Gellert! Those mundanes will—"

"Damian?"

Harry squeezed his eyes shut.

"I… I can't. I can't speak of it now… maybe in the future… but right now— the memories of that life still haunt me in my dreams."

Gellert softened immediately at the pure utter fear Harry displayed. His son, although now in a different body, with a completely different identity, had barely displayed fear. Damian Grindelwald and Harry Potter were reckless yet brave children. To see him shaking in fear— for of the muggles of all things, showed how dire the situation could become.

"I understand. I shall be patient… I promise, mein sohn. "

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 5:

Harry opened his eyes, he wasn't in his room. All he could see was the sight of a battlefield. Blood, smoke, and bodies littered the places. He sighed hopelessly. Another memory.

He saw the smoke of a fiery spell. Voices were muffled, faces were blurred, but in the middle of it all was the man who caused such chaos. Tears rolling down his hazel eyes as he stared at two bodies. The one who was supposed to be the happiest of the thirteen.

"Malcolm!"

Harry stared at the figure of his second life. The bodies of 25 year old Barty Crouch Jr. and Rabastan Lestrange were still on the ground. Malcolm, who was the same age as the two, stared at his best friends' dead bodies. Harry turned towards the voice that had called out to his second life, eyes softening as James ran to his younger brother.

His beloved younger brother who had massacred people from the light and dark. Yet the man thought nothing of the blood in his brother's hands, only fear for Malcolm's safety was in his mind. 

"Malcolm! Malcolm!"

James yelled more as Malcolm pointed his wand towards another wizard. A member of the order.  A face Malcolm could not forget— the man who killed Barty. The only thing Malcolm could see was red as sent a lethal curse towards the man. In retaliation, the man conjured his own.

"Reducto!" Malcolm had yelled.

The next thing Harry knew, he was looking away from Malcolm being met with the blasting curse. He knew the sensation of his own magic seeping from his blood. He opened his eyes, grimacing at James who held Malcolm. The younger brother— whose body had been blasted to pieces, blood staining James's clothes. His younger brother's blood on his face.

"Tell… tell Pandora and Doras...that I'm sorry for breaking our promise… tell her...Tell Dora I'm sorry… for making them the last one… I'm sorry I won't be there…for my nephew and goddaughter…"

The memory shifted, and Harry saw the silhouette of a man, whimpering and sobbing in the most pathetic way he had seen. His vision was limited, but as soon as he looked up, Harry saw red and understood. A wry grin formed on his face, utter malice in his eyes as he saw the familiar man murmuring for mercy. 

“Wormtail.”

—and a voice that Harry could never forget.

" Du siehst schrecklich aus. Did you get enough sleep?" Gellert asked, scowling at the disheveled appearance of his son's 13th life. Harry rolled his eyes. 3 weeks had already passed since Gellert was freed from Nurmengard. The entire 3 weeks, Harry was updating Gellert of the current timeline, often mentioning things from his past life. It had been peaceful.

They had spent Harry's birthday leisurely reading through the library. Gellert had Winly— who was now serving as his temporary elf— buy a gift for Harry. The boy had received an elegant looking antique music box that played Ludwig Van Beethoven's symphony no. 9. It had been Damian Grindelwald's favorite and the song that often put him to sleep. Harry hadn't stopped smiling for the entire day after that.

"No. I did not." 

"Nightmares? The dreams of your past life?" Gellert asked, noticing the surprised look Harry wore. "You mentioned such things when you were a child. Muttering of how painful it is to die sometimes. I had thought… I had thought you were affected by the happenings in nurmengard. The murder and torture within that place…"

The memories within Nurmengard were fresh for only one of them. Harry's memories of his seventh life were blurred. However, Gellert was familiar with it. Nurmengard was many things to the dark lord. It was a prison he created for his enemies then unexpectedly became his own little hellhole. But at the same time, it was home, at some point. It was the place where he had spent time with Freida, it was where Damian Was born and raised.

"Freida was quite… adamant that our son would grow in the place I built. Such a loyal follower she was. One of the rare muggleborns who agreed with me." Gellert chuckled wryly. 

"You never talked about mein mutter that much. I only heard from Vinda that she was absolutely devoted to you with a deep ingrained hatred for muggles." Harry murmured, causing Gellert to smile.

"Dearest Freida had been unfortunate to be born into a heavily religious household. When she first displayed accidental magic, her parents had sent her to church… to pray, to have faith in god, to… to be exorcised. It was my great aunt who took her in when she fled from her family. A talented witch." A long sigh left Gellerts lips. Nostalgia in his eyes.

"Freida was not… always Freida. She had never felt right in her body." He trailed off, "Freida was born Hubert before my great aunt found her. After a while… She asked for a potion. She drank and killed Hubert, the child who had been terrorized by her parents. Freida was born, the revival of the Nachtnebel family."

The Nachtnebel family… a dark yet fallen family of wizarding Germany. Damianos Grindelwald was announced to be the last member of that family before his own death.  The surname itself meant 'night fog' and was a name of a decree in the second world war. How ironic.

"Nachtnebel… you never told me what was so special about that family aside from the fact there's an ancient dark house."

"I cannot completely remember either. If I can retrieve the archives in Nurmengard…" Trailed, eyes fleeting towards the great snowy owl flying towards Harry.

Hedwig landed just by Harry's plate, offering her claw. 

"Oh… oh fuck! I forgot!" Harry snatched the letter from Hedwig, giving the owl a sheepish smile as he offered her his bacon. Ron's letter in hand, he hastily opened it. The familiar, quite messy handwriting, of the youngest Weasley son was written on the letter.

"Ah right… Gellert, I might have to leave you here for a few days. My friend from school still thinks I'm in my abusive household and offered to let me stay in their home." Harry explained, standing from his seat. "I have to say yes or they'll be suspicious." 

Gellert smiled softly. "Of course. It's nice that you actually have friends. When you attended Durmstrang, you were never associated with anyone."

"Well… the school wasn't the issue. I attended Durmstrang three times, Damian Was my second time being a Durmstrang student." Harry admitted before grabbing some toast and running up his room. He grinned like a fool, "Tell me if you want to know more about the future… or you'll depend on your clairvoyance for that." 

"Well… I've seen bits and pieces of it these past few days. Do try not to kill yourself in the tournament." Gellert hummed, disregarding his empty plate and reaching for his orange juice. He gave Harry a deadpan, quite serious yet amused. 

Gellert had seen flashes. . .of Dumbledore calling out Harry's name. Of a dragon that soared the sky. Of vivid green eyes staring daggers at red hues. But before those images, he'd seen a smoky green skull illuminating the night sky. How Harry stood underneath it with the same insane grin Damian once wore. "Also… be careful during the quidditch world cup. Don't cause too much trouble or the ministry will come calling." 

"You don't have to worry about the world cup. It's more of an excuse to meet up with a lovely seer similar to yourself. Also...I won the tournament once, I can do it again. Besides…" 

Harry smirked. 

"I'm in need of someone's blood to revive one of my past life familiars."

Dear Ron,

I don't think it's a good idea for you to come to the Dursleys. My aunt and uncle have been in utterly horrid moods lately. I think we should meet in Diagon Alley. My aunt will do anything to get rid of me and instantly agreed! Also thanks for the cake. Mione and Sirius sent some cake too. I had to hide it from my relatives 'cause Dudley's supposed to be on a diet. Shame though.

Tell Mrs. Weasley I said thank you for the treacle tart she sent!

From, Harry Potter.

Ron and his father had entered the leaky cauldron— Ron, in particular, was quite anxious. Harry's was short, concise, and straight to the point. It was rather Harry , the letter was but his handwriting wasn't… wasn't completely the same as he knew. Harry's handwriting was admittedly more messy than the one he had seen in the letter. Even the signature looked like a much more elegant version of Harry's actual signature.

Harry took longer to answer his letter. Even Hermione had agreed that Harry's responses were quite slow nowadays. It hadn't been the same from the summer before, but at the same time it felt similar. Harry had run to the leaky cauldron when he accidentally blew up his aunt, now the boy had requested to meet them in the very same place.

It was only right for Ron to be concerned. His leg constantly bounced as he tapped his finger on the side of his other leg. Eyes fleeting across the pub in search for a familiar dark haired boy with unique green eyes. His father was calmer than him in this situation, but still, Arthur looked concerned. He had planned to go to Privet Drive with his son's just a few days ago, only for Harry to send a letter stating they should not. 

However, to Ron’s relief, he caught sight of an all too familiar head of pitch-black hair. Immediately stood from where he was sitting and rushed towards Harry to envelope him in a bear-like hug. On the other hand, Harry who had just exited the room he had been using, was a bit startled but not too surprised. He had expected this, chuckling as he, loosely , wrapped his arms around Ron in a comforting manner. 

“Don’t worry me like that you bloody git!” Ron exclaimed, scolding Harry with a ferocious glare. Harry nodded, turning to Mr. Weasley with a friendly smile.

“My bad… I ended up here just a few days ago for early shopping, my uncle had a fit after I mentioned coming here.” Harry wryly explained. He had bought his school supplies beforehand, having already memorized the needed materials for the next year. Although he did end up buying an expendable trunk with a lock and more and more books regarding his 12th life's studies— potions and alchemy. “So, when’s the quidditch world cup?”

Ron’s eyes gleamed in delight, “It’s in two days! Almost the entire family and Hermione are coming.”

“How’d you get the tickets though? Especially with how many of us are going.”

Arthur chuckled, patting Ron’s shoulder as the boy huffed out in pride. “Not to worry about that, lad. Ludo Bagman owed me, so the tickets are how he’s repaying. The best seats a person could get too!” 

Harry only smiled pleasantly. The best seats meaning the prime seats, the top box of the stadium. Admittedly it was the best in terms of the view for those genuinely interested in the match and a good place for negotiations due to how many officials were gathered. Ministers for multiple countries of Europe would be inside the top box, either making bets, or scheming together. It was a setting that could be so loud and distracting that no one would be able to suspect much. That included Harry himself.

“That would be lovely Mr. Weasley. Are we going to the burrow now or later? I can retrieve my belongings from my room.” Harry smiled, gesturing to the stairs. Arthur chuckled, lightly shoving Ron forward, to which the youngest son scowled.

“C’mon mate, I’ll help you pack up.” Ron grumbled but looked rather excited. 

Harry smiled thoughtfully, pitying the boy who was ignorant to what would happen during the world cup. Alas, ignorance truly was blissful and the little mercy Harry was capable of was spent on that.

Hypocrite.

Arriving at the burrow, it hadn't changed from Harry's slightly foggy memory of it. The last time Harry had actually visited the Burrow was in his sixth life. He smiled wryly, remembering how Death Eaters had burned the house down, a pity. Its structure was strange, but the magic holding it up was fascinating.

Harry landed much more gracefully once he emerged from the fireplace. Dusting his clothes, he looked around the Weasley's living room. The two eldest sons; Bill and Charlie, were already there. Harry instantly grinned at them, especially Charlie who Harry had befriended personally in his sixth life as Orpheus Black.

Free and George had come barrelling down the stairs like the maniacs they were and grinned right back at Harry. The two lunged forward, sandwiching Harry between them.

"It's nice to see you again Harrykins!" Free yelled, squeezing tighter. Harry— poor, poor Harry, could not breathe and began hitting the boy. Fred yelped as Harry's hand met his face, pouting as he nursed his red nose.

George laughed heartily, patting Harry's head. "‘Least our seekers arms strengths still good. The muggles haven't bothered you much have they? No more bars on your windows?" He asked, his smile faltering as he looked at the younger boy in immense worry. 

Harry shook his head, "Not at all. My uncle and cousin have been prats, but my aunt…" he trailed off, unconsciously reaching for the locket hidden under his shirt. "Well she's been tolerable." 

George nodded, before resuming his cheshire grin. The twins dragged their honorary little brother towards their two eldests, which had been a great experience for Harry. Bill was pleasant and still knowledgeable about curse breaking, runes, and the workings of Gringotts. Charlie was an absolute delight as he and Harry discussed Dragons and the like, which caused Ron to shudder as he heard the mention of Norbert— Norberta now apparently.

It was quite difficult for Harry to not stop smiling as Charlie gushed of how adorable dragons were. A fond look upon his face, before shaking his head and playing the role of Charlie's younger brother's best friend. He wasn't Orpheus anymore. It had been decades— a century maybe, since he had been Orpheus Black. This wasn't the same Charlie Weasley he had been friends with. 

At some point, Hermione came from the kitchen, squeaked in delight and hugged Harry tightly. The boy firmly reciprocated the embrace, startling Hermione. She had pulled away, narrowed her eyes then suddenly squeezed his arm. A small hum left her lips, a smile breaking from her stern expression.

"You've gotten better. Less skin and bone I must say." She chuckled, looking ultimately relieved. But just in case, she grabbed Harry's arm again and continued to squeeze. A small flush stained her face, coughing as she turned towards Ron who gave her an incredulous look. 

The two boys met eyes, before Ron stepped towards Harry and went to grab Harry's arm.

"Ron! Show Harry where he'll be staying! And— welcome back Harry." Mrs. Weasley smiled, as Harry nodded awkwardly. Ron was sulking for a bit, before nodding in agreement to his mother's orders.

Harry had conflicted feelings for Molly Weasley. She was, admittedly, rather overbearing. In his first life, he had felt warm and loved because of her affection, but once again his connection to the Weasleys were brought back to his fifth life. As Orpheus, he wasn't on good terms with Molly Weasley. For one, he was a suspected dark wizard and attended Durmstrang. Molly did not like her second born being friends with him. Second, she had been arrogant enough to think that her decisions were best for Harry, his other self, and she often chastised Orpheus for simply keeping Harry updated in things.

He didn't hate her, but he didn't like her either. Harry was more or less tolerant and annoyed of the Weasley Matriarch's attitude. Although he suspected she thought she was entitled to make the decisions for others due to her being the mother of seven children. She was a caring yet overbearing person. Harry disliked overbearing people, they were… in the nicest way he could admit, very inconvenient. 

"Harry? You alright mate?" Ron asked as they climbed up the stairs towards the room they would be staying in. 

"Hm? Oh, perfect. What was that about the business the twins wanted to start?" Harry tilted his head, causing Ron and Ginny to go on a tirade of the future pranking business Harry knew Fred and George would be able to start. 

"Hello Percy." Harry greeted the third son, who nodded back at him. Ron's room, to his memory, was quite cramped. Especially now with his trunk shoved into a corner. He grimaced, hoping that nothing would be damaged. 

He sighed, rubbing his chest, specifically where Amarantha's gem would be. Ron began to argue with Ginny about the two teams going up against each other during the cup. While he and Hermione were sitting quietly listening to the two fingers fight. The girl glanced towards him, tilting her head as she poked Harry's arm again.

It didn't incite much of a reaction aside from a small glance. "Really… you've gotten healthier, no offense." She commented, smiling at Harry who chuckled at her comment. She smiled, quite glad that Harry was getting better. She felt guilty, of course, but she was still glad he was okay.

"Thankfully so. Your parents are okay with you coming, right?" A pinched look formed on Harry's expression, trying his hardest not to show his disdain.

Hermione nodded, not noticing the dark look in his eyes. "Mum and Dad made me promise I'd behave, though." She said, smiling at Ginny and Ron passionately defending their favorite quidditch teams.

Harry nodded, cautiously glancing towards Hermione before patting her bushy head. He laughed softly as Hermione swatted his hand away without a second glance.

"Oh goodness… I can't believe I'm going to have to ask Fred and George of all people about the OWL's. Percy is far too busy to entertain my questions." Hermione huffed.

"I don't think so. They're quite brilliant if you ask me. They're able to make a bunch of ridiculous inventions that would take a mighty lot of knowledge and skill. Believe me, they'll have good advice… somehow." Harry fell against the bed, smiling as Hermione gave him a weird look. He has always found the twins brilliant, it was only logical for him to allow others to see what he saw. 

"You're joking."

"I'm not 'Mione. They're brilliant." 

"If you say so." Hermione sighed, "I think they're finished arguing. Should we help your mum set the table?"

§Loud… ears hurt…§

Harry sighed, narrowing his eyes at the horrid noise of Ron's snoring. He couldn't sleep, caressing Amarantha's gem as he listened to his old familiar whimper at the noise. He took out the yew wand and casted a wordless silencing spell on the boy. To his thanks, Ron still looked like he was snoring but no sound left the boy. The spell would wear off when he woke up.

§Better?§

§Nice…quiet…master's voice…§

Harry hummed, rubbing his thumb on the gem. Amarantha's soul was peacefully residing in the gem, only a few more requirements left for Harry to resurrect the familiar he had unfortunately killed. A part of him wished that he had just let Ginny die in hopes that Amarantha wouldn't have had to suffer the blade he used. But alas… he had woken up after the serpent died.

He wondered whether when Dumbledore would notice he no longer lived in the Dursleys. He'd tampered with the man's wards, made sure Dumbledore would think that Harry was still there. Potter Manor was a far cry from the atrociously clean 4 Privet drive. Although Potter Manor was more. . .secluded, isolated, lonely was the best he could describe it. 

He could easily compare the days he lived as Malcolm Potter, happily running through the halls of the manor as James chased after him. When he was in his fourth year, Sirius came into the fray and him and James were the ones to be having fun. Malcolm was often left out, but he had endured it. He still hated Sirius for abandoning Regulus. 

Harry's thoughts wandered as he recalled that having seats in the top box had many advantages. Examples were meeting with notable figures or different countries, Harry was more interested in meeting someone of Russia's noble family. His sixth life had heavily influenced him after all.

He wondered whether Nadia Markova still existed in this world. Whether Orpheus Vladimir Black's mother was still alive, perhaps with another child that wasn't him. The thought saddened him, but the chances were always there. He had encountered similar things before, and constantly told himself that he couldn't do anything about it.

If Nadia had a son that wasn't Orpheus, he questioned what that boy's name would be. Would it also be Orpheus? He highly doubted it. What would their patronymic name be? Orpheus was half British, thus he had a middle name rather than a patronymic one.

A part of him was bitter… 

"Nadia… did you give birth to a child worthy of being your son?" 

A simple question he asked no one in particular as he laid back down in the bed, clutching Amarantha's gem as he closed his eyes. It wasn't too hard for him to forget. The reflection he once had of wavy dark hair and silvery purple eyes. The very same eyes his mother had… Did her child have the same eyes? Was he as brash and harsh as he was?

Nadia had been a protective and fierce woman. Orpheus took after his mother when it came to his personality and his appearance was closely compared to Sirius… except his eyes. He had his maternal grandfather’s eyes. They weren’t silver like Sirius’s, they were less gray and more like violet. The lack of pigment in his eyes and the red light reflecting from his blood vessels. Nadia and Sirius had suspected the weird coloring was due to their bloodlines mixing. 

He wondered… whether that child would have their grandfather’s eyes. Whether that child was better than him. But it had been years since Harry was Orpheus. Years, decades, perhaps e century had passed since he was Nadia Markova’s only child. 

§Master…tired? Hurt?§

Harry pursed his lips, quietly apologizing to Amarntha as he caressed the gem. Emerald eyes stared at the gem that reflected his eye color, a small smile gracing his lips. He was never able to understand what Amarantha said in his previous life— always depending on others to translate her words.

Parseltongue was a blessing to him.

§I’m okay. Return to sleep and continue to rest. Don’t waste your energy, not before I resurrect you.§

The gem seemed to hum, vibrating softly in his palm. He sighed, resting his head back against the pillow and tucking himself in. He stared at the ceiling, glancing towards Ron before turning back to the ceiling. His thoughts began to drift towards other things, closing his eyes as he began to count.

130, 129, 128, 127, 126, 125, 124, 123, 122, 121, 120… 110…100…90…80…70…60…50…

He continued to count until he finally thought of the number zero. His eyes slowly closed and he drifted off to sleep without another word. His thirteenth life was just beginning, the future was set to change. Harry promised himself that his thirteenth life wouldn’t be an exact copy of his first. Things were already different…

There wouldn’t be anything wrong with changing the future entirely.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 6:

The sounds of cheers and jeers, excitement flowing through the air as a large group of people walked by. Harry wandered towards the familiar faces. Be it the ancestor or descendant he knew, they were familiar. Certain features made him recognize certain people. He could recognize the nearly identical faces of Lorraine Montaigne and Nikita Orlov, who he suspected were either their parents, grandparents, or even aunts and uncles.. His eyes narrowed quietly, turning back towards the group of redheads.

It was easy to distinguish him from the weasleys. Hermione’s brown hair could be blended into their ginger hairs while the pitch black he inherited from father easily stood out. But he kept his head low, fidgeting with the yew wand in his pocket as he quietly listened to the conversations between Fred and George. 

They had parted ways with the Diggorys earlier, to which Harry was evidently glad for. Seeing Cedric after all this time made his stomach churn. Although the boy did not die the last time saw him— as Orpheus who did not allow Cedric to get a hold of the cup during the final trials. He didn’t have anything against Cedric, rather he didn’t want to associate with him after his first life. 

“Mate, d’you think I’ll be able to meet Victor Krum?” Ron asked, slightly dazed at the thought of his idol. 

Harry couldn't help but snort. He'd be meeting Viktor Krum soon and would hate him afterwards. Jealousy was a strong thing and for Hermione, Ron was a green-eyed monster. It was both sweet and rather concerning. Ron was easily dissuaded by his jealousy then turned anger. It hurt Hermione's feelings on multiple occasions. 

"Yeah, sure…just don't get jealous when other ladies start ogling at him." Harry emphasized, glancing towards Hermione who was chatting with Ginny.

Ron rolled his eyes, "What makes you think that!?" He exclaimed, "He's a good looking bloke, so of course others are gonna take a peak." 

A small laugh left Harry as he turned towards Mr. Weasley struggling to set up the tent. He glanced back towards Ron with a small smile before beckoning for Hermione to help him set up the tents. The two who were raised in muggle households had taken charge of sorting everything, while Harry also told Fred and George to take the matches from their father before they ran out.

The experience wasn't so bad, but the two silently agreed that Mr. Weasley was a tad bit too eccentric when it came to muggle things. They glanced at each other, Hermione unsure whether to praise Mr. Weasley or to tell him off, Harry only shrugged and shook his head. The Weasley patriarch wasn't ready for the conversation regarding the reality of the muggle world. They'd let him live his little fantasy for a bit longer.

They let the Weasley children bicker among one another, while Harry and Hermione slipped to the side. The girl had a pinched expression as she glanced towards Mr. Weasley who was fawning over the fire they had started without magic. She turned towards Harry with a confused and frustrated look.

"I…I don't understand why he's so fascinated with this. We're just setting up a tent and it's a simple match. What's so fascinating about that?" Hermione asked with a chuffed tone. 

Harry only hummed, he'd indulge her and explain. "Most wixens are like this, especially purebloods." He explained, "They are astounded by the mere fact that muggles have survived without magic and not realizing that muggle kind have advanced much further than them. Mr. Weasley might not understand, but this…excitement towards such mundane things can be misinterpreted as him being surprised that others don't need magic to live."

Her expression turned sour at that. Hermione pursed her lips, looking away from Mr. Weasley who was shaking the box of matches. She understood Harry's words, feeling quite bitter for that. As a muggleborn, she was in her right mind to be in awe of magic when most of her life she was told it was simple fantasy. Yet— the magical world seemed so arrogant and dismissive when it regarded the achievements of muggle kind.

Harry— although could respect how much the non magical world has advanced, he was still resentful of muggles. The horrors he had to go through in his eighth life was not to be ignored. He couldn't simply ignore what the muggles had done to children of their kind. He was old, older than he once was and harbored knowledge of the cruel world around them. Hermione was an asset he wanted to keep by his side— perhaps make her minister of magic much earlier than in his first life or maybe he could train her to be a teacher of Hogwarts and replace McGonagall in the future. 

After all the tents were properly set up and the awe of the inside finally went by, Harry, Hermione, and Ron set off across the campsite with the kettle and saucepan. Harry questioned why they couldn’t just use the Aguamenti charm and play it off as them bringing their own water. Hermione seemed to be as troubled while Ron was diligently following his fathers orders and scurried on to retrieve themselves some water. 

They got to the numerous rows of green tents and Harry couldn’t help but chuckle. Ireland truly was amazing— Seamus came bounding to them with the biggest grin they’ve seen. 

“Harry! Hermione! Ron!” Seamus yelled as Dean followed him with a reluctant smile. His mother was standing close to their shamrock covered tent, as the Irish wizard dragged his friend towards the infamous golden trio of Hogwarts. 

“The Ministry ain’t too happy with the decorations?” Harry jokingly asked as Seamus laughed in triumph. It was like this before— even when he was still Orpheus Black. Ireland's pride in their quidditch players was the most eccentric he’d seen. 

They chatted with Seamus and Dean for a few minutes before continuing on with their task. But to Harry’s dismay, Ron had dragged them both towards the Bulgarian tents where he began squealing like the fan he was. There were posters attached to the tents, displaying the same surly face of their country's seeker: Viktor Krum.

Harry could vividly remember Krum from when he was still Orpheus Black. He was unfortunately the boy’s roommate at that time and had to endure the aggressive enthusiasm Krum had for quidditch. From his first and second life, he had trained hard in quidditch and when he started to play as Orpheus he befriended Krum out of pure accident. It wasn’t his fault everyone mistook him for a prodigy. 

He was almost roped into Russia's quidditch team if not for his constant avoidance towards the sports department of the Russian Ministry. He was far too busy planning the defeat of Voldemort using the other Harry Potter of that world. 

“Don’t fawn too much. I heard most celebrities don’t like it when their fans do that.” Harry advised. It was his personal experience after all— but his friends didn’t need to know that. 

Ron slumped as Hermione patted his back with a blank smile. “It’s alright Ronald. He looks rather grumpy anyway.” 

“Grumpy? Who bloody cares what he looks like! He’s the youngest member of the Bulgarian quidditch team— only a bit older than the twins.” Ron exclaimed, looking rather offended as Hermione rolled her eyes and dragged him away from the tents. Harry hummed , thinking of how ironic it was for Ron to have a sort of crush for Krum while also being extremely upset the seeker was interested in Hermione.

As they passed by the tents, Harry frowned as he failed to see a familiar head of long and wavy blonde hair. Although he did see old classmates from his past lives, specifically that of Orpheus. The students of Durmstrang weren’t that hard to distinguish from the rest, seeing that they were either speaking in one of the languages Durmstrang students spoke or wore a jumper with the Durmstrang crest. 

He thought of the possible exchange trip he could take for Durmstrang or even Ilvermorny would be good for him. Hogwarts was severely lacking if he wanted to compare the schools. Dark magic was forbidden, unfortunately since many students had dark cores. Harry's core was complicated and confusing. He often said it was gray, as it often shifted from dark and sometimes to light. He knew his supposed gray was darker than thought. He suspected that Ginny was also dark, the Weasley twins most certainly but hid it from their parents.

Once they returned, Harry and Hermione were dragged into a long commentary of Mr. Weasley’s ministry colleagues. Hermione was genuinely interested while Harry tried his best to pretend he was. He knew enough of the current ministry to understand more than Percy. 

He sighed as he excused himself and began to work on their lunch. Hermione also moved away from the conversation to help Harry. They had already known how to cook— Harry knew more than the others of course— and started to berate the Weasley children when they tried to meddle with the cooking. Fred was victim to a rather nasty slap from Harry when he tried to take one of the sausages Harry had finished cooking. 

The three eldest sons of the Weasley family had arrived just in time for them to pass on the lunch. Percy had immediately gone and snatched George’s bacon without much remorse. Said twin ended up yelling at their older brother who— regardless of his formal exterior— feigned innocence and continued to bite at the bacon. 

“Ah! If it isn’t the man of the hour! Ludo Bagman!” 

Harry instantly started scooting away from Bagman’s sight, feigning his desire to sit beside Charlie who was completely out of Bagman’s vision. He smiled at the second son of the weasleys, who was quite curious as to why Harry had decided to move closer to him. 

“How is it— in Romania I mean.” He asked, eager to listen. Charlie’s eyes gleamed in delight as he set down his plate on his lap and began to speak about dragons. He spoke of the dragons that had recently hatched and his colleagues who had cried when the eggs hatched. He referred to a Chinese fireball as his ‘baby’. Harry knew the dragon well— Orpheus had nearly been charred by it after all.

“Yes and— the Hungarian horntail just laid its eggs; but we don’t know when they’ll hatch. About five were laid.” Charlie spoke as he squinted his eyes towards the ceiling. 

He didn’t notice how Harry had gone stiff, sweating profusely as he realized which Dragon he was talking about. He dearly wished that if ever he were to be involved in the tournament, it wouldn’t be a nesting mother dragon he’d have to go against. His broom could handle only so much. 

“Ah— yes,” Mr. Weasley was grinning from what Harry could see. “This is my third son Percy, who just started working at the Ministry. Those are the twins; Fred and George, then there’s Bill, Charlie and my only daughter Ginny.” When Mr. Weasley mentioned Charlie, he gestured towards them. “This is Ron and his friends. Hermione Granger and Harry Potter.”

Bagman’s eyes widened as his smile turned brighter the moment Harry was mentioned. The boy resisted the urge to roll his eyes but waved politely to the man who waved back very enthusiastically. 

A fanatic. Disgusting, Harry thought as he took Charlie’s plate and set it aside. He had trouble getting rid of his habits from the dursleys. They were worse since his body could remember the actions he took, unlike when he awoke in different bodies where his habits were just as different. 

He didn’t mind them as they chatted amicably, only reacting when Hermione had touched his forearm with a concerned look. She only received a smile in return, a small pat to the head which caused her to slap Harry with a deep irritation in her eyes. The green-eyed boy pouted, nursing his red hand as the girl with bushy hair huffed and moved back towards her tent. 

“Harry? Are you alright?”

“Never better.”

"A hundred thousand seats… amazing." Hermione awed as they went up the flight of stairs. She was wearing her jumper under a thick brown coat with fur on it and had her hand tugged by Harry who was chuckling at her amazement. The boy didn't want her tripping down the stairs, thus chose to hold her hand with his own that was covered by a leather glove.

He had changed out of his clothes to a somewhat more formal yet modest outfit. He had decided upon a simple black turtleneck shirt that matched with his navy coat. He didn't wear any merchandise that indicated what team he was supporting, best not to look too biased when speaking to those outside Britain. He made sure to flatten his hair the best that he could and hid his scar— which he had taken very good measures to actually get rid of it but unfortunately the magical residue and contents of it could not be removed just yet.

At last they finally arrived at the small box where their seats were located. Not many people were present yet but he did immediately spot a familiar house elf trying her best not to sob. He waved the group off and excused himself, moving towards the corner of the room and silently casted a notice for me not to spell. His eyes narrowed dangerously to the seat next to the house elf.

"Dobby." 

There was a loud pop emerging through the box which was thankfully muffled by the spell Harry casted. The house elf now stood before him with a blinding smile that promised loyalty and admiration.

"Harry Potter sir has finally called upon Dobby! I am honored." The elf declared, bowing till his nose grazed the floor. Harry hummed softly, gesturing towards Winky and summoning a small vile.

"This is a calming drought. Hand it over to that elf. Tell her to keep her master safe." He ordered, before dismissing Dobby. The house elf was confused before glancing towards Winky who was sniffling. Dobby's thoughts began to grow as he silently praised Harry for his kindness and bounded towards the elf.

"Dobby?" Winky murmured seeing the other elf. She felt her friend move slightly, as if moving to pull her away.

"Hello Winky! Dobby's master is telling Dobby to give you a calming drought." He shoved the vile in her face with a big and toothy grin. "Master's be telling you to keep your master safe." 

The person beside Winky stiffened but before the female house elf could ask, Dobby had already popped away. 

Harry was leisurely sitting at the very edge of the seats right beside Hermione. He hummed softly, glancing towards the still shaken house elf who was slowly drowning her calming drought. Her master was someone important to his plans— perhaps it was also because of sentiment that he wanted to keep the man alive. Was he being cruel? He didn't really care as he waited for more people to enter the box.

He was silent the entire time, listening to various conversations being said in different languages that many could not understand. Unfortunately for them, Harry was quite fluent in German, French, Romanian, Bulgarian, Greek, and Russian. He could easily translate most of the conversations in his head.

He had heard from two Romanian ministry officials of how many injuries the Bulgarian team had by the end. He heard France's head of the auror department gossiping on how the senior undersecretary of their ministry was having an affair with her husband's older sister. Then there was Russia. 

" Is she going to arrive? " One said in russian, looking around for someone.

" Yes she is. She's bringing her son with her " The other replied with an excited look. Whoever they were talking about was either a famous celebrity or an extremely influential person among the Russian Ministry.

" I never thought Markova would have the time. She's always so busy, but I guess because her son is a fan of quidditch… " 

Harry went stiff in an instant. He knew that name far too well. She was coming to the top box, and the moment he felt her magic, he restrained himself from jumping to his feet and burying himself into her arms. His head snapped towards the entrance where the Malfoy's had just passed and a minute later, a woman entered with a boy behind her.

Her wavy ash brown hair cascaded down her back. She wore a deep blue coat that matched her piercing blue eyes. Her expression was blank for a moment before she gave everyone a predatory grin. She easily mingled with the Russian diplomats and began to converse with them. Nadia Markova, the current head of the Markov Family.

But the boy was unfamiliar to Harry yet as he looked at him, he couldn't help how his heart ached. He knew who that boy was, not his name but who he could be. He had the same ash brown hair as Nadia and the very same eyes Harry had dreaded to see on another person— a dull violet. He was tall, a fascinated expression plastered across his face as he followed his mother with a proud grin.

Nadia's son. He didn't look anything like Orpheus— aside from his eyes. They were the same ones their grandfather had. Would this boy be considered his half brother? 

A moment later, Cornelius Fudge had approached them. Percy had bowed so low that his glasses nearly slipped from his face. Harry had reacted immediately to save the boy from embarrassment and pulled him back up. Percy blinked in surprise, turning to Harry with a subdued look of gratitude. Fudge on the other hand had swept him away, as the boy gave Percy a pleading look. Seeing how Harry seemed to be suffering, the jealousy in Percy subsided as he snickered at the agitated look the boy wore. 

Fudge had gone and embarrassed himself to the Bulgaria minister who looked thoroughly entertained but he kept a close eye on Harry and gave the boy a look that questioned him. Harry only offered a tired smile that showed how irritating the British minister was.

"Goodness, I am not good with languages. Where is Barty Crouch when you need him? Well his elf has already prepared his seat… good for him, these Bulgarian blighters have been trying to snatch all the seats— oh Lucius!" 

Harry gave the Bulgarian minister an apologetic look which the man thankfully noticed. He gave the boy a small nod, before Harry's attention was brought to the family of blondes. He blamed inbreeding for Draco's atrociously perfectly blonde hair.

"Minister, how are you?  I don't think you've met my wife, Narcissa and our son, Draco." Lucius introduced them. Narcissa gave a polite nod while Draco followed his mother's actions. Although the boy did turn towards Harry who nonchalantly waved at him. This seemed to surprise the Malfoy scion who awkwardly waved back.

Fudge seemed to be relieved, bringing Lucius attention to Arthur Weasley— a great mistake if Harry had to say anything. It was a perfect opportunity for him though, as he slipped closer to the Bulgarian minister and stood beside him.

"Zdraveĭ ministŭr Oblansk." Hello Minister Oblansk, Harry greeted, surprising the Oblansk. The man stared at him for a few seconds before laughing quietly. 

"You can speak our language!" It was less of a question and more of a statement for the minister.  

"Indeed, I do. I apologize for the words Minister Fudge has said…please know that, although he is minister, he does not speak for Britain." 

"Hm…you do not need to speak further. I understand what you mean." 

Harry nodded, understanding the Minister didn't really need any further statements for him to guess what he meant. Fudge was unfit to be a minister. He met eyes with Draco— who was staring at him in shock. Narcissa also looked skeptical as he continued to speak in fluent Bulgarian, having an ever pleasant conversation with Bulgaria's minister.

Harry gave them a Cheshire grin, tilting his head. " I cannot stand him—Ah! Please do not tell anyone what I said. " He said, keeping eye contact with Draco. The pale boy gulped, before Harry turned away from him and gave Oblansk a pleading look.

The man took pity and tried to catch Fudge's attentioned without speaking. The British minister quickly turned towards him and saw that Harry was standing beside the minister. Oblansk called for his secretary, who thankfully could speak English. Oblansk could also speak English but who was he to punish himself with a conversation with Cornelius fudge.

"Excuse me Mr. Fudge." The secretary cleared his throat, "Minister Oblansk is excusing himself but has also stated he would be borrowing Mr. Potter."

Fudge, Malfoy, and Weasley went stiff as they saw the glint of interest in Oblansk's eyes. Harry was smiling pleasantly at them, before the Bulgarian minister led him away from the British Ministry employees. Fudge was staring at their backs with his jaw dropped as Lucius Malfoy turned to his wife with wide eyes. Narcissa only nodded tersely before whisking her husband and son away to discuss Harry Potter's surprising ability to speak Bulgarian.

Arthur Weasley fidgeted, concerned and confused as he watched Harry speak to Oblansk's secretary.

"How entertaining. You are a very sly child." Oblansk commented as he grinned wolfishly at Harry. The boy only nodded, smiling with a respectful look. Better to keep himself humble yet cunning. Politician's liked those kinds of people— right?

"Ah, you flatter me minister. I am simply being honest— Is that not a good thing?" Harry hummed, tilting his head innocently as he was led towards another group of foreigners.

He felt his heart pound in his chest. Matushka, he thought as Nadia Markova grinned proudly at one of her co workers. He gulped as Oblansk started to speak to the Russian Minister of Magic before the attention was brought to him.  

Minister Levitsky was good friends with Nadia. 

At the moment, all he needed to do was speak to the Russian Minister of Magic. Oblansk gladly introduced Harry to them, to which Harry began conversing with Levitsky with fluent Russian that impressed those who could understand the language. He easily got along with the Ministry employees until he came face to face with Nadia Markova, one of the Russian Ministry's benefactors. 

She gave him a pleasant smile and offered her hand to him, "Zdravstvuyte, Mr. Potter." Hello, Mr. Potter. She greeted him as her gloved hand shook him. "I am Nadia Markova. It is a pleasure to meet you."

I missed you, he thought as he gave the woman a melancholic smile. "Priyatno poznakomitʹsya, ledi Markova." Nice to meet you, Lady Markova. He greeted back as she grinned brightly at him. His heart ached at the smile, knowing she didn't remember how he was her son. Orpheus Black didn't exist in this world, instead… 

"This is my son Nikolai. I think he is around your age— fourteen, fifteen?" Nadia introduced her son who smiled at Harry. 

Nikolai , it sounded pretty common. Orpheus was quite unique and had some sort of tie with the Black Family. He resisted the urge to simply scrutinize and judge the boy before him, plastering a smile across his face as he shook Nikolai's hand. He looked like Nadia— unlike Orpheus who had completely taken after his father. He was envious of that, pursing his lips as the boy grinned at him.

"I just turned fourteen actually. I will start my fourth year in September." 

"Really? Then you really are the same age as Kolya. His birthday just passed in April." Nadia chuckled as Nikolai turned a soft shade of red, embarrassed that his mother was cooing over him. 

Harry went stiff. Orpheus had been born on the 13th of April, how cruel it was for Nikolai Markov to be born on the same month. 

Nikolai cleared his throat, "M-Mama, that's enough." He coughed, giving his mother a strained grin. He turned back to Harry, "Nikolai Markov at your service." 

"Markov?"

"Ah… My father took my Mother's name when they got married so I am stuck with the surname Markov. Seems unusual, doesn't it?" Nikolai sheepishly scratched the back of his head, avoiding eye contact with Harry who was staring at him.

"Not at all. I for one think it suits you." Harry immediately assured with a blinding smile. "Hadrian Potter—Harry for short."

Nikolai instantly softened, smiling as he and Harry began a conversation of their own. They switched from Russian to English from time to time, simply trying to get to know each other. Harry was quite… calmed as he spoke to Nikolai more. He wasn't what he had expected from the boy. It made him bitter and relieved. How different Nikolai was.

Nikolai Markov — from the few minutes Harry had been speaking to him had concluded that the boy was bright and enthusiastic. He loved quidditch; he played as a chaser. Nikolai's favorite subject was transfiguration and ancient runes. He was very passionate about the arts; his hobby was painting things that caught his interest. He was a calm and somewhat introverted boy. It was deeply opposed to the boy's nonexistent half-brother.

Orpheus was cruel, manipulative, and seized opportunities like hawkes preyed on mice. Orpheus was the type of person who excelled in quidditch but didn't think much about it. His favorite subjects had been dark arts and history of magic. His hobbies were researching the properties and contents of magic itself. He was confident, prideful, and greedy. Nikolai was almost the stark contrast of it. 

He felt bitter about that. Nadia had once given birth to a boy who was willing to manipulate the world for her, and now the boy she currently adored was akin to a puppy or a cat. Did she prefer Nikolai over Orpheus? He couldn't ask her that or he would be declared a madman for harassing the Russians Ministry's benefactor.

"Is it true that the staircases in Hogwarts move?" Nikolai suddenly asked, tilting his head. His fluffy brown hair swayed as his head moved. Harry predicted that it would have felt nice to run his fingers through it.

"Yes. The mechanics of the stairs were crafted by Rowena Ravenclaw. Merlin knows what went into the woman's head when she thought that those moving stairs would be useful."

"Perhaps in case of an attack on the school? Maybe the staircases would turn into slides if an intruder entered to harm the students." 

"Hm… I didn't think of that. Although it's still dangerous without the enemies threatening the school. Someone had nearly fallen from the stairs." 

" bozhe moy, that is a health hazard. Do they not stop?"

Harry chuckled, cringing as he remembered the time Seamus had missed the stairs and had arrived to charms class late because of it. He shook his head, causing Nikolai to sniff indignantly. 

"Durmstrang only has a single spiral staircase that leads to all of the five floors. Although it was a bit frightening for me back in my first year. Up and down looked unending." Nikolai shuddered as he remembered.

Ah yes… that damn staircase of nightmares, he thought, eye twitching at the memory of his first year in Durmstrang. The staircase had been dark when going down and when going up you could see the faint light of the sun through the windows. But it only made the students feel like prisoners who wanted to escape the darkness to the light. Durmstrang had been considerably ruthless with its students— that never changed in any of his lifetimes.

"I can only imagine." Harry chuckled, "Say, as a student of Durmstrang, are you acquainted with Viktor Krum?"

Nikolai blinked in surprise, before his eyes gleamed in absolute delight. "Viktor! He'll be in his seventh year this September. He's absolutely blestyashchiy — I mean brilliant." His face turned red for a moment before he began to laugh.

Such a laugh that could have belonged to an angel. If Orpheus had laughed like that it would send a chill up people's spines.

"I was a player on his team when he wasn't scouted by the Bulgarian quidditch team. His feints are amazing, though it has caused us multiple heart attacks from his risk." Nikolai pressed a hand against his hip as he contemplated more on Viktor Krum. "One student tried to imitate him and landed himself in the infirmary. I doubt anyone else but Krum could perform the Wronski feint."

I did… Harry thought but didn't dare to speak it out.

"Really? I'm a seeker myself." 

"Ah! I remember— you're the youngest seeker of the century. A prodigy they've said." Nikolai praised, admiration in his eyes. He started to question Harry on who had taught him how to fly and had been surprised to find out that his first time was during their first flying lesson. 

"Who do you think will win?" 

"Well, I may be biased, but I'm rooting for Bulgaria." Nikolai admitted with a grin.

Harry nodded, "I see. I also think Bulgaria will display wonderful skills. Regardless, whoever wins or loses will still be able to show their pride in their country during the game. I'm pretty sure Krum will still stand out if he loses." 

Nikolai quietly agreed, before blinking as he turned towards his mother. "Kolya! Nam nuzhno zanyatʹ svoi mesta." Kolya! We need to take our places.

"Podozhdi minutku, mama!" Wait a minute, mama! Nikolai yelled back before turning to Harry. "Uh— Er— See you later?" He awkwardly asked with a slightly red face.

Harry smiled, "I'll come to you after the match. Maybe even introduce me to Krum." He joked as Nikolai brightened at his words. The son of Markov nodded vigorously before running back to his mother, his dark gray coat swaying with him.

Harry's smile fell. How nice… If you had been born in my sixth lifetime, I might have spoiled you rotten, he thought as he moved back to his seat. Nevertheless, perhaps I can do that in this life. 

Once seated, he received many odd looks from the Weasleys. Percy had practically tried to push Ron off his seat to speak to him, to which the youngest son stuck his tongue at his older brother before quickly doing just what Percy wanted. 

"Mate, what was all that? Couldn't hear anything you guys said." Ron said, curious as he leaned over Hermione. The girl snarled before pushing him away.

"Nothing much," Harry shrugged. "Minister Oblansk was curious about me and decided to introduce me to the other ministers."

"What about that boy? I think he's Russian." Hermione said.

"Nikolai Markov. His mother is a benefactor of Russia's ministry." He calmly explained but refused to disclose too much. "Student of Durmstrang, the same year as us. He's brilliant, seems like a superb chaser from what he's said. He's good at ancient runes." He specifically turned to Hermione who immediately brightened.

"Blimey Harry… I can't imagine how hard it is for you. So many people want to meet you— even from different countries." Ron exclaimed with exasperation. 

Harry hummed softly, paying attention to the game that was already starting. His plans had worked. He was able to meet his sixth life's mother and someone who could have been his half brother. But it felt dangerous— to be interested in the life of Nikolai Markov, the boy who essentially replaced him as Nadia's son. 

Let's see whether you'll survive longer than my past self… Nikolai Markov.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 7:

Do not hesitate when striking your foe. Those were his mother's words when she taught him how to use a sword. Nadia had been rather eccentric when it came to swordsmanship, strict yet kind when she taught him. He could easily hold a sword, parry and thrust when he dueled with her. He was her pride and joy. Her prodigious son who could master anything in a few months. 

Orpheus was a Mama's boy if anyone would have to say anything. He would do anything for his mother. Nadia had told him to win the Triwizard tournament and he won — bringing a trophy and glory back home to her. His greed within this life was different. He wanted to hold the world in his hands and present it to his mother, kneel before her like a believer to a god. If he couldn't have the world he would bring it down until they all knelt for his mother.

He didn't know where his obsession came from, perhaps it was because he had Black blood running through his veins. The madness of such a family already stained his soul from his life as Arcturus Black— it strengthened upon waking as Orpheus. He blamed the madness for the odd kind of greed he felt to make his mother a saint, a god.

Had Nadia given him a sibling he would have been exactly the same as Arcturus. A boy who would do anything for them. Be it gold, diamonds, or even blood and tears, he would have done anything for those siblings his mother had given him. But he was an only child and never needed to split his attention, neither did he have to share his mother. He had been possessive, paranoid of anyone who would even think of taking her from him.

He awoke in his thirteenth life and then he was sat on the top box of the stadium. As flashes of red and green blurred through the air, Harry was more focused on how Nikolai was squirming in his seat, trying his best not to scream out Krum's name in support. 

Nikolai Markov, the boy who could have been his little brother.

Had you been born, he thought as he glanced over to Nikolai and Nadia, I wouldn't have allowed myself to die and simply watched as Britain was brought to the ground. He would have been true to his words. He wouldn't have cared if Britain was dragged down by the dark lord. He'd have grabbed his other self, Sirius, and perhaps Remus and fled to Russia. They would have been safe and Britain would be ruled by a tyrant.

In this life, Nikolai was nothing but a stranger. Well, that was it at the moment. Harry wouldn't sit still and do nothing. He was still greedy and selfish. He wanted the boy who could have been his brother in his life. To compensate for stalling his birth in his sixth life and spoil him rotten till Nikolai could rely on him with everything.

"Harry!" Hermione slapped his arm. He blinked out of his stupor before turning towards Ron who was moving towards the glass. Hermione was distressed, turning to Harry with concern.

Veela , he thought before turning to grab Ron and Fred. Their older brothers had more restraint and George was a mystery as he helped Harry drag his brothers back to their seats. Strange… he wasn't too affected by the Veela last time, either.  

Hermione quickly had Ron sit, while Ginny and George were making sure that Fred wouldn't get back up again. The two girls were already berating the enchanted Fred and Ron. Ginny was twitchy, pursing her lips as she stared at the Veela and clenching her fists at the sight of them. Harry was more confused as to why George wasn't affected by the Veela— They were all female… Harry thought as he finally realized.

Perhaps his marriage to Angelina was more of obligation than love. How devious.

"Snap out of it." Harry snapped as he slapped Ron across the face. Many cringed as they heard the sound. Ron blinked out of his stupor, before whining of the searing pain across his cheek. Harry only rolled his eyes and sat back on his seat, right beside Hermione's. "Damn Veela." 

"Veela…  What exactly is Veela?"

"Half human and nymph-like creatures. They're  like sirens on land but have more humanity. There have been cases where Veela marry humans, although I don't know if they've married muggles before." Harry explained, eyes still on the Veela that were dancing around. He glanced towards Nikolai who looked unaffected but fascinated by the Veela.

Another one… he thought as he glanced towards Hermione who was patting Ron's reddened cheek.

"Are there male veelas?" Hermione asked as she peered down at the Veela. 

Harry hummed, "Yes but the female Veela are much more common than male veelas."

He'd encountered many Veela in his different lives but male veelas were rather uncommon compared to females. He wasn't too fond of Veela. The last time he had encountered one, he—the Veela tried to seduce him. Harry had felt revolted when Veela placed a hand on him.

Thankfully, Veela were more commonly seen in France. Unfortunately for him, he had been of French descent in three lives, two of which caused him to visit France on numerous occasions regarding his family. But he hadn't complained much. He was one of the fee that had the luxury of staying hidden during such occasions while others his age had been forced to smile like the perfect heirs they were. 

Hermione didn't question why he was unaffected. She had seen how some men in the top box hadn't moved from their seats and simply assumed some were immune to the enchantments and allure of the Veela. She didn't need to know that Harry had built off his mental walls to the point that creatures like Veela couldn't affect him in the slightest. They were strong. They were a fortified wall that went around his mind like China's great wall. He had trained for decades to perfect the mind arts to the point he could manipulate his own emotions and simply turn off his feelings.

The excitement he felt had been immediately dimmed the moment he noticed it. He couldn't risk intense emotions at the moment. He could pretend. Smile and laugh along, no matter how fake it was, it did the job right. No one noticed it.

"Ron! Look!" Ginny nudged Ron and pointed to Bulgaria's prodigy seeker. 

Viktor Krum was shooting down to the ground as Ireland's seeker followed him. Harry already knew what would happen. Ireland's seeker slammed to the ground while Krum swiftly maneuvered his broom to change its trajectory. Harry would admit that Krum was better than his original self when performing the wronski feint. He had been lucky and running on adrenaline when he did it the first time.

The crowd roared as Lynch, Ireland's seeker, slammed to the ground and began to groan. A timeout started as mediwizards ran to the field and ushered him to the side. His face was flattened as people supporting Ireland screamed and yelled at Krum for his feint. Begrudgingly, many of said Ireland fans were nodding in amazement. 

"He was kinda handsome. Shame." Ginny commented as Hermione giggled beside her. "D'you think Krum will get a penalty for his feint?" 

"No. It's an official and well known tactic in quidditch. Ireland might get a penalty if they attempt some kind of revenge." Charlie explained as Lynch got back up to his feet and launched himself and his broom back into the sky. Charlie was a seeker, one of Gryffindor's best along with Harry.

Harry's emerald gaze turned towards the quidditch players soaring through the sky. They flew in a fluid motion that made them seem like blurs. He lazily gazed through the Omnioculars that he had bought with Hermione and Ron when picking out some merchandise. He spun the speed dial to make things slower, observing the players movements. Levski—one of Bulgaria's chasers, had swiftly dodged the bludger that Ireland's beaters, Ryan, directed towards his side.

Quidditch was a sport but it could have killed others when they flew in the pitch. 

"If no one died during the game then someone might die during the raid." Harry murmured as he pulled away the Omnioculars from his face and leant back on his seat.

Ireland won but Krum had gotten his hands on the snitch. All of the quidditch players look battered, bruised; covered in sweat and perhaps tears. Bulgaria looked rather upset but held their heads high and shook hands with their honorable opponents. Harry smirked as he watched Nikolai approach Krum with a blinding smile. 

Nikolai whipped his head around until he met eyes with Harry, and grayish purple eyes widened. The Russian quickly ran over to them, smiling at Harry and surprising most of the British who recognized the boy from his likeness to his mother. 

"Hadrian!" Nikolai exclaimed as he grasped Harry's hand between his. "I promised to introduce you, remember? Come now!" He pulled Harry to his feet and pushed past the crowd towards the Bulgarian team. 

Ron was gawking at him, looking rather jealous as Harry came face to face with Viktor Krum. Harry simply blinked in surprise, noticing how Krum looked rather uncomfortable and awkward. It made him laugh, No one would ever believe that Viktor Krum was awful at socializing.  

Krum had rarely talked to others outside of his clique, which included Orpheus Black. Krum had been rather antisocial and it had gotten worse with his fame. Although he grew a bit cocky from time to time, Orpheus was always there to humble him with joking insults that hit the spot. That had always been their dynamic.

“ Zdravei , Krum. I’m Hadrian Potter, nice to meet you.” Harry introduced himself as he offered the seeker his hand. Krum seemed to relax as he took the initiative rather than Krum. The seeker took his hand and nodded.

“Viktor Krum. Nice to meet you Potter.” he spoke in rather clumsy English. It gave Harry a rather pinched look to hear the young man speak. His pronunciation didn't sound too bad, but it was still painful to Harry's ears.

" Speak comfortably. I'm fine with you speaking in Bulgarian. " Harry assured as he shoved his hand back into his pocket. Krum looked quite surprised, but nodded hesitantly and chose to speak in his mother tongue. The seeker visibly relaxed, while Nikolai marveled at how fluent Harry sounded.

" Although this may seem awkward considering we've just met, I must say— that feint you did was impressive and dangerous. How many years have you been training to master it? " Harry asked, feigning some kind of small talk. Viktor wasn't really involved in his plans but he was interested in befriending the boy again. 

Viktor smiled, " Since I was thirteen. I was recruited by one of my classmates whose parents saw me perform a perfect faint during one of my games two years ago. Although, the wronski feint really is a dangerous risk. " He admitted, looking quite sheepish.

Harry was familiar with this. He—Orpheus had been there when Viktor started to obsess over the wronski feint and trained to perfect it. They had been thirteen, in their third year when Viktor had dragged him away to the freezing lake to practice the wronski feint. Viktor had failed, messing up the trajectory and timing of when he had to pull back up into the air. He slammed down into the freezing waters and Orpheus had done his best to drag the boy out. He had excused Viktor's cold with him staying in the bath for too long. 

Orpheus had watched as one of their classmates dragged Viktor away and introduced them to their parents who were apparently part of Bulgaria's department of sports. Viktor Krum had been recruited as Bulgaria's seeker when he was sixteen, trained the entire year when he was seventeen, and played in the Quidditch World cup when he was eighteen. Orpheus had been there with him, cheering him on with what Viktor once described as a wolfish grin.

But Orpheus didn't exist in this world. Who was there to save Viktor from drowning and freezing on the lake? Who was there to help Viktor with his school work when seeker training took up his time? Who was there when Viktor broke his arm during one of these games? He wouldn't be able to get anything out of him.

" That's rather young…if this isn't too personal, what happened when you first tried out the feint? " Harry asked, rather interested as he tilted his head.

Viktor seemed to turn a faint shade of pink, looking away from Harry while Nikolai chuckled. 

" I… well… " he stuttered out. 

Nikolai only grinned, "From what he and others have told me, Viktor woke up at the crack of dawn and went to the lake to practice. He ended up messing up his form and darted straight into the freezing waters. The teachers gave him detention for a week while he was stuck in the infirmary." He said in English. 

Harry narrowed his eyes, Not much has changed then… still, he would have been saved from the detention if I were there. He thought as he smiled at the somewhat embarrassed Krum. They chatted for a while more, Harry listening to Nikolai praise and compliment Krum. He suspected that the reason why Nikolai couldn't replace his role in Viktor's life was because of their age gap. By the time Viktor was practicing the Wronski Feint, Nikolai would have been a wide eyed first year.

" As embarrassing as it is, I am proud to say I have mastered it all these years. Fair warning, if you plan to practice the wronski feint, make sure you have someone with you… saves you the trouble from getting scolded by teachers. " Viktor smiled, a hearty chuckle leaving his lips as he patted Nikolai's head. He grinned towards Harry, while the other boy only smiled back.

You don't have to tell me twice, he thought. The subtle difference between Harry and Orpheus was their genius when it came to Quidditch. Harry was a prodigy when it came to the sport while Orpheus relied on past memories and honed instincts from his past lives.

" I'll think about it. " Harry chuckled, " Ah… the minister is here. "

Nikolai and Viktor turned towards where Minister Oblansk was approaching them with a bright smile. Harry waved at him with a smile as the man's Secretary followed him with an exasperated look. He wasn't too versed on the Bulgarian ministry aside from the many comments Viktor made to his past life. He was more understanding of the Russian Ministry.

" I see you boys are getting along. Good, good. " Oblansk laughed, patting Viktor's shoulder. He praised the young man of his skill and determination, assuring him that he did not disappoint. Viktor, of course, turned a bit red before huffing out in pride.

Oblansk was a father of two, a daughter and a son who Harry could only assume was a bit younger than him. It was obvious why he was easily acting like a father towards Viktor who made him proud. 

"The Minister's son, Asen, is a year older than me and his daughter, Bisera, is starting her second year." Nikolai whispered, smiling back at Minister Oblansk. 

A son older than me and a daughter young… Ah, now I remember. He thought. Asen Oblansk was a well known hydromancer and his sister was a pyromaniac. Ironic. 

From his memories as Orpheus, Harry could somewhat remember the famed diviner that had been two years younger than him. Asen Oblansk was well versed in the art of hydromancy, oftentimes students came to him to learn their futures. Contradicting her brother's skills, Bisera Oblansk was a pyromaniac who was prone to causing several fires by simply reaching out to fire.

"I don't really hear much about Durmstrang, but I heard that his son was good at divination. Is it true that he could see the reflection of one's future?" Harry asked, making sure to be as subtle about it as possible. He needed to know if some aspects of this timeline had changed or not. 

Thankfully, Nikolai nodded, "Yep. Asen is still in his fifth year but our divination teacher has recommended for him to actually meet with an actual seer they know. It's amazing really. His sister on the other hand…" 

"The pyromaniac?"

"Ah, so you've heard of Bisera's magical issues. Some say her pyromania is the cause of empathy. Something about her magic is heavily connected to her emotions or the emotions of those around her." 

"Understandable. Magic is different for others." 

Magic was different for others, including himself. If Bisera Oblansk's anchor for magic was her emotions, then Harry's was death.

"It is! Mother says that because of my bloodline, I'm more in tune to offensive magic. Though… I do enjoy runes more." Nikolai sheepishly admits. Runes and Transfiguration weren't necessarily considered offensive magic. The Markov bloodline were naturally born with more aggressive and violent magical cores. Orpheus himself had one that was extremely violent mixed with the Black DNA from Sirius.

"Oh… Nikolai, it seems like I'll have to go." Harry said with a genuinely glum tone. He saw Mr. Weasley try to gain his attention, as he gave the man a nod and turned back to Nikolai. "It was nice knowing you."

Nikolai's expression quickly turned into a sorrowful one, before his eyes brightened and he took out a piece of paper and a pen from his pockets. Harry raised a brow, but Nikolai only grinned. "Muggles are strange, but these pens they've made are more accessible than quills. I don't leave home without one." He explained, before handing the paper to Harry. "Let's be penpals! You can send letters to this address." 

Harry smiled, looking down at the rather messy handwriting. The address written on the paper was what he recognized to be Nadia's residence and where Orpheus initially grew up. It was somewhere 

"Of course. I suppose I'll just send letters to Durmstrang when school starts?" He asked, but knew that the answer would be yes. Charlie had sent him letters when he was still Orpheus. Nikolai nodded enthusiastically before the two bid the other farewell.

Ron and Hermione quickly pulled him back into the group, side-eying Nikolai who looked absolutely elated. The two gave Harry confused and concerned looks, while said boy simply smiled at them as if nothing was wrong. 

"You… you can speak Bulgarian?" Hermione asked, a bit hesitant as she grasped Harry's arm.

"A bit. Nikolai's fluent in English so he was helping me with the entire conversation." Harry lied. They weren't able to hear the conversation so they didn't know. 

Hermione gave him a judging look, "Really? Where on earth did you learn Bulgarian?" 

"I don't actually know that much. I know certain greetings, compliments, and how to say certain phrases. I learned it when I was in Diagon Alley. The shopkeepers are really nice and interesting! Did you know the owner of the menagerie is a quarter Bulgarian?" 

Hermione blinked, nodding as Ron gave Harry a pout. "What's he like? Krum, I mean." 

"He's not as arrogant and grumpy as he looks. Really friendly but seems to like being praised. Apparently, he's been practicing the Wronski Feint since he was thirteen." Harry nonchalantly explained as they followed Arthur Weasley out the top box. "He really is still eighteen. Pretty young if you think so."

Ron gave him an awed look, "Wicked."

Hermione promptly rolled her eyes as she wrapped the scarf around her neck tightly. She held Harry's gloved hand, fearing that she may stumble or fall if she didn't. He was in between Harry and Ron, and the dark haired boy immediately noticed her grabbing for Ron's hand. He took notice of how Ron's face turned into a light shade of red, although it wasn't too clear due to the lighting.

Harry chuckled, placing his other hand into the pocket of his coat. I can live with this.

Harry quietly brought a hand to his chest, closing his eyes as he took in deep breaths. His magic had gone a bit erratic in the presence of Nikolai. The boy was almost exactly like his mother. He was the spitting image of Nadia, if not for his eyes. Harry couldn't help but snort as he realized he was beginning to sound like the people who kept comparing him to James. You look exactly like your father, but your eyes… he would often mockingly repeat those words. 

There were still many issues to be resolved. Sirius, Remus, the Triwizard tournament, the third trial, the dark lord. But he found himself thinking of the soul he trapped within the emerald gem. Amarantha was an ancient Basilisk. She was supposed to die years ago, but could anyone blame him? She was once his familiar, in a life connected to the present.

The concept of Variants and Incarnations was confusing to him but as time passed he had begun to understand. Variants were different versions of others, Incarnations were ones with different lives. His incarnations had met variants of his original self. Not many times, but enough times to understand that he could have been happier or had a different future. One example was Malcolm. His variant was his own nephew. That variant of him wasn't an orphan. He lost his uncle but he wasn't an orphan. 

Once again, Harry found himself thinking back to his sixth life. Orpheus had been the closest to his variant self. A version of Harry Potter so similar to that of his original life that he couldn't help but meddle in his variant's fate. He didn't meet many variants of himself, but he tended to avoid himself if he never needed to speak to his other self.

§Master…Master…hungry…§

Amarantha's voice was unclear. It sounded static to Harry, whispering through the fog if one could say. He hummed, rubbing his thumb over the emerald as he began to push his magic into the gem. Even though she was reduced to a mere soul, Amarantha needed to feed. His magic was perfect for that. 

§Endure for a little longer. I'll bring you back to the land of the living soon enough. For now…rest.§ he whispered, planting a soft kiss to the gem. He glanced towards the four youngest Weasleys dancing around like fools, while Bill and Charlie were rolling their eyes. Percy and Hermione were in a corner discussing the ministry and the OWL's exams.

Time was ticking. 

Minutes or seconds? He asked himself as he lazily lied on one of the beds. Ron grinned at him while Harry simply waved and yawned. His best friend couldn't help but laugh at how tired Harry seemed. Of course, he wasn't aware that the boy was simply bored waiting for the catastrophe.

Then they heard it. A scream terror pierced through the air of excitement and joy, as they all fell silent.

Seconds then , He thought as he sat up and stretched. The noise was gone, the festivities had ended. He could hear the sounds of running, screams as spells were yelled out. Harry took action and grabbed Hermione and Rons wrists as Fred and George grabbed Ginny.

Bill, Charlie, and Percy followed their father to help with the ministry. The six of them ran, pale and trembling as Harry leads them to the forest.

"Death eaters." Harry murmured and it made the rest flinch. He knew this situation well. He went through it twice and had thought of every countermeasures or precaution to keep himself and his friends safe.

The campsite was on fire. Death eaters were terrorizing the innocents and dangling the muggles by their feet over the fires like meat to be cooked. Hermione was trembling as she held onto him with an iron grip. She was a muggleborn. Everyone knew what the dark lord did to muggleborns.

"Take out your wands— Lumos. " Harry demanded as the tip of his Phoenix feather wand erupted in light. He could feel his magic core buzz at the abrupt use of magic. 

" Lumos! "They immediately followed what he said as they carefully moved through the forest. 

"Death eaters… death eaters, why are they— Where're the twins and Ginny?!" Ron yelled as he frantically looked around for his siblings.

Harry's eyes went wide as he surveyed the area. He cursed himself for forgetting how the twins and Ginny separated from them as they ran into the forest. He couldn't simply use a locating spell—the magic in the forest was too dense and the other three Weasleys magical presence would have been mixed with the others. He wasn't going to take any chances.

"For heaven's sake—Ronald calm down or I will hit you!" Hermione yelled, but she was almost worse than Ron. Her entire body was trembling, Harry could feel it as she held his hand.

Ron grit his teeth, immediately sensing her distress and held her other free hand. Harry sighed at the two, quietly letting go of Hermione's hand and looking around the area. If everything was mostly the same, then…

"Suppose your daddy told you to hide. Where're the rest of you weasels?" 

Harry went stiff, snapping his gaze towards Draco Malfoy who flinched at his sharp look. He couldn't help the manic grin spreading across his face. He was so thankful Hermione and Ron were in front of him, while he tilted his head in a way that made Draco shiver. The look on his face could have been compared to the Cheshire cat in the fairy tales.

"Malfoy, ever so wonderful to see you." 

Draco gulped at the happy go lucky tone Harry used. It didn't sound any bit as cheerful as it usually was. Instead, it sounded like a threat, a malicious tone under the happy voice. He stared at Potter, flinching as his eyes met with vivid green hues that reminded him too much of the killing curse. He pushed him against the tree he was leaning against, pursing his lips as he glared at Harry.

"Potter."

"Nice to see you again."

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 8:

When Draco Malfoy first heard of Harry Potter, he found himself idolizing the boy with all he could. He wrote letters, asking his mother to send it to the chosen one, the boy who lived. He was young, naive, and ever so innocent as he looked up to his mother who gave him a solemn smile.

Narcissa often had him sit on her lap and explain how he couldn't send the letters. She told him of how Harry Potter was a shy boy, someone who was protected and hidden from the world that wanted to harm him. His letters would not be received and Harry wouldn't be able to reply. Draco had been so disappointed by this and cried himself to sleep.

Hogwarts had been his chance to meet the boy he idolized for so long. That day when he entered Madame Malkin's he had stood beside a skinny and tired looking boy who was being fitted for his school uniforms. He thought that the boy was a muggleborn, but muggleborns were usually accompanied by their parents. The boy looked gaunt and tired, hair sticking out in different directions and glasses that were clearly broken multiple times. He didn't know whether to snarl or take pity on him.

But his thin body and horrid clothes weren't the first thing Draco had noticed. It was his eyes. He first noticed the boy's eyes that he could easily compare to that of an emerald.

A few days later, he found himself on the Hogwarts express being flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. He scoured the entire train for Harry Potter, finding himself in front of the glass doors of a compartment. He saw the same boy he met in madam Malkin's and instantly froze. The lightning bolt scar on his forehead was clear as day, but he felt himself frown. 

Harry Potter was supposed to be a boy his age, supposed to be the same height or taller than him. The boy he saw was shorter, thinner, and clearly uncared for. He didn't think properly and spoke in a tone of arrogance that his mother often warned him not to use when making first impressions.

Harry Potter didn't accept his friendship. 

He was sorted into Slytherin. Harry, as expected, was sorted into Gryffindor. 

Harry Potter was friends with Ronald Weasley and that muggle born witch. Draco felt sour after that. 

He felt jealous that Weasley and the muggle born got a chance to be friends with Harry. Time passed after that, Draco always went after Harry. 

Harry turned into Potter for him.

Draco had spent three years trying to quell the sour feelings he had when seeing Weasley act so friendly with Harry. That could have been him. He could have been Harry's friend, they would have been playing quidditch as friends. They would have walked down the halls and spoke of the most ridiculous things— like friends.

But it was his fault. He had been stupid when he was younger. He had spoken in a manner, acted in a manner that clearly did not sit well with Harry. He was foolish and allowed his jealousy and anger to control him. His mother would be so disappointed in him, but his father had been proud and encouraged such behavior. 

Draco…that is not how you treat a person. Narcissa once said in a letter. She had seen the letter he sent to his father, of how he challenged Harry Potter to a duel and taunted him endlessly. Draco had felt ashamed of himself when he saw his mother's handwriting.

But the Quidditch World cup had arrived. He was excited, hoping that he would be able to speak to Viktor Krum during the game. He hadn't expected anything aside from a marvelous quidditch match. He had been so excited and happy, only for his mood to sour as he saw a group of redheads sitting at the edge of the top box. As expected, there were two oddballs among the group, a brunette and a boy with pitch black hair.

"Lucius!" 

He heard the British minister beckon for his father. Draco never found Cornelius Fudge suitable for minister. His father would have been better than the man. 

His father merely smoothed a smile on his face, a carefully practiced look Draco had gotten used to. "Minister, how are you?  I don't think you've met my wife, Narcissa and our son, Draco." Lucius introduced, gesturing to them.

Draco had nodded, while his mother was the epitome of poise and grace. Fudge had done something stupid again by referring to Arthur Weasley, which then caused both men to snarl at eachother. Draco couldn't help but sigh, a bit bored as he listened to his father argue with Weasley.

" Zdraveĭ ministŭr Oblansk ."

Draco stiffened as he heard the familiar voice. His head snapped towards the minister of Bulgaria if he remembered correctly. But his attention was to the well dressed boy standing beside the man. Pitch black hair was a bit more tame, vivid emerald hues glinting from behind his circular glasses.

Harry Potter had changed over the month. He couldn't understand how he seemed so different. It was as if the boy had become a completely different person. 

The Harry Potter he knew had been brash, reckless, and had an incredible amount of luck. He had no grace, meager manners, and surely only spoke English. Draco stared at the boy before him. Dressed in fine clothes that perfectly matched him, his posture was perfect, even his mannerism seemed to be that of a skilled and we'll taught heir. 

Potter only spoke English. He butchered the pronunciation of some spells. Harry Potter was not well educated in wizarding culture, especially the culture outside of Britain. And yet…Draco watched and listened as Harry spoke in perfect Bulgarian—Draco had learnt Bulgarian but Harry Potter was so damn fluent that it sounded like it was his mother tongue. His brows furrowed as he listened to Potter speak to the Bulgarian Minister as if he's done it everyday.

Potter insulted Fudge without a care, as if the man was mere trash. 

Potter had an air of arrogance and experience that he didn't have a month ago. Draco knew this because the last time he actually saw Potter was when he was silently reading the Daily Prophet in the great hall. He hadn't actually taken the time to observe Potter but now he did. The person a month or so ago was not the same person he was looking at. 

He glanced towards his mother, who was equally skeptical and suspicious of Potter's mannerisms. He couldn't help but gulp as Potter made eye contact with him. That's not him. That's not Harry Potter . He told himself as he looked away from the piercing green eyes that seemed to look into his soul. So knowing, so cruel.

The Bulgarian Minister took Potter away, leaving them all to gape and stare. Potter had effortlessly associated himself with a foreign minister while Fudge was still stammering over his words like the fool he was. 

"Narcissa what happened? Weasley was far too infuriating for me to notice what Potter has done this time." Lucius snarled as he asked his wife. His eyes fleeted towards Potter who was speaking to a Russian boy with unique eyes.

Narcissa purses her lips, "He can speak perfect Bulgarian. Lucius, he spoke as if it were his first language." 

Lucius' eyes went wide as he snapped his eyes towards Potter. Draco found himself watching Potter as he spoke to the other boy without any difficulty. He was confused. He can speak Russian too? He thought as Potter laughed at something the other boy said.

He had unique eyes, Draco immediately noticed. Potter had green eyes that were absolutely different from others with green eyes. The vivid emerald that was could easily be mistaken as the reflection of the killing curse— Draco couldn't help but shudder. The boy Potter was speaking to had almost equally unique eyes. They were purple. 

It was like seeing the shine of an amethyst from afar. Draco didn't have a good look, but the boy's eyes were the first thing he noticed. It was the same for when he first met Potter— his eyes were the first thing he noticed.

"He can speak Russian too." Draco murmured, catching the attention of his parents. 

Narcissa pursed her lips as she narrowed her eyes at Potter and the boy with him. She seemed to watch them like a hawk, before recognition dawned on her face. Her eyes snapped towards a beautiful woman that was perhaps close to her age. She looked like the boy Potter was talking to, ash brown hair, sharp features, and magic that felt rather aggressive. Although the boy did have somewhat softer features compared to the woman.

Draco turned to his mother, seeing the pinched expression on her face. "Nadia Markova's son."

"Nadia Markova?" 

"Do you not remember? She was well known for winning the dueling tournament when she was fifteen. I think… she's a bit younger than us." Narcissa explained, "Do you not remember? Bella had been ecstatic when she heard about Markova."

"Mar…Nadia Markova, a well known attorney from Russia. She's a benefactor of the Russian Ministry who's been supporting their auror department." Lucius murmured, eyes growing slightly wide. "So that's Nikolai Markov." 

"I heard her son is a genius at runes."

Draco found himself tilting his head at the boy Potter was speaking too. Apparently, he was the son of an attorney and a benefactor of the ministry. A person who clearly had a high standing. 

Jealousy was once again what he felt, pursing his lips as he narrowed his eyes at the conversation between the two. Draco was a Malfoy, someone who had power in society. He was the son of someone involved in the ministry. He was someone who had been called a genius in certain subjects. What were the big differences between him and Nikolai Markov?

Draco stiffened as he saw the bright, gentle, and sincere smile form on Markova's face. He looks like a puppy , He thought as he watched the boy laugh again. Maybe that's why. He looks nice… not arrogant… not cocky…not like me. 

"Mother, Father… the game is about to start." He quietly said, startling his parents who were immersed in their conversation about the Markov family. The two made eye contact, nodding to Draco's words.

Narcissa hooked her arms together with Draco's, smiling at him as she led them towards their seats. Thankfully, it was far, far away from where the Weasleys were sitting. 

Ireland and Bulgaria's mascots had been brought out and Draco couldn't help but sigh at the Veelas. The Malfoy's had a small bit of Veela blood due to their french origins, thus no matter what gender, he was immune to the advances of the Veela. 

Draco enjoyed the match, watching as the Bulgarian team struggled against Ireland while Krum was performing superb tactics that he could only hope to achieve. Ireland, unfortunately, won the game but Krum had gotten his hands on the snitch. Ireland won but Krum had ended the game. He had almost gotten up from his seat to cheer, to cry out in delight as he watched Krum zoom across the pitch with the snitch in hand. 

Then Harry Potter ended up befriending the young man.

"Oh for Merlin's sake!" 

Death eaters had raided the world cup. His mother frantically woke him up, looking startled, confused, and agitated as his father was yelling. Draco's vision was hazy, but he could see her cool blue eyes gazing into his gray ones. He was confused, feeling his mother kiss his forehead as she ushered him to his feet.

"Mother—"

"Draco, run into the forest and hide. Do not leave the forest until we come get you. Understand?" Narcissa cut him off, paler than usual as she held his cheeks with a fearful expression. "Draco, your father and I will deal with this. Hide, hide and get away from this mess as fast as you can. You have your heir ring, it will protect you and lead us to you once this is all over."

Draco's heart was pounding. He finally saw the chaos that had come raining down on the campsites. Masked people were terrorizing everyone. Draco recognized those masks— death eater masks. He turned to his mother who was biting her lip, then to his father who was standing there in a protective manner.

"Narcissa, get Draco away from the campsite immediately!" Lucius yelled as he summoned a shield to protect them.

Narcissa yelled back before kissing Draco's forehead once more. She pushed him into the direction of the forest.

"Mother, Father—"

"Draco run! We will find you, I promise." Her tone was gentle and loving but Draco could see the fear in his eyes. He looked back only once before running straight into the forest. 

He ran and ran until the only thing he could think of was hiding inside the forest. That was what his mother told him. To hide, to run. That was the only thing he—a child— could do.

Steady your heart. Keep calm. Hide your emotions, they should never see your fear. Steady your heart. He told himself over and over again until he was panting from all the running. Thank Merlin for his quidditch training, he easily thought as he took in deep breaths.

In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out.

Draco leaned against the tree, a hand pressed against his chest as he took in deep breaths. He felt slight pain from his abdomen, before repeating his actions. Taking in deep breaths, exhaling, and repeating. He kept to this pattern for a few minutes before he wandered the forest. He kept leaning against the tree, fiddling with his heirship ring as he focused on its temperature. If it grew hot that meant danger was close.

The sounds of yelling were all he heard, flinching once several footsteps were coming his way. His wand was grasped in his hand, trembling as he readied to attack. But he heard it.

" Lumos! " That all too familiar voice piercing through the air as it was followed by two other voices. Light obscured his vision from behind the other trees blocking his vision of the three.

"Death eaters… death eaters, why are they— Where're the twins and Ginny?!" He heard yet again as footsteps followed.

"For heaven's sake—Ronald calm down or I will hit you!" the voice stammered, trembling as he listened.

He schooled his expression into that of calm and nonchalant, preparing himself to encounter what was known as Hogwarts's golden trio. Harry Potter had taken the lead while Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley held hands. The latter two were shaken while Potter seemed so unfazed that it concerned Draco. 

Then, out of instinct, something stupid came out of his mouth. "Suppose your daddy told you to hide. Where're the rest of you weasels?" Draco wanted to slap himself so badly.

Potter snapped his head towards him—Draco couldn't help but cringe at the action. Potter held his gaze, before a grin split across his face. Weasley and Granger were threatening to curse him— completely different to Potter who looked so content at the sight of him.

"Malfoy, ever so wonderful to see you." 

Draco found difficulty meeting Potter's avada eyes.

"Potter."

Potter smirked, "Nice to see you again."

That most certainly is not Harry Potter , was the last thought Draco had before Hadrian Potter started speaking to him.

Harry could vividly remember when he had been Arcturus, a life in which the Black family was completely different to that of other universes. The Blacks were less biased, less racist towards muggleborns, and acknowledged the many difficulties of the marriages they had with other pureblood families. It was a time where Harry felt proud to watch the noble and most ancient house of Black thrive.

Bellatrix had a son in that lifetime. Blood adopted as her fertility had many issues. She had cried, wailed, and searched the library for a cure to her problem. But her fertility issues stemmed from the inbreeding of her family. She could never have a child with Rodulphus.

Draco had more cousins in that lifetime and Harry's variant had grown up with the boy. They were best of friends, almost inseparable, the four of them. James and Lily had a daughter two years after Harry was born— Rosaline Potter was visibly more alike to her father regardless of how much she looked like her mother.

A smile spread across Harry's face as he stared at Draco—who was obviously frightened at the smile, Harry ignored him, of course. He had taken the time to understand the boy in his third and sixth lives. Draco was but a boy— Narcissa had said several times upon hearing her son was to be included in the war. 

"Why're you alone? Such dangerous times could possibly hurt you." He said in a tone that was clearly a false worry. Harry watched as Draco pursed his lips, glaring at him but also doing his best to avoid eye contact. His eyes were always eerily similar to the killing curse.

"Your parents out there wearing masks? Terrorizing the muggles?" Ron snapped, glaring at Draco. 

There was a clear animosity between them. The relationship between Malfoy and Weasley had always been sour. Harry had suspected it had something to do with one of Weasley's ancestors breaking off a marriage contract with the daughter of house Malfoy. Such a thing could easily be the cause of generations of animosity between the two families. 

Harry quickly took action—he had learnt almost everything about the Malfoys from his ninth life. He stood in between Ron and Draco, putting on a smile to somewhat ease the boy—had he known that it absolutely creeped out the blonde haired boy, he'd have scowled instead.

"Now, now— this isn't the time to argue. Regardless of whether or not your parents are marching with the death eaters, is it really safe for you to wander the woods whilst ministry officials are running around like headless chickens?" Harry asked, a brow raised.

Draco flinched, "That's none of your business. You should be more worried for yourself." He hissed, glancing towards Hermione. The implications were clear, as Ron grabbed the girl's hand and pushed her behind him. Draco couldn't help but scoff. 

But Harry didn't budge. He just stood there, staring at Draco before a sigh left his lips. Of course it was more complicated than what he expected. This boy wasn't the same Draco Malfoy from his time as Arcturus. That boy had been childhood friends with a variant of himself after all.

The one before him was much more suspicious and untrusting of him. Naturally, of course.

"Don't stay in plain sight. If Death eaters prey on muggles then the ministry officials will use any kind of connection you have to get a hold of you. We're not the only ones in danger." Harry scoffed. 

Foolish and naive. Not what I usually expect from Draco, but I can't blood blame him. He thought as he glanced back towards Draco, who had gone absolutely stiff from his words. Most purebloods knew of the bias between Ministry workers. Some despised those of Slytherin and some belittle muggleborns. Draco could only hope he would encounter an anti-slytherin ministry worker in the forest. 

He would survive, Harry predicted such. He ushered Hermione and Ron away from the boy immediately, to which the two hesitantly followed. They were unfamiliar with his current demeanor.

"Harry…" Hermione murmured as she grasped his hand. 

Harry almost flinched, but controlled himself and steeled his occlumency shields. He gave her a small glance, squeezing her hand lightly as he guided them through the woods. The light at the tip of his wand wasn't too bright, just enough to show them a small area around them. 

"Don't worry…I won't let them hurt you." 

Because before any of them even lay a finger on you they'd be dead in the ground. Harry thought as he tugged at Hermione's hand. There was something about Hermione that lured him to her. Quite unfortunate for him to find out why when he met her as Orpheus.

"You don't have to be scared…" he whispered as he dragged her to his side. Hermione was one of the few people who he had grown to deeply care for. Ron was something like a brother to him but Harry could easily admit that Regulus had immediately replaced Ron the moment he became Malcolm.

Hermione was special.

He maneuvered his way through the forest until they bumped into a scared group of girls. Well… one of them was scared, the rest were looking extremely vicious and surrounding her. The girl in the middle had mousy brown hair, trembling as she held on to a taller girl.

" Oü est Madame Maxime? Nous l'avons perdue —" one of the girls said.

"Er— what?" Ron dumbly said.

Hermione blinked in surprise, before going up to the girl with a concerned expression. "Beauxbatons?" 

" 'Ogwarts? "

Hermione nodded, " Es-tu perdu? Qui cherches-tu? " She asked in fluent french. Ron gawked at her, while Harry listened quietly. 

The Beauxbatons girl with thick curly hair immediately brightened hearing Hermione speak, " Oui! Nous recherchons Madame Maxime. " The girl explained with an upset look. A boom resounded from the campsite, and the girl with brown hair squeaked.

" Oh cher! Eleanor, s'il te plait reste calme. Nous retrouverons Madame Maxime puis votre frère. " She said to the frightened girl. 

Hermione turned back to her friends with a frown, "They are looking for someone named Madame Maxime." 

"Beauxbatons Headmistress." Harry explained to them. "This isn't anywhere near the french campsite. The French are somewhere closer to the east." 

"Right! Percy mentioned about the countries being in different areas. It's great you remembered." Ron grinned, patting Harry on the back. "Also, since when could you speak french?!" 

Hermione nodded before turning back towards the girl, " Les campings français sont à l'est. Peut-être devriez-vous vérifier là-bas. " they watched the girl nod, slowly bowing in gratitude.

They group ran to the east, dropping something in the process. Hermione took notice, picking up the sapphire brooch. It looked expensive, but Harry saw the crest ingrained into the gem. He grabbed in immediately, startling Hermione as Harry inspected it.

"This is someone's coat of arms." He simply said, "I'll return this, you two stay put." 

"But—"

"It's dangerous. You two protect each other, I'll deal with this." 

Without another word, Harry ran to the east searching for the group of girls. He was fast on his feet, easily catching up the girls.

"Excuse me!" He yelled, startling the group. He waved the brooch in the air and one of the girls immediately started running towards him. His breath hitched, seeing the girl's features much cleared under the light of his wand. His fist clenched.

" Ma broche! Merci, merci! " She thanked him over and over again. Her grin was blinding, so bright that Harry had the urge to cover his eyes. 

Dirty blonde hair, tied into a messy bun. Her eyes were the same color as his, but he could see they were lighter, softer, and a bit more blue. She looked to be a few years older than him. She may have already come of age considering she hadn't hesitated to use her wand unlike the others. 

Harry struggled to find his voice, gulping before shaking his head. " Vous pouvez utiliser la magie dans cette situation. Défendez-vous. " he spoke in a hasty tone. She was surprised to hear him speak in perfect french.

He shoved the brooch into her hand before rushing away. He couldn't look at her. Not when her face is almost the exact replica of an old friend of his.

"Jennette Sylvain! That is my name." The young lady— Jennette said in slightly clumsy English.

Harry grit his teeth as he heard that name. He kept walking, ignoring how his magic wanted to coil around the young woman. The same face, the similar surname. Sylvain was a name he was familiar with.

So that's your aunt Jennette… he thought as he reunited with Ron and Hermione. 

"Harry, are you okay?" Hermione asked, a frown on her face. 

Harry only shook his head, "I'm fine. A bit tired, that's all." He explained before tugging them towards another direction. He didn't have time to contemplate on Sylvain. Not when this was a different timeline, not when the Sylvain he knew might not be born in this timeline. 

"Let's keep going." 

His movements were hasty and somewhat frantic, scouring through the forest as they tried to find the exit. Harry was more focused on a certain death eater hidden under an invisibility cloak. He had to stop himself from stunning Ron and Hermione and just hunting down the one he was after. But that would be risky. Who's to say he could just pull it off as someone hitting them and missing him? His seeker skills would be a good excuse but it was still suspicious.

He clicked his tongue as he shoved his hand into the pocket of his coat. The yew wand his previous life owned was still there, while Amarantha's gem was vibrating, seemingly cautious and scared. Harry ran his hand through his hair, then he heard a loud squeak. He grinned.

"Found you."

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 9:

Winky was an elf clearly opposite to Dobby. She was more inclined to serve her master's while Dobby wanted freedom, or perhaps simple fairness. She hadn't asked permission to hide, running away while looking like a waddling duck. Harry grinned viciously, running through the trees as Ron and Hermione followed him in bewilderment.

"I hear Bagman's voice! Maybe your dad's with him." Harry yelled—a lie at the moment until he actually heard Bagman start cursing like a sailor.

He pushed through bushes, ducked down trees, and sent a string of light towards the direction he wanted to go. He didn't worry much about Hermione and Ron, much more focused on the matter at hand. The spell was a lighting charm, a bit more complex than your everyday Lumos . 

His wand was still with him, thus someone else lost their wand. Hermione and Ron still had theirs, so it was none of them. He silently hoped it wasn't Draco— he didn't like the thought of losing the boy so soon. The ferret incident had yet to commence after all! A grin was plastered across his face as he moved hastily. The only thing in his head was seeing an all too familiar face— a face he had seen on the corpse of his friend. Alas, such luck was not his… most of the time.

"Harry, slow down!" 

"'Mione's right! Slow down. It's not like we're being chased by a bunch of hippogriffs."

"Honestly Ronald! Where on earth would the hippogriffs even come from?!"

"Will you two shut up! Who knows who can hear us from your screaming." 

The two went silent at the anger in Harry's voice, halting just as he did. He glared at them with such annoyance that they flinched away, murmuring apologies as Harry diligently searched the area for any magic signature. He felt a few, faint, but he felt it. He gripped his wand tightly, murmuring a spell under his breath.

" Luminas Invenio ." He whispered as the string of light changed course. Harry followed it without a second thought, trailing his finger on the light as if it were water.

Then footsteps came. The three of them immediately took to defensive stances, readying their wands for a fight. However, what greeted them were a boy and a girl. They had dark brown hair and black eyes, clearly siblings from their similarities.

The girl was furiously stomping on the ground, whilst the boy was trying to calm her down. " Asen, if we do not find father immediately— " the girl yelled, she was younger than them from her short stature and rather soft features.

" We would have found him if not for you losing your temper! "

" I did not lose my temper! Do you have any idea how hard it is to control my magic with all the emotions exploding?! " 

Harry blinked in surprise to see the two. They were students of Durmstrang, Harry could vaguely remember. From what the girl had said, the boy was named Asen. Asen Oblansk? I forgot how scrawny he seemed. Harry thought before dragging his friends away.

"Who were they?"

"The Bulgarian Minister's children. Best not get too close to Bisera Oblansk in this situation. Heard she was a pyromaniac affected by her empathy." 

Hermione squeaked while Ron gulped. They were well versed with pyromania— thank you Seamus.

Harry took in a sharp breath as they paused again. Ginny and the twins were nowhere to be seen and he was getting concerned. He needed the twins alive and Ginny was a good asset. Gritting his teeth, he gripped his wand tightly. Due to the presence of Hermione and Ron, he couldn't perform complex magic to track the three Weasleys.

Their thoughts cut short as Harry froze. He felt the brisling magic of a rather dark spell, gulping as he automatically brought his eyes to the sky. A smoky green light was shooting up to the clouds, exploding in a viridescent puff—then came the skull and snake. The dark mark. 

" Morsmordre !"

Harry's eyes were trained on the dark mark, unable to look away. He had seen it so many times but right now, he found himself reminiscing upon it. The dark mark had been a symbol that brought pain and suffering to him—such suffering he shared with only his closest friends, confidants. Whether he hated the blasted mark or not, it had a significance in his life that he could never describe.

"You-Know-Who's symbol." Ron whimpered as Hermione tightly held his hand. 

"Harry—Harry we gotta go. Harry, please! That's the dark mark!" Hermione begged as she and Ron tried to pull him away. But Harry stood still, staring at the explosion of green light that engulfed the sky as a skull formed. The green snake coming out of its mouth stared right at him.

Harry cared not for the fear they felt. His gaze turned towards the one who casted the spell. A silhouette he could remember anywhere. Green eyes met with bluish brown hues, a pair Harry was painfully familiar with. As if daring him to make a move, the hooded man pointed a wand towards him.

All Harry could do was stare. He flicked his wand into the man's direction, "Don't die," was all he whispered before conjuring an explosion of smoke. Surprise was evident in the man's eyes as he fled, glancing back towards Harry who looked rather satisfied. 

"Stupefy!"

Hermione screamed as they all ducked down. On instinct, Harry casted the Protego charm and shielded them from the stunners. Some red lights bounced right of his shield, as Ron tried to protect both Harry and Hermione.

"Stop! Stop! That's my— that's my son!" Harry heard Mr. Weasley yells amongst the crowds. He ran towards the three with a concerned expression as he checked for any injuries. All he could find was some cuts and scrapes from running around the forest for quite a time. However, the relief on the man's face could not be seen.

"Out of the way Arthur!" 

Harry grit his teeth at the curt voice. He snapped his gaze towards an all too familiar man, Bartemius Crouch Sr. He never liked Crouch Sr. The only thing Harry could think of when looking at the man was wanting him to rot in Azkaban instead of his poor wife who died in the miserable prison. All he wanted to do was curse the man, the cruciatus would have sufficed, but he kept silent, staring at him.

Crouch Sr. flinched away from the vile glare. He narrowed his eyes at Harry—the boy unwavering and unfazed as he stared right back.

I might just kill you myself. 

When Harry and the rest of the Weasleys arrived at the burrow, he had darted to Ron's room. No one stopped him, thinking that he was troubled by the followers of his parents murderer. They couldn't be more wrong. 

The moment Ron had fallen asleep that night, Harry sat up on his bed and stared at his friend's sleeping form. He took out his yew wand and conjured an illusion of his sleeping self. Neither Ron nor the rest would notice he was gone. He opened his trunk, summoning his invisibility cloak and quickly ran down the stairs. He made sure to be quiet, moving quickly as he exited the burrow.

He paused just slightly over the hill. He could see the odd looking house from afar, frowning to himself. The urge to simply run up to the house and knock was there, but he shook his head and apparate away. His feet gently landed in a familiar study. Charlus' study — his study. A sigh left his lips as he observed the neat and perfectly clean room. The bookshelf was as organized as ever as the curtains on the window were pulled close.

Exiting the room, he felt the eerie silence of the Manor. No one had lived here for almost thirteen years, not after his parents had fled from the safety of it to their little cottage in Godric's hollow. 

Harry could remember the days of his second life when James and Malcolm would run around the please like headless chickens. Charlus and Fleamont would be laughing along with them while Dorea and Euphemia berated them. Charlus had been lord Potter, but made James the heir. 

Dorea couldn't conceive a child, neither did she want to. Charlus was an amazing husband, respecting her wishes to be childless and trained both Malcolm and James as the heirs to their family the same way his father trained him and Fleamont.

His footsteps were quiet as he walked through the halls. The soft sound of humming coming from one of the rooms. He pushed a door open, greatest but the warm light of a lamp and Gellert standing before a tapestry of names. The Potter family tree. His white blonde hair was relaxed from its gel, nursing a glass of whiskey as he hummed a German lullaby he often sang to put his son to sleep.

"Arcturus Black was a vicious man. He respected my decisions, but he was never my follower. From what I can remember, his younger sister was born around the same time as you." Gellert hummed. 

"Two years younger than Damian." If Gellert had an issue with Harry's manner of speaking, he didn't comment on it. It was a habit of his—to speak of his other lives as if they were completely different people. In a way, there were, but at the same time he was the same as his past lives. 

"Hm… if you had attended Hogwarts, you'd have been their senior by a year, yes?" Gellert gestured towards the dates of birth and Death plastered across the wall. Fleamont and Euphemia had died of Dragon pox a year before Harry was born, while Dorea died of an ancient blood malediction that appeared every few generations of the Blacks. Charlus followed her a year after she died—the cause of his death was unknown but some had speculated him poisoning himself.

Perhaps I should have thrown away all the poisons when I saw the signs… maybe he could have taken care of me. Harry thought with a frown.

"Were you hurt?" Gellert asked, placing the whiskey on the table and giving Harry a meaningful look. Harry pursed his lips, shaking his head.

"Perfectly fine. Just saw an old friend from one of my past lives." 

Gellert merely hummed, "By any chance did you encounter your sister?" 

Harry froze once more that night. His brows furrowed as he grit his teeth, turning to Gellert with a look of pure and utter confusion. His sister— Damian's sister was a topic he preferred to not touch. 

"Sister?"

"Don't play coy with me. Regardless of who you are now, you once had a sister who would have died for you and you would have done the same for her." Gellert chastised with a warning look. His daughter's death had affected just as much as his son's death. Both of them were killed right in front of him after all. "No matter what happens, Damian, do not forget your sister's existence. It is disrespectful to who you once were."

A sigh left Harry's lips. Convincing Gellert he was unaffected by the past would be difficult. Regardless of how much time had passed since he was Damian, the fact he was Gellert Grindelwald's son was there. It was something that couldn't be changed, something Harry didn't want to change. He liked being Gellert's son.

"I didn't know she would reincarnate." Harry admitted. He didn't lie. He knew of others who reincarnated but they would need Life and Death's favor, as well as Fate's cruel interest. Harry was the unfortunate soul to have caught the interest of all three. If anything, the knowledge of Damian's sister reincarnating was a concerning fact.

Gellert merely hummed, "Seems so. She looks similar to who you once were. Blonde, silverish eyes—although they are more blue." The nostalgia in his eyes clouded his gaze as he turned away from the tapestry to Harry. The gentle gaze looked odd on the former dark lord, but Harry had been subjected to such a gaze before. "And you look like her. Dark hair, vivid eyes… although hers were blue, just like…" 

"Let's not reminisce on how similar her eyes are to that man." He grit out, glaring at Gellert.

"Yes… that would also be disrespectful. Regardless, that child has returned to the land of the living… Whether it is a curse or a blessing, she has received Fate's favor." The disdain in Gellert's tone was painfully obvious. Fate was a natural enemy for them. "Her future is obscure to me."

Gellert took out a wand from his pocket, staring at it with sorrow. His wand was made by Gregorovitch— the very man he stole the elder wand from. He was simply thankful that his son kept the wand all to himself and placed it in his vault after he received his own. 

"You will meet her soon. A familiar face, an ally from the past. Her fate is not as blurry to me. I can see bits of it, unlike major events of your future that I am unable to glimpse." Gellert placed a hand on Harry's shoulder, squeezing it for a moment before smiling at the boy. No matter how different he looked, no matter the blood running through his veins, this was his son. "Take care of your sister and bring her home."

Harry's throat went dry as he stared at Gellert. The expectations burdening him, at the same time it motivated him. His sister, his beloved sister, was back in this world as a fellow reincarnator. Whoever she was now, she would still be his sister and Gellert's daughter. Harry gulped, nodding in acknowledgment.

"I'll find Ariadne… I promise to bring her home…" Harry trailed off, before carefully adding, " father. " 

Gellert stilled, releasing a breath he hadn't known he was holding. Harry could see the way his eyes soften, filled with an indescribable love he never thought Gellert would be able to feel. His assumptions would have been justified if all he heard of the man before being his son was that he was insane—Albus Dumbledore's lover. But he was Harry's father in another life, a father he felt grateful to have.

The man laughed softly, tracing a bright blue line of magic into the air. Gellert hummed softly as he wrote his children's names; Damian and Ariadne. Both their names were greatly tied to Greek mythology along with Greek meanings. Regardless, there were deep meanings to their names that Gellert had meticulously chosen.

Regardless, whatever name his children used, they were still his children. His daughter's could have been the most common name he's heard and he'd still accept her. Harry's name sounded similar to Damian; Hadrian. He wondered if his daughter would have a similar sounding name.

"I'll bring her home and we can finally get that well deserved vacation. My villa back in Greece hasn't been touched since my death." 

"Really? I had expected for the ICW to seize all our belongings."

Harry smirked, "You know my relation to the goblins. The ICW never found most of my properties and couldn't even touch our vaults. The Grindelwald vaults back in Germany are also untouched." He boasted. One of his many accomplishments was befriending goblins, something Gellert was eternally proud of him for. "Besides, if they were seized I would have stolen them back. Also, I may or may not have placed a curse and ward around my properties. Anyone who wasn't a goblin inspecting the place would have been cursed. . . Rather unpleasantly if I may."

"Of course. My son is brilliant." The tone Gellert used seemed sarcastic, but Harry felt pride in it. It made him smile, chuckling as he spun on his heel and walked towards the door. 

"I'll bring her home. As you've said, she is my sister, regardless of who she is today." 

A fleeting smile graced Gellert's lips as he watched Harry walk away. He was proud to be his father—even if he was no longer Damian in blood and name. His soul was still the same, this Harry was Damian, and Damian was Harry. He was Gellert's son no matter what the universe would tell him.

"I don't doubt it."

Harry quietly slipped back into the burrow without anyone noticing. Rushing up the stairs, he expected to find Ron still sleeping on his bed while his illusion was still present. But to his misfortune, he found himself bumping into Hermione. 

"H-Harry?" She whispered, startled to see him awake. 

"'Mione, why are you awake?" He asked, quietly opening the door to Ron's room. Hermione followed him without another word and sat on the bed.

"I should be asking you that."

"Ron's snoring woke me up."

"Is that so?" Her eyes trailed towards Ron, who was letting out soft snores that grew louder from time to time. She giggled quietly, while Harry sat beside her.

"Since I've answered, why're you awake?"

Harry frowned as Hermione looked away from him. She avoided his eyes, hands trembling as they rested on her lap. It made him frustrated, sighing as he mindlessly patted her head. She flinched for a moment, something Harry despised deeply.

"Nightmares." She whispered, leaning against him.

"Nightmares." Harry repeated, "What were they about?" 

He rubbed her shoulder gently, then allowed his fingers to run through her hair as if combing it. Hermione's bushy hair was almost as bad as the mess that was his own, but she was beautiful. She was his friend and most likely one of the main reasons why he survived in his first life.

Hermione let out a gentle sigh, "What happens to me as a muggleborn…" she whispered, "I dreamt of how pureblood elitists will shun me, capture me, and throw me back to the muggle world… I… I dreamt of my parents."

Harry went stiff as he heard the mention of his parents. Hermione rarely spoke of them, only saying they were dentists. She barely mentioned her parents, even in his first life. One of the things that concerned him greatly was when her parents didn't come to her wedding. Harry had been the one to walk her down the aisle, jokingly threatening Ron when he gave her away.

As Orpheus, he had easily taken in Hermione as his own. That was the only time he realized what was happening between her and her parents.

"I. . . Harry, they won't want me back if the purebloods force me to leave." She whispered, her voice cracking. "They won't. . . I'm only allowed to live under their roof and eat what is served. I'm grateful but. . ."

"I won't let anything happen to you." He hugged her tightly, kissing the crown of her head. She was similar to him, but she was never harmed. She was never made into a slave, but she was left alone. Isolated, burdened by the scrutiny of her parents' gazes that had expected her to follow their path in the medical field.

But Hermione was a witch. She could have been a healer, continuing on her parents expectations, but she wasn't suited for the role. Hermione was best suited as a teacher, a politician—Minister of Magic. 

"I don't want to go back. . . They ignore me and act as if I don't exist unless I achieve their expectations. . . This is all my fault, if I hadn't lost control of my magic when I was a kid—" 

Harry hummed in response, "Neither do I. We're better off here, in the magical world. If they want us gone, then we'll leave the country. I have enough money for both of us." He cut her off, "And don't blame yourself. You're still a kid."

Hermione giggled at the suggestion, not knowing that Harry was serious. If purebloods drove them away, if Harry couldn't fight back, they would run. He would have her enrolled in Beauxbatons, or maybe Ilvermorny. Harry would attend Durmstrang if he could. They wouldn't stay in Britain, they would run to a place where their blood statuses weren't an issue. 

In a way, Hermione was also his sister. She wasn't like Ariadne, but she was his sister.

"Where would we go?" She asked, pulling away from him as she tilted her head. "France seems nice."

"I heard that the Netherlands and Greece don't care about blood status."

"Really? Greece sounds rather interesting. According to mythology, there is a goddess of Magic." 

"Hecate. Greece has many legends and stories focused on magic. Which also includes the story of the nymph, Circe." 

Hermione smiled, "I'll have to buy a mythology book regarding Greek myths then."

"Hm… if we do end up running away, let's pretend to be siblings." Harry suggested, making Hermione laugh. "Let's grab Ron and say he's our adopted brother. But, I guess he could pull off as my brother too since my mother had red hair." 

Hermione giggled again, "That's silly."

"It is not."

"It is!"

Harry smiled at her. He missed these moments. Where he and Hermione would just talk nonsense, Ron would either be sleeping, or eating as he listened. This was their dynamic. They were Harry's siblings, but he shared a kinship that with Hermione he could never explain. To think it was experiences with muggles that caused such kinship.

"We would use my money, then we'd look for jobs to keep ourselves afloat."

"What about school?"

"We'd attend the Greek academy of magic; Hecataea Academy. It's not as well known as Hogwarts due to the small population, but it's said to be a superb school. Although you are required to learn Greek and most likely latin."

Hermione hummed, falling to bed as Harry carded his fingers through her hair. She laid her head on his lap, wrapped with his blanket. "Tell me more… You're so mean for not telling me all this."

Harry chuckled as he heard her yawn, "Okay. I've read books when I was in Diagon Alley, so don't expect me to be completely accurate." He lied—he had done his research on the magical schools all over Europe, plus Ilvermorny. Considering he had attended around five different schools across his thirteen lives, he had gained a fascination for the magic institutions.

"Hecataea Academy is named after the pillars of Hecate, the Greek goddess of Magic. It is said that the school was founded by Hecate herself, although the legends are often told with Circe founding it instead. Hecate is most logical as the academy was founded to be a shelter for the witches and wizards of Greece." Harry chuckled fondly, "The school has similar core subjects to ours, except with the addition of the Dark arts and Greek mythology. Students learn about ancient runes and rituals, perform such things upon the holidays they were to honor." 

He quietly caressed Hermione's hair, glancing towards her drowsy expression. "There are groups of students, similar to Hogwarts houses but more religious, in a sense. There's not really an official name for the groups, sometimes it's referred to as 'House' like Hogwarts, but they're not for competitive reasons."

Harry quietly reminisced upon what was called the faithful students of Hecataea Academy. The groups were typically students who worshiped a certain god, often referred to as The House of. . . whatever god they worshiped. The students honoring the gods— it wasn't something that was absolutely necessary, as some were said to be non-believers and were not ostracized by the majority.

The school was small compared to Hogwarts but it was nearly better in terms of curriculum.

But Harry's mind drifted from the Greek academy to the prospect of running away. It was an option Harry liked to have. Being the savior wasn't something Harry wanted, he wanted to be free from the burden placed upon him when he was a baby. He wanted to be able to run, to never look back and live his life happily.

Hermione wanted something similar, but he doubted that she would run away from a challenge. It was what made her a perfect mix of Ravenclaw and Gryffindor— her desire to be challenged and logical thinking. She could be cruel, unfeeling, and uncaring of others emotions at the prospect of facts and logic alone. He understood her better than Ron because of this.

"That's… hm… odd but also brilliant. What god would you honor… if you attended?" Hermione yawned between words. She looked up to Harry with sleepy eyes, rubbing them gently as she waited for Harry to answer.

"Hades, maybe… Maybe Ares and Athena. I don't really know…" he admitted—knowing full well he'd have gone to honor Hades due to the god's connection to Thanatos. "Go to sleep now. We'll discuss this tomorrow." 

Hermione hummed, but slowly drifted off to sleep. 

Harry continued to caress her hair, making sure she wouldn't notice him performing subtle mind magics. Removing nightmares wasn't too hard for him. He had done it for himself, it wouldn't be too hard for him to remove the nightmares of others. 

He saw flashes of a man and a woman with grim expressions, scowling down at him. Such looks were accompanied by sniffles and soft sobs— Hermione's sobs . 

A sigh left his lips as his gaze was fixed on the peacefully sleeping Hermione. Nightmares had plagued the three of them after the war. Harry experienced it most but he was used to it. He'd console Ron and Hermione, comfort them, teach them how to cope with the night terrors. He was accustomed to nightmares, visions even as he focused on the very soul shard stuck to his head.

If I were back in Hecataea, I'd have easily managed these dreams. He thought as he took off his glasses and adjusted himself, so as to not push Hermione off the bed. The chamber of Morpheus would have done good for us… maybe those of the house of Hypnos and Morpheus could have helped too.

He sighed again before wrapping his arms around Hermione who instantly snuggled into him. He drifted off to sleep, doing his best to prevent the girl from having nightmares the rest of the night.

An hour later Ron would wake up and see his friends snuggled together, before sleepily sandwiching Hermione between him and Harry. Charlie would open the door after he was ordered by his mother to see the trio squished into the small bed, laughing before summoning a camera to show the three of what he saw.

"Charlie burn that!" 

"My children wouldn't dare waste their fire on such a cute photo!" 

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 10:

Gellert could hardly forget the day he first held his son. Damian was a healthy boy, powerful even as a simple babe, but powerful indeed. He was worthy of being his heir and Gellert had expected greatness to come for the boy in the future. He had turned to Freida, a muggleborn who his great aunt had taken in when they were children.

"Freida—" 

But his joy had faltered as he saw the pale, almost gray skin upon Freida. They had known something like this would happen. Freida chose to be a woman, drank a potion to physically match the identity she had been most comfortable with. Freida hadn't felt right as a man. The thought of staying as Hubert had haunted her. That was the name, the existence of a child that has been terrified of muggles.

"I did well…" Freida breathed out.

No matter what, Freida was assigned male at birth. Her birth sex was male but the gender she chose was the one she grew comfortable with. No matter what potion she swallowed, it wasn't perfect. Freida had a womb, her DNA itself has been altered to match the identity she wanted.

The potion wasn't strong enough. Regardless of that, her body was less accommodating to a child growing in her womb compared to other women. In the future, such potions would be created to perfection that pregnancy wouldn't be much of an issue. But it was in the early 1910's…magic and potions weren't advanced enough.

They were faulty, they were flawed. Gellert had known that it would be a risk—a risk to have an heir with Freida. But no matter what he told himself, he didn't want the mother of his child to be anyone else. He wanted Freida. He wanted the person who he grew up with. He wanted the person who attended Beauxbatons and brought back so many dark arts books when he had been expelled. He wanted the person who never abandoned him no matter the cost. He wanted the one who knew the risks of having his child yet still agreed to carry his heir in her womb. He wanted Freida, and he realized such selfishness cost them both. 

He held their child in his arms, a boy who had blonde, nearly white hair exactly like his. If the child had opened its eyes, he would pray that they were the same amber hues Freida had. 

Shakily, he handed their son to her. Freida smiled so brightly, weakly, but Gellert thought it could compare to the sun. She giggled as she planted a gentle kiss on their son's forehead. The two of them looked right into the baby's eyes and they could clearly see the two colors. Gellert sighed hopelessly, their son looked exactly like him. He had truly hoped his eyes would be amber, the same with Freida. He had hoped their son would have the same black hair as she did.

"What shall we name him?" Gellert asked. He had entrusted Freida to carry his child; she deserves to name him. The name itself was something Gellert hoped she would choose, considering since the baby she carries in her womb for nine months looked exactly like his father.

" Damianos ." Freida whispered, "Damianos Gellert Grindelwald." 

Geller was curious, "Why Damianos?"

Freida merely smiled at him, "It is Greek, meaning to tame, to conquer, to master. " She smiled at him as she held Damian gently, but tightly. "I believe that one day… one day he will conquer the world. He will bring back all of our traditions lost to muggle culture. I believe he will conquer and return what has been forgotten." She whispered, "He's your son after all."

" Our son." Gellert corrected with a solemn look.

Freida simply hummed, keeping little Damian in her arms as she hummed a soft tune. Gellert stood by her side, holding her hand as she continued to hum. Matters of minutes passed and Gellert heard Damian cry once again. Damian had only cried after the first few seconds of his birth but had suddenly gone silent. It had been five hours since then, and now…

"Thank you… thank you for staying by my side." Freida whispered as she caressed Gellert's cheek.

" Ich liebe dich, Freida. " Gellert whispered as his tears ran down his face. Freida smiled so brightly at him—it was the first time he told her he loved her. He regretted taking so long.

" Ich liebe dich auch. " She shakily whispered back, " Ich liebe dich mein Sohn ." She cried silently until Damian wailed as his mother's heart slowly stopped.

On October 31st, 1916, Gellert Grindelwald received and lost two of the most important things in his life. On October 31st 1916, Damianos Gellert Grindelwald was born. On October 31st, 1916, Freida Adelheide S̶c̶h̶n̶e̶i̶d̶e̶r̶ Grindelwald died giving birth to her only son.

Gellert stared at the cold body of his oldest friend—perhaps he had loved her, perhaps he simply saw her as a friend. Regardless, Gellert thought she was his soulmate. He cared— treasured her deeply as if no man could. 

He sucked in a breath, trembling hands moving to take Damian from the arms of his dead mother. The child had pressed itself against Freida's chest, as if looking for her heartbeat. Many have said children reacted positively to their mothers heartbeat… Damian had heard his mother's heart stop. 

He took the child in his arms, unable to shush him from his wailing. Damian cried and cried, as the whole of Numengard listened to the Dark Lord's heir mourn his mother's death. Gellert hugged the newborn, his son, protectively as he whispered assurances and promises to him. 

He pressed Damian against his chest, surprised to see the results. His son had gotten quite, only sniffling as he listened to his father's heartbeat

Had Gellert known that Damian was fully conscious with a soul centuries old, he'd have realized why the boy cried so much.

Damianos Grindelwald had been conscious, thinking in the same manner as an adult as his mother held him. He listened to his mother's heartbeat, he heard if stop, he felt her soul withdraw from her body. He had seen Death come for his mother—Damian had just met her for goodness sakes! 

But Damian always had a special connection to all his mother's—he was in their womb for months. It was different for his fathers…

Years passed and Gellert had done everything he could to heal his son's broken heart. Damian grew to despise himself, constantly telling his father he made a mistake for choosing to have a child, that it was Damian's fault his mother was gone. Gellert despised how his own son hated himself, thinking it was his fault. 

Damian resented himself, unable to stand a few seconds of listening to stories of his mother before running away in tears. The Dark Lord's heir clearly favored his mother, even if she died giving birth to him. Gellert had been distraught. Vinda often told him of how some magical children bore a connection with their mother that was so deep that even death couldn't break the bond.

Damian had been seven when Gellert brought home a girl from the orphanage—the dark lord had taken a risk adopting the girl as his own. Vinda had mentioned a child with such powerful magic in an orphanage in Germany, a child clearly not a muggleborn. She had dark hair, vivid blue eyes that seemed to twinkle under the light. She was powerful but resented the world and isolated herself. A child that reminded him of Damian who looked the near polar opposite.

Ariadne became his daughter and Damian's second in command. They had hated each other at first, but it had taken only a year for them to be fiercely protective of each other. Gellert often joked that they were nonidentical twins, which his acolytes agreed to. Ariadne had somewhat looked like Freida with her dark hair. He was proud of his children and predicted a future where Damian succeeded him as a dark lord and Ariadne by his side.

Alas, Gellert never saw that day. Not when he was defeated by Dumbledore and dragged towards the prison—the home he built with his own hands. He had to watch as his children fought every auror and defence master sent their way, watched as Damian didn't even think to save himself and tried to free his father. He saw how Ariadne shoved herself in front of Damian to protect him from the green spell Dumbledore sent to her. Ariadne's body had fallen to the floor just as another killing curse was sent to Damian.

Gellert was dragged to Nurmengard in chains as his children's bodies were taken away… he had later discovered that Dumbledore had mercilessly ordered for his children's corpses to be burned and their ashes thrown into the waters near Azkaban.

"Master Gellert, Winly is thinking that you mustn't leave the manor." The house elf urged with a pleading expression.

Hadrian had explicitly told Gellert not to leave the Manor for a period of time, but the man missed his son. He spent almost fifty years rotting in the prison he once called home, and now his son was far too busy to spend time with him. He felt bitter about that.

"There will be no issue. I will simply wear heavy glamours and illusions to not be recognized. I… I simply want to see my son." He spoke resolutely. He grabbed a coat, moved to the mirror and began altering his entire appearance with the glamor.

His ever so light blonde hair—Damian had always said it was white—turned into a dark brown. His mismatched eyes were turned black, as his facial features changed to a more plain and bland appearance. It would have made him unnoticeable. He picked out the clothes that wouldn't make him stand out, as much as he hated wearing such a tacky suit.

His magic hummed within the wand he grasped. He hoped that no one would recognize his magical signature nor the wand he used—he doubted it. Those who had gone against him were either dead or too weak to move out of their homes. He was a bit disappointed to hear that Orion Black had passed, but the man had married such a vindictive woman as his wife. ( —Who was unfortunately also his cousin.)

"Come now, Winly." He ordered, "Let us depart for King's Cross."

The house elf couldn't help the loud sigh she released. Poor thing , Gellert thought as Winly diligently followed after him. The elf had been so kind, so loya, but Gellert was anxious to see his son. 

With a loud crack, Gellert apparated by the border of King's Cross. He hummed as he saw the scarlet train, the Hogwarts express. It wasn't the same as Durmstrang, considering how most students of Hogwarts were from Britain and Ireland. Unlike Durmstrang, who's ship arrived to a few countries where most of its students came from— Russia; Norway; Germany; Poland—It was certainly more convenient.

When Damian and Ariadne attended Durmstrang, they had entered under the surname Nachtnebel. It had caused an uproar when they entered the school, pretending to be fraternal twins due to them being the same age. 

Gellert's eyes scanned through the crowd, finally seeing a mop of black hair amongst red; The Weasleys, he thought. His magic instantly outstretched itself towards the boy, garnering a reaction immediately.

Hadrian's head snapped towards him, green eyes wide with shock. He spoke to the Weasleys with an easy smile, excusing himself before rushing towards Gellert's direction. The man sighed at the outraged expression Hadrian wore. 

"What…are you doing here?!" Hadrian hissed quietly, glaring at Gellert. But he could see the worry and fear within those emerald hues.

"I wanted to see you… and perhaps glimpse at your sister." Gellert murmured. He glanced around the station, but found none. "It seems she's boarded the train already… shame…" 

He felt rather glum. He came to Kings cross not just to see Hadrian, but to see the reincarnation of his daughter. Ariadne would have looked similarly to Damian, and coincidentally, Hadrian looked similar to Ariadne. 

" Father— Gellert, please be careful. You don't need to see me off. I'll… I'll try to visit! Send letters every week—month, better be a month because I will be busy…" Hadrian struggled to speak, a bit flustered from what Gellert could tell. "I—I'll update you about Ari. Please… just promise me you will be safe."

"I will if you do so as well." Gellert immediately snapped.

Hadrian pouted at him, causing the man to roll his eyes and pat his son's head. "Don't die."

"I mean… Thirteen times—"

"Don't die in this life, not yet at least."

A bitter smile formed on Hadrian's lips. Death was an inevitable thing for him, his son that was somehow the master of death reincarnated. That was Hadrian's destiny after all. Gellert didn't envy his son for such power now that he's realized the consequences of the hollows, but he desperately wished he could take away his son's burdens and free him.

Gellert whispered, " Um zu leben, muss man leiden. " To live you must suffer.

And Hadrian whispered back, " Denn der Tod ist die einzige Barmherzigkeit. " For death is the only mercy.

Smiling softly, Gellert gently squeezes Hadrian's shoulder."She will remember those words." He said, comforting the boy in a way he couldn't use words.

But Hadrian wore a bitter expression, "She will… those were the last words we said to each other before dying." 

Gellert shut his eyes, nodding silently. He felt sick to the stomach, knowing that the very words he told his children—words that motivated them to survive, were the last they spoke to each other.

"It was either that or töten oder getötet werden. " Hadrian snorted. Kill or be killed . Those were one of the few mottos he and Ariadne lived by.

 Gellert smiled sadly. His children lived by mottos and sayings that they said over and over again to remind themselves to survive. They were born and grew up in a war. Now, as he looked at Hadrian, he was painfully reminded that even in another life, his son was born and raised in a war.

"To live you must suffer. Death is the only mercy we can desire." He reminded. It wasn't suitable words, but Gellert had lived long enough to understand Death was mercy. If he had to choose, he'd decide to have his son die rather than suffer the manipulations of his former lover.

"Go now. Bring home your sister, and glory."

Hadrian grinned, "Glory? Haven't I been doing that?" 

Gellert snorted, waving Hadrian away as the boy chuckled and ran to the train. He watched as Hadrian spoke to his friends, who had glanced at Gellert with suspicious looks. He smiled pleasantly and waved at them. The two blinked in surprise, before smiling brightly and waving back. 

He sighed, unknowing whether it was for relief or frustration. He watched as more parents wept for their children, mostly for students starting their first years. The station was loud, something Gellert had grown accustomed to.

As Hadrian entered the train, he watched his son's figure walk through the hallway. His eyes landed on a compartment with a girl sitting by the window. A book in hand as she pressed her wand towards the paper. Gellert narrowed his eyes, somewhat disturbed as the girl closed her book and slowly turned towards him.

He immediately froze, mouth going dry as he met silvery eyes clouded by fog. The girl smiled, waving at him as a silver chain hung off her neck. The deathly hallows symbol hangs on the chain, as the girl grinned at the shocked look on his face.

Death is mercy , he saw her mouth. Gellert took in a sharp breath before he smiled at the girl. Life is suffering , he silently said. The girl smiled brightly as the train started to move.

"Master Gellert?" 

The man nodded quietly, clenching his fist as he watched the scarlet train vanish from his sight. "Let's go. Ah… never mind, let us go to Diagon Alley. I'd like to buy my children gifts."

Winly nodded happily at the prospect of buying a gift for her master. However the elf was confused as to why Gellert said children rather than child. She didn't really care, following Gellert as they apparated to the gates of Gringotts. The goblins would listen to him, after all… his son was the one who helped get rid of the sinful traitors of the bank.

"Hm… I'll need to check on some of my vaults first."

None of the Wixens took notice to him, not sparing him a second glance. He walked up to the gobling teller and quietly bowed to the gobling. This didn't go unnoticed by said goblin, who narrowed his eyes at him.

"Good morning Master Goblin." He said in a polite tone that garnered him even the smallest bit of favor from the goblin. He received a small sneer, but was acknowledged.

"State your business."

"I have come to speak to the head goblin Ragnar." He declared quietly, surprising most of the goblins in the vicinity. They had better hearing compared to wixen, something that most did not really know of.

"I see…" the goblin seemed to consider his words, no doubt thinking of Damian's abrupt appearance at the bank two months ago. The goblin turned to Gellert with a suspicious look, "What may I refer to you as?" 

"Out in public… I cannot particularly say. However, I am confident enough to say I am Damianos' father." He nonchalantly said. He watched as the goblins reacted quickly. Someone was already called to inform the head goblin.

Gellert was hastily led away from the prying eyes of wizards and witches, led deep into the halls of gringotts. He saw the grand doors that would surely lead to the office of the head goblin. 

"Lord Grindelwald," one of the goblins said once they were out of sight, "I am Ernok. Head Goblin Ragnar's assistant."

Gellert nodded in acknowledgment, continuing to listen to the goblin speak. "Heir Hadrian— formerly Heir Damianos, has already informed us of your release. Come, I shall lead you to sir Ragnar."

Gellert could never get enough of how his son had easily formed connections with goblins that even after his death was still intact. He was led through the many offices and busy goblins running through the halls with stacks of paper and some artifacts in hand. He heard the echo of a roar, suspecting it was the Dragon Damian had mentioned to him once.

He silently followed Ernok until he came face to face with a gold created door. The goblin knocked once and received a reply, then opened to reveal another goblin.

"Lord Grindelwald… it is nice to see you in good health just as Heir Hadrian has mentioned." Ragnar hummed, satisfaction clear on his expression as the former Dark lord took a seat in front of him.

"Now, I assume you are here for the vaults you've opened…" Ragnar paused checking the files, which Gellert was a bit surprised to see their readiness, "Seventy-six years ago. Correct?"

"Ah… yes. The accounts I had opened for Freida." 

"Hm… Your heir's mother then. The money within the vaults have been doubled recently due to Sir Damian's investments that have not stopped since his death. He was rather adamant to prepare for his reincarnations within this timeline… seems like his predictions were correct and now he is Dumbledore's hope for his utopia." Ragnar snorted.

Gellert knew very well that Hadrian wouldn't be Dumbledore's little puppet. Not with the fact it was the old coot who ordered for their bodies to be burned and their ashes thrown into the murky waters surrounding Azkaban. However, he was mildly impressed with how his son had prepared so much for future incarnations. Rather silly if he could say, but the paranoia Damian had was quite useful now.

"Sir Damian has already reopened most of his vaults from… his previous life." Ragnar grinned ruefully, "The same situation with Lady Freida's vaults. Doubled, tripled… quite a lot of money due to his investments and such. Greedy for gold as usual."

A laugh escapes Gellert. Between Ariadne and Damian, his son was the most addicted to wealth. He once heard how his ideal death was to be crushed by the weight of his fortune…

"I see… his greed and paranoia has served us well then." 

"Ironically. Here are the documents regarding the vault you had open for Freida Nachtnebel, which Heir Hadrian has transferred to you. It is left unnamed as he assumed you would prefer an alias."

Yet again did Gellert snort. His son was far too prepared, but then again, he wasn't complaining. He wouldn't have to stress over fake identities and documents he would use to actually walk freely amongst the wizards and witches of today. Assessing the documents, the gold indeed grew double than what it once was. The vault was originally for Freida had she survived childbirth. Gellert had always given her the choice to flee from the life he had placed her. This was merely supposed to be his gift to her.

As he and Ragnar prepare documents for his identity he quietly thought of the name he would use. His hand hovered over the parchment, quietly arguing with himself.

"Is there a chance… we could play it off as the Nachtnebel family going into hiding?" 

"Unfortunately, that would require more documents of nonexistent people… except if you play it off as being a descendant of lady Freida's grandmother, sir Damianos' great grandmother."

Gellert nodded in understanding before writing down the name he would use.

"Then it shall be thus. I am a halfblood who recently found out that I was a descendant from the Nachtnebel family. As all remaining members have passed away, I shall continue on the name. Does that sound good?"

Ragnar laughed, "If you are satisfied, then we can make it work. Your father is the muggleborn who married a pureblood witch. Both are deceased." He looked back to Gellert for confirmation. The former dark lord nodded, as Ragnar happily took back the documents.

"Then… welcome back to the magical world… Felix Nachtnebel. " 

"Better not announce this. The fake identity is merely a convenience to better access some of the vaults I had placed in Freida's name and my children's alias. Also to avoid suspicion from the ministry." Gellert declared as he patted at his coat. 

The name he had chosen wasn't too bad, aside from the fact he would get ridiculed by Hadrian if he found out. Felix meant Lucky. Something Gellert was not. 

"Thank you for your time, Head Goblin."

Ragnar stood, "No, thank you. With your return, I predict that the magical world will finally heal. Considering how Damian has time and time again expressed how you were part of his motivation."

Gellert smiled sadly. His son had been raised and taught to succeed him, it was Damian's ambition, yet Gellert had outlived Freida, Ariadne, and Damian. This time, he would prefer to see his son succeed him, regardless of the fact of who he has become.

"I speak for the goblins, Lord Grindelwald." Ragnar turned serious as he stared at the former dark lord. Such a declaration was heavy and Gellert was a bit nervous. "We believe that Hadrian Potter is better to be your successor than to be Dumbledore's protege. That boy—ancient as he has become—is the key to the revival of the olde ways. We sincerely hope that you stand by his side, guide him if he strays and is blinded by the light." 

Gellert gulped. The words of the head goblin, especially when speaking for all of gringotts, had very deep meaning. The fact those words were of faith, hope, and the utter belief that Gellert was the better choice made his magic tremble. He had understood Damian;Hadrian wasn't simply a reincarnator, not simply the boy who lived. But he hadn't expected such an extent.

"Lord Death has chosen his champion, and Hadrian Potter has lived many lives fixing our world in his own way. I fear… I fear that in this life, the extent of the change he must make is greater than all of his previous lives."

Gellert nodded solemnly. "I am loyal to my son. I did not listen to him in the past and it cost all of us. This time… This time we will do it his way."

Ragnar hummed, "How cruel fate is." He paused before turning towards the ceiling of his office. Gellert followed his lead and froze. Above him was the painting of a magic circle and the stars of almost all the constellations in the sky. But in the very middle was none other than the Deathly Hallow symbol, the Peverell family's crest. "We do it his way or never at all."

The future was in his son's hands. Gellert feared the burdened Hadrian would carry, but he would support his son. Hadrian, no matter what name, blood, or gender, was his child. He could only hope that Ariadne still considered him as his father the same way he considered her as his child.

He let his eyes flutter close, gulping as he saw flashes. He saw Hadrian, a vow leaving his lips, and then the flash of red. What that meant was still a mystery but he believed his son would survive. Who else but him? Who else but Damian Grindelwald? Who else but Hadrian Potter?

Gellert didn't know who else, all he knew was that if it wasn't his son, then the world would burn. 

"Who else if not him…" Gellert whispered as he looked away from the ceiling. He met eyes with Ragnar, bowing to the head goblin before exiting the office. His son had a grand future before him. Be it dark or light, it was grand, and surely his son was destined for greatness. Who else if not Hadrian indeed.

" Um zu leben, muss man leiden. Denn der Tod ist die einzige Barmherzigkeit. "

To live is to suffer. For Death is the only mercy.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 11:

Tracing his finger on the window, Harry closed his eyes as he looked through his own memories. Occlumency often helped organize his thoughts, but with so many memories of different lives, things often got complicated. Occlumency, from what Hesper and Sirius Black II taught him, is the act of magically closing your mind, protecting it from outside forces. However, it could also help in one's mentality and control of their emotions and thoughts.

As Malcolm, his parents had taught him and James Occlumency, however, as Arcturus he had realized how messy his memories were. In his third life, he had taken advantage of the fact he was the future lord Black, scouring the libraries of Grimmauld Place and Black Castle whenever he could. He had studied the dark arts from then on, remembering things Regulus had told him as Malcolm. The rumors did not exaggerate when speaking of how grand and ancient the Black libraries were.

He had studied many things as Arcturus, but he had also learned the other ways to use legilimency and occlumency. The mind arts could help control one's emotions, sort memories so as to not easily forget them. Harry had started tempering with the mind magics when he, as Arcturus, was eleven years old. The reason for this was when he realized that Dumbledore would be his teacher rather than headmaster. Of course, Arcturus had been rather surprised when seeing Dumbledore had been the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher before teaching Transfiguration. However, this only served his paranoia.

By the time he was fifteen, he had sorted out his memories in imaginary chambers within his mind that he simply had to visit. He continued doing so in future lives, learning more and more magic until his occlumency was fortified to the point even Dumbledore couldn't penetrate it. However, it did take time for him to recover such protections with his magic and soul adjusting to his body.

He glanced out the window, catching a glimpse of a snow white owl flying alongside the train. A smile graced his lips as he watched Hedwig brave the sky—it had been decades since he last saw his owl. Amarantha was precious, yes, but Hedwig had been with him since the childhood of his original life. 

He glanced towards where Ron had fallen asleep, and where Hermione had snuggled herself into a blanket. Sometimes this happened, but considering how the three of them had been reluctant to separate lately, sleeping quietly seemed perfect. Crookshanks was out of his carrier, napping right beside him.

On the other hand, he was reading Nikolai's letter that had arrived a few days ago.

“Dear Hadrian,

Mother was absolutely worried when those Dead eaters swarmed the campsite. I heard that your ministry was brutally scolded by the ICW because of that. (No offense by the way.)

We were also concerned for your safety. I read about your little situation with the leader of those lunatics. Are you okay? They haven't hurt you right? Mother refuses to give me any information regarding the investigation and only said it was being handled. I guess being an attorney means she's involved with all of this insanity.

Anyways, Viktor also asked if you were okay. I heard from Asen and Bisera that they saw you and your friends running through the forest. Said something about you blasting a tree when it got in your way. That sounds awesome!

By the way, what are your hobbies? What foods do you like? What's your favorite subject? I really want to get to know you. (If you're okay with it of course!)

From, Nikolai Markov”

The letter seemed cute. It had made him laugh while reading it and replying to the boy. Hedwig had seemed to make friends with Nikolai's long-eared owl that was named Masha . 

He sighed, looking out the window until the glass started to frost. He flinched, having flashbacks of the previous year where Dementors had intruded on the train. Harry had gotten used to Dementors over the years but his friends haven't. He gripped his wand tightly, glancing out the compartment doors then turning back to the window.

The frost didn't melt, but he watched in fascination as something was drawn in the ice. Narrowing his eyes, he saw letters, words. He paused as he realized it was a riddle. Harry never liked riddles, they were complicated, mysterious, and frustrating. He didn't like riddles.

"What is always moving, never tired, and dread not being admired?" Harry whispered as he read the riddle. Repeating it under his breath, he took a few seconds to figure out the answer. Hesitantly, he traced his answer in the frost.

The moon.

Correct! 

Harry smiled at the reply but was a little suspicious. Whoever was writing the riddle wrote another question.

A golden treasure that never stays;

The coin whose face gives wealth to all.

Strands, nuggets, and dust of gold

are all bought with its shining grace...

And all are more precious than any gleaming metal. What am I? 

Harry hummed softly as he pressed his finger on the window, feeling the cold frost. He wrote his answer without hesitation, already realizing what the riddle meant.

The sun. 

Correct! Now, the more of me you have,

the longer your life.

The more of me you have,

the less you have left. What am I?

Time.

Correct.

They went back and forth for a few more minutes, Harry being amused with the little riddles and questions he was given and answering properly. Although he did purposefully write a wrong answer to see how the stranger would react. He received a silly drawing of a frown, while also watching as the stranger wrote the correct answer.

At one point, Harry grew tired of answering questions. It would be a few more hours before they arrived at Hogwarts and whoever decided to play with him seemed nice. He quickly cut off the stranger before they could ask another question, writing his own riddle into the mix.

The stranger seemed surprised, considering they took a few moments before answering his own riddle. No matter how much he was displeased with riddles, they were sometimes fun to solve and make. He had asked, 

I speak without a mouth and hear without ears. 

I have no body, but I come alive with wind. 

What am I? 

It took a few more seconds, until the stranger finally decided on an answer.

An echo. 

Harry smiled, Correct, he obnoxiously wrote to imitate the stranger.

He started to ask more questions, writing complex riddles, and then they ended up taking turns. Harry took the time to indulge himself and whoever the hell was playing this guessing game with him. He didn't know where they were, suspecting they were in a compartment close by. 

His magic stretched through the hallway, searching for the stranger, while also answering the question presented to him.

What disappears as soon as you say its name? 

Harry answered, Silence.

He sighed, glancing out the door to see Draco Malfoy peeking out of the corner. The moment his eyes met with silver hues, he could feel himself light up. He silently left his compartment and immediately cornered Draco in an empty compartment, staring at the rather frightened Malfoy scion.

"Why so tense Malfoy?" Harry mockingly asked in the same tone Draco had used on him. The blonde boy scowled at him, gripping his wand tightly as if cautious of any malice Harry had.

Harry merelt raised his hands in mock surrender, grinning lazily at Draco who visibly gulped. So much for Slytherin decorum, he thought. Harry snickered at the obvious tension on Draco's person.

"You wouldn't attack someone defenseless," he paused, shifting his eyes from Draco's wand then back to the boy's face, "would you?" Harry simply knew that with the faux innocence in his tone grated Draco's mind. 

Seeing the complicated expression on Draco made Harry grin even more. He swiftly took out his wand, startling Draco before he casted a silencing charm around them. Draco turned to him in bewilderment in silence, disturbed with how Harry kept eye contact with him. It was a method Harry had learnt—never take your eyes off an opponent… even if that opponent was a fourteen-year-old boy. 

Harry hummed quietly, shoving his wand back into his robe pockets and clapping his hands together. The sound made Draco flinch, " What do you want? I suppose creeping around my compartment would be caused by something truly significant. " Harry spoke in fluent french.

Draco was a Malfoy and a Black, he knew French from birth. Harry didn't doubt that, watching as shock and recognition registered in the other boy. Harry could only thank his occlumency and mastery over the mind arts for his continuously being fluent in numerous languages. French was one of them, obviously.

Draco's mouth opened and closed for a few more seconds, before the boy shook his head and glared at Harry. " That's none of your business. " Draco snapped, making Harry deadpan at him.

" Of course— " Harry aggressively waves around them, " —this creepiness is concerning and since you've been lingering in our compartment… " He drawled.

" C… creepiness?! " Draco turned a bright red, surprising Harry at how the color could easily taint Draco's pale face. 

"Yes, creepy," Harry bluntly said.

"I'm not…" 

Harry rolled his eyes, "Nevertheless. What do you want? It's clear that you want something, better not to keep me waiting." He snapped back, earning him a quiet glower.

"What makes you think I want something from you ?" Draco argued back, looking quite smug.

Harry wanted to groan, he sincerely did. Children were atrocious, that included himself of course.  But he had nearly forgotten that this variant of Draco Malfoy was a bit of a spoiled brat. A bully even, but redeemable if Harry could assume.

"Well, if it's not about me then I'll be going. Let's forget about this meeting entirely." Harry shrugged, preparing to walk back out.

"Wait, I—" Draco cut himself off, gritting his teeth as he glared at Harry. "What's with you? You weren't fluent in any language other than English three months ago. For Merlin's sake, you butchered the pronunciation of some incantations. Then there's you deciding to be friends with the Bulgarian minister and Nadia Markova's son."

Harry hummed softly, he was actually curious what Nikolai was currently doing. However, he was rather impressed with Draco's boldness in tackling such mysteries directly. UnSlytherin-like, but he could only assume it was due to his age. 

"Hm… what makes you think I never learned? We're not really that close, right Malfoy?" Harry asked with a grin. 

"You never needed to tell me. I've said some stuff to you in french and I don't suppose you were just pretending to be clueless."

" What if I was? " He spoke in french again to further provoke the boy.

" Pretty convincing then ."

Harry grinned. He couldn't exactly remember what Draco said, but the boy had gone off on him in french when they were in first year. Draco had been embarrassed by his outburst while Harry was just confused about what the hell Draco said. Regardless, it was quite cute that the Malfoy heir remembered such a detail. 

Draco was a Slytherin, he wasn't dumb, nor was he ignorant. He wasn't oblivious—he was a Slytherin. Draco was observant, taught to be such since he had been a child but this recklessness he displayed was somewhat new to Harry. He was familiar with Draco's arrogance but the other boy's actions weren't of arrogance, rather… It was a frustrating kind of confusion that drove the Malfoy heir to confront him. Albeit stupidly, but then again, when people were frustrated they sometimes did stupid things.

" Tell me, when we first met, what kind of person did you expect? " Harry asked, seeing Draco flinch. The expectations of what the boy-who-lived was supposed to be was a heavy burden for Harry, his precious self that is. He had every right to assume that Draco thought of something different when he was looking for Harry Potter in their first year.

The Malfoy heir was silent, but it was enough confirmation for Harry. Draco didn't expect a skinny, pale, shy, and tired looking boy to be sitting in the train that day. He expected something better—someone who was tall, confident, someone who oozed with power. Harry was none of those when he had been younger.

"Shame." Harry whispered under his breath.

"Well, if you ever need anything, you know where to find me."

"And where would that be?" 

"Wherever the hell trouble and danger is."

Draco let out an exasperated sigh as Harry strutted out the compartment. He didn't want to see the smug look Harry would obviously have, quietly returning to his compartment.

"Bloody asshole."

Harry simply opened the compartment doors and snorted at Draco's comment. Neither Hermione noticed Ron had woken up during the time head speaking to Draco, however, Hermione's blanket was slipping off her. He hummed softly, adjusting the blanket to cover the two and fixing Ron's position so he would be leaning his head on Hermione's shoulder. 

A grin graced his lips as he happily plopped to the seat opposite to them and grabbed a book Hermione had taken out. Crookshanks had woken up due to his noise and was glaring tentatively at him. Harry gave the half-kneazle a crooked grin, watching as the ginger cat decided to rest itself on his lap. 

A laugh left his lips as he gently carded his fingers through Crookshanks fur and started to read Hermione's book. He couldn't help the small frown on his face as he realized it was a history of Hogwarts… again.

"I should really provide her with books on pureblood and actual magic theory." He murmured, "Don't you think?" 

Crookshanks merely meowed back and drifted off to sleep.

Hadrian sat opposite to Hermione and Ron, mindlessly waving his wand to conjure small wisps of fire and wind. He glanced over to the Slytherin table, humming quietly as he saw Draco Malfoy just in his view. A small smirk graced his lips as he made eye contact with the blonde haired boy, who—as Harry could see—clenched his fist on the table. 

He waved mockingly at the Malfoy heir, who's eye twitched. Harry may not have the best vision —at the moment, he promised to fix his atrocious eyesight eventually— but he could practically feel Draco's irritation from the other end of the hall. There was an annoying sensation in his mind that made him want to cackle right in front of Draco, but he was mature… ish.

"Oh Harry! Will you please tell Ronald there is absolutely nothing wrong with you dropping Divination? Really now! It feels unfair that he's had you for most of the time while I'm alone." Hermione pouted, glaring at Ron.

Ron recoiled, thinking back to how he and Harry had basically left Hermione behind with all her subjects and classes. He turned to Harry for help, but the other boy shook his head.

"Ron, divination isn't good for me. Honestly, it caused more emotional stress because of Trelawney constantly mentioning my imminent death." Harry said in a sarcastic tone but his friends still flinched. "Plus, I have… I have an issue with prophecies. Seers in general, I have no issue, but Trelawney? Something about her pisses me off."

Hermione and Ron glanced at each other, grimacing at Harry's subtle impatience. Trelawney was one of Harry's least favorite teachers, quite surprising since he was known for his admiration for the teachers of Hogwarts —except for Snape and now Trelawney.

"Do you need my notes from last year?" Hermione quickly changed the subject, "Ancient Runes are quite hard."

"Thank you but I was able to buy some books on ancient runes in my tune in Diagon Alley. The theory itself is a bit different from the actual practice." Harry explained, twirling his wand between his fingers. He glanced at Hermione, who looked rather fascinated.

"Knowing the purpose of every rune you'll use is important, as well as the history and power behind it. Drawing the rune itself is a difficult practice since you have to mix your magic into the rune itself." Harry hummed, tracing his wand in the air. Silvery light emitted from his wand, drawing out a rune in the air. 

"Runes are complex and confusing." Harry quietly murmured, dispelling the rune away. He turned back towards his friends, who were staring at him in awe. Of course they're impressed, he thought with a smirk.

"How did you…" Hermione trailed off, eyes wide as she watched the sparkling silver magic vanish from sight. Her gaze snapped back towards Harry who looked rather nonchalant—although he was internally smug about his skill.

"You're teaching me." Hermione said, as if it were the final decision. 

Harry chuckled, nodding along. That had been his plan in the first place. Instigating a point of interest for Hermione so he could slip in certain comments about pureblood traditions that had been lost to Muggleborn culture. This was an important factor for Harry, reminding himself of what he went through in his fourth life.

Teaching Hermione about such things would make her less unsightly to the eyes of purebloods and she would also be educated in the world she was now part of. Harry didn't plan on keeping her ignorant. He wanted her to be minister again, earlier maybe, but perhaps his plans would change. 

His plans for Ron were yet to be made but he promised himself that his supposed best friend would be part of his future schemes. 

"Where's Ginny?" Harry quietly asked.

"Oh! She's there by the Ravenclaw table. Apparently one of her friends is a birdie." Ron gestured towards the students in blue and Harry could clearly see Ginny's flaming red hair among the crowds.

He faltered for a second as he realized who she was chatting with. 

"Luna Lovegood." He whispered. She looked exactly the same since the last time he's seen her. He couldn't help his grimace, resisting the urge to stand up and grab the girl. Luna was someone who held crucial information after all.

"I'll have to befriend her sooner than the last time." 

"Did you say something?"

"What? Oh! The girl beside Ginny looks really pretty."

Hermione gave him a weird look, turning towards the blonde girl Ginny was with. Indeed, she was quite pretty with her blonde curly hair but Hermione thought she seemed weird. Harry could clearly see her thoughts, a crooked smile on his face at the things Hermione thought of the girl.

She's so pretty…

Harry couldn't help but falter at that awed thought, turning to Hermione with a grin. "Pretty, ain't she? Heard from Charlie that she's your neighbor." He told Hermione before turning to Ron. 

"Yeah! She's Luna Lovegood. Nice girl, but I kinda feel bad. Heard from Ginny that some Ravens call her Loony Lovegood."

"Why's that?" Hermione huffed, narrowing her eyes dangerously. Her views on bullying were almost on par with Harry's. She despised it, having gone through it herself when she was still in the muggle world and in her first year. Hermione was still subjected to it from time to time, but Harry had gone on to threaten anyone who meant harm to Hermione since he first woke up in his thirteenth life. Poor idiots had been dragged into an empty classroom just for Harry to spew out dangerous threats.

"Cause…well she's loony." Ron murmured, avoiding eye contact. He knew very well what bullying had done to Hermione and Harry, really he did, but he had to be honest.

"Ron! Don't say that." Hermione looked aggravated by Ron's words. "That's… that's mean! She might just be quirky and good for her to have the confidence of being herself." She huffed, refusing to look at Ron.

Ron turned to Harry for help, but the other boy only shrugged. He gestured to Ron, as if saying he would speak to him later. The doors had just opened, and in came the new first years.

It was obvious to Harry that compared to the three years before the current first years, they were more of them.

The depressing thought hadn't passed Harry. The current fifth, fourth, third and second years had the smallest number of students compared to the rest. All Harry could think of was it was because of the war, how so many of the people who could have been parents. How so many unborn witches and wizards could have been his classmates. Harry had feared this very predicament.

It was ironic how history repeated itself. After the second wizarding war, history repeated itself by so many people not wanting to bring a child into this wretched world cursed with war. The class of 2008, Teddy's class, had been as small as his. Plagued with war, there had been baby droughts in the wizarding world twice—thrice if you included Grindelwald's time as the dark lord. It had taken them a few more years to fix the issue with their population.

Magic had grown weak, the population becoming small. Of course, that was in wizarding Britain, but Great Britain had been an oasis of magic… the mere thought of magic growing weaker in the very place where Merlin and Morgana were born was shameful and devastating.

"How much are you willing to risk to keep magic alive?"  

Harry shuddered as he heard the echo of Death's voice. He had made sure to speak to the entity of death only upon his death or when he was close to death. Harry had become addicted to Death over time and realized this when he was in his eighth life. He made sure to… get rid of such an addiction that made him somewhat suicidal. 

He watched as students were sorted, counted how many students there were in the new batch of first years. Harry counted 145 students, 73 more students than his batch. His year had exactly 72 students from what he could remember. 23 out of 72 were Gryffindors.

"There… there are a lot of them this year, don't you think?" Hermione's voice cracked as she noticed how big the crowd of first years was. The visible difference in the population of the new first years made her cringe. Harry glanced towards the head table, narrowing his eyes at the pinched expressions some teachers had.

"Well considering the first wizarding war…" Harry murmured thoughtlessly. He didn't care for how Hermione and Ron flinched. War wasn't easy, but over the years, he has gotten less scared of it. He felt less emotion at the prospect of war.

"Cresswell, Leonard."

A boy with dirty blonde hair clumsily ran up the steps and sat on the stool. A bright grin on his face as he allowed the hat to assess him. It only took a few seconds before the hat yelled, " GRYFFINDOR! " 

Harry didn't clap as the boy ran to their table. He didn't really think being a Gryffindor was all that great. Not anymore, at least. If Slytherin was where Voldemort nitpicked his death eaters, Gryffindor was where Dumbledore scouted his Order of the Phoenix soldiers. He had been one of those soldiers, his parents had been one of those soldiers.

He watched as more and more students were sorted. Some were strutting towards their houses with smug looks. Some looked on the verge of tears as they walked to the Hufflepuff table. Harry had even taken notice of a muggleborn— a muggleborn ! Quietly walking towards the Slytherin table.

It was the odd thing about the muggleborns of Slytherin. No one really knew they existed, at least, that's what Harry thought. He had watched, when he was Arcturus, as muggleborns spoke to other young witches and wizards. Eavesdrop about blood status and assess their situations. In the end, they pretended to be half-bloods to lessen the damage. 

As Arcturus, he had been friends with one. Cameron Payne had been a boy in his year. Allegedly a half-blood who had been uneducated by his witch of a mother who wanted him to embrace his muggle heritage. It had been a lie. Arcturus had discovered this and kept it a secret. Cameron Payne was a muggleborn who had heard of the word mudblood coming out of an older Slytherins mouth. He was lucky enough to befriend a half-blood who spoke of the hierarchy.

At that time, teachers were more explanatory to muggleborns on blood status and the Hogwarts houses. This has been a great advantage to them when adapting to their surroundings. Sometimes the pretend Half-bloods became friends with purebloods and did everything to mimic their mannerism. It was such a Slytherin thing to do. Arcturus had been kind enough to lend Cameron a book on etiquette and pureblood history when they were in their third year.

The same events had happened, Harry had simply filed through his memories and compared them to the current events. Dumbledore stood up, announcing that the inter-house quidditch cup would not take place. His voice was grating as always, but Harry focused more on the door. 

As expected, a few seconds after the gasps and yells of outrage, the great hall's doors flew open. Lightning crackled as thunder boomed from the windows of the great hall, a man limping towards the headmaster with a scowl. A grin spread across Harry's face as he saw him.

"Finally." 

Dumbledore grimaced slightly at the harsh expression on the man's face, but sighed and shook his head with a smile. 

Asshole. Bastard. Manipulative old coot! You know very well who the hell is behind Moody's face. Harry cursed and cursed again in his mind as he stopped himself from glaring daggers at Dumbledore.

"May I introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Alastor Moody."

Bartemius Crouch Jr. Harry corrected, staring at the man. The memory he had of Alastor Moody was vivid. In his first life, the man died protecting him, but the moment he became Malcolm, Moody was someone he had grown to despise in a way. He wondered why, why of all people, Barty had chosen to disguise himself as Moody.

Harry drummed his fingers on the table, not caring for the announcement of the Triwizard cup. His eyes were set on Moody, narrowing them as he watched the man take a swig out of his container. He wanted to grab the man, drag him to the chamber of secrets, and force him to admit why he chose Moody of all people. Barty might have pretended to be Moody out of spite.

Twirling his wand in between his fingers, Harry relished in the sensation of his magic cutting through flesh. He remembered it, every single detail of that day when he was Malcolm. He remembered how he cut a man's eye, the remaining one at least, and plucked his eyeball out with his fingers.

Pretending to be your lover's murderer… how fucking morbid of you Barty. Harry thought with a dark grin, Good thing I killed him that time.

It wasn't hard to forget how he had gouged out Moody's remaining eye with his own bare hands and choked him to death.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 12:

"Ron… Ron?... RONALD WAKE UP!"

Hermione harshly patted Ron's delicately sleeping face. The other boys were already up and groggily getting out of bed. They lazily greeted Hermione —who has broken into their dorms before— and minded their own business. Poor Ron was the subject of the witch's wrath as she continued to harshly pat his face.

Ron groaned, rubbing his poor reddened cheek from all the patting , glaring at Hermione.

She merely scoffed, pressing her hands against her hips and glaring at him. Hermione huffed, kicking at Ron's bed so the boy would finally wake. Her eyes trailed towards the bed near the window, grimacing as she couldn't find any sign of Harry. She grew worried, not caring that Ron was still gathering himself.

"Where's Harry?" 

"He's right— Oi… where's Harry?" 

"I'm the one asking you that you prat? You're the one who's been here the entire night." She huffed, impatiently tapping her foot against the floor.

"How—How should I have known? I was bloody well asleep!"

Harry had become rather odd lately. He was more reserved, more silent, and smiled too much. Hermione didn't like it one bit. Harry had been meek, paranoid, and even refused to trust them when they had first met. He didn't throw away the prospect of friendship, but he was most certainly cautious of it. Hermione only found out why he had a hard time trusting people when Ron dragged her away one day in their second year.

She had scolded them, told them that expulsion was not an option. How could she not have been angry? The two idiots had gone and flew a car from London to Scotland for Merlin's sake. She has been scared, scared that Harry and Ron would be expelled, scared that she would be left alone with no friends. 

That day, it had been the second of September. Right before they entered the Great Hall, right before the howler came, Ron had dragged Hermione away from the crowd while they waited for Harry. He told her of the bars on Harry's window.

They kept him prisoner! There were dozens of locks on his door and I still don't understand how Fred and George picked them. Ron had said with such distress, His trunk, his books, even his wand were locked in the bloody cupboard! Poor Hedwig wasn't allowed to fly all summer.

Oh how she felt awful when she heard that. When she had first seen Harry in Diagon Alley, she noticed how thin he was. He was guarded, hiding away his anger as he smiled at them. Harry had looked so tired and frustrated, especially with Lockhart dragging him to the spotlight. Harry never liked the attention… he wanted to sink into the shadows and live his life peacefully.

Hermione had seen the signs after that. She had seen the bruises in Harry's body that he hid no matter what. He saw the way he flinched, the way he had grabbed his plate in their first year to clean it. It wasn't much, she thought it was because of chores. But it wasn't. 

Harry was scared, frightened. He never looked anyone in the eye, he barely kept their friendship if not for Ron taking charge and mothering them both. Harry was a victim of what Hermione knew as Domestic Abuse.

She felt some kind of kinship with him.

Hermione assessed herself after seeing the signs. She wasn't like Harry, not really. Her parents never harmed her, they never starved her, never laid a hand on her. But they weren't there. Her parents had been… absent. They'd been absent most of her life, either with their jobs or because she was such a nuisance. Hermione was an odd child—she blamed her magic for that. She was overbearing, she could admit that.

But she had been a friendless child with parents who didn't want to pay her any attention. She had thought Harry's life would be the opposite. She thought that because of the books she's read, he would be a flawless boy with confidence and a life to envy. But he wasn't!

Harry was like Hermione, but at least she had her parents… even if they ignored her.

The only reasons why she could buy books and study in Hogwarts was because of the fear her parents may have already felt. They were scared of her… she was never really sure, but her mother had always avoided her eyes. Her father looked unsure and confused whenever he looked at her, the negative attention only started when Professor McGonagall came to their house.

Hermione is a witch. She has magic and would surely be a wonderful witch. Professor McGonagall had said to her parents with utter confidence.

Hermione had rejoiced. She told herself that she wasn't weird, she was just in the wrong world. But then she came to Hogwarts. Even when she discovered magic, she was treated differently. She didn't like that. Ron had been mean to her at first, but Harry had looked at her with eyes devoid of emotion.

It wasn't that his gaze was careful or interested, it was just he didn't care. He looked at everyone the same, and Hermione relished in it. Harry treated people the same, no matter race or gender. He had this uncaring—apathetic look in his eyes when they were in their first year and would only light up at the prospect of magic. People simply have nothing to care about for him.

Then they became friends. Hermione became one of the people actually cared about and treated differently… in a positive way that made Hermione feel warm.

"Ron, I swear, if we do not find him before breakfast I will hex you." She crossed her arms and glared at him.

"I, what?" Ron frowned for a second before shooting up to his feet. "Not again! I'll go ask the twins if they've seen him. He better not skip breakfast like last time!" 

"Like usual, you mean?" 

"That sounds even worse."

Hermione giggled as she watched Ron scramble to the bathroom. She hummed in satisfaction, walking out of the dormitory with the determination of a lioness. She was going to find Harry and he would sit with them for breakfast and eat. She had made a vow since the day she came to the conclusion of Harry's suffering—she would take care of him and no one was going to stop her.

"Oh my god! Ginny I'm so sorry!" She yelled as she stared wide eyed at poor Ginny Weasley who she bumped into. The redhead had given up in life and laid on the floor waiting for her death.

Her footsteps were light against the stone floors of the castle. Some students were already walking towards the great hall, clearly tired, but determined enough to keep themselves awake. To her dismay, none of them were Harry. She could vividly remember in her first year when she and Harry were in the early phases of their friendship.

Harry was reserved, quiet, and didn't particularly like publicizing his home life. She only understood why in their second year. Regardless, she remembered how Harry would try his best not to scowl and sneer at someone who he found unsightly. Sometimes it was Malfoy, sometimes it was a random student who rudely intruded in his personal space.

She could see such a scrutinizing and frustrated gaze become more intense when people condemned him for his talent of parseltongue. Hermione hadn't been too scared, she had been curious and fascinated when Harry spoke to snakes. She rarely saw it, but sometimes she could see that Harry was more interested in speaking to literal snakes than to the snakes known as gossiping students who didn't know when to keep out of others' businesses.

She sighed, rubbing the side of her hair as she took a sharp turn. Breakfast had started 10 minutes ago and would end in 40 minutes. She worried that Harry would skip breakfast again, but she knew Ron would have already stashed a sandwich or two in paper towels to give Harry.

They'd gotten used to such a routine. Harry forgot meals on numerous occasions, Hermione didn't like to think of why, and she would go looking for him while Ron prepared some food just in case Harry did miss meals. 

She had been absorbed in her thoughts, not noticing the girl she bumped into as she made a turn. She staggered back, hearing the sounds of parchment and books falling. Eyes wide, she saw a girl in blue robes on the floor.

"Oh goodness! I am so sorry." Hermione profusely apologized, quickly picking up the books, parchment, and quills.

The other girl merely smiled, and Hermione recognized her soon after that. It was the girl Ron had mentioned, the one Ginny was friends with.

"It's alright. Everyone makes mistakes and it isn't your fault. I should have been more careful." 

Goodness, Hermione gulped as she heard the girl's voice. It was melodious, calm, and she could say it was the definition of serene. Luna? Her name is Luna right? Something to do with the moon…

Hermione clumsily bunched the parchment in her arms as the Ravenclaw chuckled. The girl took out her wand and had her belongings float into her bag. Hermione couldn't lie, she had turned as red as their common rooms when she forgot about using magic. Stupid muggle habits. Stupid, stupid!

"Luna Lovegood. Ravenclaw third year." The girl, Luna, smiled as she introduced herself. Hermione hesitantly took her hand, shaking it as the blonde girl smiled.

"It seems you are looking for someone. Might I ask who?"

"Hm? Oh! Yes, have you seen Harry? Harry Potter." She specified. Hermione was sure that there were twelve other Harrys in Hogwarts. There were three other Harrys in Gryffindor.

"Oh… have you tried the library? Or perhaps the seventh floor." Luna suggested, her smile not faltering.

Hermione, however, was a bit confused with the second suggestion. She had checked the library, it was the first place she looked and Harry hadn't been there. Although she didn't check the seventh floor. With a small nod, she thanked Luna and went on her way.

Loony… no! Bad Hermione! She's quirky and unique! Not loony. Don't be a bully. Don't be like… Hermione pursed her lips as she scolded herself. She never planned on being a bully. Not in this life and not in the next.

She had been exhausted the moment she stepped foot on the seventh floor. Groaning, she summoned the remaining bits of her determination and searched. Not for long, that is. 

Harry had been a prat, a cruel, cruel, friend to suddenly appear before her. He looked perfect , Hermione noticed with a scowl. While she, the ever so wonderful person and great friend she is, looked like a mess. Not the pretty and hot kind. Hermione's hair was as bad as Harry's bed head and her robes were already wrinkles beyond repair. Maybe she was exaggerating it, but Harry looked perfect in comparison! 

"You! Awful! Prat!" Hermione said every word in between harsh pats to Harry's shoulder. 

"Ow! 'mione, you don't have to do that!" 

"Where have you been?" 

Hermione cringed at how similar she sounded to Mrs. Weasley. She had no issue with the woman… aside from how overbearing she was. Mrs. Weasley was what the muggles called a helicopter parent. Well, that was what she understood from what she's seen and heard.

"How hurtful… have you no faith?" Harry said in a playful tone.

It made Hermione pause for a moment, panicking as she suddenly found Harry, the person she saw as her brother, really attractive. Not in the, oh, he's cute. It was in the manner of, Oh god… he's hot… 

Hermione felt like it was wrong. But then again, Harry seemed different. Really different. 

His hair was tousled in a way that made it look like someone had their hands tangled in it. The cocky smirk on his face—it was a new addition, Hermione knew that very well—and then there was the way he carries himself with a confidence she envied. 

He's so handsome… bad! Bad! Bad! Bad! Hermione squeaked, staggering away from Harry as she glared at him.

"Answer the question Potter! Ron and I have been worried sick!" 

Yes… Ron and I are basically his parents. That's it! Hermione reassured herself, pointing an accusing finger at the dark haired boy. But she paused again, before immediately shaking her head to the next thought. She wasn't going to think about that here.

"I checked out some passages I saw on the map. Sorry for worrying you—excited that's all." Harry grinned, offering his hand to her. "C'mon, I know a shortcut."

Hermione eyed him suspiciously, before she sighed and took his hand. Harry's hand was bigger than hers, she could see scars. Old scars. His hands were calloused, she didn't know whether it was from their dangerous adventures or if it was from the horrible muggles he was stuck with. Nevertheless, Harry's hands were bigger than hers. They were warm, comforting, something Hermione found comfort in.

Harry led her to another corridor, stopping right in front of a portrait of an irritated looking man. She didn't know who he was, but Harry seemed to grin at him. Then hissing noises came out of his mouth. 

The next thing Hermione knew, she was staring at a hidden passage where the Portrait swung open. The man in the portrait was quietly cursing, quietly hissing whatever words in parseltongue there was.

"Perks of being a parselmouth. This is our little secret, kay?" Harry grinned as he led her into the secret passage.

"How—"

"Found it by accident a few days before third year ended. Muttered a bunch of parseltongue and boom! Secret passage." 

Another chain of hissing was heard, turning her head to the portrait. Then she turned back to Harry, who looked rather annoyed but merely brushed it off. They hurriedly walked through the passage, going down a flight of stairs. Harry had held Hermione's hand when going down, but as soon as they were done with the first flight of stairs, she was dragged towards another. It was a spiral staircase.

Harry murmured in parseltongue, and hurriedly stepped on one of the stairs. He dragged Hermione to his side, and the girl had squeaked as she felt the staircase move. She rightfully slapped his arm when he didn't give her a warning.

"Why didn't you tell us about this?" She didn't miss the way Harry sneered for a second before schooling his expression to a smile. It was eerie, Hermione didn't like it one bit.

"Ron's a Gryffindor. Maybe he'd have been sorted into Hufflepuff, but he's more Gryffindor. You saw how he panicked when he found out about me being a parselmouth. I don't fancy having him know that I've been frequently using it." 

It was understandable but at the same time, Hermione wanted to argue with him. Ron was their friend, as Harry said, he was like a Hufflepuff. Loyal . But then she remembered how Ron had gone on a tirade about how being a parselmouth is considered dark in the British magical community. She found it absurd. It was like blood purity all over again, but this time, it was the light wizards who slander and condemn parselmouths. 

"I—Okay… but promise me you'll bring me along next time…" Hermione scolded, but avoided his eyes. She felt warmth on her cheeks, she felt embarrassed. "I want to explore the castle more… if it's not a problem… could I borrow the map?"

Harry smiled at her, "Of course. Let's explore together… sorry Ron." The boy whispered, but grinned mischievously.

"Oh look! We've arrived on the first floor. Come now, before Ronald goes on a tirade of how we skipped breakfast."

"One, that is entirely your fault! Two, he wouldn't dare go off on a tirade. Simple scolding is what he prefers."

Harry laughed again. This time, he looked at her with a gaze of indescribable happiness that made her heart melt. She'd have been flattered, if it weren't for how he ran towards the hall, leaving her behind. 

"What? Harry! Harry you prat!"

She chased after him, internally smiling as they finally arrived at the great hall. Ron was glaring at anyone who tried to take the food he had gathered then turned his glare towards them. Harry only laughed, sitting opposite to Hermione and Ron.

"Thanks. Sorry for worrying, I just had to check some of the secret passages on the map." Harry winked at Ron, swiftly grabbing some toast and bacon. Ron whined at Harry's seeker abilities, but grinned triumphantly.

"Hey, who'd you reckon's gonna be our schools champion?" Ron asked.

"Hm… Not really sure. Who're you betting on?"

Hermione wanted to groan so badly at the mention of betting. The night before, Gryffindor had gone and started betting on who they thought would be the Hogwarts champion. A fair few suggested someone from their own house, but some had been mature enough to admit they thought someone else would be the champion.

"Hm… If Oliver were still here he might have been champion." Ron chuckled, taking a bite out of his food.

"'Mione, what do you think?" 

"I don't want to participate in the betting." She sighed, but was curious to who they thought would be champion. "What about you Harry?"

Harry hummed, eating his food with the grace Hermione had only seen on actors playing as aristocrats and purebloods. It was suspicious… "I think it would be someone from Hufflepuff. I'm quite thankful that there's an age limit. Imagine if there wasn't… so much pressure." He sighed.

Hermione stiffened, she saw Ron freeze as well. She hasn't considered that. Had there not been an age limit, Harry would have been pressured to be champion. That would be a nightmare, also taking into consideration that Harry despised the spotlight. It was hard to forget how Harry was willing to hex Lockhart for shoving so much attention to him.

She glanced towards Ron, who nodded in understanding. If anyone knew how much Harry hated attention, it was them. 

"...Why do I have a feeling that you might just get roped into the tournament?" Ron hesitantly asked. It made her shudder. 

Harry stared at him with slightly wide eyes, before a smile graced his lips. "If, by the power of fate and the will of the universe," Hermione rolled her eyes, "I get involved in the tournament, I sincerely hope you all stay by my side."

Ron grinned, "Of course I will! I mean we. Obviously you'll still be with Harry if he somehow gets sweeped into the tournament." The redhead corrected himself immediately, his face a bit red from embarrassment.

Cute , She thought. She realized it seconds later, turning red and shaking her head violently. What was she thinking? Ron? Cute? Absurd.

Her eyes met with Harry's vivid green, then the dark haired boy had the audacity to grin at her like the cheeky devil he had become after the summer. His face was begging to be slapped at this point.

"Well, what classes do you have? I went to speak with McGonagall last night about my new classes. It's a miracle that I remembered to owl a letter a month ago." 

"Really? I've dropped Divination and Muggle studies. Merlin, were those classes useless to me."

"You took muggle studies?" Ron gave her an incredulous look, "You know what? I don't wanna know."

Harry laughed, "Seems like we have the same time tables. I chose Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, and still attend Care of Magical Creatures. I guess all three of us share CoMC." 

"Bloody hell! Harry, what has Hermione done to you?" Ron gasped, pressing a hand to Harry's forehead.

Hermione gave him an offended look, grabbing one of her books and hitting the back of his head. Ron yelped in pain, pouting at her as he nursed his head.

"Ancient Runes are interesting. Arithmancy is similar to Divination but requires numbers rather than spiritual attributes. Basically numerology. I prefer it over Divination since it's more useful in strategic situations." Harry explained with ease. Hermione was absolutely delighted to listen, but she saw the confused look on Ron's face.

"What?"

"It uses numbers to predict the future. Also it can help you with chess." Harry simplified, which Hermione couldn't help but giggle. 

"Why… why in bloody hell am I in divination?!" 

"Arithmancy requires complex math." 

"Nevermind. I'll stick to Trelawney's insanity rather than deal with math." Ron quickly gave up, giving them a smile that explained how content he was not to deal with more math. Apparently wizarding families did teach their children math and it was still one of the most hated subjects.

Hermione rolled her eyes at that. "One day Ronald… One day I will beat you in chess and you will not see me coming." She vowed, conviction in her voice as she declared it. 

A challenging look on Ron's face, he smirked at her. Why is that oddly attractive? Hermione thought with a frown. 

"In your dreams Granger. In your dreams."

Nevermind. I want to hit him with my book again. Where's my book?  

Meanwhile, poor Harry stared at the two with amusement. The tension between the two seemed to have been altered in a way that was more intense than his original life's. A smile on his face and a scheme to matchmake his friends, he was determined to get his niece and nephew back.

Alas… Should I let Viktor take Hermione to the ball or… he contemplated, Jealousy does help with the tension and solidify one's feelings.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair as he turned towards the Ravenclaw table. He was startled to see a pair of silvery blue eyes staring back at him. A serene smile gracing her lips, as she waved at him. The grin spreading across his face was inevitable.

"Beautiful as ever."

The moon was beautiful, even during the day.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 13:

Searching for ways on how to sneak out of Hogwarts without being noticed wasn’t too hard for Harry. He had the advantage of the invisibility cloak, the marauder's map, and his parseltongue. Plus, there was the fact that he had explored Hogwarts numerous times in different lives. He just hadn’t planned on telling Hermione about it…until he realized that her growing curiosity could be utilized. 

Harry had attended his classes that day. Starting off on his usual, or his thirteenth life’s usual pace. He would gradually progress and be a better student. He had to do it slowly. He couldn’t play the role of prodigy, not when most of his teacher’s had already witnessed his performance before waking up. Certain things in this life were different. His name. It was Hadrian , not Harrison or Harold . He wasn't really complaining. He liked Hadrian more than the other two. 

Next was the journals he found in the chamber of secrets and some history books hidden away in the room of requirement. There were people that had not existed in his other lives, biographies, diaries, and mentions of people that shouldn’t exist. Harry should have expected this when he realized that reincarnating to Variant of his original self would come with many complications. It wasn't like he was backing down from a challenge, he was just annoyed.

His memories prior to waking up were fuzzy. He had, unfortunately, sealed some by accident. Some were even damaged memories that he had to repair. From what tidbits of memories he recovered, this life, his thirteenth, was much more paranoid and had a difficult time trying to stay friends with Hermione and Ron. He was much more reserved compared to the naive and trusting original.

Regardless, he did his best to adapt and try to change his personality, little by little. 

“Selfish.”

“ You told me to be selfish. Don’t go back on your word.” 

He didn’t stop as he returned to the room of requirements. Glaring at all the ghosts that had seen him, he knew very well that they felt his power. Being a necromancer, a Peverell necromancer, always meant a deeper connection to the dead.

The seventh floor was empty, aside from some first years exploring the castle, and older students rushing to the towers. He’d have preferred to be alone, alas…

Fate knew he lied to himself with those words.

“Hello again.”

Harry halted on his footsteps as he heard that angelic voice. That voice that was so similar to her mothers, that voice that had guided him when he descended into insanity in his first life. He breathed in, breathed out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out.

His mind went blank, before he started counting. One, two, three, four, five… five, four, three, two, one … 

He turned around, eyes meeting with silvery hues that were filled with foggy wisdom. He missed those eyes. Not a single word left his lips as he stepped towards her. The girl did not move away but she took a step forward. Harry found himself deep in a trance, gulping as he silently looked at her. They were inches away from each other.

“Hello my dear.” His whisper was gentle and soft. Fingers running through her soft blonde hair, Harry found himself smiling at her. 

His beloved seer.

"Had fun, Luna? I hope so." He chuckled.

Luna smiled at him, taking his hand into her own. Her hands were gentle, soft, and unscarred. Harry was thankful for that as she pressed her thumbs into his palm. "Welcome back. I do hope that this timeline has been kind to you."

"Ha! I've been in this timeline before. It hasn't been kind to me before, it won't be kind to me now. Your kindness, on the other hand, is the only one I will welcome." He smiled, cupping her cheek. He didn't hesitate to plant a gentle kiss on her forehead, it was Luna after all.

"My apologies for leading Hermione to you. She was rather distressed… and I do agree that you must eat your fill." 

Harry sighed. Of course she was the reason why Hermione found him. Luna was kind. She was so kind and caring, an angel sent by whatever god there was in the universe. He was thankful, grateful, and did his best to treat her like the damn saint she was. Luna was one of the few reasons why he survived for so long after all. Her voice, her eyes, her mere presence that has calmed his complicated soul.

"Hm… Not to worry. I appreciate your concern. Now…" he trailed off, glancing towards the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. "Shall we find you a tiara?"

Luna giggled, "If you deem it suitable."

Before this life, the last Harry had seen Luna was when he was drowning in his own insanity. Orpheus had been the most unstable of his lives. In terms of mentality and magic. He was a wild card that even Harry acknowledged that he wasn't in his right mind. He knew very well that he was borderline worse than Voldemort because of it.

Luna, dear beloved Luna, had approached him. She was scared, flinched whenever he reached out to her. Orpheus had been devastated and drowned in the malediction of his own madness. But he had kept his distance, rather, he urged the Harry Potter of that timeline to be friends with Luna. He taught his other self to cherish the girl like she was a diamond. 

Harry wasn't completely sure if what he had done was good. Orpheus was obsessive, his paranoia was worse than Damian's. All he could— wanted to remember was how family was something to be treasured deeply. He made sure his mother was safe, he made sure Harry learned how to defend himself and survive, he made sure his father, Sirius, never fell through the veil. All of this because Orpheus was a man who valued familial ties.

Luna was family. Luna was his angel and hail Mary.

He couldn't forget how he took one look at Luna's injured self and the next thing he knew, blood was mixing with the air. That day was the one time he realized how much of a monster he'd become. It only took one look, one look for him to see the look of pure horror in Luna's eyes for him to falter. Monster. Worse than Voldemort. He had thought when he looked into a mirror.

He had done unspeakable things as Orpheus. All in the name of his greed and selfishness. Such things made Luna fear him. His angel.

He held her hand firmly yet gently. Luna was precious. Harry would never forget such a thing even when he couldn't meet her in other lives. Orpheus was the last time he saw her and he cursed his insanity for it. Without Luna, he had felt… confused, at best. Sometimes he would cry himself to sleep, blaming his selfishness that had Fate deprive him of her.

She doesn't flinch anymore… I'm not Orpheus anymore. I will never be him… not again. He thought as he quietly thanked the Fates for letting him hold her hand without fear of scaring her. This was all he needed.

The doors to the room of requirement slowly formed before them. Luna squeezed his hand lightly, smiling at him. That damn smile that should have been a gift to humanity itself.

"I missed you."

"I missed you too."

He pushed open the door, gritting his teeth when he forced himself to let go of her hand. The room of requirement was still a mess. He scowled at it. The clutter was horrific but if it were to be cleaned, Harry was sure he'd find some valuables that would cost him a few dozen or even hundreds of galleons. The thought made him grin as he happily discarded his annoyance to searching for anything expensive.

"Hadrian… we're here for the diadem." Luna reminded him, her eyes narrowing in a chastising manner. It made him grin at her. Of course. Luna was the angel who reminded him not to be greedy, the light that brought him back from the depths of darkness.

"Of course darling. My apologies…" he trailed off, "I simply took into consideration how my fortune will grow so I can spoil you." 

Luna hit him gently. He may have sounded teasing but he hadn't lied. He was going to spoil Luna until he could bring the moon for her. The moon for Luna, he liked the sound of it.

"Don't be too greedy now. I fear that some of the goblins may be overwhelmed with the numerous artifacts you may start selling…" she hummed, but grinned. "Under a pseudonym, I presume."

They started looking through the piles of objects that neither wanted to know was from where. All they needed was the bloody diadem.

"Obviously. I'll trust you in giving me an alias."

Harry inspected a crystal ball, narrowing his eyes before tossing it away. It was a fake. The magic within it was for the misty effect. Another reason why he did not like seers—except for Luna and Gellert of course. They were part of the few exceptions.

"Arius? Mortem?" Luna suggested, picking up a wooden box before she opened it. In a matter of seconds she set it aside and grimaced.

"Immortal? Death?" Harry mockingly said. 

"Well, I can't say you're immortal but—" she tossed away ruined artifacts that were surely of no use. Maybe money, but they were useless to them. "—in a sense, you are immortal. Has Lord Death not said anything?" 

Harry grimaced at the mention of death. "The bastard keeps calling me a greedy brat… I mean I am one, but that's his fault! Had he and the Fates left me alone in my original life, I'd have passed on as the humbled and pathetic puppet of a hero Dumbledore wanted." He didn't like how it sounded but it was the truth. Due to the interface of Death and the Fates, Harry had been led from the path of a martyr.

"I see… Though, I suppose Arius sounds better. Arius Nachtnebel. " Luna hummed as she smiled at the glittering gems of a necklace.

Going stiff, Harry slowly turned towards her with an unsure look. Luna was a seer. He had to remind himself that over and over. She was a seer, not just the angel he considered her to be. She wasn't all knowing but she knew things he'd prefer to stay hidden or be forgotten.

"Lord Grindelwald seems to be amused with his own alias. Felix … Lucky. "

"It's ironic."

"It's cute. Tell him I said hi."

Harry scoffed. He was very much sure that Gellert was aware of Luna. They were both seers. They must have already bet, albeit, unofficially. He knew very well that they've met through dreams, visions of their gift.

"Whatever you say." He hummed softly. Fingers grazing cold silver, he paused for a second before a malicious grin spread across his face.

The sensation filled with darkness spread from his fingers through his veins. Darkness, Magic—it was addictive. Harry had done his best to resist, he had done it in his first life, but he was greedy. How could he resist the feeling of power? He had been foolish then. Foolish enough to listen to Dumbledore, to listen to the man who encouraged him to weaken himself. It made him want to spit on Dumbledore and himself.

He gently lifted the diadem from the clutter of magical artifacts, feeling the power Rowena Ravenclaw bestowed upon it and the darkness that he knew as Tom Riddle's soul. He wanted to devour the magic, the darkness, the power. He wanted it so badly that he might have just abandoned his own plans for it.

But there it was. The angel sent from heaven just for him.

"Hadrian?" 

"Yes darling?" 

Luna looked at him with worry, gently pressed her hand to his arm. She looked hesitant, careful, and even more worried. He didn't like that on her. His Luna shouldn't be scared of him. He didn't like that.

"Look! We've found the Diadem!" He rejoiced, diverting her attention from the expression he had—he suspected he had zoned out, and looked at the Diadem as if it were food. "Once that bastard's soul is out of this, I'll give it to you… okay?" 

"Hadrian… why me?" She asked. 

Harry was offended by the question. Why her? Who would even think that Harry would choose someone else? It was Luna!

"Who else but you?" He asked, seeing her surprise. He smiled, slowly descending the diadem to her head. It rested on her blonde hair and it was perfect. Right where it should be. "Befitting."

"Ah… Harry… the horcrux." Luna faintly whispered, quickly removing the diadem from her head. Harry had almost forgotten about it in his admiration. He scowled, taking the Diadem from her and resisting the urge to just torch it. 

"I'm sorry darling." He quickly apologized. "I forgot about it. I'll have the horcrux removed as soon as possible."

Luna grabbed his arm, "Hadrian. Don't forget what we must do. You alone cannot change the world. You alone cannot save magic."

And there it was. That god forsaken reminder that he couldn't do any of it all alone. What was the point when fate kept having him killed before he could make an impact? What were the previous twelve lives for? For this moment where he could be the savior? Again?  

Harry hated Fate but he knew very well that she was absolute. 

"Why him?" 

"He's your equal."

"But why him? Why is he my equal? Is Gellert not enough?"

Luna faltered, struggling what to say next. Of course it was hard. Tom Riddle had been a thorn in his plans for decades. The bastard always seems to pop up no matter what. The last time he had actually seen Riddle was back in his ninth life, but even then, Harry wanted nothing to do with him until he had to.

During his ninth life, Harry had been stupid enough to take pity on the man who had essentially ruined his life. Tom Riddle was but a boy, three years younger than him, and one that he couldn't find to hate. Tom Riddle reminded Harry of himself, or was it the other way around? Regardless, Harry had practically taken the boy under his wing and made sure he wouldn't go down the path of a dark lord.

He was stupid in that life. He had done nothing to praise, he was lazy in that life. It was like the illness he was born with in the ninth sucked out his motivation and greed and replaced it with sloth. Riddle was the only achievement he could praise. After all, how many people could say they stopped Tom bloody Riddle from becoming a dark lord? 

The boy had been attached to him. Disgustingly attached, that Harry had wanted to kill the boy in his sleep sometimes. Even so, Harry still died in the end. His illness had won. He went to bed that night, cradling his pet cat, and never woke up.

"There are… There are big differences between you and Lord Grindelwald. Tom Riddle is the most similar to you." Luna explained as she took his hand. "What this world needs is another like you."

Another like you. It was the most absurd claim Harry had ever heard. What would the world benefit from another bastard like him? The master of death who kept on reincarnating to either heal the destruction of the magical world or to feed off his unending greed. What would the world need of another monster?

But what he hated more was how Luna claims that other monster to be Tom Riddle. Harry was a monster, a demon, the devil, the bloody master of death. He had been the one to succeed where Tom Riddle failed. Why of all people did that man have to be his equal? His shadow , as Death has pestered him time and time again. 

Harry didn't need a shadow. He prefered to drown in the dark than step into the light to cast him a shadow. What was the point of Tom Riddle? Was Harry not enough? Was the fact he failed to succeed Damian as a Dark Lord while Riddle built his empire not enough to harm his ego? 

Harry despised it. Especially when the one who tells him such things was Luna.

"This world doesn't need another insane demon like me." Harry snapped. He didn't know what Luna was thinking, but he understood this was the Fates doing. Whatever vision she may have seen would not stop him from resenting Riddle.

He took in a deep breath, before sighing. His hands slowly reached to her and for a moment he imagined the way she flinched when Orpheus would reach for her. He faltered, shaking his head and taking a step back. "The only reason why I'm bringing back Riddle is so I can get Amarantha back. Once that is done, I'll kill him when the time is right."

"Hadrian… Give him a chance." 

Harry chose to hold his tongue. Judging from the pleasing look on Luna's face, he suspected she wouldn't let go of this subject in the coming future. If there were a time Luna could convince him that Riddle deserved to live, then it was his ninth life. You were kind. Unintentionally kind to the man who was fooled into starting the prophecy. He didn't want to think too much about it.

But he was right about one thing. He hated that he had been corrected by Luna's actions.

Seers were complicated and annoying. 

"I love you my dear moon. But sometimes… sometimes people cannot be redeemed." He whispered as he caressed her cheek. "I am one of those people."

When the sun had set, Harry found himself drowning again. This time, it was a dream. He didn't like dreams. Usually, he always slept and woke up without dreaming. This time, it was different. Was it because of Luna or the Diadem? He wasn't too sure.

He opened his eyes, sensing he wasn't truly awake. This was one of the dreams he often dreaded. He learned most of his mind magics just to stop these dreams—these memories from resurfacing. 

" Orpheus. " 

He froze at the name. No. No, not again! Not again. He thought to himself and stumbled out of the bed. The door to the bathroom was open, the room was familiar. He rushed to the bathroom and grabbed the edges of the sink. Not again. He thought once more as he stared back at dull yet dangerous purple eyes. 

" Orpheus are you okay? "

He took in deep breaths. One, two three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten…   He repeated over and over again. Continuing to stare at the mirror, he couldn't help but reach a hand to his face. The sharp features he knew too well—features that belonged to the Black Family. His hair was the same as his own surname— Black . He took in deep breaths, quietly turning away from the mirror and approaching his door. 

His hand was shaky, but he opened it regardless. What greeted him were piercing blue eyes that seemed to look into his very soul. His filthy, tainted soul. He felt ashamed as she looked at him but he gave her a smile.

" Hello Mother. " The Language wasn't unfamiliar to him. Russian had always rolled off his tongue so easily no matter how aggressive the language seemed. 

Nadia reached out to him, cupping his cheek with the gentleness she never showed in public. " Are you okay? You seemed distressed. " The worry lacing her voice was wonderful. But Harry never believed he was worthy of it. 

He could only smile as he took Nadia's hand in his own. This is a dream. He reminded himself as he kissed the back of her hand. This is a memory. All he wanted was to hold his mother and cry. Cry to her as he told her his sins. Cry as she held him and ran her fingers through her hair. What he wanted was his mother. 

" Nightmare. " He murmured as he sat on his bed. Nadia shook her head, worried as she sat beside him. He instinctively leaned his head against her shoulder as she began to run her fingers through silky black hair. " Dreamt of a monster. " He sounded like a child.

" Oh? Where did you see it? " Nadia did her best to soothe him. She began to hum, wrapping her magic around. It was warm.

" In the glass. "

I saw it in a mirror.

" What did it look like ?"

Her magic was so warm. It was like staying around the fireplace during Yule while drinking hot cocoa. " I don't know… but it had dark hair and terrifying eyes. "

Black hair. Purple eyes. Sometimes they turn green. 

" Hm… what else can you tell me? What did it remind you of? " He didn't really want to tell her.

" A shadow. " But he did. He was weak for his mother. It reminds me of a shadow. My shadow. Orpheus was someone Harry regretted becoming. The shame he felt when he remembered Orpheus yet there was pride when the memory of how proud Nadia was of him appeared. 

That ugly feeling resting in the pit of his stomach had woken up. He didn't like remembering any of it. He didn't like to remember the insanity he went through as Orpheus. His soul was damaged from his fifth life, the blood of Black and Markov running through his veins—it gave birth to a psychopath, a monster that went by the name of Orpheus Vladimir Black.

He was ashamed of being a monster but had been proud to be Nadia's son. Unfortunately, Nadia's son was the monster.

" You have nothing to fear, dorogaya zvezda ." Harry often forgot about that. Dearest Star . That was what Nadia usually called him when he felt distressed or nervous. His dearest mother who has done everything to raise him into a proud man, yet he turned out to be a disgrace to her. 

" Look at me, son. " He did exactly that. The smile on her face made him feel undeserving, gulping as Nadia planted a kiss to his forehead. Any kind of affection she offered me made me smile. It was a treasure he must keep safe, but now he could never have it. Nadia was no longer his mother and Lily had long passed from this world.

" You have the most exquisite red eyes. "

At that moment, Harry stared at Nadia with confusion. Then he felt the color drain from his face and frantically pushed his mother away. He returned to the bathroom, holding on to the edges of the marble sink as he stared at the mirror. The purple eyes he had seen in Nikolai and his own reflection were gone.

All he saw was red. The red that he had caused when tampering with black magic. 

He felt arms wrap around him, staring at his reflection as he watched Nadia hug him gently. As if he were the most important thing in the world. 

" Such a beautiful red. Would you discard the green for the color of blood once more? " She asked and then he realized… 

Nadia's voice didn't sound like that. It was warm, kind, gentle, sometimes it was cold but he had always felt the loving tone underneath it all. This voice he heard was eerie and shrill. Devoid of the emotion he usually loved to listen. This wasn't Nadia.

Wake up.  

It was a simple command. A command to himself as he shot up from his bed and sat up straighter than a plank. Sweat trickled down his face as his hair stuck to his skin. Everything was blurry, he couldn't see at all. The only thing he could do was pathetically search for his glasses as he recovered from the horrid nightmare that had plagued him.

He pressed a hand to his chest, feeling how his heart pounded against his ribcage. His breathing was erratic. This wasn't the state he preferred but it was the state he ended up with when night terrors came to haunt him. He quietly walked towards the bathroom, staring at himself and he couldn't help the sigh of relief. His eyes were green and his hair was a mess. He was Hadrian Potter.

Mind magic was a fickle thing. Harry had done all he could to master it so that he could confidently say that his control over the mind arts was as good as his necromancy. Yet, he had experienced a nightmare. 

The mind magics he practiced made sure that his memories would be organized and safely stashed away in the imaginary library he built for all his memories. Nightmares should have been nonexistent for him, especially when he forcefully flushed them out of his mind. Still, a nightmare had formed. Perhaps he has accidentally allowed a memory to go loose due to Luna's appearance.

Perhaps Fate has done it again and decided to make him miserable.

"H… Harry?" Ron yawned and Harry turned away from the mirror. He offered the sleepy boy a smile, silently guiding him back to his bed. Ron didn't need to know about his nightmare. All he needed to know was…

"Getting cold ain't it? Want me to cast a warming charm on you too?"

All Ron needed to know was that he was cold.

Ron mumbled something about hot cocoa under his breath before sleepily smiling at Harry. The boy went back to bed as Harry quietly casted a warming charm on him and returned to bed. Tempus , he thought as the time was shown to him.

September 3rd, 1994, 4:23 am.

He wouldn't be able to go back to sleep after that. The most likely outcome was of Harry delving into the library of his memories to check whether one book , as he called his memories, had been flying around. Harry's assorted memories were in the form of books within a library. Every shelf was designated for an incarnation and every book was a detailed text of all of his memories.

He wandered around the library, glancing around. The walls were black, the shelves were black, and there were even some couches. He didn't really know why he chose his Mind Palace to be a library. It was supposed to represent a person, but then again, Harry was the present of previously twelve lives.

When he wandered towards the shelf he labeled for Orpheus Black, he found a book hovering out of its shelf. It was vibrating violently and Harry understood it was the culprit of his nightmares. He didn't hesitate to grab the book and shut it with a loud snap. A growl left him as he glared at the book that had caused him to wake up in the middle of the night covered in sweat and almost reduced him to tears.

"If I was allowed to, I'd destroy this damn shelf." He declared as he glared at the shelf. Most of the books were either black or dark purple. But the thing about some of the books was that their pages seemed to bleed red. He hated it.

"Don't." Death quietly whispered.

"I won't! Damn it! I can't destroy it since you won't allow me to forget my mistake." He yelled as he shoved the book back into the shelf. He was never allowed to intentionally harm anything in his library, his memories. Fate wouldn't have liked it and he would have to deal with the consequences.

"Why won't you let me forget?" 

"Because regardless of how many mistakes you make, Orpheus Black is still a part of you." Death said in that annoyingly knowing tone. "Dark and malicious he may be, Orpheus was a necessary factor to saving that worldline."

That was what Harry never understood. What was the point of a psychotic bastard? The point of his incarnations was to save magic, so what the hell was Orpheus for? To train the Harry Potter of that world? To show his variant how ugly black magic can be?

"I'm just the necessary evil you needed."

"You were not. You were the reason why the Harry Potter of that world saved magic."

How ironic. 

"Ha… Orpheus Black, the reason why the Harry Potter of that world chose to save the world… It's ridiculous. I trained him to be a dark lord!" He laughed cruelly. It truly was ridiculous.

"How the hell did someone who gave him so much trauma become the reason why he became a fucking hero?"

"Because all heroes have someone to live for. That was you."

"Then I wasn't wrong. That version of me is a fool, so much more foolish than the original."

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 14:

"You must follow every single one of these commands," said Harry as he narrowed his eyes. "You will enter my bed chambers, the master bedroom, and open the cabinet that I have always kept locked. This is the key." He handed the pitch black key. "Place this box in that cabinet and make sure it is locked. You are not to tell anyone of this, understand?"

Harry has made it a habit to be extremely specific when giving out orders, especially to creatures like house elves. With enough influence, a house elf could find a loophole in the orders given and divert whatever was demanded. He had been far too paranoid for that to happen.

Dobby replied with enthusiasm, "Yes great Harry Potter sir!"

Harry held a grimace, "Do not call me that. From now on, refer to me as Hadrian. Dobby I do not like the name for which the world has claimed me to be." Yet again did the elf nod.

His wretched name, Harry . It was the name the wizarding world chose to give him, a name that was given to a savior, a hero. Harry was neither of those, not anymore at least. He liked Hadrian . He liked the greedy person he's become, not the puppet of Dumbledore. The one reason why hasn't snapped at anyone for referring to the butchered name the public has given was because he had to act normal . As normal as Harry Potter without memories of past lives could be.

He gently handed the black velvet box where Ravenclaw's diadem was safely stored to Dobby. He couldn't keep a damn horcrux in Hogwarts. The best bet was to hide it in the warded cabinet in his bedroom back in Potter Manor. 

Between all his elves, he'd trust Dobby with this task. The elf had died for him after all. Dobby served him and was being paid a galleon a month. He had offered it to the rest of his house elves but they had refused and claimed his generosity and presence was enough. Who was he to argue with elves? They were stubborn creatures regardless of their requirement of a master. Hah, even the damn elf is more honorable than me. 

"Now go— ah wait a minute." He paused, glancing away from the cozy reflection of his study that the room of requirements had given him. "How is Gellert doing?" 

"Master Gellert is saying the elves call him Master Felix outside of the Manor. Master Gellert has been studying bloodlines sir. Master Gellert also went to Germany, Winly says to Dobby." 

Harry narrowed his eyes at that. Germany? Did he really take the risk of leaving Britain? He pursed his lips, The vaults and archives then. I'll just write to him about it later.

"Good job. Now go. Make sure to remember my orders."

"Yes sir, Master Hadrian sir!" And the elf popped away, doing as he was told in a manner of worship that Harry shuddered about.

Harry could only wish that whatever the hell Gellert was doing in Germany was about their vaults or the artifacts they had hidden. Although, he suspected that their Manor had been burnt down somehow, or it had never been found up until this day. He doubted it. Damian may not have spent much time in Grindelwald Manor, but his magical signature, including his father and sister's, were ingrained into the walls. Dumbledore would have found the manor after Gellert's defeat and Damian's death.

He could only hope that Vinda was loyal to the end and had salvaged all their artifacts and texts to their secret hideouts or Gringotts itself.

§Hungry…§

Harry sighed as he took out Amarantha's gem from under his shirt. He shuddered at the other chain hanging off his neck—the locker Petunia had given him before he ran from Privet Drive. He had done his best to ignore it. Forget the fact he had a piece of his mother hanging off his neck along with the sealed soul of the Basilisk. He quietly fed Amarantha's soul some of his magic. What would Lily have said if she knew?

A Basilisk? How fascinating!

He could hear her voice—questioning him of the properties of Basilisk Venom and the lethality of the serpent's gaze. Hermione reminded him of Lily—the Lily he met as Malcolm that is.

Lils, that's a bloody Basilisk!   James would have yelled at her, pulling her back while Lily went to admire Amarantha.

It's a Basilisk, Potter. Malcolm looks like he wants to keep it as a pet while you're here screeching like a banshee. 

Harry flinched as he suddenly heard Regulus' voice in his head. 

This never happened. Not after Damian. He never heard voices in his head except for death. He controlled his mind far too well for him to have some sort of hallucination. But then again… Orpheus had been the last to see Luna and Damian didn't have the seer. 

Now she was back in his life. He wanted to blame her effect on him, but he couldn't. 

Now he was Harry again. He was tied to James, Lily, and somehow, Regulus… The longing feeling had returned, making him grit his teeth and clench his fist. He didn't like these pesky emotions. They were distractions—more causes of his greed. He had done his best to tone it down but he could never do it. 

Once the gates that held back his greed were opened by Death, whatever was inside could never go back.

He marched out the room of requirements with a frown. These halls were familiar. He had walked them hundreds of times. These halls had memories he wanted to forget. All he did was freeze as he looked towards the empty corridor. The very same corridor he and Regulus would often meet to hide from their brothers.

Mal, don't you dare tell anyone where I am. Regulus would threaten him but all he could see was an angry black cat. 

It wasn't hard for Harry to admit that the catalyst to his current personality was none other than Regulus. Even in his second life, he was still a wide eyed fool of a Gryffindor—until Regulus had grabbed him from the blinding light and showed him the darkness. Regulus had done everything to teach him about politics and how to be cunning. Regulus taught him how to properly lie and control your expressions no matter the situation. Smile, frown, and cry—he could do it on command all because Regulus insisted he learned.

Where's Kreacher?

He promptly froze again. A groan left his lips as he rubbed the side of his head, grumbling angrily as he racked through his mind on what to do. Kreacher, the blasted elf that had served him well in different lives and Regulus' loyal elf. 

I'll take care of him, don't worry. He thought as he shook his head. Regulus' voice fit perfectly in his well organized mind of chaos. 

He's stubborn.

I know. I'll have to tie him to me to get some of your stuff… and the locket.

You're gonna destroy it?

Harry sighed as he heard that question. Regulus had died trying to destroy that locket. What he was doing went against what Regulus had died for. He felt ashamed of his greed whenever he thought of Regulus. It didn't matter that it was Regulus who taught him that greed was part of being human, it still gave him an ugly feeling for practically defiling Regulus dying wish.

The frozen waters of that lake. He never returned to that cave after Regulus' death. It made him want to blanch.

"Potter!" 

His breath hitched as he heard someone call for him. Potter! It was similar to the way Regulus yelled his name in their first year. He stiffly turned around, sighing in relief to see Draco Malfoy's pale face instead of the ghost of his best friend. 

"Dra— Malfoy." He quickly fixed his mistake. He has gotten used to referring to the blonde boy by his first name. Blame his previous lives for that foolishness. 

Draco raised a brow but shook it off and glared at him. "What the hell are you doing prowling the halls?" He asked. It was an unorthodox question really.

Harry drawls, "Nothing." He ran his fingers through his hair and smiled. "Just going to ancient runes. From what I remember, you also take that subject." 

"You switched to Runes?" Draco questioned, confusion on his expression.

"Divination is more of Ron's thing." He hummed, quietly walked in the direction of the Ancient Runes classroom. He smirked as Draco unconsciously followed him. "Runic Magic is more suitable compared to divination. Had Trelawney allowed pyromancy… maybe I'd have been interested."

"Elemental Divination? That's difficult to master." 

"Hm… not exactly." Harry, in all his theatrics, conjured flames in his hand and had it burst in a flurry of light. Draco jumped in fright but as soon as he saw that the heat wasn't harming him, he faltered for a moment and stared. "Divination isn't much for me, but Pyromancy might just be possible." He chuckled and closed his fist to extinguish the flames.

Draco silently stared, shaking his head with an unbelieving look. He rubbed his eyes, thinking that what he saw was fake. "What?" 

Harry wanted to laugh so badly. He had a natural affinity to fire. Most of his lives did—Damian and Orpheus were one of the most well versed in terms of the fire affinity. Malcolm had a partial affinity to fire, air, and ice. Three elements that were equal and simply above average. 

"Hermione hasn't really given me much to study on Ancient Runes. Last year, you tackled the theory and origins of Runes, right?" 

Draco hesitated, but nodded. It seems he's finally understood that he'd been roped into a civil conversation with Harry Potter. "Babbling had us study Gaelic and Greek." He huffed haughtily.

Harry tried not to frown, "She didn't include Norse runes? Not even Celtic, Egyptian, Welsh, or even Druidic?" He asked with a scoff.

Draco gave him an odd look, but the boy pursed his lips and nodded.

"Tch… I might as well transfer to Durmstrang with the shitty curriculum." He whispered. He didn't particularly understand why he was freely acting like himself around Draco. He had pretended to be the golden boy in front of most people, except for a select few—Draco was part of that few.

Does he remind you of me?

He wanted to deny it so badly. He really did, but he looked into Draco's silver eyes and couldn't help but compare them to Regulus'. One of the last living remnants he had of Regulus were the current members of the Black Family, but Draco was like a warped reflection of his best friend.

He's just a boy . 

He was just a boy when he received the dark mark in his first life. Sixteen, trying to be what his parents expected. 

Maybe because he was selfish. Maybe because he missed Regulus. Maybe it was because he was slowly going insane when he heard Regulus' voice whispering to him from the moment he woke up to the moment he slept. I miss him. And he was greedy and selfish.

"Let's start over." He murmured as he halted in his steps. He stared at Draco, smiling bitterly. The blonde boy looked at him with hesitation, but sighed with an easy understanding. In an all too familiar manner, he offered his hand to the boy. He wore a smile, the same one he wore that day on the train. He had taken the risk. There had been a chance of rejection, but he took the risk and offered the boy in the compartment a smile.

"I'm Hadrian Potter, Gryffindor's favorite pretentious asshole extraordinaire." He said with confidence as he grinned at the befuddled yet amused look Draco wore. 

I'm Potter… Malcolm Potter. 

Draco shook his hand. He did the exact opposite of what Harry had done to him three years ago. "Malfoy, Draco Malfoy. Prince of Slytherin and the best at potions in our year." The tone he used was the exact same cocky tone he used in their first year. 

I'm… Regulus Black.

The fondness he felt for the pretentious blonde wasn't a particularly new development. He had been fond of Draco since his third life. He wasn't the same as the one he has grown to favor, but he was Draco regardless… the one who resembled Regulus most.

"Well your highness, it is most wonderful to meet you." He chuckled softly at the raised brow on Draco's face. "Shall we go to our next class?" 

Draco smirked, "Come now peasant. I do not wish to be late." 

It felt familiar. The light jabs, the crude and cocky jokes. It was like he was Malcolm again. A grin plastered across his face, Harry walking beside Draco as they entered the Ancient Runes classroom with a dramatic flare that they agreed was necessary. The door was slammed open, no teacher in sight but plenty of students from all four houses were already seated.

Hermione was one of them. She gawked at him as he spoke to Malfoy with a mischievous smile. "What I said is still there. You know where to find me if you need anything… from me of course."

"Wherever trouble and danger are, Hadrian Potter is there." Draco sarcastically recalled but was smiling back at Gryffindor. Harry rolled his eyes, waving at him as he walked towards Hermione.

"What?" The girl murmured, staring at him in wonder. "When—"

"Don't question it. It'll just get more confusing." He hummed.

Hermione nodded quietly, but still looked confused. Harry turned towards the group of four Slytherins that included Draco. He was joined by Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott, and Daphne Greengrass. It wasn't much of a surprising group since Draco's inner circle mostly consisted of children from the sacred twenty-eight.

Professor Babbling soon entered the classroom.

Bathsheda Babbling was a tall woman with straight red hair and a piercing brown gaze. Her features were sharp and aristocratic and from what Harry could remember, Babbling was a half-blood.

"Good afternoon students. Welcome to another year of ancient runes." Babbling greeted them, her thick Irish accent allowing Harry to narrow down his suspected families. She was Irish, meanwhile McGonagall was Scottish. 

"I see that there are a few new students…" she murmured, her eyes pausing on some students until her gaze landed on him. She raised a brow, meanwhile, Harry just offered a smile. "Very well then. Let us recap topics from last year."

She waved her wand in the direction of the blackboard, as the chalk began to write. 

Babbling mostly spoke of what Runes were, what their purposes were, and what Runes could do. Carving Runes was a complex practice that requires patience and focus. Every Rune had a meaning. Sometimes they were single words or actual incantations. There were runes for different runes for protection, several runes for healing, and others were lethal. 

She proceeded to explain the activation of runes. The activation varied from what Rune was being used for. Example was how a teleportation tune could be activated by a word or the situation. Harry grimaced as he thought of what had activated the very runes that allowed him to survive the killing curse. Sacrifice. The activation of runes varied and one of the ways to activate runes was sacrifice.

Harry watched as she wrote a Gaelic rune on the board. He recognized the runes' meaning, protection . It was a simple rune but it would prove useful. Babbling then wrote the rune on a vase that she had summoned. The pen she used was silver, not a quill, a pen. It was a runic pen. Runic Pens were made of silver or enchanted metal in thin cylindrical shape—like a pen.

She took a few steps back, " Protection , is what this rune is used for. Runes are powerful and it will help you to learn the language and practice of runes." She explained, before pointing her wand towards the vase. " Reducto! " She yelled as the spell blasted towards the vase.

Rather than shattering, the vase was still intact. The spell had bounced off an invisible barrier surrounding the shield and was darting right towards Hermione. It was an unconscious action, but Harry had immediately pretended to murmur Protego and summoned a shield.

"Ah… My… my apologies Mister Potter, Miss Granger." Babbling apologized, grinning sheepishly. 

Harry rolled his eyes and patted Hermione's bushy head. The other girl looked a bit shaken, but found comfort in Harry's head pat. "You're acting like crookshanks whenever I pet him." 

That caused her to slap his hand away, "Shut up."

"Ehem!" Babbling cleared her throat, "Now let us proceed. I shall pair you up with different students. If in case one student does not have a partner, I shall decide where to group you with." 

Hermione and Harry glanced at each other. Babblings instructions meant that they wouldn't be working with each other. That was apparently a great concern since Hermione's hand was already on the air. "Professor, will our partner stay the same for the entire year?"

"Oh? Of course not. The partnering will just be for today, however, if I think you are better off with your partner than that may be the case." Babbling smiled as she summoned a file of students to her hand. She tapped her wand on the parchment a few times before the parchment floated into the air. Names were being jumbled together, and Babbling smiled as it returned to her hand.

"Then…" she inspected the names before nodding with satisfaction. She began to partner students together. Daphne Greengrass was paired with Ernie McMillan from Hufflepuff. Zabini was stuck with Tracie Davis. Nott ended up with Anthony Goldstein from Ravenclaw. 

"Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger." 

Harry choked on his saliva, slapping a hand to his mouth to stop his laughter from erupting. Hermione stared wide eyed, while Malfoy's eyes darted towards them. Harry could only give him a lazy thumbs up and a cocky grin.

"Go on. It's just for today." He murmured, gently pushing Hermione to her feet. She looked rather agitated, gulping before she shook her head and sauntered towards Malfoy with a scathing glare. The Slytherin gladly returned it.

"Har—" Babbling paused, before she glanced towards Harry. He simply nodded. "Hadrian Potter and Lincoln Sonnet." 

Harry was unfamiliar with the name, but glanced towards the boy who had approached him. He immediately froze. 

"Hadrian Potter?" 

"I— Yeah. Lincoln Sonnet then. Pleasure to meet you." Harry smoothed expression from the look of surprise he had. He offered his hand to the boy, although hesitate, he took it with a confused smile.

Sonnet had dirty blonde hair and dark eyes. His features were aristocratic but looked soft from a certain angle. His viridescent robes weren't as high quality as Malfoy's. They looked almost second hand, but they were new. Cheap, but new.

He gulped, making space for Sonnet to sit beside him. He couldn't properly focus on the lesson. Sonnet's face was familiar. He kept glancing towards the boy, not looking away when he was caught. Sonnet was only offered a smile, which the boy hesitantly returned.

He looks like Evan. 

Harry flinched. Regulus' voice was right. Sonnet looked like Evan but Evan had died young. Evan didn't have time to have children. Evan did not have siblings and neither did he have cousins who could have a child that had a near perfect resemblance to him.

"Right!" Babbling loudly clapped her hands together.

"With your partners, I would like you to practice carving Runes and see if they activate. I shall check on you regularly. This is the only activity you will be doing for the next hour until our time has finished." 

The students immediately moved away from each other. Partners were together, as Harry and Sonnet were huddled together in a corner. 

"So…" 

"Here. These are my notes compiled through the summer to catch up with you guys. Hermione helped but I guess we could trade." Harry shrugged, offering his notebook to the boy. Most of his notebooks were Black now, unlike how he has stupidly bought a bunch of red and orange for his second and third year. 

Sonnet nodded quietly and brought out his own notebook. Harry waited for the boy to hand it over and as expected, he had great hesitation. 

“Don't ruin it." 

"I would never dream of it." Said Harry as he snatched the notebook away. 

Sonnet's notes weren't half bad. There were missing parts of certain explanations, he suspected the boy had struggled to keep up with Babbling's lecture. His handwriting was messy but it looked like Sonnet made an effort to copy calligraphy.

"What the hell… you're supposed to be new." Sonnet murmured, staring at the complex yet easily understood notes.

"Nothing wrong?" 

"N-Nothing." 

Harry hummed. He's not pureblood. The name Sonnet isn't a surname from the British magical community.  

"Good. First let's try the sealing rune or the rune for traps. Essentially, it traps something or someone within its range. I guess I can do 2 meters…" Harry murmured, glancing towards Sonnet who looked rather upset.

Sonnet wasn't as sophisticated as the purebloods and some half-bloods of Slytherin. He looked more inexperienced and was trying to adapt to a person's personality. Then there was the fact his surname was unfamiliar.

Muggleborn then. He thought, pursing his lips at the thought. Since the surname Sonnet didn't sound common enough to insinuate he was from mundane origins, he could have passed off as a half-blood from a lesser known family. Plus his face… 

Harry shook his head, sighing to himself as he turned to Sonnet with his eyes narrowed. "This won't be a problem for you right?"

"Course not." 

"Very well. You choose what to trap and I'll draw the rune. If you want to transfigure something, you can borrow one of my quills. I have plenty." Harry nonchalantly claimed as Sonnet began to think of what to trap.

Harry waited for a few more seconds, until Sonnet slowly took the quill. A grin spread across Harry's face once he saw what Sonnet had transfigured his quill into. 

"A rat." He snickered, before grabbing a small square of parchment and pointing the tip of his wand. His magic burned the rune on the parchment, his magic mixed into the burn as he set the parchment on the floor.

Sonnet slowly set the rat to the ground. The Slytherin gulped, watching as the rat turned towards different directions. He stomped his foot on the floor and the rat started to run. It stepped right on the parchment and hit its head on an invisible wall. The rat started to run, trying to escape the invisible box it had been trapped in.

"Excellent work Mister Potter!" 

The two turned towards Babbling who looked absolutely ecstatic. She grinned at the captured rat, crouching on the ground. "Such amazing finesse on the drawing. And it was burned into the parchment too." Babbling stood back up and levitated the parchment. 

"May I?" She asked, turning to Sonnet who had transfigured the rat. Sonnet nodded, turning the rat back into a quill.

"My, my. Mister Potter, this is your first time in my class, correct?" 

"Yes ma'am."

Babbling looked him up and down, suspicious before she turned towards the rune. Her brown eyes glinted as she inspected it.

"It's perfect. The burn didn't damage the parchment and the rune has sufficient magic inside it. This is usually done with a runic pen. Did you use one?" She quickly asked, eyes narrowed dangerously.

Harry shook his head, waving his wand. 

"And you only used your wand. Raw magic… astonishing." Babbling shook her head in amazement. "Can you do any better than this?"

"I can try."

"I insist you must! Can you draw in the air?" 

Harry took a few seconds to process what he heard. He smiled, glancing towards the other students who had stopped their work to watch. Hermione and Malfoy looked utterly annoyed with each other but both were focused on Harry. He grinned.

"What Rune would you like me to use?" 

"The trapping Rune, the same as this one. Use it on me." 

Running a finger on his wand, Harry stared at Babbling for a few seconds. He felt his magic course through his arm and towards his wand. He harshly waved his wand around the air, drawing a rune with golden threads of his magic. With the last line done, the Rune had printed itself under Babbling's feet and glowed. The professor pressed a hand against the barrier, eyes wide in awe. She tried to push, tried to escape but she was trapped until Harry allowed her to leave.

His magic was stronger than what it once was, thus the rune was weakened to an extent that wouldn't essentially make him the next Merlin. He wasn't as strong as Dumbledore…yet at least. His magic was sti adjusting with his body and his core was also trying to contain his magic. 

"This is the best rune creation I have ever seen from a beginner. Even my sixth years couldn't draw a rune with raw magic alone, especially doing it in the air and casting it somewhere." 

Harry winced. Ooh… right! Fourth years aren't supposed to be able to do this. Shit! I underestimated myself. 

"Oh…" Harry feigned surprise. "Then I chose the right to join your class." 

"Absolutely! And… can you perhaps free me now?" 

Harry nodded, waving his wand in a downward motion as the glow of the rune flickered. Babbling seemed to hum at the somewhat amateur trait. The goal was to make her assume he was great at creating runes but had to improve deactivating them. Harry sighed, returning to Sonnet who looked at him with stars in his eyes.

Somewhat ignorant? Check. Not so fancy uniforms? Check. Unable to hide his emotions properly? Check. Half-Blood maybe, but Muggleborn more-likely. Harry thought. Sonnet's magic felt too fresh for it to be of a Half-blood's. Half-bloods may have fresh magic due to less inbreeding but Muggleborns had magic so new that it could be easily distinguished. It wasn't tainted by inbreeding.

"That was brilliant!" Sonnet praised. For a moment, the boy avoided his eyes before turning to him like a child would turn to a person they admire. "Potter, could you… could you teach me?" 

Harry hummed. It was a great opportunity really. To educate a muggleborn from Slytherin, one that has stayed hidden for almost four years. He had admired the muggleborn snakes. Their survival instinct was better than those of purebloods and at least half of the half-bloods. He had done it as Arcturus; he could do it as Hadrian Potter.

You just want to keep him around cause he looks like Evan. 

Harry promptly ignored the voice's jab.

"Call me Hadrian or Harry." He said and offered his hand to the boy.

The boy's eyes glimmered, "Lincoln then!" Sonnet— Lincoln grinned. Harry silently promised that he'd fix Lincoln's struggle with keeping a poker face.

So you'll do what I did?

I'll do what you did. 

The voice didn't appear for a moment, but Harry exhaled once he heard it again.

Good.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 15:

Ron stared thoughtfully as Harry lectured Hermione of all people on Runes. He felt left out. . . That is until Harry had practically dragged him to their little circle and started blabbering about how Divination sometimes included runes. Their attention was wrapped around the youngest of the trio's words. The magic Harry had was. . . Ron couldn't really explain it. It was powerful and unique.

Harry's magic was in between dark and light. It was gray. But Ron suspected his friend was more dark than light. Hermione was also dark. Ron was light. He was the only one with magic that felt light between the three of them. At first, he had been a bit scared about it but as time passed, Ron had gotten used to it.

It had been a rare gift for him. When he was seven, he had been told by his great-aunt Tabitha, his mum's wise old aunt, that he had a chance at an old family gift from the Prewett's. Magic awareness wasn't the same as simply sensing magic. You could easily pinpoint what kind of magic core a person had and estimate how powerful they were. They didn't need to have their magic flare out, he could just feel it. 

He had started feeling magic when he was twelve. He hadn't known what that ominous feeling he had whenever he went near Ginny, but it had soon been revealed that it was a memory possessing her. Ron had felt the diary possess his sister and he had done nothing about it. He had gone to aunt Tabitha the summer before their third year, asking her how he felt about it.

Then he started to notice how Fred and George's cores weren't the same. Similar, but not the same. They were both dark but Fred's was more aggressive and loud while George's was quieter yet sneakier in a way. It had helped Ron figure out which twin was which—this has absolutely delighted Fred and George which resulted in Fred convincing George to lift him into the air.

So Ron observed. He watched as Harry drawed out his magic and didn't even cast a spell to burn a rune into a square of parchment. Watched as Hermione's magic flared in excitement. They were dark. Well, Harry was more gray. He has gotten used to dark magic. Ginny and the twins were dark. Charlie and Percy were neutral but Charlie leaned towards the light while Percy leaned to the dark. Bill was the only other light wizard among his siblings.

"You don't really need to cast a spell. Using your wand would be easier but since you haven't learned how to draw out your magic without spells we'll have to get you a runic pen." Harry explained, instructing Hermione on her runes. "Want that to be your Christmas gift?"

"Absolutely!" 

Ron shuddered a bit at the pure excitement the dark magic had. Hermione's magic was dancing around, obviously gleeful. 

"I'm still getting you those tarot cards." Harry snickered, causing Ron to pout. 

"Why tarots?"

"Some tarots contain runes, so we'll just have to figure out how to activate them. How's divination?" 

He immediately grimaced at the thought of divination. The subject itself was nice and Ron did feel like he was great for it, but he hated the teacher. Trelawney wasn't so bad but she kept on predicting deaths and when Harry had left her class she had bemoaned how she could no longer warn him of imminent danger. It was rubbish.

Harry is danger.

"Trelawney is all tosh. Can't get anything other than death omens. I think I'll just drop Divination." 

Harry had immediately stiffened. Ron flinched as he felt the single second where Harry's magic had come out. It was enough to make him gulp, trying so hard not to edge away from the other boy.

"So the only issue is the teacher, right?" Harry asked. "What if you had a good mentor?" 

"I guess. . . Why?"

A smile graced Harry's lips. He and Hermione had deemed such a smile the trouble they faced since their second year. That smile meant trouble. It caused him to glance at Hermione who had glanced back. 

"Don't drop out. I'm sure we'll be able to find someone. They might be a student and that'll be better. Seers are typically odd fellows and can be distinguished by their dazed demeanors. Well, that's what Pythia: the Oracle of Delphi says." Harry shrugged, getting to his feet and rushing back into their dorms. 

Ron left Hermione, bewildered and confused. He and Hermione stared at each other before looking away. 

"When in the world did he decide to buy a book on divination? I mean. . . I can recognize the name Pythia from Greek mythology, but why does he have a book about it?"

"You know, he's turning into you. With all the reading, books, and suddenly transferring to Ancient Runes and Arithmancy. I mean. . .bloody hell, I feel like I'm the stupid one between us." Ron chuckled bitterly.

He knew the feeling of inferiority well. He was the youngest son after all. He was inferior to his older brothers, he was inferior to his only sister. The only thing he knew he was good at was chess. He prided himself in chess, especially when his older brothers and father couldn't beat him at it. 

He had thought that he'd be free from his inferiority, but then again. . . He was friends with the boy who lived and the girl declared as the brightest witch her age. Ron was just. . . Ron . 

He hadn't expected for a pillow to be chucked at his head when he said that. His eyes wide, he turned to a seething Hermione who had gotten up her feet. A book at the ready, she was ready to attack. But Hermione didn't assault him with a book like usual, no, she threw her book and the ground and screamed into a pillow. It was a bit embarrassing since some of their housemates were staring.

Then Hermione began her tirade, "Idiot! Dummy! Stupid, stupid Ronald!" Ron had to admit that those words stung but Hermione looked furious. "You're not stupid!" 

"I mean… you just—"

"How could you say that? If you had been stupid, we wouldn't have saved the philosophers stone in our first year." Hermione yelled, but she didn't finish. She huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. 

"Okay. . . You are stupid." She admitted, not an ounce of regret or guilt on her face. "You're stupid for following after Harry when he went into the chamber to save Ginny. You're stupid for putting yourself between a suspected mass murderer and us. You're stupid for being friends with a bossy know-it-all like me. Since you've done all that, then you are stupid!" 

Ron was gaping as he stared at Hermione. He had expected hurtful words of confirmation. She kinda did confirm he was stupid but he hasn't expected this. It bothered him. Befriending Hermione wasn't stupid. Why would she say that?

"'mione—"

"Idiot!" She yelled before gathering her things and rushing up the stairs to the girls dorm. 

Ron was befuddled, slumped against the chair and staring at their homework. 

"What the hell was that about?"

He turned towards Harry, who had a book in his hands. The dark haired boy looked quite bothered, but took one look at Ron and sighed. Harry sat beside him without a word and handed him the book. Harry's presence seemed calming, his dark magic swirling around him in a way that hugged him. 

"Am I stupid?" 

Harry glanced at him, sighing again. "Yeah. You're as stupid as me." He said and hummed quietly.

"Hermione said I was stupid." 

"Bet you said something about your stupidity." Harry snorted, patting him in the back. "She's angry for you. You're not supposed to hate yourself. You're Ron, our best friend and the guy who stayed at Hogwarts during Christmas for me. You're not stupid, just reckless like the rest of us."

It was nice. Harry and Hermione had his back, the same way he had theirs. He hadn't realized it, and the next thing he knew, he was trying not to cry. 

Harry, someone who was supposed to be the younger brother between them, had acted like the older brother and pressed his hand against the top of Ron's head. The dark haired boy pushed his head down, as if he had sensed his embarrassment and tried to push his head down to hide his tears from the others. 

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."

It had been an entire week since the first day. Divination was still a pain and Defence Against the Dark arts was a scary experience. Moody had pissed off Harry by insinuating how he was the only survivor of the killing curse and also having scared Neville out of his wits. Harry was either livid or just annoyed.

Regardless, Ron was upset. Aside from how frustrating divination was, Hermione had started to ignore him. She was still angry with him. Give her time. She's upset you insulted yourself. Harry had told him, but it didn't make him any happier. 

While Harry and Hermione were in Arithmancy and Ancient Runes, he usually had a free period. He had spent that time reading through the book Harry had given him, Pythia: the Oracle of Delphi . It was informative when it came to seers and spoke of the myth and legend of the high priestess of the temple of Apollo in Delphi. 

It was described that Pythia was seen as a divine being by mortals. An apostle of Apollo some people had declared. But there had been a description of how Pythia always seemed so dazed when it came to her prophecies.

He didn't particularly understand why Harry gave him this book. The fact that he was learning divination didn't seem enough of a reason for Harry to buy a book about some Greek oracle. Ron was a pureblood—he knew that the Greek myths were real. Pythia must have existed at some point in history. Regardless, he was still confused as to what  the book was for. Dazed, Dreamy, often deemed insane by normal mortals. The book described.

The book was heavy, yet it felt light. He closed it shut, sighing as he rubbed his temples. What was the point of giving him the book? Ron could never fathom why. It was like he was being mocked for being such a failure. Yet. . .

"The Oracle of Delphi." Someone said as Ron turned to the stranger. "Legend says that Apollo himself favored her and made her immortal." The girl had soft blonde hair, cloudy blue eyes, and a personality Ron could describe as dreamy. 

"I— Hello?" Ron nervously greeted. Something about the girl told him to be cautious. He could feel her magic. It was confusing to say the least. It felt like pure ethereal light, a comforting—not blinding—light. Yet he could feel darkness in the depths of it. As if he would find an abyss under the light.

Her darkness feels like Harry's. He thought, gulping as he smiled at the girl. He noticed the deep blue robes she wore, Ravenclaw . 

"You're Ginny's older brother, yes? I sometimes saw you come by our house when Ginny dragged you and the twins around." She giggled. Ron realized who he was talking to. Luna Lovegood.

The very girl he has called Loony. But now he didn't think she was Loony. She seemed. . . Dazed, Dreamy. It made him pause, staring at her with wide eyes. But Luna only smiled at him, then plopped on the free space right beside him. She carefully took the book from his hand and started flipping through the pages.

"The interesting thing about Pythia is Delphi itself. In ancient times Delphi was considered omphalos , the center of the world. Y'know, Delphi was a religious sanctuary dedicated to the god of truth, archery, and the sun and light, Apollo." Luna explained, "Although it is befitting that a sanctuary in Apollo's name would have an oracle. He's also the god of prophecy."

"Is. . . Is that so?" Ron hesitantly grinned.

He delved deeper into Luna's magic. He was careful not to alert her but he Suspected that if the girl did sense him inspecting her magic, she didn't really care. It welcomed him, for a few moments. Ron could feel Luna's magic, a soft and gentle breeze that wrapped around him like a silk blanket. Those moments only lasted for a few seconds before he was pushed back and practically spat out from the comforting blanket of Luna's magic. He felt devoid of its warmth, grimacing as he gulped and gave her a sheepish smile. Luna simply hummed.

"Quite the predicament you are in." She sighed, pressing a hand against her cheek as she tilted her head. Her expression was neither pitying or amused, she was interested and curious. "You do not receive visions. Neither do you sense a person's past or future. How curious. Not a seer but something that involves divination." Her gentle tone made him shudder. Yet the way she smiled was comforting yet it seemed to mock him.

He stared at her in wonder. Was she a seer? Was she not? He wasn't sure but something made him feel a sort of kinship from Luna. There was wisdom and knowledge in her eyes that did not compare to Hermione's sharp intelligence. Luna knew things not from the text books like her Hermione. It was something else entirely and it unsettled him. Whatever wisdom she had, Ron feared that it was exactly like Harry's dark truth that he hides from the world.

"Little piece of advice, Ronald Weasley. . ." Luna hummed, her tone taking an ominous turn that was filled with calm and serenity. She stood, patting her robes and skirt as she smiled at him. Ron tried his best not to flinch as he met those eerily knowing blue eyes.

"The art of divination does not always mean to divine the future. Sometimes it is the past and sometimes. . . It is the present." 

She walked away with a grace he could not describe. Her humming echoed, her voice lingering in the air. As if magic willed her voice to be heard, even if it was a simple humm of it.

"To divine does not always mean to scour the future."

"Don't scare him too much." 

Luna giggled at Hadrian's tired expression. She hadn't planned on startling Ronald Weasley so much, but she had moved on instinct. Harbingers of fate, although weak, were attracted to each other. It seems Ronald Weasley was an unfortunate fellow who excelled in divination and was dubbed as a harbinger of fate. Such were the worst nightmare of Hadrian Potter, who scowled silently.

"I did no such thing!" She giggled, "I simply listened to the nargles that have been buzzing around him. Such wonder and talent that is being wasted upon the hands of Sybil Trelawney." 

Hadrian drawls out, "Wasted talent indeed. That is why I've trusted you to guide him. . .so please do not scare him with your wistful ways." His sarcastic tone filled with a mix of amusement and annoyance.

Truly, it was frustrating to watch as someone with innate talent wither away in the hands of a seer who had no control of her powers. Sybil Trelawney was but a smidgen of the few who Fate had trouble deciding on. The powers to divine past, present, and future, yet she has no control. Trelawney was pitiful to Luna, someone Fate had decided was not worth control over her powers.

"A few more weeks and Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will arrive. If I enter the tournament again I'll just shove Diggory aside." He bluntly stated.

"How cruel. Won't you share your glory?"

"Share? Darling, so you really think I should share the glory of having Voldemort point his wand at me? If that is so honorable, then perhaps I will have all of the champions have it." The venomous tone in his voice made her stiffen for a moment. Clearly he did not appreciate her meaningless jokes.

"I. . .see." she cleared her throat, quickly continuing with news that would please him. "It seems like Durmstrang has allowed younger students to attend the tournament to have them witness such a historic event. Although, anyone third year and younger are not allowed to come with the seventh years deemed worthy to be one champion." 

"I know. . .Asen Oblansk will be attending so will—Ah." Hadrian paused, before a small smile split across his face. "Nikolai Markov."

His expression morphed into a malicious kind of glee. It made Luna worry for poor Nikolai, someone that had caught the attention of her friend. No matter who or what you are, catching the master of Death's attention was a blessing and a curse.

"Brilliant. Perhaps. . .Ah yes." Hadrian hummed, turning on his heel. He didn't care if he left Luna behind, neither did she blame him. Hadrian was used to walking down a path alone, metaphorically and literally. The Master of Death has experienced and seen death many times, loneliness was something that should be expected in his wretched occupation. Luna wasn't allowed to pity him, but she sincerely hoped his future would get better. She hoped that Fate would have mercy on him.

Magic surrounded them. The halls of Hogwarts have magic. She could feel it, remnants of the founder's essence carved and imbued into every brick. At the same time, she could feel the most complicated piece of magic known to humanity. Hadrian's magic was like a puzzle. Some pieces did not fit, some pieces were absolutely perfect, it would take extreme focus and skill to work on the puzzle to put the pieces back together. Luna did not have that much skill but she could faintly align some pieces together. 

"What shall we do with the imposter?" She quietly asked. Her focus was still on Hadrian's magic. Another fraction of his magic was in a tangled mess. She imagined a thousand piece puzzle board, inspecting every piece and setting it aside to put it together.

"I'll deal with Crouch myself. Focus on the task I gave you." Hadrian sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Also, do me a favor."

"What is it?" 

"I'll need you to talk to Draco about his mother. The Black sisters as a whole and Nymphadora Tonks. Morgana knows how the Blacks need to return to glory."

Luna faltered as yet another puzzle piece was shown to her. The Blacks. A seer she may be, but Death had given his supposed master some privileges, that included Hadrian having a partial immunity to the predictions of seers. Puzzle pieces—that's what she calls the tidbits of clues that help her predict the possible futures Hadrian may have and what his past lives were like. The Blacks were heavily involved in at least one of his lives. Hadrian based many of his movements on the Blacks, even the way he dresses reminded her of a man in her mother's old pictures. Regulus Black, she remembered the boy that was her mother's best friend and the dead man that was promised to be her godfather. 

Hadrian dressed similarly to the deceased Black Heir. Although he didn't publicly wear those clothes at the moment, she had seen the dark and cool colored clothes that he would often wear. She had seen the way he fixed his hair and rid himself of those glasses and the first thing she thought of was the picture of Regulus Black her mother showed her when she was a child.

"Why?" 

"As I said," He halted and turned to her with that dangerous smirk of his. "I will bring the Black Family back to glory. That starts with finding more of those with its blood."

Blood , it was one of the things she discovered to be Hadrian's affinity. It was frightening but at the same time, it made him powerful. She hummed softly, nodding along as he started to explain what to do. The tournament was nearing and Hadrian's plans were to commence immediately. 

"We begin with the first task. I don't plan on using the broom. More skilled spellwork will do."

"Not too skilled or you'll garner the fool's attention."

"Of course, of course! Simply accio, water charms, fire repellent charms, and the such." Hadrian waved his hand dismissively, although Luna doubted that, "Then on to Crouch. I'll deal with him, as I've said. While you do what I've asked of you."

Luna nodded curtly. His instructions seemed obscure but she knew what to do. Hadrian didn't need to tell her much when it came to some things, but she could understand what she was told to do. It wasn't dangerous or life-threatening, but it was a crucial point in the plans and arrangements he had been preparing for months.

"How long do you need?" He asked. "Understand that I cannot do this part due to the attention that will be on me."

"I know. I will not fail you." She whispered. 

Failure was not an option. Not anymore that is. The Master of Death has awakened and Luna's duty as Fate's Harbinger made sure she would be involved in any event or outcome regarding Death's champion. Failures meant ruining Fate's plans for this world and Luna feared Moira's wrath the most. In the words of Hadrian, Seers were complicated. She was one of the complicated bunch after all.

Hadrian smiled at her, walking away towards his next Arithmancy class, leaving her to contemplate on what to do next. Fate worked in mysterious ways and Luna tried her best to understand the mystery of Moira. She wandered the halls of Hogwarts, finally arriving at her Defense against the Dark arts lesson. She quickly spotted Ginny's flaming red hair and sat on the space beside her.

The youngest and only daughter of the Weasleys turned her head towards Luna, and pouted. "Where did you go?" 

"Somewhere." Luna smiled, "The nargles led me somewhere interesting again." 

Ginny sighed, but smiled fondly nonetheless. It made Luna chuckle, nudging Ginny with a grin. The other girl laughed, before she jolted from the loud bang of a door slamming open. Their eyes went towards their Defense against the Dark arts teacher, who limped from his office to the front of the class. His scowl was worse than usual, but he proceeded with the lessons like usual.

She tilted her head and watched the man teach. He explained the differences of curses, hexes, and jinxes. How not all curses had a counter. The man pretending to be Moody faltered for a moment as he met her eyes, Luna smiled, making sure no one knew what she thought. 

Will he spare you or not? She thought with an angelic smile. The imposter would either live long enough to witness a new future or perish by the hands of the master of death himself. 

She was curious, Let's see how long you will last.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 16:

There had been a change in Hogwarts. Some few had noticed it. The very thing that has evidently yet quietly changed was none other than Gryffindor's golden boy: Harry Potter. Teachers had noticed his subtle change. The way he spoke, the way he acted, even his style of spell casting was different. More refined, more skilled; more cocky— Snape had spat as he listened to Minerva praise her student over and over again.

Harry Potter had changed. Whether it was a concern or not was something the teachers had gone to question. The boy had become more civil, less brash and naive. Snape had noticed it especially—considering how the son of James Potter no longer seemed to be the son of James Potter. It reminded Snape of another person, someone that barely had any similarities to James Potter.

The civil persona Harry Potter had decided to use was odd. Snape had witnessed him willingly work with Draco Malfoy, and somehow the two had made an utterly perfect potion together. He had seen Potter with Lincoln Sonnet, a student that had kept his head down for the past four years. Everything about Potter had changed and barely anyone took notice of it. Simply changing class electives had been a concern for Minerva but hearing Bathsheba Babbling praise the boy's affinity to the runic arts, the woman had calmed.

Regardless, Snape kept a close eye on Potter. . . No matter how venomous and cruel those vivid green eyes looked at him. No matter how much it reminded him of the day Lily severed their ties and walked away from their friendship.

Harry Potter had been a foolish boy, but now. . . He was an enigma Snape feared to understand.

Then there was Alastor Moody—or Barty Crouch Jr. pretending to be Moody.. The man was absolutely unnerved by the boy-who-lived. He expected for Harry Potter to be an eccentric Gryffindor that ran towards Danger without a care. Yet, he was different. Barty felt the abyss like darkness from the boy.

It had made him shudder. 

When he had commenced using the Imperius curse on his students. All of them had failed. They followed his commands and did not resist—except for one. 

Barty had looked Potter in the eye and stared into vivid green eyes that pierced through his soul. It was disturbing how those eyes seemed so haunted and lifeless up close. Barty had seen Potter smile, as if he were the sun—just like his father—yet as he looked closely...

" Imperio !" 

Potter hadn't budged. He merely tilted his head when Barty ordered him to move again, his hands still in his pockets and stood in a lazy manner. It was a terrifying feat as he watched Potter smile at him. The damn thing would have given Barty nightmares had he not gotten used to seeing people smile in such a creepy and intimidating manner. But that wasn't the point. It really wasn't.

The point was that Potter fought a full-blown Imperius and had the energy to mildly mock Barty with his knowing smirk. Potter just stood there, chuckling as he raised his hands in a mocking surrender. Barty hated the way the boy smirked—it reminded him of someone that wasn't either James or Lily. It made him recoil as a ghost of a man was seen through Potter.

"Ah, goodness! Professor, are you going easy on me?" Potter had asked him in an innocent tone that made Barty's blood run cold. It seemed so unnatural, to him at least.

Barry hadn't gone easy on the boy. In reality, he had been harsher with Potter. He had taken to using the Imperius seriously, unlike the rest where he had lazily casted the spell. The boy hadn't simply resisted, he was practically immune! As if he had gone through it so many times that it no longer worked on him.

Harry Potter was supposed to be simple. A Gryffindor that worshiped Dumbledore and had mediocre, if not—above average skill. Yet, Barty saw how the boy had moved. He was far too skilled and experienced to be a fourteen-year-old chosen one.

Potter grinned and said the most damning words he heard, "Lucky me…" 

Lucky my ass.

The cold air of an October night graced the grounds of Hogwarts as teachers and students alike hurried to tidy up their school. Any remnants of a Weasley prank, every single dust and grime had been cleaned to perfection. Filch was even more grumpy, snapping at students with muddy shoes, dragging their feet, and even those who simply dropped their things.

The teachers were no better. McGonagall had snapped at anyone who slouched—she was absolutely ecstatic when she saw Harry's perfect posture compared to his usual slouch, although Ron was not spared from her wrath. Flitwick was charming everything to a shiny surface. Sprout was tidying up the greenhouses and was frequently seen scolding the devil snare.

"Bloody hell, they've gone mad." Ron groaned as he tidied his appearance. His hair was a mess, not as bad as Harry's, but it was still messy.

Seamus was dusting off any speck of ash on his clothes, suspicious of himself from their last charms class. Dean, on the other hand, was flattening any wrinkles on his robes and smiled to himself in the mirror. Poor Neville was fidgeting with his tie, and smiled happily as he stared at it. Poor boy immediately deflated as he noticed that his shirt was inside out and groaned in exasperation.

"Harry! When the bloody hell are you going to be done?! I bet Malfoy takes as long as you." Ron yelled, listening to his roommates snicker. Harry had been in the bathroom for half an hour, which was longer than his usual time.

"Be patient with your atrocious tie." Harry replied, running a hand through his hair as he stepped out of the bathroom.

The four boys froze as they took one look at Harry. His hair was tamer than usual, robes perfectly ironed and worn—as if they were made of the finest cloth—and they had immediately taken notice of the lack of his glasses. Those emerald eyes shone even more, clear yet seemed glassy. Crystal-like, Ron would have thought as Harry sighed and ran his hand through his hair, again .

Harry didn't seem to notice, or perhaps didn't care, their staring and went to his bedside to grab his glasses. They were brand new, shiny black rims and clear lenses. He'd decided to wear contacts or had done something to fix his eyes, but he had been far too sidetracked and busy with everything else that he had forgotten. I'll have it fixed in the summer. He thought, grimacing at the glasses, Should have done it before the world cup. 

"What?" Harry snapped, raising a brow to them. Quickly did the boys look away, except for Ron, who was shamelessly staring with his tie completely undone. 

The dark haired boy chuckled, walking towards Ron and smirking smugly. He swiftly fixed Ron's tie, grinning like a madman. "Staring is rude." He said as he tightened Ron's tie. 

Ron choked a bit, flustered as he took a step back. His face was as bright as his hair, stuttering out his words. Harry had seemed different—far too suave and calm. He silently cursed out his friend once he ran a hand through his dark hair again , an action Ron had noticed but barely acknowledged. He didn't know whether to regret acknowledging it or not, but he continued to stare. 

Harry simply hummed and picked up a folded letter by his bedside. One of Nikolai's letters over the summer. 

Hello Hadrian!

Mother wants to ask again if you are okay? The Quidditch cup really did make her paranoid. But, I agree with her. How are you? I visited Viktor recently and his mother has scolded him for flying too recklessly around the lake. 

Homework has been a pain! Do you know what the purpose of Lithe River water is? Apparently it's a clue for some topics we'll be learning in our fourth year.

Anyways, I hope to see you again soon.

From, Nikolai Markov

Harry had replied to the boy without another second. It had taken him a few minutes before he sent Hedwig a day later to bring Nikolai his reply. He admits that his fascination with Nikolai was not particularly healthy or appropriate. Luna herself had expressed her worries to him, although he was quite thankful she didn't really know why he was interested in Nikolai. It seemed like her capabilities as a seer were limited to this timeline.

Nikolai, or Kolya if you allow it.

I am well and staying with a friend for the rest of the summer. Your mother is right to worry. Although it is the British Ministry's fault for having lax security. Also, please tell Krum that I send my regards and not to overwork himself.

To be honest, I've been quite frustrated with homework as well. Unfortunately for the students of Hogwarts, it seems the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher has been cursed which has caused us to change teachers every year. I can barely focus with the constant change of curriculum.

Please stay safe and healthy. I am excited for our next meeting and I hope it'll last longer than our last.

(Also, Lithe River Water is mainly used for memory potions! You can trace the name to Greek myth.)

From, H. J. P.

Harry sighed and pocketed Nikolai's letter.

Nonchalant and uncaring, Harry hummed and exited the dormitory. Durmstrang and Beauxbatons would arrive in an hour and he'd prefer to deal with certain matters during that time. He greeted Hermione as he passed, chuckling as he saw her do a double take. He didn't look much different but his presence alone has changed. Better to seem confident rather than a slouching fool in front of Durmstrang students. 

He ran a hand through his hair, passing by numerous students and finally arriving at the familiar dungeon corridor. Slytherins often were seen here, but what kind of Slytherin was what people should know. Harry was well aware of who was often seen lingering here, and he immediately found the one he was looking for. He would be lying if he said he wasn't grimacing.

Lincoln Sonnet was quietly fixing his ruined robes, sporting a red handprint on his face. His belongings were cluttered on the floor, ink bottles spilled and quills snapped. But the boy was quiet, not complaining as he fixed himself—not even noticing Harry. The thin thread of his patience would have snapped had he not practiced controlling his emotions through magic and psychological methods after years of fury.

" Reparo ." Harry murmured as he swished his wand towards the broken quills. He pitied the boy, really he did. But what drove Harry to care —which was a bit of an overstatement actually— was of the near uncanny resemblance he had to an old friend.

Lincoln snapped his eyes towards Harry, looking frightened and humiliated. Harry merely sighed and shook his head. He began to silently fix Lincoln's things whilst the boy fumbled with himself to stop Harry from helping him. It was awful. Harry practically ignored him, fixing the quills and spelling the ink to return to the bottle being fixed.

But Harry was already in a bad mood. He grabbed Lincoln's face, his hand gently gripping his chin and inspecting the bruise, "Goodness gracious this won't do." He said with a frown. "Let's get you fixed Sonnet. Can't have Beauxbatons and Durmstrang seeing this atrocity."

It seemed harsh, but Linoln was a Slytherin. The snakes didn't respond well to gentle pity, they preferred for others to be harsh, cruel, but truthful. Regulus had taught him well and would often berate Harry if he tried to hide something from the boy with merciful lies. He would have to admit that he also sympathized with the Slytherins when it came to this. Harry did just that and fixed Lincoln's face with a quick healing spell.

"There—" Harry grinned and patted his face, "all better."

Lincoln was blushing furiously, pushing Harry away and shaking his head. It was embarrassing, but he was more flustered with the fact that Harry had shamelessly grabbed his face. It was bold and a bit rude, but Lincoln felt a shiver go up his body and shook his head violently.

"Pot—Hadrian!" Lincoln exclaimed.

Harry rolled his eyes and simply waved him off. But Lincoln wanted to protest, "You didn't have to do that." He murmured.

"Nevertheless. . . I wanted to do it, that's what matters." Harry argued back, grabbing Lincoln's now fixed bag and shoved it into the boy's arms. He grinned, "Now tell me, was it Snakes, Badgers, Eagles, or Lions?"

Lincoln flinched. "None of your business."

That severely irked Harry. He counted backwards in his head, trying to calm himself. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one…

No matter how many lives had passed, patience was something Harry had to regularly practice—with how impatient and angry he was. Lincoln's defiance was an irksome inconvenience. The boy would have done better had he just come clean and told Harry. He wanted to grab the boy, force Lincoln to tell him who had assaulted him. But he was selfish. He didn't really care for Lincoln himself. He was concerned for the face he wore and who once had it. It was instinct, moving his hand towards Lincoln and ready to grab the boy by his collar.

I wouldn't do that if I were you. 

He froze, hearing Regulus' all too familiar voice speak. His tone was stern, chiding as it echoed through his mind. 

He's not Evan.

The voice reminded him and Harry immediately deflated. His vibrant eyes dulled, slowly moving to pat Lincoln's head instead. The action surprised the Slytherin, who flinched away from his touch. It reminded him far too much of Regulus.

Me or you? Which one is more suitable for a Slytherin who moves away from touch? The voice questioned, Regulus' amused tone leaking into it.

Both. I'm at my best when I'm with you. Harry responded to the voice without hesitation. He smoothed a gentle and caring smile on his face. The motion was familiar, exactly the same way Regulus taught him how to fake a smile.

"Sonnet—Lincoln." Harry started, "Regardless of the fact you are a Slytherin, you don't deserve this." He gestured to the absent bruise on his face. "So tell me. . . And I'll make sure this never happens again." 

Who hurt you? Harry could vividly remember asking Regulus that question when he saw the purple bruises on his arms. The burning fury he felt that day had affected his magic, to the point that everytime he Regulus was in his line of sight, his magic would wrap around the boy and hug him protectively. Tell me. I'll make sure they never hurt you again. 

"Lincoln?" Harry murmured as the boy trembled. This was normal. This was fine— he's not Evan . He reminded himself again as he smiled at the worried boy. 

"Tell me."

Lincoln gulped, looking away from him. Harry pursed his lips, trying his best not to hit the boy. He wasn't patient, he was barely stopping himself from blowing up. Please don't punch him , Regulus' voice pleaded with a tired tone.

"Lion." Lincoln whispered, "Fifth year."

Harry's eyes flashed, before he took in a deep calming breath. He smiled, patting Lincoln's head. "That wasn't too bad was it? Now come on. We don't want the professors scolding us for being late." 

He dragged Lincoln away, silently plotting on what to do with the fool's that had harmed the boy. Lincoln Sonnet may not have actually meant anything to him, but the boy had Evan's face. That was enough to piss him off. His selfishness was obscure, an aspect was treating someone as if they were a replacement. Lincoln Sonnet wore Evan Rosier's face. The relation between the two was unknown but Harry would figure it out eventually. It didn't matter, not really.

After all, anyone Harry was interested in eventually became his.

"Mr. Potter! Where have you— oh. " McGonagall faltered as she saw Harry drag Lincoln towards them. The Slytherin looked embarrassed and slightly miserable as Harry hummed a happy tune. He waved at the elderly witch with a beaming smile and moved towards the group of students clad in green.

The older Slytherins scowled at him, but curiously tilted their heads when they saw one of their snakes being dragged by him. Harry slowly pushed Lincoln into the group, still smiling yet more than half of the snakes knew it was too good to be true. It was obviously fake. "Here's Lincoln Sonnet. I found him in a bit of a mess caused by one of our lions."

That immediately made them snarl at Harry, yet the boy only stayed calm. His voice lowered, making sure that only the Slytherins heard him. Eyes filled with malice and promise, they saw reason to listen, "I'll deal with it." said Harry, as he brought a finger over his lips and grinned. He patted Lincoln on the shoulder, quietly whispering in his ear, "Don't worry. I'll deal with it," he repeated.

Harry walked back to the Gryffindors, smiling as if nothing was wrong. All of Hogwarts had witnessed him handing a snake back to the Slytherins. Rumors had already circulated of how Harry Potter, Gryffindor golden boy, had been making friends with Slytherins. It started off with Draco Malfoy, which everyone scoffed at, then to Lincoln Sonnet, a Slytherin not that well-known. Regardless, seeing it in action seemed unnerving, especially with Harry's ever-present smile.

He glanced towards the Ravenclaws, seeing Luna and immediately waving to her. The girl giggled, waving back as they ignored the odd looks they were getting. Everyone had taken notice of the coincidental similarity between the three people— they were blonde. Which was an absurd theory that Hermione had scoffed at.

"You really are friends with that boy. Sonnet, right?" Hermione asked as she glanced over to the Slytherins. 

Harry nodded, "He has runes with us. Sometimes comes to ask for my notes or advice on how to draw out a rune."

"Hmph! And here I thought your tutoring sessions were privy to us. How treacherous." Hermione teasingly smirked at him. He simply rolled his eyes, but amusement glinted in those emerald hues that made Hermione grin.

"Don't be jealous 'mione dearest." Harry smirked, leaning towards her before moving away. "You'll always be my favorite."

Hermione turned a bright red, huffing again and crossing her arms over her chest. Harry chuckled in amusement before he met eyes with Ron. The boy's dull blue eyes had a fire that others couldn't describe, but Harry knew it was jealousy. Do I have to tone it down or not? It's nice teasing them though. He grinned before patting Ron in the back and slinging his arm over his shoulder.

"You also don't have to be upset. You'll always be my favorites." Harry lied. Luna was his favorite and a dead man was his other favorite. But he was willing to entertain the idea that he favored them more than others. 

As expected, Ron blinked in surprise before his face turned into a faint red. The boy turned away, seemingly embarrassed to face the mildly flirtatious actions of his best friend. It was absolute amusement to Harry who simply laughed and stood beside his two friends. His eyes scanned through the sky then to the water. A soft hum left him, hands shoved into the pockets of his trousers and his red scarf wrapped around his neck.

The cold October night was merciless and Harry would pity the poor students of Beauxbatons who wore quite thin cloth. Speaking of Beauxbatons, Harry turned to the sky and saw the large carriage that carried both the headmistress and students that would represent the French academy. 

The students of Hogwarts awed, cheered, and stared. It made Harry wonder what kind of transportation his school would have used had Beauxbatons or Durmstrang hosted the tournament. He grimaced at the thought of arriving in the Hogwarts express, it seemed so bland compared to the extravagance of the other two schools.

As the carriage landed, Harry hummed at the winged horses that Madame Maxime had bred herself—the abraxan, he had known. Attending Beauxbatons as Clarisse had helped him understand the dynamics and hierarchy of the academy. Unfortunately, more than a quarter of the school were bigoted purebloods that considered themselves royalty, no matter how awful their magical aptitude were. It shouldn't have bothered him much, but seeing the students draped in pale blue silks that were their uniforms made him clench his fist.

"You filthy little mudblood! Who's magic have you stolen? Someone with dirty blood isn't worthy of such power." He grit his teeth as he remembered the ridiculous claim that was made by Maurice Lemaire, an idiotic pureblood that had believed that muggleborns were thieves that stole from other wixens. Clarisse had nearly slammed the boy's head into a wall when she heard him refer to her as mudblood and dirty blood . That was her blood, Lily Evans' blood, Hermione Granger's blood!

His eyes skimmed through the groups of students and immediately paused as he saw two girls. Fleur Delacour and Gabrielle Delacour. Veela , he remembered. She'll get hurt if she drowns… I guess playing a hero won't be too bad if I get their support. He thought with a smirk.

Harry glanced towards where Maxime and Dumbledore were conversing. He couldn't help how his lips twitched. Maxime had been a wonderful headmistress. She didn't tolerate racism in her academy, having fallen victim to it herself. She punished anyone who was remotely racist with detention or lectured them herself. Clarisse had admired the woman, idolized her, and even spoke of her during her speeches. Olympe Maxime was a great example of success and hard work for none purebloods.

It irked him how she admired Dumbledore. Pissed him off even. 

Minutes later, the black lake rippled. Harry could feel electricity coursing through his veins as he stood straighter. It was time, his old and most favored school would arrive in the grandiose known as the institution's ship. The skeletal and haunted theme of it rose from the reflective surface of the lake, an image that mimicked that of a horror movie that Harry had once watched. He had ridden that boat for three lives and was greatly familiar with it.

They all stared at the grand ship as Karkaroff exited with a group of his students. Harry couldn't help the hungry grin spreading across his face. Durmstrang was perfect for him, shame he couldn't attend the institution in his current life.

"Blimey! Is that Viktor Krum?" Ron excitedly stated as he nudged Harry. Hermione, who was in between them, angrily stomped on his foot.

Harry let out a gentle laugh, "Don't get too excited. He's the enemy ." He sarcastically smirked. Among the groups of students, Harry could see a small few who were not of age. That included none other than Nikolai Markov.

Harry's fingers twitched at the sight of the boy. His ash brown hair was tousled in a graceful manner. Then there were his eyes. Those uniquely purple hues that he once owned, Harry couldn't help but sigh in content to it. Nikolai was right there, chatting with a dark-haired boy he assumed was Asen Oblansk. It didn't take long for Nikolai to notice his stare and the boy happily waved at him, Harry felt like he was greeted by the sun and had to look away for a moment before he was blinded.

"Harry, isn't that the boy you met during the world cup?" Hermione pointed towards Nikolai who had been smiling at them. 

Ron squinted and gasped, "That's the guy you've been writing letters to!" 

Students of all three schools retreated to the warmth of the castle, settling in the great hall. Durmstrang went to Slytherin and Beauxbatons went to Ravenclaw. Harry understood this seating arrangement, considering how the Slytherins were allegedly just pureblood and half-blood while the Ravenclaws weren't as overbearing and eccentric as Hufflepuff and Gryffindor. Although he felt bitter as he watched Nikolai sit beside Oblansk and Krum.

His focus was on a few people. It didn't matter that Bagman and Crouch had arrived. Although he did glance at Moody and immediately noticed the grim look on his face. 

The atmosphere seemed to be cheerful and friendly, but there was rivalry. Unfortunately for both Durmstrang and Beauxbatons, Hogwarts has always been a place of rivalry and challenge, via the four houses. The issue was that Hogwarts would have an internal struggle with which house the champion would be from. Of course, Harry knew he'd be an unfortunate one but that didn't change. 

His gaze went back to the Slytherin table and took notice of Draco narrowing his eyes at Nikolai. He merely hummed.

Purple hues met his green and Harry's breath hitched. He had looked into a reflection before and saw those very same eyes. All he wanted to do was grab Nikolai, hold him tight and smile at him. He'd stare at Nikolai's amethyst-like optics and drown in it, before he ran a finger over the boy's eyes. It would have made him smile, how perfect they were. 

I want to gouge out his eyes. Harry thought as he smiled at Nikolai again. Seeing how Nikolai laughed happily with his schoolmates reminded him of a warped memory of Orpheus. Would purple suit me? He wondered as he took off his glasses and ran a hand down his face.

Stop thinking about it , Regulus' voice scolded him. If Regulus' ghost had been with him, his arms would have either been wrapped around Harry or using his head as an armrest. It didn't matter, not really. Regulus sounded disappointed in him. How could he not?

He promised to never be Orpheus again after all, yet… the sight of Nikolai made him shudder. Looking into a mirror, he would have seen purple and not green but now, he didn't need to look at his reflection. 

All he needed to do was look at Nikolai Markov.

Nikolai turned to him with the most blinding grin he had seen. It made Harry laugh.

"We're far too different. How could we have been brothers?"

The concept was absurd. How Nikolai Markov, a boy that seemed to be the personification of the sun, could have been the brother of Orpheus Black, a man who went insane and descended into the abyss.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 17:

The halls were dim, the flames upon the torches that lit up the castle were dying. He could only walk through it with a grace most would consider not human . Perhaps he wasn't human. Not anymore, that is. Regardless, it was quiet and cold. The castle felt desolate, even with so many of them asleep, comfortable in their beds.

For a moment, he paused and stared at the reflective surface of one of the many armors in the castle. His expression was blank, then he smiled, reaching for his reflection as it rippled from the pitch black hair and vivid green eyes he wore, to near white hair and mismatched eyes. Unlike his own expression, there was a malicious smirk gracing the lips of his reflection. The face of someone who he used to be, someone so close yet so far now. 

"Don't start preying on your little brother." His reflection spoke, a grin on his face but a manic gleam in his eyes. A threat to himself.

"Don't worry." He smiled, "I won't hurt him." 

The reflection simply gave him a dark smile and vanished on its own. Insanity was a prospect in which he was well accustomed to. It was a concerning sense of adaptation— to mania that is. He didn't really care for it, he adapted well and it was a talent he was proud of. Perhaps simple delusions of who he once was, wasn't an issue to him. He was seeing himself, not others.

The halls were no longer quiet. Whispers echoed through his mind as he followed on through the path. He could feel the velvety fabric of his cloak. There was one voice in particular that he listened to intently. Whilst others spat out complaints, venomous reminders, and foolish advice on what to do next, this single voice was yearning for a conversation. To speak to him like the times he was still in that specific life. It was… pleasant.

That boy looks quite handsome… though he seems a bit too bright for my taste. Regulus' voice hummed, Nikolai… Markov. 

Harry hummed softly, "Supposed-to-be little brother… reminds me of an old friend of mine." He smirked, finally coming to terms that Regulus' voice was haunting him once again. He couldn't get rid of it no matter how much he wanted to— but he wasn't keen on silencing Regulus Black's voice just yet. 

"Do you want me to kill him?" 

Why should you? Aren't you fond of him?

"Not… exactly… the mere fact he has the name and blood of Markov and the status of Nadia Markova's son is what I am fond of— the prospect of who he is and what he could have been to me. Perhaps I'll kill him and impersonate him after he dies…" he chuckled, removing his glasses and staring at the spectacles. "Don't you think that's suitable?"

Morbid, psychopathic, insane… Have I corrupted you that bad? Regulus spoke softly but there was amusement in his tone. 

"Hm… well, said corruption included me changing my demeanor depending on who I speak to. I don't particularly do that much now— they're simply not worth the effort. But my desire to eliminate Nikolai Markov and take his place is purely from my own selfishness… Although you could say it is not my own… A part of me wants to devour him." Harry weaved magic through his fingers as he pressed his palm towards a wall, smiling darkly. "Perhaps it is love, perhaps it is obsession. But the first person who offered me warmth was my mother, and Nadia Markova is the only mother I had in this world."

What of Lily?

"I meant my mother who is alive . Besides, without Nadia, Orpheus would have gone insane long before he turned sixteen…" Harry sighed, tapping his fingers in a specific manner. He pressed against bricks, smiling as he saw the crest that would be nearly impossible to be seen.

"Don't worry, little king…" Harry hummed, "I'll do my best to fulfill my greed… that's what you told me, right?"

Regulus' voice sighed, Maniac… What have I done?

Harry chuckled, before he murmured something in Parseltongue, §Show yourself to me, Archive of wisdom.§  

The brick wall stood still for a moment before it began to move, morph into an opening. The dark hallway that greeted him was a familiar sight, smiling to himself as he hurried into the darkness. He opened his palm and conjured a ball of blue flames to light up his path. The hallway was of the same bricks that created Hogwarts, but as he delved deeper and deeper into it, he saw the bricks turn into pure white marble. Satisfaction courses through his mind as he stood before a pure white door.

The feast was done and the next day would be hell. Harry preferred to have a piece of his sanity intact when everything goes to shit. He pressed a hand on the door, humming as he felt the familiar magic of the castle. A familiar magic that he knew so well, sighing in satisfaction and pushed it open.

What greeted him was a library— no, an archive . The marble walls were white, ornaments of royal blue and bronze hanging from both ceiling and walls. Above him, the ceiling was charmed to look like the stars. Every constellation in existence reflected upon the ceiling, twinkling as he stepped forward. The room was of a circular design, most of the walls being shelves for books, but one more row of shelves circled the middle of the archive. It was three stories tall. There were royal blue banners hanging around the place and he stared at the circular marble table in the very center.

Engraved upon it was an eagle, emblazoned underneath the bird was a name. Ravenclaw. 

He smiled, unable to contain himself as he placed the cloak on the table and began to freely move. No one was there to watch, no one but the ghosts trapped in his mind. He skipped towards the  walls of books— journals he happily took note of. 

Hogwarts was truly a mystery in itself. A shame that its mystical history was shrouded by its headmasters and headmistresses. He pursed his lips at the thought, before shaking his head and running his fingers through the spines of the codices and felt the magic injected into the parchment, the ink, the book itself was doused in magic. Such beautiful and wonderful magic that made his soul spark into flames. He tapped his finger on the shelf, closing his eyes as he imagined an invisible string leading him to the text he had been looking for. The moment he found it, he waved his hand and summoned the enchanted ladder that came with the archive.

"Oh beautiful, beautiful, wisdom and knowledge. How you have kept me alive." He quietly sang such exaggerated words, allowing the ladder to lead him to the section he had been looking for. "Wisdom, knowledge, intelligence. An honor it had been when I was sorted into Ravenclaw in the ninth." He grinned.

His hand grabbed at the rail, pulling himself up until he found the book he wanted. Magic would have been far more useful, but Harry loved the thrill of searching and then finally finding what he wanted. The desire and greed he grew with had caused such meaningless habits, but he kept them anyway.

He casually sat on the rail of the ladder, caressing the leather bound journal. He smiled at the handwriting, reading the title out loud. " Hogwarts: architectures and passages. " 

In his hands was a legitimate guidebook to every single secret passage within Hogwarts and a codex to the architecture made by the founders. Cruelly, he liked the thought of having coveted information that every scholar would have sacrificed their souls for. It made him feel better than everyone.

"Thank you Lady Ravenclaw…" he whispered, hopping off the ladder and proceeding to the second floor. He scanned through the unpublished books, the journals or simple notes shoved placed into a stack and wrapped with a thick string. Only texts he took interest in were taken from the shelves, carefully scanning through titles and hints of the notes before proceeding to the circular table in the center of the archive.

He sprawled the codices on the table, drumming his fingers on the table. He glanced around the room until he saw a comfy chair conjured from thin air. The blue velvet on the chair matched the entire theme of the archive.

"In Morgana's name, I will find where these chairs have been placed… one day I will." He grumbled, plopping himself on the chair.

He arranged the texts according to what he needed. One section were journals in regards to the interior of the castle, another were sets of rules that were carefully written on the rulebook. But he hesitated to touch one section of his organized mess, pursing his lips as he pushed it further from him and mentally labeling it as last . His palms were sweaty, hesitant as he started filing through the papers he had oh so confidently taken from the shelves of the archive. 

The small stack of papers he had procured were written in the late twelfth century, 200 years after Hogwarts was founded and made. The text was written in Latin, as at that time, wixens spoke Latin as a second language. Most spells were latin so it was a required language to learn. Thankfully for Harry, he was perfectly fluent in the damn language after years of having to spit out spells of latin origin. The text was written by Isidora Hufflepuff, who Harry suspected was one of the last few to carry on the surname.

His eyes skimmed through the writing, humming as he mentally translated every single paragraph Isidora Hufflepuff had written upon the preserved parchment.

— “Another school has emerged up north. Only recently, Emric and Cressida Slytherin had a meeting with this new institution. The founder is named Nerida Vulchanova , a Bulgarian wixen. She has named her institution Durmstrang . 

Upon making contact with this school, Emric and Cressida had agreed to Vulchanova's request to meet in somewhat neutral territory. Neither parties have revealed the location of their academies and thus have produced a mutual trust between ourselves.

Cressida has gotten close to Vulchanova. She has suggested a little event for the two schools to get to know each other and grow to trust each other.

The next time the Slytherins meet Vulchanova, it will be three moons from now. I simply hope that. Aillard will not do anything foolish, I heard Vulchanova was a renowned duelist in her country.

— Isidora Hufflepuff,  February  17th, 1195.”

He found it interesting that Hogwarts had made contact with Durmstrang during its earlier stages. Between the three schools, Harry had learned that Hogwarts was the oldest. Previously, the school was revered and respected by all. Durmstrang and Beauxbatons had come to Hogwarts for advice on how to manage their schools in the beginning and Harry couldn't help but feel ill at the realization that the school once respected and loved was now a hideous mess that threw away the traditions it taught to others. 

He took in a deep breath, shaking his head as he ignored the louder voices in his mind yelling all sorts of profanities. He set down Isidora's notes and inspected the rest of the history between Hogwarts and the other two schools.

He hadn't been able to do this due to his previous lives having no relation to the founders, nor did he have the capability of parseltongue. Malcolm might have accessed the archive, but it seems the castle hadn't found him worthy at that time— he was ever so bitter for it.

— “The Triwizard tournament.

Three great schools have been made within the lands of Europe. The tournament has been established as a form of bonding and a game to strengthen the trust between the schools. One champion from each shall be chosen by a goblet of enchanted flames. The current headmaster and headmistresses of the institution's have placed their magic into the now sacred goblet.  

 Zaharina Lazarova, Geneviève Beauséjour, and I have perfected the magic within the goblet.

Carefully made rules have been established and these rules will only be changed when absolutely necessary.

For the future of Durmstrang, Beauxbatons, and our beloved Hogwarts, this tournament must succeed. Trust is essential to the connection between the schools and as the oldest academy, Hogwarts must be responsible and trustworthy. 

Merlin Emrys had been involved in the creation of our school, we must uphold its honor.

— Caesar Gryffindor, November 13th, 1294.”

Harry paused on the text. His ancestor had written this and was apparently the headmaster who helped create the goblet of fire. He grinned, finally finding some sort of advantage to his wretched fate as he lifted the paper towards the light. He quickly stood from the chair and began searching for the unpublished journal filled with the original rules written by the three headmasters who had created the tournament. It wasn't difficult to find, considering it was just beside the parchment. 

To Harry's chagrin, the journal was rather thick… he grimaced, sighing as he trudged back to his chair and groaned. 

"I'm not gonna get any sleep at this point." He grinned bitterly, flipping through his ancestors notes and carefully reading every single rule that was made for the tournament. 

Get some sleep , Regulus' voice was back. It was soft and gentle, just the way Harry remembered it. Alas, he shook his head and forced the voice down. Sleep was not needed in this situation, to which he would devour every single bit of knowledge within the codex in his hands. 

"I should have Dobby make me coffee tomorrow." 

"Mate, no offense but… you look… bad …" Ron grinned awkwardly, faltering as to not start swearing on Harry's appearance.

He looked slightly pale, dark hair sticking up in various directions to which Hermione was questioning how it was defying gravity. Harry's emerald eyes were lidded, not even caring to wear his glasses that were on his head. In his hands was a mug of almost boiling coffee. Bless Dobby and how quick he is, Harry was glad the elf had given what he needed so quickly.

Even so, Harry seemed to effortlessly look amazing.

"Thank you." Harry sarcastically replied. He looked at their worried faces and relented to a little lie. "I had a bad feeling."

"Oh no. Not again!" Ron bemoaned, placing his face into his hands. "The last time you had a bad feeling was when Sirius Black broke into our dorm. I mean… sure he wasn't after you but still…" his voice was now a low hush, looking around cautiously and glaring at onlookers who were hunting down gossip.

"Exactly… I couldn't sleep at all." Harry rubbed the side of his head, "You know how damn cursed this day is." 

Ron and Hermione were confused for a moment, before suddenly remembering the date. October 31st, Halloween, Samhain, the day Harry's parents died, and the day the three became friends… yet it was also known between them as unlucky 31. 

"Oh bloody hell!" Surprisingly, the one who was cursing was Hermione. She slammed her fist down on the table, teeth grazing against each other. No matter the fact it was the anniversary of their friendship, bad things always happened on October 31st. Usually to Harry.

"Back up plans… plan a to k, still making some…" she murmured, taking out a journal from her bag and started violently flipping through it.

On the other hand, Ron was staring at her with a small pinkish hue on his face. He shook his head and turned to the mildly amused Harry who was still sipping on his precious coffee. He glared at their sleep-deprived friend before running a hand through his hair.

"The bloody tournament." A pained expression graced Ron's face as he came to realize what misfortune awaited Harry. He suddenly grabbed Harry's hand, silently pleading with him not to do anything. 

But what could Harry do? There were certain events in the timeline he could not change. Barty Crouch Jr. putting his name in the damn goblet was one of them. Speaking of the disguised man, Harry glanced towards the head table and saw Moody's face scowling at Karkaroff. One would think it was due to the fact Moody was formerly an auror and knew of Karkaroff's past crimes, but in reality, it was Barty Crouch who despised the traitor.

"Just promise not to abandon me." Harry whispered, looking at Ron with an almost knowing look.

"I… that's weird but of course! I won't leave you behind." Ron smiled, as Hermione busied herself with furious counter measures on what tragedy may happen to this Samhain. 

Harry merely gave him a bitter smile. 

Envy, jealousy was an emotion humans inevitably felt. Some more than others. People like Ron had the tendency to feel such envy coil around their heart and minds, devouring them little by little until their thoughts were shrouded by the darkness of it. Ron had a mild inferiority complex from what Harry understood. He was the youngest son. Ginny may have been the youngest child but she was the only daughter. Ron was the one who suffered the burden of having to keep up with his older brothers.

Harry had understood this. Malcolm taught him that being the younger sibling often caused numerous incidents regarding jealousy. He spoke of this to Regulus.

No matter what you do, he will be jealous. He may not leave you behind but there will always be a bitter sense of jealousy from the magnitude of differences you two have. Regulus hummed.

Harry closed his eyes, trying his best to keep his smile. The ghost of Regulus within his mind had his arms wrapped around Harry's shoulders, whispering softly as he attempted to comfort the boy.

"Yeah… just know that I would rather swim with the giant squid than take part in the bloody tournament. Don't want to have another near death experience." Harry chuckled wryly. They've gotten used to it… sorta…

§Master… Master I smell another snake…§ Amarantha whispered into his mind.

Harry went stiff as he searched the hall for another snake. It depended on what kind for him to be so cautious. If it were just a regular snake then it was okay, but if it were Nagini… he grit his teeth and ran a hand through his hair, taking in deep breaths and squeezing Ron's hand.

"Mate… we'll be here. Don't worry." Ron assured him, patting his back with a smile that was meant for an older brother. 

Harry faltered for a moment, glancing at Hermione who had turned away from her scheming to smile at him. They trusted him. They were by his side, no matter how many difficulties they had to go through. If there was anyone Harry could trust in this life, it was these two. 

"Ah bloody hell… you guys are making this so damn depressing." Harry grinned.

Hermione rolled her eyes, "Don't be so dramatic. Also, that one over there…" she trailed off and gestured to their left, "Seems like he's excited to talk to Harry." 

Harry glanced towards the end of the table, seeing a rather nervous looking Nikolai Markov sheepishly waving at him. He blinked, before letting out a small laugh and excusing himself from the group. Once Nikolai saw him coming, he stepped out of the hall and waited for Harry.

"Kolya— I mean Nikolai." Harry greeted with a smile.

"Kolya is fine!" Nikolai assured, turning a faint red. "If I am able to call you Hades, of course." 

"God of the underworld… you sure I won't get smote by the king of the dead?" Harry teasingly asked, to which Nikolai laughed. The two were slowly becoming the center of attention as they started walking through the halls and conversing. Switching from English to Russian, but sticking to English for now.

"I don't think so. Well, I don't suppose the god of the dead would ever hate you of all people. In my opinion, you are a wonderful person, Hades." Nikolai offered him a blinding grin, eyes closed and hands tucked behind his back.

Harry's smile twitched as he heard that. Hades, huh… how cute. He felt pleased with himself, grabbing his wrist so as to not touch Nikolai's head. Bad habits , he thought, annoyed that some part of his soul was still clinging on to his identity as Orpheus Black. 

"Well then, I'm Hades and your Kolya." Harry declared. "Have all of your schoolmates placed their names into the goblet?" 

Nikolai nodded, "Some other younger students, Asen, and I are the only ones who haven't placed our names into the goblet. Oh goodness, it was nerve wracking! Viktor placed his name last night." 

"So have some of the Beauxbatons students… are you acquainted with any of them?" 

"Hm… well, I suppose I am acquainted with Colette Boisseau and Thierry Derouen . Both of their parents were once my mother's clients and their families often go to my mother for legal advice. I'm not really… friends with them, but we're on good terms." Nikolai explained, glancing around as if he would find the mentioned two.

Harry hummed, thankful that Nikolai was not acquainted with anyone from House Lemaire . 

"Watch your step." Harry warned, pulling Nikolai away from the step he had been standing on.

The poor Russian boy stared in fright as the steps he had been standing on moved to a different direction. He blinked, turning to Harry with a mildly pale look. Harry could only offer him an awkward smile as Nikolai practically latched himself to Harry as they went up more stairs.

"This is, is… ah, what's the word…" Nikolai began to mutter in his breath before he clicked his fingers and pointed an accusing finger to the stairs. "AWFUL! This is awful and unsafe." 

"I know… but the castle was made that way. All students learn and memorize the patterns of the stairs by the end of their first month here." Harry explained. It had taken him a while to memorize the steps back in his first life but he had gotten a hang of it eventually. 

Should've studied why those bloody stairs were made that way , he glanced back at the staircases that were moving. Some students were cursing loudly as the steps they were going to take moved in a different direction, evidently the cause of them being late to whatever engagement they had.

"Thankfully the towers don't have those kinds of stairs." 

"I would not even go near your castle towers if the staircases moved… How many students are injured because of that?" Nikolai spoke in a quiet voice, gesturing to the staircases.

On the days Harry heard of students falling from the stairs, he grew a deep sense of Paranoia when looking up at the magical architecture that would lead them to their classrooms. Within his thirteenth life, he hadn't been as naive and ignorant. Rather, from the blurry memories he was still recovering, his self prior to waking up was more cautious and cautious of his surroundings. He had memorized every single pattern the castle made for its stairs within two months of arriving at Hogwarts. Why he was not sorted into Slytherin was to be blamed for his fear of… uniqueness.

"Around 10 students are injured every year… the teachers have done nothing to fix the issue." He ran his fingers through the walls, unable to form a proper expression. That simple fact was something he despised so much and he had to rein in his magic.

" Chto ne tak s etoy shkoloy? "  Nikolai grumbled, "And you're all okay with it?"

Harry was mildly abused with the absurdity in Nikolai's voice when he spoke Russian, "It's not that we're okay with it… it's that we've gotten used to such things… The headmaster doesn't do much about it and keeps saying that we cannot take any measures to keep the students safe. Dumbledore is rather narrow-minded."

Nikolai nodded, "My grandfather never liked him either." 

His entire body went rigid. His magic flared for a second before something in his soul seemed to start laughing. A part of him was reaching out towards Nikolai, a dark wraith of his magic coiling around the boy that could not see it. The wraith changed from a messy wisp of smoke into a man whose body kept morphing from one to another. He could see the reflection of purple eyes, hugging Nikolai tight before amethyst hues turned a venomous silver and black. A grin spread across its face as it quietly spoke.

"Ours."

He grabbed Nikolai's wrist and pulled him forward. Nikolai looked frightened, as Harry blinked in surprise before profusely apologizing. " Mne ochen' zhal'! I am so sorry… reflex… your magic seemed to spread out a bit." Harry wore a smile, cupping Nikolai's hand in between his.

"My magic?"

"Yes… I'm rather sensitive to magic that suddenly touches me." Harry feigned worry, rubbing his arm and avoiding eye contact.

"Oh… so you're similar to Bisera! I should be the one apologizing. Mother has said that I haven't quite mastered the art of controlling my magic." Nikolai apologized, flinching as he turned away, unable to ensure any sort of anger from Harry.

On the other hand, Harry gripped his arm tightly and smiled. It was only right for him to apologize. His rebellious magic was as greedy as him after all. But he didn't like the way Nikolai frowned and stepped away from him, scared and worried. Again, did something in his head whisper to him angrily of the fear on the other boy's face. 

"Kak vy smeyete! Ty zastavil yego ispugat'sya! KAK TY POSMEL!"  

How dare you! You made him scared! HOW DARE YOU!

The voice was all too familiar.

"It's fine, Kolya." Harry whispered, patting Nikolai's head and smiled. "Your magic was so wonderful that I couldn't really help it. So don't blame yourself." He comforted the boy and held his hand again.

"Are you sure?" Nikolai's face turned slightly red, fingers shaking on his free hand. Harry noticed these little signs, sighing at Nikolai's hesitation.

"Think of me as your older brother now. If you get lost in Hogwarts, just start crying out my name and I'll come to the rescue." Harry teased.

Nikolai blinked, before laughing to himself. "I wouldn't cry but… thank you for the help." Color stained his cheeks, purple eyes shining with admiration and fondness. A look Harry had seen on the younger siblings of his previous incarnations. Harry would be lying if he said that he didn't adore that expression so much. A look that said he was an older brother again.

Luna and Hermione were his sister's. Ron, Fred, and George were his brothers. Yet, that simple confirmation that he was someone's older brother again made his magic sing and burst into fiery flames of happiness. His third life as Arcturus had influenced him so much in regards to being an older sibling. The happiness of having someone admire and love you in that way made his heart melt. 

"Brat... Mladshiy brat…" Brother… Baby brother… "Eyes… pretty eyes… want pretty eyes." 

Harry could only smile darkly to himself, Shut up, Orpheus. If there was one thing Harry knew about that part of his soul, it was how jealous it was. 

"Don't you dare kill him."

"Hades? Are you okay?"

The grip he had on Nikolai's hands slackened, patting his ash brown hair again. He gazed into purple eyes, the very same ones he had seen on himself and a friend.

"Nothing… just two thoughts arguing in my head."

Kill him.

Keep him alive.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 18:

Every single student and teacher present were waiting in anticipation as the time to choose champions neared. Harry boredly waited for the students to finally silence as the three heads of the schools stood from their seats and moved to the goblet of fire. They looked at each other, nodding as Dumbledore opened his arms and offered them all his grandfatherly smile. Some smiled back, while others seemed to be displeased by it.

Harry's expression was neutral, but there was a flame raging around the library of his mind that was being quelled by whatever ghosts he had. 

Dumbledore spoke, "The time has come." With such an announcement, he gave further instructions on what to do once the champions were announced. Harry merely watched back, drumming his fingers on the table and staring at the headmasters and headmistress. It seemed like Karkaroff caught his stare and tried to glare at him, but the man only received a mocking smirk. Harry stared right into the man's soul, quietly assessing how shaken it seemed.

Mind magic along with soul magic gave him that skill. He absolutely adored his own genius and watched Karkaroff quickly look away and try to focus on the champions. Even so, the way his hands trembled and seemed to sweat was an amusing sight. He turned vivid emerald hues towards their crazy DADA professor and smiled at him.

Dumbledore cleared his throat, outstretching his arm as the blue flames turned a bright red. A burnt piece of parchment flew out of the goblet and to his hand.

"Thus, the champion of Durmstrang is… Viktor Krum!"

The students clad in red coats cheered loudly as their champion stood, adjusting his uniform with a proud yet grateful grin. Nikolai was among the students on their feet, clapping his hands until they started to turn red and gazed at Viktor with such an admiring look. Harry could only stare at the adoration within purple optics, squashing the memories of Orpheus from taking control of his mind.

"The champion of Beauxbatons Academy is Fleur Delacour!" 

The beautiful girl who clearly had Veela blood running through her veins. Her platinum hair that looked even better than Malfoy's swayed as she strutted towards her headmistress with absolute confidence. She gave Maxime a polite curtsy and nodded towards the other headmasters. Fleur was honorable in her own way, a grace she carried herself with as she walked towards the room Krum had disappeared to.

Hogwarts was the only one left. Students from all houses were on their feet, unable to contain themselves. Hell, he had seen Draco jolt from his seat before hastily sitting back down and coughing into his palm.

Harry was… not pleased with what was to come.

"Harry…" he heard Ron, turning to his friend who was holding his head. There was a pained expression on his face that caused Hermione, who sat on the other side of Ron to press her hand to his arm. "Oh bloody hell…"

Harry frowned as he focused on Ron rather than the announcements of the champions. Ron pressed his head against Harry's shoulder, quietly whimpering as he held his head. 

"To divine does not always mean to scour the future…" Ron whispered, as if realizing something. He grabbed Harry's shoulders and quietly whispered, "Someone placed your name in the goblet… I don't know who it was… their face was covered, Harry—"

"HARRY POTTER!"

The three of them went rigid as his name was called out. Harry slowly turned towards their headmaster who gave him a disappointed look. Everyone was watching him, shocked, angry, horrified, and confused. Among them was the scowling face of Severus Snape and the pale look on Nikolai's face.

Harry slowly stood, steadying his pounding heart as he walked towards his headmaster. He kept the man's gaze, allowing himself to be… angry. Absolutely angry as his patience was snapped once again. All he could think of was how he hated this situation, how the entire school had turned against him for this.

So he showed them the impulsiveness of a Gryffindor they kept taunting him for.

He raised his hand into the air and recited words he had said only a small few times, still keeping his pace.

"I swear upon my mind and magic," he started and the teachers were immediately on their feet at the familiar words. "—that I did not enter my name in the goblet of fire… so mote it be." He finished, feeling satisfied at the horrified looks upon the staff and those who recognized the oath.

"Mr—"

" Incendio ." He murmured as flames burst from his wand and vanished upon a silent command. Everyone was silent, as if no one breathed. Harry stopped in front of Dumbledore, anger and hatred in his eyes that shook the man. "I didn't put my name in the godforsaken goblet." 

Moving towards the room where the champions were in, he silently allowed his magic to spread. What his magic did was cause every single flame in the great hall to grow bigger, then screams erupted and Harry listened to them as if it were the most wondrous melody he has heard. He stepped foot into the room where Fleur, Viktor, and Cedric were waiting to be called back.

Fleur was the first to ask, "Are they calling us back?" Her french accent was thick but her English was good enough.

"Not quite, Mademoiselle Delacour." Harry politely replied to her, looking tired as he offered a sad smile. "It seems like someone has directed their malicious intent towards me. I apologize for the further inconveniences." He bowed to her, looking genuinely apologetic.

Fleur look charmed but also quite concerned for him. To Fleur, she saw a frail and skinny looking boy, pale and exhausted. 

Harry, for the betterment, was actually really tired. A magical oath that involved swearing on his mind and magic was tiring. It was worse when he wasn't particularly stable. He needed a chair, he needed to sit for Merlin's sake but he stood. He stood and waitwd for teachers to starts accusing him, scolding him, and telling him how much he was a liar. He expected all of that from Snape and he had to hold out long enough.

Sit down. Sit down and rest. God damnit Mal, don't be stupid! Regulus' voice yelled in his head and Harry could almost envision the worry and fear in silver eyes he had loved so much. 

In a moment of vulnerability, a moment of  confusion, his eyes grew even more blurry behind the lenses he wore. The light was hurting his eyes, as he lowered his head and ran a hand through his hair.

Magic was… magic was complicated. He had risked it and his magic was basically telling him he had done something stupid. Normally, someone would simply pass out or collapse from that kind of oath, but Harry's magic was almost completely sentient. With so many lives combined into it along with his soul, it often argued with itself. Different aspects of him, his lives, were all scolding him but, at the same time, they were keeping him conscious.

"Hey… Potter, you okay?" 

Harry blearily turned towards the concerned voice, realizing it was Cedric. The memory of his dead body caused Harry to turn even more pale and cold, but he shook his head and just waved him of.

Them the doors finally slammed open, multiple voices yelling over themselves.

"You foolish boy—"

"You could have just said—"

"An oath on your magic?!"

Harry held his head, furious with the loud voices that were giving him an even more intense migraine. He glared at the staff who were frightened and pale, yelling at each other and him. The only teacher who cares for him amongst the yelling fools was his dear Minnie.

"Be quiet you utter fools!" Her accent Scottish accent heavier than ever as she seethed. "The boy has risked his own magic to prove he is innocent, dare to call him a liar and I shall curse you myself!" 

Harry softened, but he still felt like dragon dung. McGonagall's mother instincts must have been activated, as she was by his side in seconds. She held his arm tightly, pressing a hand to his forehead and cursing angrily once she felt how cold his skin was. He looked sickly, almost as bad as when he was in his first year.

"Harry, Harry my boy…" and such a grating voice, Dumbledore tried to guilt him for a lie. "Be honest—"

"Ask Professor Snape to grab a bottle of veritaserum and shove it down my throat, my answer will still be the same." Harry angrily hissed, leaning against McGonagall.

"Foolish boy…" Madame Maxime said in a quiet tone, her accent subtle in her tone. "Oaths upon magic and mind will drain you if you are being truthful. Oh… you fool, return to your chambers and rest. Goodness…" she sighed, absolutely concerned for the boy.

Fleur gave her a look, agreeing with her.

"But— But what of the tournament?" Karkaroff demanded, "Hogwarts has two champions, it is unjust. Had we known that your age line would be faulty, I would brought more students to be selected as champion." 

This, was unfortunately, a great offense to the current Champion of Durmstrang. Krum scowled, stepping away from his headmaster as if he was the most disgusting thing in the room.

"Potter, did you ask an older student—"

"Get your damn veritaserum and I'll tell you I would rather die than take part of this damn tournament!" His emotions were a wreck. He was angry, he couldn't control himself. All he felt was anger at the mere sight of Dumbledore acting like a concerned grandfather. Snape had fanned the flames.

"What students wouldn't want the glory? I must say, you constantly suggesting the truth potion is quite suspicious." Snape scowled, "You want attention—"

"If I wanted to go through another near death experience I would have started swimming in the lake during December. I have nearly died for the past three years, what makes you think I want to risk my life again with a tournament that Hermione has repeatedly explained the kill count of?" He snapped, magic angrily flaring again. The candles in the room started to melt fastwe upon the flames he strengthened.

McGonagall, so smart and wonderful, immediately noticed his agitation and started to rub circles on his back. Then there was Cedric, the kind and considerate Hufflepuff who summoned a glass of water and handed it to him. 

I want Hermione and Ron… I want Luna, was the thoughts in his mind.

There was a voice singing a quiet lullaby to soothe him. Reggie's voice.

"Severus, hold your tongue." McGonagall angrily scolded and continued on comforting Harry.

"Oh get the boy a chair." Maxime said, but summoned a chair anyways. Fleur was quick to have Harry sit on it.

Manipulative… change emotions, change opinion. A new voice started to speak. Harry still had a hand pressed against his mouth, unable to stop himself from smirking. Pity, worry, concern. Such things allowed others to adore and fear for his safety. He allowed them to see a frail image that made them all worry for him. It was perfect.

"I don't… I don't want to be in the tournament. Who even put my name in the goblet?" Harry grumbled, leaning into McGonagall's touch as she carded her fingers through his hair. "I thought you could only put your own name…"

The teachers glanced at each other, realizing their own stupidity. Even if Harry didn't put his name, that didn't mean that some students must have coerced their seniors to place their names into the goblet. Had the champions of Hogwarts been minors, children who hadn't even passed the age of seventeen. The thought made them gulp, as Bartemius Crouch cleared his throat. At the same time, Moody scowled at the man.

They discussed further upon the situation, to which Harry spoke up again. "I'm a minor! What the hell am I supposed to do with that fact?!"

Crouch flinched. The mere fact that a minor was being forced into Tournament for those of the age of seventeen was a threat to his occupation. He shuddered at the thought of any lawyer going after his head once this was revealed.

"We must make do… I am sorry, but Mister Potter has been entered. If he does not participate… he will lose his magic."

McGonagall let out a quiet gasp, holding Harry tight as she hugged him. She had her eyes closed, keeping Harry in her arms as if she would lose him. She has lost so many students, so many of her children, she wasn't ready to lose another one so early. Harry was the one she had feared losing all the time. Voldemort breaking into the castle, the Basilisk, Sirius trying to kill him. She was going to lose the boy. 

"Oh dear Merlin, please keep this child safe."

Harry silently listened to her pleading, humming to himself as he allowed McGonagall to hug him. Mother… I guess… this is enough.

Harry gulped, before he turned towards his head of house. He would endure this charade. A cruel smile slips across his face as he can vividly remember what his ancestors wrote in that damn rulebook hidden in the archive.

— “In the situation of someone placing another's name, the champion shall have control of the individual who placed their name in the goblet without their consent. The individual shall be under their servitude for ten moons. Half of their magic shall be bound to the unwilling champion and they shall do everything the champion orders them, so long as those orders do not threaten the individual's life.

However, the champion shall not order their 'challenger' to harm themselves. Neither shall the champion order them to commit murder. The champion shall not risk the challenger's magic  the champion shall not…”

So long as that bastard is alive and his magic well… he will do my bidding. Harry knew he won from the moment an idiot decided to sabotage him. He only wished he knew of this back in his first life.

"Someone get some treacle tarts, some muffins, and a bloody pitcher of water." Ron yelled as he and Hermione guided Harry to a chair. McGonagall sighed as she watched her students frantically follow orders.

Ron Weasley may have seemed the least impressive amongst his siblings to blind idiots, but even those idiots knew that he inherited his mother's temper and motherly instincts. They were quick to run out of the common room and search for the food they demanded. It was a sight she was familiar with. So similar to the way James would demand for treats and water for Remus. 

"Mr. Weasley, Ms. Granger." She called out to them. Said two were quick to turn half of their attention to her, still caring for their exhausted friend. "I shall send some house elves to cater to the food Mr. Potter may begin to vomit."

"Vomit?!"

"If he does not recover by tomorrow, he shall be excused from all of his classes. Please… take care of him."

"No offense Professor," Ron cautiously said, "but no one would ever need to tell us about taking care of Harry. He's done some stupid shit these past years and Hermione and I have practically become his parents."

"Ron's… Ron's meh mam!" Harry slurred out, giggling like a fool. "'Mione's meh dad!"

Ron turned as red as his hair, scolding Harry in a way a mother would. 

McGonagall smiled and nodded to them. She patted their heads and proceeded to pat Harry's. The dopey smile on his face was an almost exact copy of the same stupid smile James had when he saw Lily or that boy he was smitten with. Her heart ached as she ruffled Harry's already messy hair and quickly walked out of her house's common room.

Minerva McGonagall may have been strong, but the mere thought of losing yet another child reduced her to tears that would not stop flowing.

"I'mma… I'mma vomit—"

"Bucket! Get the bucket!" Hermione started screaming as Harry's pale face turned a garish shade of green. Fred conjured a bucket to their stead and shoved just beside Harry's bed. They had evacuated to their dorms, to which Seamus, Dean, and Ginny were guarding the door and threatening students who were trying to pry. Fred and George were helping the two of them take care of Harry. Neville was still running of to the kitchens for food.

Harry blinked for a few seconds, before grabbing the bucket and barfing his guts out. 

"Why is he like this?!" Hermione yelled, scouring her books for healing spells that would relieve Harry of the pain and exhaustion. From the moment he could not rely on her book, she almost tossed it into the flames.

"Oaths risking your magic can do this to a person. Aunt Tabitha said that people who risk their magic get scolded by their magic by draining their energy and basically messing up your insides. Harry was gambling with his mind and magic. The punishment is gonna be a bloody mess." Ron explained, grimacing as he watched his best friend practically sob into the bucket and wipe what he assumed was his dinner.

"Mate, how could you do that?" Ron asked in a gentle tone, grabbing the towel and wiping Harry's sweaty forehead. 

"Liar… they think… think I'mma liar." Harry cackled. "I'mma liar… but… I don't like it when— when dumbydoor calls me a liar." 

Ron paused, glancing at his own hand. The vision of a man placing a parchment with Harry's name had been a shock to him. His head had pounded as those images flashed before his eyes. Harry was going to get hurt , was his only thought. Any kind of envy he felt was replaced with the underlying fear his best friend might actually die this time.

He pressed a hand against Harry's forehead, stiffening as his eyes flashed. He saw the image of Harry yelling at Snape, clinging to McGonagall as they discussed his predicament. Those images caused him to pull his hand away and stare at Harry in horror.

He had seen what happened.

"I— I— uh…" he stuttered, "Hermione, you, you take care of him. I'll look for the cure. You don't know much about oaths, so let's switch."

Hermione gave him a skeptical look, before she handed him the book and started caring for Harry. Fred and George watched as their brother shakily flipped through the pages. He looked pale and scared, both chalking it up to Ron being frightened, but it felt like there was something deeper to the situation. Still, their focus drifted back to Harry, assisting Hermione in nursing him.

They would have brought him to the hospital wing, but the thought of others just barging in and harassing him with questions appalled them. So they settled for his bed in their dorms, having taken Ron's pillow and stacking it on Harry's and covering him with Neville and Dean's blankets. 

There was no such warmth upon his skin, no color that painted his face. He was pale, sweaty, and groaning out in pain. Or what they thought was pain. 

"L… Luna…" he mumbled, groaning again as the damp towel pressed against his forehead.

"Luna? Luna Lovegood?" Ron repeated, looking at Harry with an incredulous look. The strange girl who he suspected was a seer seemed to be acquainted with Harry and he didn't know whether to be concerned or not. "Hermione… here, this might help."

Fred took the book, reading through the spell and glancing back at their little brother. "This is a dreamless sleep spell. Why would he need this?"

"You think it'll be good for him to have nightmares in this state?"

Fred and George cringed. Harry was prone to nightmares, they were well aware of that. Fred was quick to cast the spell, reciting the incantation for a few seconds before silvery light formed around his wand. The tendril of magic rested upon Harry's forehead, before vanishing into his flesh. 

Harry started to calm, taking in deep breaths and closing his eyes. "G'night…" he whispered and offered a sleepy smile.

"Sleep well, Harry." Hermione kissed his forehead and made sure he was comfortable. The fondness in her eyes were clear, yet so was the worry for her closest friend. She cleared her throat, patting her uniform and turning on her heel. Facing the three Weasleys, she placed her hand against her hips and raised her chin in a defiant manner. 

"We'll have to find who put his name in the goblet. Harry is in danger… again…" she grimaced.

"Oh bloody hell… why can't he have one peaceful year?" George grumbled, tapping his foot on the floor and his arms crossed over his chest.

"Well… the Potter luck is sometimes a bit of a bitch." Ron commented.

Hermione nodded in agreement. If there was anything that was both blessing and curse, it was the Potter luck. The damn thing had saved them so many times from the danger it attracted. "Let's start preparing for tomorrow. Merlin knows how many people are going to swarm him."

"Seamus' already planning an explosion in potions tomorrow to take some of the attention… but still…" Ron trailed off, just as a knock was heard. They glanced towards the door, seeing Neville's head pop up.

"Is Harry alright?" Neville asked, nervously closing the door behind him and glancing towards the boy that was supposed to be his god brother. He quietly approached the sleeping chosen one, frowning at how pale he was.

"High chances he might not recover tomorrow. What's happening down stairs?" Hermione inquired, sitting by Harry's legs.

Neville gulped, sweating anxiously. "Ginny's already cursed someone. She nearly made them go bald. I think you should stop her before she goes on a rampage. Poor Seamus and Dean are just standing behind her like some kind of entourage." 

Fred and George were quick to run out of the room to calm their hellion of a sister. As they descended the stairs, they were just in time to hear Ginny yell, " Levicorpus! " and there was a fifth year dangling by the knees.

Harry didn't want to wake up alas, he must.

He felt how sore his body was, how damn sweaty he was to the point even his clothes were sticking to his skin. He groaned, shoving away the numerous blankets that were used to keep him warm. He glanced towards his dorm mates— Dean and Seamus were sharing a bed while Neville had his pillow over his face. Ron was on the floor, snoring like usual but his blanket was just beneath him. It was a ridiculous sight but it made him laugh softly.

"Ron? Ron?" He poked the boys head with his finger. When Ron barely awoke, he sighed and stood from his bed.

Harry snarled as he felt his sweat trickling down from his entire body, repulsed with himself. He hurried to the bathroom, still feeling groggy but conscious enough to take a shower. As he closed the door to the bathroom, he froze as he looked back at his reflection.

It wasn't him.

"Fate is cackling." His supposed reflection spoke. It was his face, but that was it. The person in the mirror wore his face but had almost white hair and black eyes. Cold and calculating with a hint of warmth reserved for him.

"Don't mention it." Harry snapped, removing his shirt and shuddering as he felt his sweat stick to it. "I was pissed, alright? You know how much I hate Dumbledore." 

"Enough for you to abandon everything you've learned."  

"You do not get to criticize my choices! Regardless of whether you've chosen me as your companion or not, I am human . That is why you chose me after all, remember? Or has death finally forgotten something?" Harry mocked. The notion of being criticized for having emotion was something he despised so deeply. It didn't take long for him to step into the shower and drown his thoughts away. If not for his damn reflection talking.

"I haven't forgotten…" his reflection sighed, "The question you must ask if you have forgotten that you were human. So many years of acting like a lifeless husk, a mere puppet of fate. It's been so long since I've seen so much emotion from you." The tone he used to speak irked him somehow. It just grated at him— the pure and utter relief that was in his voice.

"So you consider yourself human, master… or do you simply claim to be one for theatrics?"

The cold water slid off his body as he stared at the tiled floor. All the disgusting sweat he had felt was washed away and went down the drain. Hands pressed against the wall in front of him and cursing under his breath, yet all one could hear were the sounds of hissing. His chest hurt, grumbling under his breath as he pushed himself off the wall. The question given to him lingered in his mind as he scrubbed at his skin, washed his hair and finished. A single breath he took, inhaling deeply and holding it in for a few seconds. He let it out, and turned back to his own reflection that watched him expectantly.

"Depends on whether I can be one after all this time." He answered and got out of the shower. Wrapping a towel around his waist and gripping the edges of the sink. Vivid emerald eyes bore into the distorted reflection of himself—a reflection of death. "One moment I am human and the next I am not. Fate wills it so."

"Go now… before the little wiccans think I've gone mad." He scowled, wiping against the mirror.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair and closing his eyes for a moment. This time, Regulus' voice was a mere whisper and what plagued his mind was the voice of death.  Are you human? Was the simple question Death has asked him. He once had the answer to it, but now it was lost to time. Was he human ? Was a question some people would murmur when he walked by amongst his different lives. A genius, a prodigy, a miracle— not human. Some of them spoke in such worshipping ways that made him want to vomit. Then there was the last question; Am I human? He had asked himself over and over again.

The scar on his forehead was faded now. A lightning bolt. It looked like those mediocre drawings of roots, spreading through a small part of his forehead. He pressed a hand against it, pursing his lips when he felt the fragment stir.

"I forgot about you." He admitted with a bitter smile. He had forgotten the fatal flaw that he had, a horcrux. The most revolting thing he could become. 

Get it out. Regulus' voice said, tone angry and sending tremors through his soul. I don't want to share your soul with it!

Harry went stiff, laughing bitterly. "I'll get rid of it soon." He murmured.

Then there was a knock. 

"Give me a minute Ron." 

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 19:

Draco stared daggers at Potter, heavily unnerved at how unaffected he seemed. The absolute capability to keep calm and act like nothing happened was a superb talent he wished he had. He watched as Potter went about his day, dodging or deflecting questions from other students. He had even been witness to an angry Hufflepuff cussing out Potter and the only thing he did was lazily wave his wand and vanish their mouth. Poor guy was horrified and trying to demand Potter to reverse it.

When Potter did nothing but walk away, the Hufflepuff's had done their best to fix the issue and even went to the Ravenclaws for help. Unfortunately for them, the eagles were more fascinated with the spell work rather than attempting to fix it. In the end, Draco marvelled at the magnificent display of power and nonchalance that Potter carrier as three Hufflepuff's begged him to reverse his spell.

As the day ended, the news of what Potter had done after vanishing into the hidden room for the champions had spread across the school. Students of Durmstrang were begrudgingly impressed by the display of power and Beauxbatons were creating conspiracy theories with the Ravenclaws. The Hufflepuff's were outraged that the attention they had been looking for was taken from them as their champion was being outshone by the boy-who-lived. Then there were the Slytherins. 

As the day ended, a group of Slytherins were gathered around the common room and discussing the supposed bane of their existence; Hadrian Potter. Draco had been kind enough to explain that Potter's name had been butchered by the public and his first name was actually more fancy and suitable. Draco sat on his favorite chair whilst his friends surrounded him, close enough to gossip amongst each other. 

"Did you see him?" Pansy said looking absolutely outraged, "He didn't even seem to be tired! The bastard performed a perfect oath upon his magic and he's walking around and using magic as if nothing happened." 

Daphne nodded in agreement, quietly handing a transfigured glass figurine to her sister Astoria and resumed the discussion. "He was also hanging around that boy from Durmstrang."

"Nikolai Markov," although the name felt foreign in Draco's mouth, he had gotten to know the boy… a bit. "He's Nadia Markova's son. You know… that attorney that was hired to defend Minister Levitsky when her husband accused her of infidelity." Now that was a scandal that even reached Britain.

"Wait, seriously?" Theo finally perked up, Blaise hissed quietly under his breath when Theo almost pushed him of the couch. Draco remembered that his family originated from Russia and him and his grandfather occasionally went there for summer. "Lady Markova is a major benefactor of the Russian ministry and you're telling Potter somehow became close friends with her son?!"

Although it was a fact some of them would have thought ridiculous, the current Harry Potter could pull it off. Had it been the rude and reckless Harry Potter of before they would all agree that someone like Nikolai Markov wouldn't be friends with him. However, Potter was different and Markov seemed to think it was suitable enough to befriend the boy. All of them agreed this new and improved version of Potter was better than the previous one.

"Hm… he's been rather close to the Durmstrang students… he avoids the Beauxbatons students like the plague in complete contrast." Blaise commented, grumbling as he pushed Theo away and pouted at the brown haired boy. He rolled his eyes when Theo sheepishly grinned at him, "Anyways, the entire day he seemed to dodge Beauxbatons, aside from their champion and another girl. Aside from that, Potter has only been associating himself with Durmstrang." 

"It is a great contrast to what people would expect from him." Daphne calmly said, "Beauxbatons is more aligned towards the light, although is more of a gray school than anything. Still, he chooses to befriend those of a school known for being dark."

Draco couldn't agree more. Potter had been weird since the quidditch world cup and that weirdness was getting worse and worse by the day. No matter the cause, Draco found the entire situation to be odd. It was not something that would normally happen in Hogwarts, especially with the pure and unbridled rage Hadrian Potter had unleashed on the great hall the night before.

The vivid memory of it made him shudder.

The flames upon candles had gone out for a few seconds before igniting. The flames were mixtures of blue and red, angrily bursting until the candles could no longer handle the heat and melted completely. They had resorted to lighting up their wands when the candles were of no use. He could remember heads of houses desperately trying to extinguish the flames but all of them had failed.

Then a memory of his first runes class with Potter resurfaced. The way he had masterfully summoned a ball of flames into the palm of his hand. He wasn't too surprised to see the flames going crazy after Potter had just performed a magical oath.

"Sonnet… are any of you familiar with Lincoln Sonnet?" Draco asked, looking around for the odd boy in their house and year.

His group looked at each other and shook their heads.

Pansy asked, "Sonnet? He's not particularly famous or anything. Although I did hear that he was having trouble with students from different houses. Why?"

Trust Pansy to give him information.

"He's… friends with Potter. Remember that he arrived late with Potter two nights ago?" 

"Right, that happened. Well, he's not here." Theo looked around but didn't see the boy.

"Strange… Tell me if he pops up. I need to ask him some things." He removed himself from his chair and patted his uniform, robes having been discarded into his dorms. He ran a hand through his platinum hair and sighed, turning on his heel to exit the common rooms.

"You gonna ask about Potter again?" Blaise snickered as Pansy followed with a giggle

Draco flushed in embarrassment, "Of course not! What makes you think that?" 

Daphne roed her eyes, "The intensity of your interest in Hadrian Potter says so."

"Well I'm not." Draco clicked his tongue, "Look, just tell me if Sonnet appears. I'm going to take a walk… be back before dinner." 

He grumbled as he stomped out of the common rooms. He checked himself, just in case his uniform was askew. His robes were still discarded in his dorms, but there was no problem with not wearing it for now. 

As he wandered the halls, he noticed the additional noise to the castle. He expected the visitors to be exploring the school and he wondered if he could ever get the chance to visit Durmstrang. Although his mother often chastised him about it, saying that Durmstrangs structure was a complicated piece of architecture. There were legends and myths on how the institution's castle was once a prison, for what or who was still a mystery.

Taking a sharp turn, he didn't expect to be colliding with someone and stumbling to the floor. His poor arse hit the marble floors, quietly groaning to himself as he glared at the person he bumped into. Seeing the red they wore, he immediately assumed they were Gryffindor, but from the Russian they were cursing in, he froze and stared at the stranger in question.

" Ah, Morgana, chert voz'mi. Kolya, ty durak. " 

Draco didn't understand the stranger, but he did recognize Morgana's name and the word fool in the sentence. He blinked, rubbing the side of his head and quietly observed the stranger. 

He lifted his head and Draco's breath hitched. "My apologies! I was not looking correctly." He said, Russian accent prominent yet subtle in a skillfully clumsy manner.

Yet Draco froze at the beautiful purple eyes that gazed into his stormy gray ones. He sat on the floor, befuddled at the familiar face. His features were soft, quite tall for his age, and his curly hair was a mess. The boy's clear skin was flushed red of embarrassment, unable to meet his gaze for a few seconds. 

"Nikolai Markov."

Nikolai blinked, confused as to why Draco knew his name before finally recognizing him. There was this little light that sparked between purple hues, as if knowledge was being injected into his brain. The other boy grinned, getting to his feet and hastily offering his hand for Draco to take.

"Since you are… er… what is the correct word… aware of my name," he sheepishly continued, "may I please ask for your name?"

Draco hesitantly took Nikolai's hand, quite surprised to feel how damn sturdy it was. Nikolai's hand was a bit bigger than his slender ones, the next thing he knew, Markov had dragged him to his feet and helped him balance himself. He resolutely turned away from the Markov heir, unable to handle the fact he had been stunned into silence by him. But Draco gulped and shook his head.

Focus , he told himself and introduced himself. "Draco Malfoy, if you do not remember. We spoke briefly during the feast last night." He dusted whatever debris was on his clothes and offered Markov a polite smile. 

"Malfoy… ah! You are the boy I sat in front of. Ah… you also spoke to Asen, correct?" He asked, tilting his head slightly. 

Draco hummer, trying to remember the previous night. He had gone on a mission to get himself more connections outside of the country, to which he had succeeded in acquainting himself with Asen Oblansk, the son of Bulgaria's minister. The boy was a pleasant conversationalist and was great at explaining the rubbish Draco considered to be the divination taught in Hogwarts. He's a genius , was what Draco had thought when Asen Oblansk explained hydromancy in such an ethereal and fascinating way the captured his attention. 

"Yes… are you lost? From what I can remember, your schoolmates have been residing in your ship. Are you looking for the path to the lake?" Draco asked.

Markov blinked, before a faint red painted his cheeks. He was embarrassed, as Draco observed, fascinated with the way his expressions were so subtle yet conveyed so much. "I… erm… No, I am not lost. Hades has made sure I remember the way to the lake if I ever get lost."

"Hades?"

"Ah! That is what I call Hadrian. Hadrian Potter, to be precise." Nikolai immediately brightened at the mention of the boy.

It was Draco's turn to be confused. When did they get so close? There was a sense of jealousy resting in his mind, a scathing urge to glare at Markov being reigned back. He allowed himself a smile. “Is that so? How generous of Potter.”

"Hm, but it'd concerning… ah, I should not bother you with my woes." Markov nervously laughed, scratching the back of his head. "Once again, I must apologize for bumping into you. I shall be more careful in the future." 

Draco narrowed his eyes at him. He tilted his head, curious as to what Markov was doing in the first place. He had found it odd that students under seventeen had been brought along by Durmstrang, and the only thing he could get out from the students were that the younger students were some kind of moral support. It sounded ridiculous, but then again, Fleur Delacour had brought her sister as a moral support. From his observations, Nikolai Markov was a close friend of Viktor Krum.

Markov was currently an unknown variable to the rest of his house. The only thing they currently knew of the boy was who his mother was, a vague explanation on his reputation in Durmstrang, and the fact he had made fast friends with Potter. The last bit was somewhat disturbing since Potter was well known for being rather conservative. Hell, most of Hogwarts were aware of the fact that aside from the Weasleys and Granger, Potter wasn't that close to anyone else… well, Luna Lovegood was now part of that small group.

A small smile graced his lips as he offered his hand again, "Well, you seem troubled. Is there anything I can help you with?" Get close to him… understand what the hell Potter likes about him . 

Nikolai and Draco weren't that different, but Potter saw a significant difference that caused him to outstretch his hand to Markov and slap Draco's away. But you've gone back to the beginning… Potter is acquainted with you now , a voice in his head said. Potter had wanted to start over again, offering his hand and befriending Draco. But he was still bitter about their first meeting. 

Markov seemed to consider his words, looking hesitant and cautious but nodded quietly. "The… erm… what's the English for where the books are placed?" 

"The library." Draco replied with an amused look. Markov pursed his lips, refusing to look him in the eye and nodding in confirmation. "Did Potter not show you where it was?" 

"He did not get the chance. Would you be able to lead me to the library?" 

Draco hummed, nodding and leading Markov towards the library. 

"How exactly did you and Potter meet? You seem to have known each other for a while." 

"Hm? Hades and I met during the quidditch world cup." Markov explained, a bit confused at the baffled expression on Draco's face.

Noticing that his expressions showed, he cleared his throat and nodded. Although his mind was a whirlpool of thoughts. He had gotten a good understanding about Markov and Potters connection but now everything was spiralling. They met at the world cup? That felt impossible. 

Granger and Ron Weasley had taken months, almost an entire year to make Potter open up. Almost everyone had seen it. The way Potter had slapped Weasleys hand away when he tried to touch and the way Potter would often distance himself from the two in the early stages of their friendship. Their supposed saviour was a boy who refused to befriend anyone and had chosen to hide somewhere and never show himself. It was until their second year that Potter had grown to be a bit more relaxed. 

Yet as he glanced towards Markov, Draco could not find anything that would cause Potter to immediately open up. There was nothing about him that would make someone instantly fond, but Potter seemed to have found something. Aside from his gentle and clever exterior, Markov didn't show anything remarkable enough to… attract the immediate attention Potter never gave to anyone… 

Except for Luna Lovegood. 

There are two exceptions… Draco thought. Markov and Lovegood had nothing in common from what he observed.

"Here we are…" Draco announced as he gestured to the vast library their school provided. He glanced towards Markov, surprised to see the disappointed look on his face.

"Ah… I thought it would be… bigger ." Markov murmured.

"Bigger?"

"I am sorry to say but… Durmstrang's library is bigger than this. It consists of two floors and a few other rooms for students to study." Markov explained, unable to hide his disappointment.

Draco visibly winced. He had heard from his parents that the library in Durmstrang was vast and bigger than that of Hogwarts. Maybe this was why Potter hadn't shown Markov the library, theirs paled in comparison to Markov's school. 

“Sorry to disappoint you then." 

"Ah! No, it is okay. I appreciate your help. Would you mind leading me to the runes section? I will be out of your hair after that." 

Draco quietly nodded, leading Markov to the runes section. He lingered for a bit as Markov carefully removed some books from the shelves and ran his hand through the dust. Markov looked back at him, offering a smile and Draco froze. 

Ah… maybe that's why. 

Nikolai Markov had a smile comparable to the sun.

There was a hissing noise coming from the end of the hallway. Draco stared at the abyss, wary. Dinner would be in an hour but most of the students had gathered in the great hall to speak to one another. He wandered around the castle to clear up his head but what he found were more and more questions. 

His friends had yet to tell him that Lincoln Sonnet had entered the common room. It seemed as though their fellow Slytherin had done everything to avoid the common room like the plague. It was inconvenient. He found himself at in an empty corridor, something orthodox to Hogwarts. 

There was hissing.

Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run.

Every single cell in his body was telling him to move, to run. He was foolish enough to stay still. More foolish when he began to approach the noise. He gulped, shaking his head as he moved closer and closer.

" Lu —"

"If you summon light it'll run away." 

Draco flinched, quickly going into defensive. Yet, the voice sighed and quietly mocked him.

"No need to get defensive." 

"Potter?" Draco's eyes went wide as he realized who's voice it belonged to. Potter was hidden under the shadows, apparently speaking in Parseltongue.

"Is there a snake there?!" 

"Shut up already, will you? Damn thing will bite your hand of if you keep yelling." Potter snapped, and quietly walked towards him.

He looked the same, mostly that is. His hair was still in it's skillfully messy style, wearing the red clad uniform of the Gryffindors. But there was something different. His expression was completely blank and his glasses were no where to be found. He didn't know what was more odd, the fact that Potter was without his glasses or the fact he was acting so differently. 

What Draco was most cautious of was the fact that Potter was talking to a literal snake. Green eyes wandered away from him and turned back to the shadows of the hallway. More hissing was heard and Draco took a cautious step back. Potter quietly hissed back at the snake and sighed to himself. 

"Nevermind. It doesn't want to get anywhere near your shiny head." Potter dismissively waved him off. 

At the mention of his hair, Draco's hand flew over his head and tried to protect it. He glared at Potter, who was doing nothing but tapping his foot on the floor. A few more seconds passed and Potter ran a hand through his hair, looking at Draco from top to bottom. He recoiled for a bit, feeling a bit worried for what Potter will see.

"It's gone now. Somehow the snake got in the castle when one of the Durmstrang students was wandering the castle." Potter explained as light ignited from his wand. As promised, the snake was nowhere in sight. 

"What are you doing here?"

"That's none of your business Potter." Draco snapped back, before calming himself down. Potter had been civil, it was only right to return such courtesy. "I bumped into Markov earlier. He got lost looking for the library and I led him there." 

Potter paused, before groaning. "Dear Morgana… I should have told him to not go there. Our library is shameful compared to Durmstrang and Beauxbatons." He cursed under his breath and shook his head. "Well thank you. Kolya is known as some sort of runic genius so I suppose he was looking for books on runes. Apparently British wizards have a different perspective on runes compared to Russia." 

"When did you get so close?" Draco raised a brow, walking side by side with Potter— who had lazily summoned his glasses and placed them over his eyes. 

"Summer. Pen pals. We have a lot in common… Well, he's quite cute, so I guess that's a plus to why I'm fond of him." Potter cheekily grinned. 

"Cause he's cute?" 

"Cause he's clever… also cause he's cute." 

Within those emerald eyes, Draco saw amusement, a cruel kind of amusement. Potter was not like this, he wasn't like this. It made him question whether Granger and Weasley hadn't noticed— maybe they did and chose to live with it . It was odd but he didn't have any right to interrogate Potter about the change. They weren't friends, acquaintances, yes, but not friends. Draco had a fascination with Potter and Potter simply wanted to indulge in a vague kind of friendship with him.

We are a species that can easily change. Sometimes, it takes nothing at all for that change. Narcissa Malfoy was a wise woman and a wonderful mother. Draco could easily put those words into perspective when he looked at Potter. What caused the change? Was it something tragic? Was he tired? Or did he just want something different? Was this a whim of his? He didn't have an answer to any of his questions and continued on.

"How are you perfectly fine?" Draco finally asked the question. He and half of Slytherin had discussed it since the previous night after all. 

Potter simply looked at him. He just looked and then smirked. "Maybe I'm just powerful." The cockiness dripping from his voice grated his mind as Potter cackled at the glare he received.

"Who knows," Potter shrugged, "I might just be that great. I didn't get the title of boy-who-lived for nothing. If I survived the bloody killing curse, might as well withstand the after effects of an oath." 

"You're insane." 

"A compliment when it's coming from someone with the blood of House Black running through his veins." Potter smirked, satisfied with himself. 

Draco could only scowl, yet he was intrigued. The way Potter spoke of his mother's house was with utmost respect that he never expected from the boy. The reverence in his eyes as he simply spoke of the name Black . Whatever Potter learned during the summer, it made sure he respected his mother's house better than most.

"Ah… well… shall we enter separately or go in Slytherin style? Extravagant yet intimidating." The jovial tone in his voice was a bit mocking but there was mischief in his eyes that spoke volumes.

Draco contemplated, "Not the Gryffindor way? Loud, reckless, and impulsive?" 

"Oh, heavens no! I'd prefer to strike fear on the idiots that won't stop bothering me about being a bloody champion. To hell with them if they have a problem with it. If they want to be champions…" he trailed off and smiled, "Then let them die."

Maybe he did approve of this version of Potter.

He smirked and mockingly offered his hand, "Shall we?"

"We shall." Potter cackled, gently slapping his hand away as they entered the hall in unison.

There was a sense of superiority to it— walking beside Hadrian Potter. Draco did his best not to grin, not to allow his face show how damn happy he was to do this. But he couldn't stop himself from smirking as he spoke to Potter as if they were old friends. Potter reciprocated the desire to mess with their heads, replying to him in a similar manner.

"By the way… don't bully Lincoln too much. I have yet to deal with the lions who bothered him." Potter hummed, giving him a knowing look.

"None of my friends have seen him." 

"Of course you haven't. I've been telling him where to go to keep hidden. Don't blame him too much— I am genuinely a wonderful influence."

"How did you know I was looking for Sonnet?"

Potter grinned, giving a mysterious smile that was slowly becoming his signature look. "Ah, well… people talk behind others backs." He said in a quiet tone, placing a hand on Draco's shoulder and leaning close to his ear. "And many talk about Draco Malfoy, almost as much as they talk about me." 

Draco shuddered.

Hadrian Potter's voice was a cool and vicious melody that graced a person's ears. It used to be quiet and meek, yet seeing this new and improved version of him was exhilarating. He was cold, subtly cruel, and was viciously protective of the people he claimed as his own. But Draco faltered with a single thought, The exact opposite of Nikolai Markov . 

The image of gentle purple eyes and a smile so warm overtook the thought of how different Potter was. Draco felt like melting.

Potter pulled away, an interested look on his face. "Nikolai… huh…" he grinned, patting Draco's head and turning him towards the Slytherin table. He has a full display of the baffled looks of the snakes.

Draco realized what had happened, and coughed into his palm and he glared at Potter. The Gryffindor only offered a cheeky grin and pushed Draco back to his friends as he rejoined the baffled Granger and Weasley.

That bastard! He did that on purpose. He thought, hurriedly walking to his little group of friends. The stares of his housemates bore into him, even some of the Durmstrang students were staring. He gulped, cursing his own arrogance and plopping in between Pansy and Blaise. The two stared harder than the rest.

"The hell was that?"

"Nothing." He snapped, glowering at them.

"I see…" Daphne calmly said as she sent a hard look at Astoria who looked excited. Her sister quickly pouted and sat back on her seat, picking at her food. "Whatever it is… Potter was rather… curious. " 

Pansy scoffed, "Curious?! Draco, he bloody grabbed at your tie and fixed it when you were dazedly staring at him… his… oh goodness, his eyes really are pretty aren't they." She sat back down on her seat, frowning at her own words. She pointed an accusing finger at him, "Damnit! Look at what you've done to me!"

Draco raised a brow at her statement, but his eyes went wide and immediately went to his necktie. It wasn't loose anymore and was perfectly tied, making sure he wouldn't choke. 

"You know… I like this new and improved Harry Potter…" Blaise admitted, tilting his head to the side. "Hadrian Potter… that sounds so much better." 

Theodore groaned, "Draco you've started a bloody cult." 

"I have not!" 

Theo rolled his eyes as Daphne nodded in agreement. He scowled at them, crossing his arms and glaring at his food. His eyes wandered around the table, seeing students whisper to each other and gesture to him or Potter. But his eyes met with purple ones, a pair that made him freeze.

Nikolai sat a few seats across him, eyes locked on Hadrian before moving to him. There was an unreadable look on his face, before he smiled. That damned smile! Draco despised it, as Nikolai waved and focused on his food. 

Bastard… the both of them. 

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 20:

The first task was fast approaching. Hagrid would soon drag him to the forest to show him what he was up against. Harry had been quite amused at the memory of his original life, a moment that would become his future. He was fond of Dragons. They were ferocious creatures of— mostly— fire; And Hadrian Potter loved fire as much as he loved Money.

For days, he lingered in the room of requirements. No longer was it a mess, rather it was designed to be a dimly lit room with an intricate chandelier hanging over him. The ceilings were decorated with subtly glinting gems that would form the constellations upon the night sky. His eyes lingered on the constellation Leo, smiling to himself before shaking his head.

He debated with himself whether he should speak to Cedric Diggory. In the beginning, he had done his best to keep Cedric alive, but now the boy was simply insignificant to him. A useless individual who would cause more problems— evidence of the dark lord’s return. Harry didn’t really want the world to know that Voldemort would return. Revealing such a fact would cause problems and further Dumbledore's propaganda on him being the poster-boy for light. It was laughable really.

He had planned to keep the man hidden, until Harry disposed of him once and for all.

His eyes skimmed through the letter Gellert had sent him recently. It was signed with his pseudonym instead of his actual name. Spells, enchantments, even subtle runes were placed upon the parchment to make sure no one read it. Hedwig had nipped at his fingers when he tried to read it in public. Bless his owl's heart.

My demonic child,

Germany has been rather kind and Winly has been fussing about me lately. The goblins of Germany's Gringotts were rather upset that it was me who stepped into their halls instead of you. Again, I am proud that you have such influence. (Although I feel sour that they like you more than me.)

The tournament will be a troublesome thing to deal with, but I trust you shall persevere. If you cannot, then I doubt the other three will be able to survive. What is it you once told me? “The art of Victory is to know when to give up so others may perish upon your failure. Thus, it is a success regardless.”

You always were cryptic with your words when you were a child. Although, I suppose I am to blame for such things. Be careful and send me more letters. Be discreet, of course.

Remember, the walls have ears. Light will try to blind you and the darkness wishes to swallow you. Resist this. You are neither light nor dark, a being of gray that cannot be tamed by either.

Ashes shall trail your footsteps until a flame will finally come and show itself to you. Shall you claim the fire?

Your most brilliant father.

He couldn't help but laugh. The letter had begun with trivial things such as where he was, and then it strayed to riddles that would have plagued others with headaches. Seers were always troublesome beings. Sometimes he wanted to bash their heads into a wall and carve their mouths open to make sure they spoke in a direct manner rather than riddles. Unfortunately, his irritating father and beloved moon were seers.

A quiet sigh left his lips as he leant against the seat he had the room summon for him. The crimson velvet was perfect, a color that contrasted his eyes. Then red eyes clouded his vision.

He snarled, unable to decipher who's eyes they belonged to.

The sound of hissing invaded his ears as he leant back on the chair and sighed. In his hands was a glass of whiskey (Thank you Dobby) and he closed his eyes and listened to the voice.

§Save me… How could you hurt me? Master…§

Amarantha's words made him flinch. Recently, she had grown more and more devastated. As if she finally realized it was her master who killed her. Harry's heart ached at the sorrow in her voice, cursing himself and clutching the emerald gem. He allowed his magic to course through it, doing his best to calm Amarantha down and show how sorry he was.

Sometimes he wanted to laugh out how easy it was to care for something not human.

Harry gently whispered, §Darling Amarantha… Forgive this fool of a master. I didn't mean to hurt you. Wait a little longer my dear, and I swear to you that you will return to your glory… I swear on it.§

Amarantha hissed back, §Save me…§

I will, just a little longer. He rubbed his thumb on the gem and took a sip of the whiskey. It burned down his throat as his magic quickly acted and resisted the alcohol. His body may have been young and vulnerable to the alcohol, but his magic most certainly wasn't.

Another countdown set off in his head: one, two, three…

An image— a memory flashed in his head, replaying like a film. The vivid image of a castle, tunnels, and secret passages he could see as he walked passed them. He felt himself walk over cold stone floors.

… four, five, six… 

There was magic engraved into the walls. His fingers glided through every brick he could touch as he felt it course through his veins. A castle that would serve to protect the future of their kind. It was weaved in a complicated and intricate manner, a puzzle he wanted to solve. Dismantling it was a feat he once wanted to achieve.

… seven, eight, nine… 

He took a sharp turn and was met with another tunnel. He went down, further down until his feet landed on cold stone. A circular door was presented to him and he took in a deep breath as it opened— his magic used as a key. As the door opened, he stepped through the cold chamber and stared at the magnificent beast that was bonded to him. He couldn't help the smile etching itself across his face.

His image was reflected upon golden eyes, and he saw the awful grayish hair he once was damned with.

…Ten.

The thing about being made into a public-figure at the age of one, is that oftentimes you get used to the balderdash that is reporters. He smiled, one that he had practiced countless times as he was brought by Colin Creevey to the place where their wands would be checked and a certain bug would be bothering them.

Colin. Sweet, innocent, naive, Colin. He was like the human personification of Ron's owl, Pigwidgeon. Harry entertained the boy's enthusiasm with friendly smiles and vague retellings of the most trivial things he's done. Colin, have I ever told you about the time I learned to control fire? It quite literally referred to the first time Harry used the stove to cook for his wretched relatives. I once used a weapon made of ice to scare away a scary mutt. He had thrown an icicle at a dog chasing him one time.

He planted a hand on the boy's shoulder, startling him. Colin's face turned an immediate red as Harry leaned a bit forward. "Colin, be good." He whispered and bid the boy farewell. Colin's stuttering could be heard as he entered the room, running a hand through his hair and adjusting his glasses. Bangs swept over his forehead, covering most of his scar as he nodded towards the other champions.

"There he is! Champion number four." Harry resisted the urge to scowl as Bagman yelled. He sighed and sidestepped the man, quickly standing between Cedric and Viktor.

The two older boys glanced at each other, then towards the greedy look on Bagman's face. Harry hummed as he watched them fix their posture, along with Fleur who narrowed her eyes at the blonde woman clad in green. The older champions were clearly protective of Harry, especially after the vulnerability he showed them. Fleur had her younger sister, so it was obvious she would react this way.Viktor (from what he knew as Orpheus) always had an older brother instinct. Cedric was a Hufflepuff, he was loyal, and Harry was his junior who had looked so sickly because he was shoved into the tournament.

"Ah! May I introduce to you, Rita Skeeter. She's doing a piece on the tournament, and of course, after the weighing of the wands, there'll be a photoshoot." Bagman explained, keeping up a friendly exterior as he grinned at them. His posture was enough for Harry to clench his fist, trying not to roll his eyes.

Someone cleared their throat and all eyes were on the reporter, her venomous smile spread across her face. "If you don't mind, I'd like to have a little interview with Harry before the weighing. Would that be okay?"

Viktor, who was well versed with reporters, immediately placed a hand on Harry's shoulder. He was openly scowling, eyes narrowed at Rita. Harry appreciated his concern, smiling softly before giving the older boy an assuring look. He turned back to Skeeter, who looked rather interested in interaction. Nope, gotta stop that. He thought and strided towards the woman.

"Ask away…" he said.

Rita beamed, ushering him to the same broom cupboard she has dragged him in during his first life. Harry was quite calm and Rita smiled darkly at him.

"Ehem! Testing, testing." She said and the quill began to write. Harry's eyes twitched at that.

A sighed left his lips as he snapped his fingers, Rita not noticing, and stared at the quill before averting his eyes. He had studied enchanted objects on several of his lives and he knew very well how to manipulate the magic within it to change how they worked. In this case, he had altered the magic of the quill go write accurately. 

"So, Mr. Potter…" she tried, noticing that he seemed rather annoyed at being called his first name. Rita may be a bold and pretentious woman but she was obviously a Slytherin. "Why did you enter the tournament? Are the rumors of you casting an oath true?" Her eyes were as bright as the bloody chandelier in Black Manor.

Harry feigned a tired look, "I didn't want to join the tournament. Really, I am tired of such danger. The rumors are true and I had suffered for the entire night after the oath." Harry purposefully allowed his hand to reach for his neck, before abruptly lowering it. He gave her a bitter smile, "There is an awful person here that wants me to be part of the tournament. Why Professor Dumbledore did not make the age line more secure baffles me."

Rita raised a brow, leaned forward as she narrowed her eyes. "How so?"

"Ah… no I mustn't… the headmaster would not take kindly to me…" Harry gulped, immediately looking away from her.

Rita seemed to notice something wrong, brows furrowed as she quietly glanced around. There was nothing much aside from brooms, but she quickly cleared her throat and fixed her posture to look less menacing. Harry watched all this through half-lidded eyes, smirking to himself as he watched Skeeter adjust to make him comfortable. Definitely Slytherin… Wait, she should be around Bellatrix's age or at least slightly older… were they housemates?!

"Now Mr. Potter," her tone was a bit gentler this time. She was trying to coax it out of him, but at the same time she was being a bit considerate… or not. "The Headmaster will do no such thing… trust me…" she said with a smile kinder than the previous one.

Had Harry been his original self, he might have fallen for it and just cried to her. But he wasn't.

"Oh… Oh, you're right… it's just… Only Madame Maxime and Professor McGonagall were kind to me that night. Professor Snape he… he kept accusing me." Harry's voice cracked although he was annoyed he had to do such a thing. "I was so tired, exhausted from the oath and the only thing I was greeted with by my teachers were accusations. I don't want to be in this tournament, Miss Skeeter." 

"Oh, dear… Go on. I would like to hear all about it." Rita said with a smile. "The tournament has been known for its death rate, did you know that?" He nodded.

Harry returned her smile, looking more innocent than the woman in front of him. "I don't want to die, Miss Skeeter. If even the Great Albus Dumbledore can't get a fourteen years old from entering the tournament, who's to say I would get out of this in one piece?"

"If your parents were here, what do you think they'd say?"

Ah, there it is… the cruel question about his parents. Unfortunately for Rita, Harry had gotten used to it since his first life. He offered a sad smile, looking away from her. "Honestly? I'd think my mother would be furious that someone had put me in this tournament. They died to save me… I could only say that both of them might rise from the grave if they heard about this incident."

Rita flinched, looking away. She looked ashamed. Good, Harry thought as he smiled darkly.

"I hope… that my mother is watching over me. I hope that with her help I will survive this dangerous competition." 

TRI-WIZARD TOURNAMENT: INNOCENT STUDENT CONDEMNED TO THE FATE OF A CHAMPION. Harry could see the headlines, and his eyes saw the flash of gold. The flash of money.

The door of the cupboard was soon opened, and Harry froze as he saw Dumbledore offer him a friendly smile. He made sure his expressions were well crafted, enough for Rita to see a sense of terror in his eyes. Enough for Rita Skeeter to think that the headmaster was putting him in evident danger, a danger that the chosen one seemed to have gotten used to.

Harry wanted her to suspect. He wanted her to have doubts and begin questioning what is happening in Hogwarts. Soon, with a little push, she would discover the danger children have gone through since he was enrolled… and Dumbledore had done nothing but force Harry to clean up the mess instead of protecting the students.

The biggest mistake Rita Skeeter did was interview Hadrian Potter. She may be the interviewer but this was a story Harry was telling. He was writing it, manipulating even the perspective of Rita Skeeter. She was nothing but a puppet in a play Harry orchestrated.

Days had passed since the weighing of the wands. Harry was more interested in Fleur's wand when he was listening to Ollivander explain what it was made of. But his mind was now drifting away, tilting his head side to side.

On the left, there was a rather angry voice yelling at him, and on the right there was mad laughter. Aspects of himself, remnants of who he once was. His incarnations were more troublesome the bigger the number of his life. As it was his thirteenth life, obviously he was unlucky.

Among the voices in his head, the one loudest were that of Orpheus Black and Regulus Black. One incarnation and one ghost he was unwilling to let go of. Both were Blacks.

Regulus was scolding him, again… and Orpheus was laughing at his misery.

You fool! Hades, what the hell?! You let that woman get near you? Regulus was angry, angry that he had let Skeeter speak to him. Harry felt upset, at the same time he wanted to argue with Regulus that it was he who had taught him how to twist a story.

Although he was being scolded, he happily welcomed the ghost into his mind… 

His sixth incarnation on the other hand…

Orpheus was laughing, a maniacal laughter that mocked Harry with every sound. Orpheus was… celebrating his misery.

"Shut up…" he whispered.

Emerald eyes immediately landed on the daily prophet that Hermione was reading intently. Her grip on the paper was tight, as Ron peered over her shoulder. His brows were furrowed as he took a bite of his muffin. In sync, the two turned their eyes to him. He was in the middle of eating his egg and toast.

"What is this?"

Harry simply shrugged.

The Fourth champion: the unfortunate child.

“Harry Potter, the unexpected fourth champion of the TRI-wizard tournament! Ladies and Gentlemen, may I present to you what our youngest champion feels about joining the tournament. 

Unfortunate and tired, Mister Potter had not planned on entering the tournament after having experienced many near-death situations. It seems that the youngest champion has been anxious of his own safety since the night his name was announced.

“I didn't want to join the tournament. Really, I tire of such danger. The rumors are true and I had suffered for the entire night after the oath.” Mr. Potter had said.

Now, Magical oaths are costly as most of you know. From the accounts of some schoolmates, Mr. Potter was in a dire and sick state for the entire night…

Then Harry's eyes skimmed through the article and down to the bit where he mentioned his parents.

I asked Mr. Potter what he thinks his parents would do if they were present and I was met with a son who deeply longed for his parents.

“Honestly? I'd think my mother would be furious that someone had put me in this tournament. They died to save me… I could only say that both of them might rise from the grave if they heard about this incident.” Potter told me with a bitter looking smile, “I hope… that my mother is watching over me. I hope that with her will that I will survive this dangerous competition” he says finally with a longing look in his eyes.

Harry laughed maniacally at that. It seemed to startle students who were in hearing range. He took an immediate notice to them, shrinking away at his mocking laughter, shamefully tucking away their own copies of the prophet— surely they assumed he was laughing at them rather than the ridiculous accuracy of the article.

Readers, I would like to address a dire fact that seems to have gone unnoticed.

The goblet of fire was surrounded by an age-line crafted and carved by none other than Albus Dumbledore. If someone with so much ill intent for Mister Potter was able to cross the line and place his name in the goblet, who's to say he would be safe? I worry for him and as he's said, may Lily Potter's soul watch over him and keep him safe. Had the late Mrs. Potter been here, I would expect her to curse the perpetrator.

Nothing is more dangerous than a mother's love for her child.”

"Well… at least she's got the last part completely correct. Mothers are dragons who spit fire when going near what they treasure most. Only fools would do such a thing with one present…" Harry laughed, pointing his wand at the prophet that had been slapped to the table. He muttered a quiet incendio, setting the prophet in flames.

Hermione and Ron jolted back, before Hermione quickly whipped out her wand and yelled the water charm. She glared at Harry, but shook her head and sighed.

"Don't do that. Ever!" She hissed, vanishing the ash that was left.

Ron was staring at him in concern, before quickly leaned over the table to whisper something. On instinct, the other two members of their group moved similarly, while Harry casted a sound barrier around them.

"About my vision… I talked to Luna about some divination and all… she uhm… she said we should try divining what I saw on sand or attempt with reflections." Ron hesitantly explained, glancing at the skeptical look on Hermione.

Harry hummed, "Geomancy and Scrying. I heard about that… let's try Scrying, alright?"

"I suppose… we should attempt it…" Hermione grudgingly agreed, "But for now we focus on your task. I'll check the library for information on Scrying, but you," she pointed at Harry, "concentrate on not dying. Neither Ron, nor I want to conduct your funeral! Understand?"

Harry snorted, "Heavens no."

Hermione merely rolled her eyes as she went on a tirade of what foolishness this tournament was for letting him enter. She was brutal upon spitting facts and even bringing up the multiple deaths that had come upon the tournament. Harry had long since dispelled the sound barrier, allowing everyone to hear every gruesome fact Hermione was able to spit out. It was beautiful really.

He watched as faces turned pale and paler, listening until they could no longer. Hermione mentioned how one champion had their arm severed due to a trial involving swords, and how one other champion had been blinded due to lightning. He was sure that one student had gotten up from their seat and ran out the hall to vomit, his friends following him. Hermione did not care and continue to ruthlessly describe the events of the previous tournaments.

It would have made him laugh.

"Mione…" Ron whispered, "Stop… You're scaring them."

"Let them listen. It's the truth. If they don't believe it then they should pick up a book." Hermione scoffed, flipping her hair behind her shoulder as she glared at the eavesdroppers.

Harry chuckled, "Hermione is right. These are facts that should be known. Regardless of the unity between schools, this tournament is dangerous. Let them listen." He repeated Hermione's words with a smug grin.

Ron sighed, "It feels like I'm going to have to stop both of you from comitting murder in the future."

Gray rimmed eyes met with vivid emeralds. Hermione and Harry shared near identical grins that would make people mistake them for twins. Ron flinched when he saw those smiles, expecting chaos in the future caused by the obviously chaotic Harry, and the usually responsible Hermione. The fact that they looked nothing alike with Harry's deathly complexion and vivid green eyes, then there was Hermione's dark skin, dark brown hair, and black eyes that were rimmed with gray. Nothing about their appearances were similar, but Ron could have mistook them as siblings.

Except for the hair.

"Oh no…"

"Come now Ron!" Harry laughed, "Don't be such a worry wart." 

"Come now Ronald!" Hermione mockingly repeated.

"You two sound like twins." Ron grumbled.

"Do we?" The two said in sync, startling all three of them. Hermione and Harry burst into giggles while Ron groaned and rested his face in his hands. 

"Merlin, Morgana… help me." He whispered, before shaking his head and getting up from his seat. The two followed him out the hall, Harry in his usual place in between them. Although the green-eyed boy wanted to shove Hermione towards Ron, he did glance at the two. He caught Hermione stealing glances at Ron and couldn't help but grin madly.

They look like Lily and James… Harry hummed when the ghost in his head spoke again. Regulus' voice carried a small tone of sadness, it irked him, but he restrained himself. Regulus had always been quite sad when it came to James and Lily, and the part of his soul… Malcolm would silently comfort him regardless of his own pain.

"The things that love makes us do."

He felt a part of his soul hum in agreement.

The first task had finally come.

Harry had gone to Cedric, acting like the innocent and worried junior that he once was and told him of the dragons. Cedric, Hufflepuff; loyal, kind, and sweet, believed Harry and thanked him kindly. Unlike the events of the original, the group of Hufflepuff's he was with did not snarl and scowl at him. Quite the opposite actually.

They were rather friendly and thankful to him.

The four champions were in the tent. All either pacing, muttering nervously, or performing a little ritual for luck (that was apparently Cedric, who often did it before quidditch.) Harry was calm for the moment. He rubbed his hands together, tilting his head from side to side.

Again the voices were loud. One on the right was telling him to kill the dragon. It was a menacing and mad voice that clearly belonged to Orpheus. On the right, he could hear a quiet voice. A voice he hadn't heard in a long time, but he listened quietly. He listened to it whisper, telling him to tame the dragon. Use his gift. 

Parseltongue could work, but Harry wasn't foolish enough to allow others to witness his skill. He hummed, quietly apologizing to the quiet voice. However, he loudly scolded Orpheus for even suggesting killing the magnificent beast of fire, the Dragon.

"What are you going to do?" He asked no one in particular. The older champions turned to him, seeming to realize that a fourteen-year-old was going up against a dragon.

I mean, I'm not exactly fourteen… nevermind, let them think that way. He shrugged, as Cedric strided to him and patted his head.

"Don't worry Harry, nothing bad will happen to you. I promise." Cedric smiled, running his hands through Harry's hair.

On pure instinct, Harry gently pushed his hand away and grumbled under his breath. Cedric chuckled, smiling brightly at him.

It's hard to forget that smile… Harry thought, How easy it was… to push away that little boy that looked so much like you… 

"Aim for the eyes." Viktor suddenly said, as Fleur hurried towards Harry and brought his hands into hers.

"Dragons are ferocious creatures." She spoke, her accent quite thick as she tried to properly pronounce certain words. "But you must see the beauty in them. Mothers are often compared to Dragons for a reason. They are protective, they are possessive." 

Viktor nodded in agreement, "Try not to hurt their eggs. Dragons are most ferocious when it comes to their eggs. We learn that in our fourth year when the professors show us a dragon. Usually it's the most harmless, but even the most harmless of dragons are deadly."

"I envy the students of your schools. Hogwarts has been… Well, it hasn't provided enough for us in recent years." Cedric said with a bitter tone. 

"Aside from the hippogriff in third year, it's not as informative as your school." Harry shrugged, "Nikolai said some things and we started comparing our schools. Durmstrang seems better. Kinda wish I attended Durmstrang." 

Viktor laughed, nodding.

Fleur, on the other hand, seemed to disagree. "Oh little boy," she said with a grin. "Beauxbatons are just as good. The architecture of our castle is clearly better than that dreary place. So cold, as I've heard." She turned towards Viktor with a smug look.

Viktor immediately glared at her. The two went off on an argument on whose school was better. The two students of Hogwarts weren't even willing to defend their own school. Harry met Cedric's eyes, nodding as they both agreed that hogwarts— the current Hogwarts, was not valuable enough to defend and be proud of. They chose to listen and they learned many things from the arguments.

It didn't take long for their headmasters and headmistress to enter the tent, looking quite competitive until they saw the friendly atmosphere between them.

Karkaroff looked appalled, while Dumbledore seemed put off by the sight. Maxime was the only one with a positive reaction, smiling proudly at them.

Harry couldn't stop himself from smirking. My game, my way.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 21:

It was hot.

Dark gray eyes, almost black rested upon the crimson flame he conjured. A smile spread across his face, unable to hide how happy he was. He grinned at the boy sitting beside him, a soft smile on the other boy's face. It made him chuckle, proud of himself to see his friend smile.

Magic was a complicated structure. All wixes had some kind of mastered attribute. Whether it was a sort of Physical magic or Runic Magic, those attributes were what you were best at. Unfortunately, Wixens who used Physical Magic weren’t exactly rare— they were the most common. But he liked to call himself special compared to his own brother who had a knack for physical magic.

The flames danced around his hand and his magic stretched .

It was something phenomenal in his eyes. The flames moved but so did the air around him. He manipulated the molecular structure of the air around him as his magic core tightened and loosened from the power he commanded. It was an achievement not most could do; feel your magic, your magic core even. But it came to him naturally and it was something to be envied for had he flaunted it around.

His fire moved as his hand moved, he willed it as such. It was like a limb. He commanded the fire and air to dance around them, as red and orange light fell upon them. He grinned, turning back to his friend who looked just as awed. 

“I could never control the elements like you do…”

He chuckled at his friend's words. It was only right for him to be good with fire. His entire family had a knack for it after all. He even heard stories from his father that they had a resistance to heat.

“Don’t worry… I may be good at this but you were always better at protecting your mind. I can never do that without having to zone out and ignore everything around me. Short attention span and all…” He hummed, twisting his wrist a bit. The fire did as he silently commanded, changing its direction to the opposite side. Shapes began to form, then their names.

MAL & LEO

He heard his friend snort, rolling his eyes at the sound. “Leo? Again?”

“What? Your star is in that constellation so might as well.”

“That doesn’t…” he trailed off, pursing his lips and looking away. He had gray— silver eyes. They looked better than his own. “I’m not a lion, you are.”

“Yeah but… you’re my Leo.”

“Malcolm…”

Malcolm grinned at Regulus, who merely gave him a reluctant smile. It had always been like this. Well, not always, but Malcolm liked to think it was. He adored these moments between them, just the two of them. No Rabastan, no Barty, no Evan, no Pandora. Just Malcolm and Regulus.

Regulus and Malcolm.

Leo and Mal.

Their surroundings were cold, but Malcolm complied to creating perfect heat. This was his magic. His power and warmth. It wrapped around them, specifically Regulus, and his magic just hugged the boy. Malcolm could feel it, every single cell in his body was aware of it and he sighed in content. Magic was just that mesmerizing to him, especially when he felt his own intertwining with a cold yet soft magic within the room. Regulus’ magic. 

“You Potters were always said to have a mastery over physicalities… especially fire.” Regulus hummed, outstretching his hand towards the gentle flames Malcolm created. Malcolm silently watched, closing his eyes as he rested his head on Regulus’ shoulder. He felt his darling Leo’s touch upon the flames and sighed again.

He opened his eyes, seeing the awe within silver hues. The flames wrapped loosely around Regulus’ hand, stirring a smile of delight from the second son of the black family.

“It’s amazing… I wish my magic was adaptive to physicalities…” Regulus’ smile faltered but he was mesmerized by the fire and air.

“It’s nothing special… your capability for mind magic has always been impressive.” He murmured, adjusting them and wrapping his arms around Regulus’ waist. He smiled bitterly, pulling the other boy towards him. Regulus merely hummed, reaching his other hand to run his fingers through his hair still playing with his flames with the other.

“Still…”

“People who’s well attributed to physical magic are common… you— you’re rare. Not in a bad way, but in a way that…” he cut himself off…

“You don’t have to talk… your mind is quite… creative .” Regulus laughed softly. “Thank you… for trusting me in your mind but do try to fix your defenses.”

“You’re welcome. Unlike you, Sirius is as common as us… Natural born Mind Magic users are rare… although you’re not a telepath, you're kinda… similar to an empath, right?” Malcolm pulled his head away from the crook of Regulus’ neck and grinned.

Regulus and Sirius were different. They had different kinds of magic. Malcolm could easily say that Regulus was unique. He was wonderful and interesting… He was something Malcolm would seek time and time again.

Malcolm and James were the same… he was bitter about that. No matter how similar they were… James was always the better son, the better brother, the better potter… the better one.

“You’re thinking too hard…”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“Your barriers get stronger when you think certain thoughts… thoughts that I never know and I suppose… will never know. I can faintly feel your emotions. You seem distressed.”

Malcolm winced. He never did allow Regulus to see his thoughts when it came to things regarding his brother.

“Nothing… I’m not special… I’m just the same as James.”

“No you’re not.”

He went stiff, meeting Regulus’ ever so pretty silver hues. His breath hitched as Regulus cupped his face with both of his hands. The fire went out but the air was still moving with his silent commands, his consciousness.

“James doesn’t have your control, nor does he have your focus.” Regulus resolutely spoke, “You’re better.”

Malcolm’s voice was stuck in his throat as he stared at the determination in Regulus’ face. His eyes watered, burying his head into the crook of Regulus’ neck again.

“Thank—”

“MALCOLM! REGULUS! IF EITHER OF YOU ARE HIDING IN THE BLOODY TOWER, GET THE HELL DOWN BEFORE I DRAG YOU DOWN!”

The two of them jolted at the loud and angry voice. They glanced at the door of the tower, before returning their gazes to each other. Laughter bubbled between them as Regulus slowly removed himself from Malcolm and offered his hand.

“Come on now, before Barty fulfills his promise.”

It was hot.

Harry grinned as he felt the fires from the dragon. He stood inside the tent, humming to himself as Krum finished up his task. Bagman's voice boomed across the arena as Harry patiently cracked his knuckles and tilted his head from side to side. He smiled even more as he felt Viktor's magic come closer. His expression went blank as Krum entered, looking bruised and exhausted.

The older boy turned towards Harry. The master of deaths magic spiked and he went stiff. Orpheus again… shut up already. He thought, squashing his sixth life's aspect and smiling bitterly at Krum.

Viktor only nodded and proceeded to the healers, as Harry's name was announced.

The goal was to get the egg. That was it.

The Hungarian Horntail narrowed it's eyes at him, looking at him as if he were a threat. In this situation, he was. The dragon was cautious as Harry took a step forward. Everything around him was silent and that wasn't him ignoring everyrhing. The audience were silent, anticipating what would happen. He knew some of them wanted the dragon to devour him, others looked ready to faint. But Harry wanted to smile so badly. 

He liked dragons. 

Ferocious things they were but they were creatures of fire.

Godric Gryffindor was said to have a dragon, his familiar even. This shouldn't be too hard for him. Thank the fates for my eighth life. He thought and stared at the dragon.

He smiled.

And then he ran.

The Horntail roared as Harry darted towards the sides of the arena, grinning. There was a thrill thrumming through his veins as he violently waved his wand and started manipulating the molecular structure of the air in his immediate vicinity. Potters had a knack for physicalities. They usually never needed spells, most people knew that. So he never uttered a word and forced his magic to go rampant.

It was hot.

The Horntail spewed fire as he swiftly dodged it behind a rock. Maybe his firebolt would have been useful but he wanted to use another method.

My method.

Harry sighed as he heard Orpheus' voice once again. He wouldn't lie that his way of dealing with the Horntail was severely similar to how Orpheus had done it in his sixth life.

The thing about physical Magic that it often related to the elements. The Potter's always had a great affinity to fire but in some cases, wind was the secondary affinity they had.

Orpheus' main attribute was not physical Magic, but he sure as hell was cruel with wind.

( He could remember how his own body had moved. How he looked into the Chinese Fireball's eyes… and he grinned.)

He pulled his arm back, gritting his teeth as he glared at the dragon. No matter how much he loves these creatures, he was determined to win.

( The wind whistled sharply. He could hear it, and all he could do was close his eyes. He listened and the next thing he knew there was a cruel sound of a slice in the air. Eyes blazed purple as the wind moved around them. A hurricane born from mere desire to win.

The spell was on the tip of his tongue. His own spell, his own destruction.

The wind was getting louder, angrier, and the dragon was encased within invisible walls.

"Ventus Confractus.")

A spell that willed the wind to break, to reform itself. The Hungarian horntail was trapped within an invisible cage made of wind. Harry gulped, feeling his sweet trickle down his forehead. He also felt how his magic core seemed to stretch… too much. It bothered him but he relented just a bit more.

"Ventus Confractus." He whispered as the wind exploded. Whoever was in the audience were pushed into their seats, screams resonated across the arena as many of the students belongings were flying around. The blast of wind was strong enough that some of the dragon tamers had been knocked down and pressed against the wall or had fell to the ground.

The dragon was dazed, whimpering as it tried to get up. The blast had pinned it down to the ground and it was clearly enraged. Harry took a moment to collect himself as his core slowly recovered. His feet were light against the ground as he ran towards the eggs. He immediately knew which one of them were fake, especially with the enchantments around it. The dragon didn't have enough time to fight him, as he had started to run the moment the egg was in his hands.

Harry relished in his victory as he ran back towards the tent with a triumphant grin. He turned back towards the angry dragon, §Sorry… this isn't your egg. It's a fake.§ he hissed, low enough for just the dragon to hear. 

The Horntail was angry but seeing Harry shake the egg, it seemed to pause for a second. Dragon eggs were heavier and their mothers should have been able to sense it was a fake immediately. So he concluded there were enchantments. During the blast, Harry had conveniently removed all the enchantments and the Horntail immediately deduced it was not a real egg.

To the relief of all the dragon tamers present, the Horntail seemed to calm down and began counting it's eggs.

Harry laughed maniacally, entering the tent and dancing around like a madman. Maybe it wasn't Harry who was laughing. Maybe Harry had passed out.

Had anyone looked closely, they would have seen how his eyes were purple instead of green for a few seconds. Madness fogged his eyes as he fell to a seat and hugged the egg as if it were his own child.

Victory… he thought, closing his eyes and keeping the smile on his face. My game, my win. I win. He thought again. Voices drowned his thoughts, saying the same phrase over and over again.

I win. I win. I win. I win. I win. I win. I win. I win. I win. I win. I win. I win. I win. I win. I win. I win. I win. I win. I win. I win. I win. I win. I win. I win. I win. I win. I win. I win. I win. I win. 

He took in a deep breath and calmed himself down. Emerald hues shone and he was back to himself. His heart pounded against his ribcage, unable to properly contain his excitement. The adrenaline he received from a fight would last long and there was nothing he could do but try to calm the voices within his mind. They loved winning after all.

"Mr. Potter, that was an excellent display of Magic!" His eyes immediately shot open when he heard McGonagall. He grinned at her, already on his feet as he hugged his teacher tight. It seemed to startle the elderly witch, but she chuckled at ran her fingers through his hair. 

"Where did you learn that spell? I didn't hear the incantation."

Harry's smile turned stiff but he quickly played it off, "Bought a book in Diagon Alley during the summer. It was about some elemental spells that I wanted to try. Never knew it'd be so damn useful." He chuckled, grinning at McGonagall. He was sure that she was thinking about his father.

"Good on you Potter." Moody grunted, but Harry only smirked.

"Nice and Easy is the way but… well, I'm a Potter." He dismissed the man with a single word and turned his attention back to McGonagall.

He'll deal with Barty Moody later, right now he wanted to use the remainder of what he expected was his adrenaline. 

"No injuries? Miraculous if I have anything to say." Madame Pomfrey sternly said. She looked him up and down, and Harry merely complied by spreading his arms open and doing a single turn over to prove he was the only champion unhurt. He was sure all three had a burn somewhere. Madame Pomfrey seemed to be satisfied, waving him away and he joined the rest of the champions.

"Potter! Potter, you were bloody brilliant!" Cedric exclaimed, eyes shining in admiration as he hugged Harry tightly. The Gryffindor went stiff immediately but he tried his best to tolerate the contact. He awkwardly patted Cedric on the back, to which the older boy seemed to notice his discomfort and pulled away.

"Wind Manipulation… Your main attribute is Physical Magic?" Krum asked, tilting his head to the side.

Harry faintly remembered that Viktor was also one of the wixen whose specialty was physical Magic. He, unfortunately for Viktor, shook his head.

"Not really… I'm good at it but it feels of… like a secondary attribute but not the main." 

"Understandable."

Cedric blinked, confused as to what they were talking about. "What?"

Harry sighed, Hogwarts has really gone down hill. "There are various kinds of magic. I only learned about it when I was reading some books I bought from Diagon Alley… it's not taught here… not anymore at least." He whispered, to which the two foreigners snapped their heads towards Cedric.

Fleur quickly grabbed hold of Cedric and shoved him into a chair. She them proceeded to explain the basics of the different kind sof magic, what were attributes, and what it meant to have a main attribute or specialty that is.

"I, for example, have Illusion Magic as a main attribute. It is typically part of the charms category but it is rather obscure. The term Illusions is quite broad when it comes to Magic." She explained, "A main attribute is your specialty. Yours is…" she turned to Viktor with a raised brow.

"Physical magic." 

"Yes! I shall lend you a book about it later." Fleur huffed, quite outraged that Hogwarts hadn't taught this to their students. "Shall I lend you also?" She asked Harry.

"I already have my own book about that." He smiled, yeah… my head.

"Good boy— it seems like they are calling for us." She was cut off by Bagman announcing their names. She bristled a bit with that, pointing her wand to her hair and face. Fleur returned to her perfect and regal state, smirking at the three boys. "Entering in style will do you good. Can't show them how… disheveled we are." She eyed the dirt on Cedric's clothes, the charred robes of Viktor, and Harry's atrocious hair.

"It's impossible to fix." Harry bluntly stated, pointing to his hair.

Fleur simply shook her head, disappointed as she pointed her wand at the three of them and quickly tidied their appearance. As promised, Harry's hair was a lost cause. She scowled but flipped her own blonde hair and strutted out the tent with a confidence many encied.

In the end, Harry got a ten from Maxime and Bagman, a nine from Crouch and Dumbledore, and a begrudging eight from Karkaroff. He was in first place and he was absolutely smug about it.

"Your specialty isn't Physical Magic?" Viktor asked him, confused as to how that was possible.

"It really isn't." Orpheus chuckled as he grasped at the wind. Purple eyes narrowed as he thrusted his hand forward, not caring that his wand was discarded to the side. He preferred to use his hands over a damn stick— no offense to the wandmakers.

He felt his magic grasp at the molecular structure of the wind, causing him to gulp as he felt his core stretch. Wind had always felt the best to him. It was a malleable but at the same time, it wasn't. He loved the irony of what was wind, or what was wind to him.

"I always preferred fire." Viktor murmured.

Orpheus rolled his eyes.

The magnificence of wind always went unnoticed by people. It was powerful, it was an element that could mix well with the rest, it was an element that they couldn't see… but most of all, it was an element that they breathed . Wind felt like a lifeforce to him, focusing on his own breathing as he moved his hand around.

He moved his hand downward, in a cutting motion. The table in front of them was sliced in half, split by the sharp winds he controlled. Orpheus felt powerful, clenching and unclenching his fist.

The feeling of being powerful did not leave his body until Viktor poked his side. He broke out of his gaze, finally noticing that Viktor had repares the table he sliced in two pieces. He scowled, not liking the prospect that the evidence of his power had been… erased. It was unsatisfying to see.

He snapped his gaze towards Viktor, frowning at his friend. "Don't fix what I've broken." 

"Why not?"

Orpheus pursed his lips, looking away.

"If you do then the evidence of my hard work will disappear."

Viktor grimaced… "What's your specialty? We've known each other for almost five years and yet you've never told me." 

Orpheus glared at him, "It's better if you don't know… If you did you'll just leave me." He snapped, turning on his heel and grabbing his bag. He checked if his wand was still in it, grumbling as he felt the wooden catalyst of his magic. 

No one knew what his specialty was and he was adamant of dying with that secret.

"You won!!" 

Harry deadpanned at the twins who were holding a little banner that said such words. The obnoxious red ink that wrote 'YOUR ALIVE' in capital letters made him shake his head in amusement. He let himself be lifted into the air, still grasping the egg and tilting his head. It's not even spelled right. ( You're not Your. )

Ron and Hermione were by the side, grinning at him like madmen. Ron was, oddly enough, collecting some Galleons from their fellow Gryffindors. 

"You bet on me?!" He yelled, feigning offense to Ron smugly placing his winnings into a pouch.

Ron smirked, waving the pouch in front of him, unknowing of the consequences… which was a hard slap to the back of his head. Hermione scolded him for being arrogant, turning her sharp gaze to Harry. For a second, Harry thought she'd scold him, but she tackled him into a hug, knocking him to the ground… then she started scolding him.

"You reckless—" her fist collided with his chest, "Irresponsible—" then a punch to the gut, "DANGER SEEKING IDIOT!" his poor face was assaulted by her hand, his precious cheek turning red. She was absolutely brutal as the twins pulled her away from him.

I thought I'd get a hug but I got a slap. He quietly stared at the ceiling, still hugging the damn egg.

Hours later, Harry found himself bathing with the bloody egg in his arms. There was something about it that made him hug it tightly. It was a reminder of something… a little troublesome creature that terrorized his precious sleep, but he loved it anyways. A creepy smile plastered across his face as he opened the egg under water and dumped his head underwater. He heard the mermaids sing .

"Come seek us where our voices sound, 

We cannot sing above the ground, 

And while you re searching, ponder this: 

Wove taken what you'll sorely miss, 

An hour long you'll have to look, 

And to recover what we took, 

But past an hour- the prospect's black, 

Too late, it's gone, it won't come back"

His head resurfaced from the water after listening to the song in loop for a couple of minutes. He already knew what the answer was. His issue was who his treasure was going to be this time. From what he knew, it usually involved someone the staff saw the champions with. Cho for Cedric. Gabrielle Delacour for Fleur. Hermione… Well, Harry had to restrain himself if it came to Hermione being Viktor's treasure, however he had to think carefully.

Things were different in this world, with more students for Durmstrang having joined them.

He was concerned with who he would treasure his teachers wanted him to seek. It could be Ron again, but there was also the possibility of it being Luna. The thought of Luna, bound and unconscious made him grit his teeth. It was an unpleasant image, quickly ridding his mind of it.

Suddenly, his mind decided to rebel. The image of Luna underwater changed, he didn't see Luna anymore. It was a boy.

His eyes snapped open, blood running cold as he stood up from the tub. His heart pounded in his ribcage, unable to calm himself of the faint memory. It was warped, distorted, but it was the closest thing to the real memory. Bile rose up from his throat, slapping a hand over his mouth as he forced his body to obey. He wouldn't be vomiting, not now at least. 

Grabbing his towel, he summoned his clothes. He didn't know whether to grimace or not, but the new sleepwear he bought for himself was cozy… and expensive. The fabric was clearly expensive but he hid his shirt under a hoodie he had also bought from muggle London.

"Harry, mate, are you going to sleep?" Ron asked, yawning.

"In a bit. Why don't you lads rest? I've got too much energy on me." He smiled at his roommates.

Neville was already asleep, Seamus and Dean were trying to sleep and Ron was… nevermind, he was already asleep.

Knowing that the rest of his house were tired from the partying, Harry grabbed his invisibility cloak and wandered out the common rooms. He hadn't lied when he said he had too much energy. He felt restless, unable to quell whatever was left of his adrenaline. He needed to get rid of it somehow.

So he wandered towards Ravenclaw tower.

He was about to knock, knowing that Luna would be behind the door, but he stopped himself.

You always came to me when you couldn't sleep… Regulus said in a somber tone.

Voice stuck in his throat, he couldn't answer Regulus. It wasn't a lie. Malcolm always went running to Regulus when his body wouldn't listen and just sleep. He came to Regulus, craving for him.

Harry could remember it.

The vividness was terrifying really… how Malcolm would lie on Regulus' bed, hiding behind the curtains and the two wouldn't come out until the next day. Sometimes they would disappear into an empty classroom and Malcolm would hold Regulus until his body grew tired.

It was hard to forget how their bodies just fit.

"Hello darling… " the bitterness in his voice was notable for him. He hadn't responded to the voice in his head.

Luna's eyes peered curiously at him, tilting her head. "You're thinking of someone else right now." She said, offering her hand to him. He did nothing but take it and kisses the back of it.

"Couldn't sleep."

"Couldn't or wouldn't?"

"A little of both."

They stayed there, Harry a foot outside the door while Luna held his hand.

"Sleep… if you cannot, then rest." She said, squeezing his hand. She smiled, "I'll always be here."

Orpheus' voice broke through the silence in his head, you didn't stay for me. 

"I know." He hugged her one last time. A few minutes with her was enough for him to go quiet and allow himself rest… even if such rest was a ridiculous thought. His breath stuttered, kissing her forehead as he slowly let her go.

It felt more painful than it should.

"Good night, little moon."

"Good night, my Lord."

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 22:

"Be my partner to the ball." Harry quietly murmured as Luna giggled at his proposal.

The room of requirements had become their little space, for them only (at the moment.) The room was structured to be a Victorian themed living room, with a special touch to it. An enchantment was placed upon the ceiling, creating an illusion of the night sky. The stars shone above them, as they read their perspective books.

In Harry's hands was a book on the different kinds of magic he had mentioned to Cedric. Again, he didn't lie about having a book regarding such a subject, just the fact he didn't buy it in Diagon Alley. It was easier to grab a bunch of books from Numengard than waste precious gold on a book about stuff he already knew.

"Now, why me? I doubt you'd like me to be your treasure. " Luna smiled, closing her book. The silver letters of the title glared at her, ‘ THE FLOWERS FROM LUCIAN TO GRACE’

From what Harry could remember, it was a book he had briefly read before tossing it away. A love story about Lucian, who was the only son of a family with multiple daughters, and Grace, a girl who was essentially an outcast in their town. Although Harry speculated it wasn't about a boy and a girl, and more of a boy and boy, considering how the author misspelled her with him on multiple occasions.

"Hm… I don't fancy going with Patil this time around. Besides, I'm more comfortable with you— might stop myself from stepping on your feet." He chuckled, glancing up from his book to glance back at Luna.

“Some Wixen will discover their attributes the moment their magic starts showing itself, however, there have been cases that they show their main attributes later in life. This is a phenomenon often seen on people who are indecisive or someone considered to be a jack-of-all-trades.

Knowing your main attribute is an important factor in training your magic. As it is your specialty, it is best if you focus upon it and perfect such mastery that you are destined to be good at…”

Luna hummed, opening her book again and leaned back on the chair. The fire blazed quietly, bringing warmth to the cold room… well, on Luna's side. Harry had conjured a little bubble to keep the cold around him. Manipulating the molecular of the air around him and creating a barrier that prevented the heat from coming any closer.

"The Patils aren't so bad."

"It's not that they are unsightly, rather, I am not comfortable with them… I don't like being touched and I make sure others don't touch me if I can prevent it." He sighed, running his hands through his hair and taking of his glasses. His vision went blurry again, as he glared at the circular glasses. "I have to get my eyes fixed eventually…"

"There's an opening during the weekend. Would you like to sneak out in that time?" Luna suggested, her signature knowing smile plastered across her face.

Harry hummed back, "Is that a yes?"

"Of course."

"We're going to get you a dress."

"No."

"It's gonna be blue or silver." 

"No."

"I already know where to go…"

Luna sighed. "Okay. You win."

Harry smirked, "I know."

So on, so forth, Harry ended up sneaking himself and Luna out of Hogwarts during the weekend. With the bustle of the coming Yule ball, and many girls rushing to buy dresses, it was easy for people to not notice them gone.

The first stop was Potter Manor. The portkey ring was more useful than he expected. As their feet landed on the floor of the manors entrance hall, Harry narrowed his gaze at how empty it seemed.

Gellert wasn't there.

However, the Horcrux was. Dobby had done what was asked of him and Harry could feel the blasted soul in his bed chambers. 

"He's not here." He mumbled, frustrated not to see his supposed father in the manor. "TULIP! CLAY!" 

The two house elves immediately popped into existence, looking excited to see their master. Although their gaze fleeted to Luna, who was an unknown variable in the manor. They glanced at each other, before bowing and greeting Harry in am appropriate manner— using his actually name instead of Harry . 

"Where's Gellert? Or Felix if he prefers."

"Master Gellert has gone to Germany with Winly."

"And Dobby?"

"Dobby is waiting for Master Hadrian at Lady Eloise' boutique."

"Lady Eloise?" Luna asked, narrowing her eyes at him. Harry only grasped her hand and kissed it's back, a sly smile gracing his lips.

"We look for my troublesome father first." He said and darted upstairs to one of the many rooms in the manor. He entered one of the guest rooms and stopped on front of the circular mirror. The door opened again, Luna entering seconds after him.

As his fingers pressed against the mirror, frost began to cover it. Once he found it acceptable, he stopped his magic for a moment before drawing runes on the frost. When Sirius gave him a mirror shard back in his third life, he found it a good idea. Thus, he ended up researching it and found the perfect runes to create those communication mirrors.

When the mirror began to ripple like water, he took a quiet step back and waited. A minute passed as the mirror changed from a distorted reflection of himself to a man inspecting the ugliest vase he has ever seen.

"What...in the everloving hell is that?"

Gellert blinked in surprise, whipping his head around until he saw Harry and Luna in the reflection of his mirror. Mismatched eyes were surprised before he smiled softly at the two.

" Mein Sohn… what a pleasant surprise."

"Get back here. I can't leave the country without an actual adult. Luna's dress is going to be made in France!" Harry demanded, pressing his hands against his waist, glaring at Gellert. He promptly ignored the incredulous look on Luna's face.

"Hm… give me a minute." The call was cut immediately and next thing Harry knew, he felt Gellert's magic enter the manor. He glanced back at Luna, before taking long strides back to the entrance Hall.

As expected, Gellert was in the middle of the hall, dusting his dark grey coat. The man offered a welcoming smile to the two, his very-very pale blonde hair (Harry called it white) relaxed from it's gel. Thankfully, he didn't seem to be drunk in any manner, more like… relaxed. It irked Harry who was rather stressed about a lot of things.

"We go to France for dress robes and Luna's dress. Fix my shitty eyes, and maybe buy some cake. We go back to Hogwarts by five in the evening and you… you do whatever the hell you were doing in Germany." Harry grumbled, fixing his coat and started adjusting his appearance — specifically trying to flatten his monstrous hair that refused to lie flat.

On the other hand, Gellert and Luna shared knowing smiles. "Hello Luna, lovely to officially meet you." Gellert offered his hand to the girl, who giggled at his introduction and shook his hand.

"It is nice to meet you as well, Lord Grindelwald. Or is it Mr. Nachtnebel?"

"Gellert in private, Felix in public."

The two laughed at their short conversation before Harry called to them. In his hands was the pocket watch Ragnar had gifted them, and all three held on to it. Minutes later, the landed in the middle of France's busiest street. Luna was awed by the magic that surrounded them. She was especially fascinated by the illusory magic being used by street performers as they created the most wonderful images. 

Illusion Magic was a peculiar thing. A mixture of Physical and Mind magic. The very foundation of illusion Magic was bringing imagination to reality. From a figment within your mind to and a physical image, although real, it was not completely true. As an illusion of a nymph like creature passed above her, she extended her arm and the illusion did the same. As Luna touched the illusion, she gasped at the most wonderous magic. An art that she couldn't help but admire, jaw dropped as the magic tingled from her fingers.

Harry grabbed her hand, whispering that they will visit in the summer. They needed to be quick.

Gellert hummed as he took in the familiar street. Harry, obviously, took notice of his reminiscing and sighed in exasperation. He grabbed Gellerts wrist and lead them towards one of the many buildings upon the street. However, this one looked rather conservative and expensive.

Harry glanced up towards the sign of golden letters. It was in French, but his mind automatically translated it into English. JUILLERAT: where jewels and cloth are magic. He chuckled as he entered the store, being greeted by the reception. Emerald eyes scanned the store and finally found Dobby cautiously staying away from the silks.

"Dobby!" He yelled and the elf hurried to him with a gleam in his eyes.

"Master! You've finally arrived." Dobby seemed to sob in delight. It was a confusing thing, until Harry heard a woman speak.

" Enfin! J'ai attendu l'éternité. " The woman said, dramatically placing the back of her hand against her forehead. But she grinned, amber eyes flashing in delight.

"Mademoiselle Eloise." Harry chuckled, taking the woman's hand and kissing it. "Forgive me for my tardiness. My darling Luna was fascinated by the performers upon your streets."

The woman, Eloise, smirked, " Bien sûr. Nos interprètes sont parmi les meilleurs, non ! Les meilleurs du monde. " She arrogantly said, but her eyes gleamed with pride similar to that of a mothers.

Harry's mind translated it: Of course. Our performers are among the best, no! The best in the world.

"Indeed they are."

"Hmph! Now, where is your muse? The girl that I shall craft a divine dress for?" Eloise refused to look away from Harry, who took a step back and lead Luna towards her by the hand.

"Madame, this is Luna Lovegood." He introduced her, "Darling, this is the amazing Eloise Juillerat. The woman who will make a dress that will blow you away." 

Luna nervously stood in front of the tall woman. Madame Eloise had long and wavy light brown hair with amber eyes. She looked to be in her mid-thirties. She wore a royal blue dress that flared at the end. Luna found her smile to be both alluring and intimidating.

Madame Eloise hummed, shooing Harry as she circled Luna. Her gaze was sharp, calculating as she ran her eyes up and down. From head to toe, Harry watched as Luna was assessed by the vicious looking woman. Then he saw Madame Eloise grin with a ferocity that made him shudder.

She pressed two fingers under Luna's chin, forcing her to look up. " Belle fille. "

"Silver would look wonderful on her. Matches those pretty grey eyes." Madame Eloise hummed, "I would have mistaken you for those Malfoys. Pretty hair and eyes, but not quite the same as theirs. You look… softer."

Madame Eloise guided her towards a private room, passing by others where multiple tailors and seamstresses were measuring people or using magic to make clothes. Luna was lead to a lavish room that had golden decor in it.

"What do you think of blue, Jeune Seigneur ?" Madame Eloise took our her wand and levitated blue and silver cloth towards Luna.

Harry hummed, contemplating in what color would look best. "Would red look good on her?"

Madame Eloise raised a brow, smirking at him, "Bold choice, Jeune Seigneur . Le rouge est la couleur du scandale , did you know that?" Although she asked such a thing, she levitated a roll of red cloth towards Luna. 

Harry found himself satisfied to see that it did look good on Luna, however it felt wrong. Luna was… well, she was young and innocent. The red looked to bold on her. Maybe in the future, Harry would have Luna wear red. But for now, he realized that it didn't suite her current self.

Gellert, who had been quiet the entire time, approachwd Luna and grabbed the silver and blue clothes from the air. Madame Eloise was a bit startled, but she was intrigued as she watched him work. To their surprised, Gellert merely put the two clothes together and smiled in triumph. 

"I quite like this combination. She is a Ravenclaw, so I find it befitting. The one who looked good in red would be you, but I can see the appeal in green." Gellert chuckled, but his eyes softened at the girl.

"My daughter liked these colors." Geller whispered.

Harry stiffened as he heard him, averting his gaze from Gellert and back to Luna. The blue would greatly represent Luna's house, Ravenclaw but it was also a wonderful match with her. The silver was even better. It reminded him of the moon, and… Regulus , he thought, unable to remove the image of the silver-eyed boy from his mind.

Would silver look good on me? The voice asked. Harry felt a pair of arms wrap around him, holding him as he took in a deep breath and answered without another thought.

White would have looked better. 

Broken out of his trance, Harry immediately side stepped Madame Eloise when she tried poking his side. She narrowed her eyes at the woman who gave him a venomous smile. 

"I will give you a discount if you allow me to make your dress robes."

"Madame… I don't think."

"Think of this as a gift… after what you did in the summer, I am obligated to repay you somehow."

Harry smiled bitterly at the reminder. He had been quite… busy, during the summer.

( Hadrian Potter would take every chance he got to get himself books regarding certain subjects. To his misfortune, he was desperately looking for three . To his chagrin, the books in question were in France.

So Harry found himself back in the streets of France, sighing to himself as he entered a bookshop. It was quiet for the most part, not to many people looking his way. His name wasn't well known in France but a part of him— Clarisse —was screaming at his situation. Clarisse had revelled and thrived on attention, taking it from those who sought to be better than her. France was often a trigger for that part of his soul to awaken, to arrogantly tell him of how he should become minister and punished any bigoted fools who thought themselves as gods among men.

Harry often dismissed such thoughts.

Thankfully, the books he wanted were available and he exited the store as quickly as he could.

Alas, he witnessed a man trying to set fire to one of the shops. He narrowed his eyes at the sign, tilting his head at it. JUILLERAT,was the apparent name of the shop.

" Juillerat… where have I heard of— oh…" he deadpanned to himself. A  one of his past lives flashed in his head. Again, a part of his soul was screaming at him.

So he groaned, playing hero once again.

In the end, Harry found himself favored greatly by the current owner of the shop, Eloise Juillerat. The woman who thanked him profusely for saving the boutique her grandmother had founded many years ago.

And thus …)

" Grand-mère, would come to haunt me." Eloise clicked her tongue, before glaring at Harry. "Accept the gift, Jeune Seigneur. Do not put me in your debt."

Harry simply gave up after that and would be expecting black, silver, and blue dress robes to match Luna's dress.

Peace and quiet graced Harry as he sat under a tree, crookshanks on his lap and Hedwig flying over him. It felt perfect. The serene expression on his face was the most peaceful he was.

But Fate says otherwise.

"HARRY! HARRY!"

Harry took on a deep breath, slapping his hands over his face as Crookshanks hissed at Ron. The cats fellow redhead dashed towards them with an almost frantic look, tripping when he was closest to Harry. However, the boy did not relent and grasped Harry's shoulders.

"HERMIONE'S GOT A DATE!"

"So?"

"We haven't gotten—"

"I'm going with Luna."

"Oh, good for you. But I— excuse me?! You traitor!" Ron was up on his feet, pointing an accusing finger at him. "Why didn't you tell me?! When did you ask her?! Why Luna Lovegood?!"

"Cause you didn't ask. Last week. I asked her cause she's Luna, a friend who I've become close with and not your sister… or Hermione." Harry hummed, side-eyeing Ron and continued to caress Crookshanks soft fur. "I didn't ask Hermione cause I thought you'd ask her."

Ron gasped, "Huh?! Why would I ask Hermione?"

There was a sour taste in Harry's tongue as he glared at Ron. His friends were dense (he was denser in his first life but he was willing to ignore that,) and it frustrated him.The urge to hit them both and force them to kiss was obvious, fingers twitching to do just that.

He refused to look at Ron, the last thing the boy seeing was a look of disappointment.

Be patient with them… One of the several voices in his head said.

Thus he replied with an immediate, no. 

"D'you bring dress robes? Or is your mum going to send you one?" He asked, still not looking at Ron. Crookshanks was walking beside him and Hedwig quickly swopped down and landed on his shoulder. He glanced at his owl and secretly summoned some bacon. Hedwig gladly accepted the gift and ruffled his feathers.

"Yeah… bet it's gonna look like rubbish."

"Want me to buy you one? There are some decent ones in hogsmeade."

"Yeah sure." Ron laughed, thinking it was a joke.

"Black?"

"Hm? Wait, you're serious?"

Harry deadpanned. Then again, Ron didn't really know the vastness of his wealth. Combine his fortune from his seventh life— the money he had earned himself and the wealth he inherited from Gellert, the money he inherited as the Potter heir, and that trust Sirius had made for him when he was baby, plus the possible fact he would become Lord Black as Sirius' heir — then his wealth was quite… big, for the simple word. Harry still had trouble calculating his money, and Ragnar had admittedly complained to Harry that he had too much wealth . Something he never expected to hear from a goblin.

"Don't worry, it won't cost much." Harry hummed, quietly promising to never tell Ron the actual price of the robes. He'd surely buy his friend one, so as to avoid the embarrassment that was the robes Molly Weasley had sent her youngest son. He found it rather unfair.

In his first life, Fred and George had gotten themselves decent robes to wear for the ball. They were presentable, and even better compared to the atrocity Ron had worn.

"Harry…"

"Seriously Ron… you're using your divinition to help me, so don't think much of it. Besides, I'm your friend and I've missed on some birthday gifts, haven't I?" He tilted his head, smiling. Ron was never the type to accept things, his inferiority to hurtful. "Think of it as an early Christmas gift!"

Ron hesitated, pursing his lips as he clenched his fist. Harry slowly entered his mind, tilting his head again when he felt the vibrations of hesitance, inferiority, and fear within his mind. It was unpleasant and he took action immediately. 

"Let's get you a date!" He slung his arm over Ron's shoulders, grinning viciously. "D'you prefer boys or girls?"

Ron turned as red as his hair, "I— just help me find a date!"

Yule came easily.

Harry happily snapped his glasses in half, before realizing that he had to keep up the act of having shitty-eyesight a bit longer. So he stared at the pieces of his glasses, eye twitching before he angrily mended it with a simply spell.

Two days before the ball had as came, his robes had arrived. As promised, Madame Eloise had sent it in a discreet manner; the robes and dress were shrunked and placed in a small box. Inconspicuous, as neither Harry nor Luna garnered attention from the boxes. Luna had worn the dress in the room of requirements, absolutely awed by it.

Harry didn't mind the robes. They were simple enough but didn't look cheap. An expensive kind of simplicity that didn't come of as plain, more like neat in his opinion. Although his hair was an issue, until he realized that he could just use numerous spells to keep his damned hair in place — one side slicked back as much as possible.

"I can't believe you bloody bought me this." He heard, turning towards Ron who was looking at himself in the mirror. There was awe in his expression, a bright smile to his face.

The dress robes Harry had ordered from hogsmeade were, as promised, quite decent. They weren't the same quality as Harry's, but good enough for Ron that he accepted the gift without further issue. (Of course, he happily did so after seeing the dress robes his mother sent him, the four Weasleys had nearly burned the atrocious thing.)

"It's no biggie. Be good to Hannah, she's a delight… and I doubt that Susan Bones will leave you off the hook if you make her sad." He reminded.

Harry had practically harrassed Ron to ask Hannah Abbot to the ball. The Hufflepuff, seeing the sincerity and cute display of a flustered lion, accepted him with a friendly smile.

"Anyways, I gotta go. Champions have to lead the dance after all."

"Again, I still can't believe you're that good at dancing. McGonagall looked so proud of you."

"What can I say? I'm Hadrian Potter." His cocky tone dripped from his voice so naturally, that it seemed to make Ron think it was always there.

Leaving Gryffindor tower unseen was not hard, a simple notice-me-not spell here and Harry was near the doors to the great hall in no time. As expected, he found Cedric and Viktor already there, amongst many students who were giggling and fawning over them.

"Where's Fleur?" He asked, catching them by surprise.

Cedric blinked, staring at him in wonder while Viktor shook his head. "Still getting ready, however, her date is over there." He gestured to the Ravenclaw Quidditch captain, Roger Davis.

"Shame. You two would have looked good together." Harry said to Viktor. Although he thought that Fleur was best with Bill Weasley, he saw a great pairing in Krum and Delacour. "Heard you're date is my darling sister."

"Sister?"

"Hermione Granger? Brightest witch of our age? Inconceivably smart and sassy Hermione? Very skeptical of people Hermione? The girl I've claimed as my sister." Harry smiled darkly at Viktor, subtly threatening the older boy.

Krum blinked, "Oh? So you claim her as your sister."

"Hm… What about you Cedric? Cho Chang still your girlfriend?" 

Cedric blinked, broken out of his trance as a red hue splattered across his face. He stuttered, stammered, and had difficulty speaking. "Uhm— I, uh, well… S-Sure." He finally got out, chuckling awkwardly.

"So the four of us are taking Ravenclaws or someone who could have been a Ravenclaw… Nice." Harry laughed, soon Viktor and Cedric followed with such laughter.

He turned his attention towards the stairs, fascinated when he saw Ginny and Neville descend, soon followed by Ron who smiled nervously at him. The redheaded boy hurried towards the group of Hufflepuff's, flustered as he offered his hand to Hannah Abbott. 

As more and more students filed through the halls, Harry saw Draco Malfoy with a haughty looking Pansy Parkinson. She was saying something indiscernible, although Malfoy shook his head in amusement when she smirked and nudged him. He also saw Lincoln Sonnet, who was quietly lurking on the edges of the group. He even saw Nikolai dressed in navy blue robes, happily chatting with Asen Oblansk, who wore dark gray and white robes. Then came the Beauxbatons students.

Fleur was, as expected, somewhat fashionably late. She spotted them, smirking and confidently strided in their direction. "Well you men clean up nicer than I expected. You especially, Hadrian dear."

Fleur kissed him on the cheek, patting his head and proudly smiled at him. She was most certainly proud of his hair. She went to Davis' side, who was oggling at her.

Cho was now by Cedric's side, smiling pleasantly at him as she hooked their arms together. Cedric was beaming, nearing the doors whole Harry and Viktor were forced to wait for their respective partners. Well, the wait was short as a girl wearing a soft blue and somewhat floaty dress that contrasted her dark skin descended the stairs. Her hair was sleek and shiny instead of its usual bushy state.

Hermione Granger stood straight with confidence as she descended the stairs. Viktor was not the one to greet her, as Harry was quick to offer his hand to the girl. She was surprised, but accepted it with a small giggle.

"Pretty girl." Harry said with an airy tone, "Beloved sister of mine. Tell me if Krum does something and I'll curse him without a second thought." He whispered, pulling close for a loose hug. 

"I will." She said, as Harry gave her to Krum. He spared the older boy one glare before huffing and turning his attention to the next girl who stole the students attention.

Jaws had dropped, eyes were wide, and gasps were heard.

Harry smirked, feeling the sensation of victory once again.

Luna smiled softly at him from the top of the stairs. Her usually messy hair fell in waves, a silver ornament in her hair, decorated by blue jewels. Her dress was made of silk or was it chiffon? Harry couldn't exactly tell, but it was a pretty silver color, not gray, silver. There were royal blue accents to the dress, similar to the ones in his black dress robes.

Madame Eloise had done a good job in the outfits they wore.

The moment Luna was close, he kissed the back of her hand and smiled proudly. Luna was his sister, but sometimes… a part of him wondered if she was his lover in another life. It most certainly was not this once.

In a sense, Harry believed her to be his soulmate. Who else but her?

His thoughts raged—

Regulus Black

Charlotte Sylvain

Tom Riddle

"Beloved moon."

What was the use of pointless thoughts when his darling sister was in front of him?

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 23:

The music was soft as Harry placed a hand on Luna's waist. His past lives proved useful once again with his capability to dance. The waltz, was considerably his favorite for its tempo movements. But it also allowed him to feel lingering magic around them as they moved. It touched his skin, a gentle yet subtle caress. It was a pleasant feeling, something he had grown quite used to by now.

"You knew I'd bring you to the ball." He hummed, spinning Luna as the music's tempo sped up a bit. The other champions danced with their partners, graceful… to an extent. He, unfortunately, noticed the older students from Hogwarts stumble a bit. Those lessons with their head of house seemed to be useless to some.

"Of course." Her voice was smooth as it entered his ears. It seemed to blend into the gentle music of the waltz and Harry merely glanced back towards her. 

Under the light of the decorations, his eyes seemed crystal like. As if emeralds had been carefully placed into his eye sockets when he was but a child. Harry had seen Lily's eyes before. They weren't the exact same as his. Lillian Evan's had green eyes that would remind people of nature, of life. But Harry's were like crystals. Beautiful, valuable, yet cold and sharp. It was as if they absorded the killing curse that Lily Evans had managed to deflect.

His steps were carefully calculated, glancing towards Hermione who's face was a bit red. Her dark skin contrasted to the light blue of the dress, but it made her beautiful in her unique way. She should have come to me for her hair… we could have figured it out, his thoughts roamed in amusement. As they passed Krum and Hermione, Harry sent her an assuring smile and girl nodded hesitantly.

"Dearest moon…" he trailed off, pulling her closer and leaning in. "Do you know how dangerous it is to dance with me?"

Luna merely hummed, tilting her head to the side as he spinned her and felt his hands return to her waist. She giggled at his sharp expression, "You'll protect me, won't you? Or should I not trust the capability of the Master of Death?" She asked with barely masked mischief. “But yes, it is dangerous to dance with you. The only one who could do so without fearing for their lives is your equal.” 

Your  equal, the words echo in his mind and the voice subtly changes with every reverberation. But the term was, nonetheless, infuriating.  

Harry's eye twitched, but he shook his head. Amusement mixed with annoyance was a familiar feeling to him. At the moment, Luna's faith in him seemed to be laughable, but then again, he greatly appreciated her for it. Even if that faith was accompanied with riddles he would rather ignore. He smiled, slowly letting go of her hand. The music ended, as he bowed politely to her.

Applause deafened him, glancing around as he saw the awed looks of students and teachers alike. He felt someone touch his arm, turning to Luna who smiled. "Your magic, Hadrian." She whispered into his war, before pulling away.

Harry was confused before he glanced around. Ah… I lost focus. He clicked his tongue, pulling his magic back. At moments like these, utterly relaxed and comfortable— his magic grew a mind of its own as it roamed. It had practically marked people he thought to be dear. He easily noticed how it had basically claimed Hermione, right in front of Krum at that.

That fact made him laugh, smirking at the deadpan Krum sent him.

In the small second of distraction, Harry found his date stolen by a certain redhead. "Ginevra!" Harry yelled, as the youngest and only daughter of the Weasley family dragged Luna back to the dance floor.

"My turn! Find another dance partner." She yelled back, sticking her tongue out as she and Luna leas the dance.

How bold, Harry thought with a incredulous grin. He glanced towards Hermione and Krum did not miss this. Before the older boy could react, Harry already grabbed Hermione's hand, "Darling sister of mine~" his voiced dragged out the word mine , emphasizing it as he took his girl away from Krum. 

"H-Harry!" Hermione screeched, but ended up pouting as Harry lead the dance between them. "You shouldn't tease him so much."

"Hm? Tease him?" He feigned innocence and confusion, "I would never! Is it so wrong that I would want to dance with my best friend?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, "You're insufferable."

"I know."

"You've been acting weird… different if I had anything to say. Why is that?" Her grip on Harry's hand tightened as the green-eyed boy chuckled quietly.

His little Hermione was always perceptive. Smart and observant. It's once of the main things that made him rather attached to her— her mind . Such a dangerous thing it was, even more lethal if he made sure she had a certain mindset he wanted. Hermione was dangerous if taught properly.

"Different?" He chuckled, "Do you not like me this way? Do you prefer that version of me so damn much?" He wouldn't admit it, but his voice raised for a second. His eyes grew dark, leaning towards her, "Am I not better this way?"

He could clearly hear the way Hermione gulp, glancing at her as he buried his head into the crook of her neck. 

"I… It's good that you've become more interested in your academics." She stammered, voice cracking as she tried to keep herself calm. Harry had breached the surface of her mind, feeling the faint presence of anxiety and the subtle hints of what he suspected was attraction, yet he hummed quietly and examined her worry instead. "But I'm concerned… you've been pulling away from us… you're repeating what you used to do when we first became friends."

Harry closed his eyes and hummed.

" Callidus puella. " He whispered and gently let go of Hermione's hand. "It's nice to know that it isn't just Ron who noticed. Regardless, I don't plan on returning to my former self. I like the current me."

Hermione sighed, "I don't want you to become someone you don't want. I, of all people, would understand that." She whispered and quietly placed her hand against his cheek, "Ron and I understand that. So don't change into someone you don't want to become… I'll get used to you eventually and besides—" 

She hummed and smiled, "I like you this way." Her words were sincere as she planted a kiss to his cheek. Harry blinked in surprise, before chuckling to himself and bringing her towards Ron, who was drinking a glass of punch.

"Quite sulking." Harry snickered as the redheaded boy blinked in surprise. "You two, go dance. I gotta get myself some fresh air." He said, grabbing Ron's hand and placing it over Hermione's. He smiled ruefully at them, pushing the pair into the dance floor and hurrying away.

He ignored their flushed faces and Ron yelling his name. He slipped out of the great hall, strolling through the open halls of Hogwarts and finally standing under the tree of the courtyard.

In his past life, he would have found Draco Malfoy sitting on the tree and being turned into a damned ferret. To the fortune of the boy in question, he hadn't taunted Harry and Moody wasn't forced to punish him in such a barbaric way.

Though, he supposed that Barty Crouch Jr. just wanted to humiliate a Malfoy for once. Childish, but somewhat understandable.

"Professor, you shouldn't be lurking so suspiciously… we don't want the other staff members to think of you as a threat." Harry turned towards the one-eyed professor with barely concealed amusement.

The man disguised as Alastor Moody grunted, glaring at Harry who stood under a tree.

Barty Crouch narrowed his eyes at Harry and the next thing he knew an image flashed in his head. In his mind, he saw a boy with silver eyes stand under the tree instead of Potter, and only with his paranoia did he saw Potter once again.

Harry hummed, intrigued by the stray thought that escaped the protective barriers Barty Crouch had made to protect his mind. The memory of Regulus Black overlapping with himself was something he had always wondered about. Such a thing was miraculous with how different the current him was to the Regulus the world knew.

"Potter… what are you doing out here?" Moody asked, although Harry always referred to him as Barty in his head.

"The great hall was getting suffocating." Harry waved his hand in a dismissive manner, "Don't you agree? I always thought that you were the kind of person who didn't like crowds. They are utterly… abrasive. " 

Barty went stiff, narrowing his eye at Harry. There was a flat smile on the boys face, doing nothing but stand there with his hands behind his back.

Sly.

Bastard.

Manipulative.

Voices once again started yelling in Harry's mind as he tried to steady his trembling hand. There was a part of soul trying to take control, trying to devour him whole and speak to the disguised man in front of him. Usually, this part of him was quiet and docile, but seeing Barty dressed as Moody enraged the part of his soul and mind.

He took in a sharp breath, counting down from 13 to 0 and back again. The smile on his face faltered, but he kept himself poised and his back straight yet it made him seem relaxed. As if the man in front of him was not willing to attack. Maybe he wasn't, but then again— Barty Crouch Jr. was the son of a Slytherin and a man that belonged to Ravenclaw.

"Ay… Stuffy lot in their dresses and fancy robes. Constant vigilance, I say, but do they listen? Letting their guard down, foolish thing to do." Barty speaking in Moody's gruff voice seemed quite laughable. "What about you, lad? Thought that the crowd was where you thrived."

Harry kept the flat smile on his face. "Really? I thought the opposite."

Barty shook his head, "Gryffindor you are, but the way you spoke to Skeeter seemed Slytherin. Are you sure you're a lion?" He asked in a joking way.

"The hat wanted me in Slytherin." Harry's bluntness would have surprised others, and indeed it did startle Barty. His smile was still there, less pleasant than it was. "I suppose… the sorting hat was correct when it judged me. A Slytherin, might have done better there, but I wear the red my parents once wore. But really… did it feel great to wear the blue of Ravenclaw?"

Barty's magic seemed to burst in fright but his expression stayed calm. "What are you talking about, boy? If you'd like to know, I was a—" 

"I am very well aware that Alastor Moody is a Gryffindor." Harry said with a quiet and cold tone, "But you ? I heard that you were close friends with my darling Luna's mother… Pandora."

Barty's, Moody's eye went wide as his pupils shrunk. Shock and a faint horror slipping through his magic— Harry fucking loved it.

"Come now… you honestly think I was fooled by that ?" Harry snickered as he pointed a mocking finger at the disguise. It was a filthy magic that revolted him, but a clever kind. Polyjuice had always been sickening potion. "Your magic is too… erratic, in a way that doesn't belong to a veteran who merely laughs at the worries and woes of novices. Let us also consider the fact that you drink from your flask every hour. You've never missed a beat."

Simple observations such as this were trivial to Harry, who had summed such things in his first life. Although he realized too late, he noticed such things in a simple glance by his thirteenth life. He hadn't lied when he made such a comment about his magic.

He knew what Alastor Moody's magic felt like.

("POTTER!" Moody yelled as he dragged the dagger down from the man's shoulder and down to his chest. His magic went haywire.)

His laughter was loud and to Barty's surprise, it didn't echo. "Don't worry, Professor. There's a strong sound barrier around us." He gestured towards the faint shimmer of magic, causing Barty to stare in fascination before focusing on the threat before him.

"How long have you know?" 

Harry smirked, "From the moment you stepped into the fucking hall." He stated, shocking the man. "I know Moody's magic, believe it or not." The explanation was enough for Barty to take a step back.

"Why haven't you told anyone?" Barry soon discarded Moody's manner of speech, speaking in a quieter and sharper tone.

"Where's the fun in that?" Harry's eyes grew wide in amusement, finding a sense of vigor at the thought of tormenting Barty with anticipation and fear of what he may do in the future. "And besides, I found a use for you in the future."

Barry growled, "What makes you think I'd let you use me?"

There it is , he thought and couldn't stop the grin from forming. "Luna has her mother's gift, did you know that?" He watched as the horror of realization dawned upon the man and Harry decided, I win.

"How's it going? Your little plan for ressurection, if you wish for more clarification." Harry snickered at the agitation on Barty, "Bad? What a pity." Sarcasm dripped from his voice as he took a step forward.

" You are useful to me, Bartemius Crouch Jr." His voice grew cold as the ever present smile faded. He looked Barty in the eye, cutting through his mental barriers without difficulty. Barry gasped, grabbing his head and quickly averting his gaze, but Harry wasn't finished. "However, I find that you want something from me. I will give it to you, I will help you bring back your bastard of a lord."

With his sarcasm gone, Harry forced Barty to look at him. But he didn't see Barty Crouch Jr.'s face, he saw the face of Alastor Moody.

( Malcolm looked down upon Moody, pulling back his dagger and smiling at the bloodied and injuries man. Moody was screaming his head of, but the young man only shook his head and grinned. He brought down the dagger upon the man's only good eye, his remaining eye. And he felt the satisfaction of it. "Retribution is delicious.")

"It is but a simple exchange…" Harry declared and offered his hand, "I give you my blood, I help you bring him back… but you give me something— someone in return."

Barty growled, "And if I don't?"

The defiance pricked at Harry's patience as he grabbed the man by the collar. Barty was ignorant of what he had done. By the end of this tournament, he would be enslaved to Harry for ten months. It would be better for the fool to find out once this is all over, and Harry remembered— Barty died in the original life before he could be enslaved to Harry. He forced Barty to look into his eyes, eyes that he knew that contained the killing curse. 

"Then you will find yourself with boiling blood until I get a dementor to devour your soul and make sure you never reunite with Regulus, Evan, and Pandora."

Barty's eyes went wide, jaw dropped as he stared at the viciousness of a fourteen-year-old boy. The boy-who-lived, the supposed saviour of light— the boy threatening to curse his blood to boil and feed his soul to a dementor.

Seeing the fear in Barty's eyes, he slowly let go and returned to his smiling exterior. "I'll give you until the third task… Just know Barty," he trailed off, before snapping his fingers and tearing down the sound barrier. "I know how and why Regulus died… I am very much willing to finish what he has started." He turned on his heel and walked away.

A voice pierced through the silence in his mind, You would if it benefits you… but you want him alive. Harry's fingers twitched as he heard that voice. His feet moved, taking larger and faster steps.

You didn't have to scare him, Regulus whispered and Harry once again felt his arms wrap around him. His breathing faltered.

He's your ally, Regulus insisted and buried his face into the crook of Harry's neck.

He froze.

"Not now, not in a long time." He snapped and closed his eyes, "Barty is loyal to the dark lord. He isn't the same Barty that I considered my family. Why can't you understand… not all of you are the same. Regardless of the fact you are variations of the ones I grew to care for." He sighed, taking in deep breaths and counting back from 13 to 0. "You're always going to be different with every turn."

Are we really that different? Regulus' voice was soft and sad. What about me? Are the me in your mind and the me in the world different?

Harry brought his hands together and took in a deep breath. He shook his head before turning towards his hallucination. If he could have done so, he would have took Regulus' hands into his and held them. He tried to do so with the figment of his imagination.

"The Regulus of my second life lies under a feild of flowers beside Malcolm Potter. The Regulus in front of me is a mere ghost that haunts me." He imagined the ghost frowning at him.

"And the Regulus of this world has yet to be retrieved from the bottom of the lake."

Barry stumbled into his room, landing right on his bed as he tried to regulate his breathing. The disguise from the polyjuice slowly vanished and his face was back to its original stare. But his mind was not calm, as he gripped the cloth over his chest. 

"Fuck…" he murmured, before stumbling out of the bed and hurrying to one of his many trunk. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!"

Potter knows. Potter fucking knows. His mind was not calm, trying to find even a vile of calming draught. Nothing could calm him now, but he tried as he swallowed an entire cup of the draught. As expected, it did not take effect.

"Shit." He cursed again and held his head in his hands.

Harry Potter had James Potter's face, and what people said was Lily Evans' eyes. It was utter bullshit .

Hadrian fucking Potter had a face that belonged to an angel, an angel that hid the devil. His eyes were not of the forest like hues his mother owned, but the killing curse crystallized and shoved into his eye sockets. Barty had felt James and Lily's magic before and their son had magic so similar and different from them that it was the definition of irony.

James Potter had energetic and lively magic, and Lily had a swift and clever kind of magic that was practically sentient. However, their son had magic that could be compared to fire. It was a source of safety that could kill you within seconds. It was welcoming yet so damn lethal that it would pull anyone in and kill it with a false sense of safety. A kind of fire that was sentient and hungry.

Yet he was definitely his parents' son. Barry remembers the way Lily Evans' magic would coil around someone, wrapping itself around them — around their necks and hope they would suffocate. He remembered the way she looked at someone with fascination, a kind that seemed to make you think she wanted to dissect someone. And James Potter had magic that seemed to haunt you. With spells he used, his magic would linger, as if it was a ghost trailing after you until you felt exhausted and it would finally leave you alone. 

"Oh dear Merlin… oh dear Morgana…" he said as if it were prayers to the gods. "Should I tell this to the dark lord? No… No, he'd kill me." He reasoned with himself and found laughter breaking from his throat. But the he in question was a subject of confusion. Which one of them was going to kill him? The dark lord or Hadrian Potter? 

"That demonic boy… I thought he was just a cocky little shit." Barty laughed, "He's crazy!"

And dangerous. 

Harry was out of Hogwarts again.

He stood before the doors of Grimmauld place, specifically, number twelve. The Black Family magic seemed to sense him, etching it's way through the building and showing the door to number twelve to him. He hummed, grasping the doorknob and turning it without a moments hesitation.

As the door closed, Harry glanced out the door before walking down the empty and eerie hall of the ancestral home. It was the same as he remembered, from his original life, his second, his third, his sixth, and to the present. There were still some house elf heads used as decoration, I'm getting rid of those, he thought before standing before the living room of the ancestral home.

Regardless of it being called a living room, the atmosphere felt dead. His fascination spiked as he reached his hand through the air and felt the Black Family magic weave through his fingers. The familiarity made him chuckle, before he cleared his throat.

"KREACHER!"

The Black family's elf popped into existence in front of him, hissing and snarling at the stranger who was welcomed by its masters magic. Harry merely smirked, triumphant of the fact that the elf responded to his call, it helped legitimize his claim on the Black Lordship.

"Hello elf," Harry smirked, "I see that you've failed to keep this place clean."

Kreacher flinched, "Stranger in the ancestral house of Black. Intruder who is welcomed by the great magic…"

"Stranger? I'm the current heir to house Black, per the will of your supposedly disowned son of Orion and Walburga, and the one accepted by the family magic. Pray tell, how am I a stranger?" Harry raised a brow, allowing his cocky self to roam free. "Be thankful Regulus favored you, Kreacher."

At the name of the elf's late favorite master, it's expression went stiff before narrowing his eyes suspiciously ag Harry. In the eyes of Kreacher the house elf, he saw a distorted image of his favorite master, Regulus, upon the intruder before him.

The way Harry was dressed painfully reminded him of the way Regulus did, as well as the fact that his hair was styled in a messy version of what was Regulus' favorite hairstyle. Kreacher couldn't help but ache and listen to the boy speak.

Harry had unconsciously dressed himself like Regulus— something he blamed on his second life… Liar

"You must be confused… I'm here to take what Regulus stole and finish what he started."

Kreacher froze, staring at Harry as if he were god. Maybe he was, but that isn't the point. At the moment, Kreacher was shaking as he stared at Harry.  He began to sob, something he had expected and sighed at.

Harry did not give comfort to Kreacher, he did not kneel and assure the elf everything would be okay. He was lying to the blasted thing after all. As simple as it was, he knew a part of him felt immensely guilty for lying to Kreacher about Regulus' dying wish. He reached out his hand, expecting the elf to give what he wanted.

He felt it in the house and knew that it had yet to be taken from the home.

"Give me the locket." 

Kreacher let out a loud cry, "Evil boy is speaking lies! Evil boy does not know Master Regulus."

Harry groaned at the defiance, he despised it the most. Hypocrite, one of the voices said before he shook his head. He was willing to play saint as long as he got the locket. Liar.

"Kreacher," his voice softened, "I'm not lying. I would never lie when it comes to Regulus… I've met him before, not in the way you have… You must believe me." It took him a while to take a knee and try to comfort the manjx elf.

Kreacher was still defying him, and if all else fails, Harry already had a solution. A promise he had made to himself long ago.

"If you give me that locket… I will rescue his corpse from that lake."

Kreacher gasped, horrified and hopeful when those words came out of Harry's mouth.

"I swear, I will retreive the body of Regulus Arcturus Black from that lake of inferni and give him a proper funeral."

Kreacher hiccuped at that, shaking his head. The elf was clearly in Denial, but Harry could care less. He wanted that locket and he would get it — even if it meant having to manipulate Kreacher's memories. As per usual, he was selfish and greedy.

Don't hurt him… don't hurt him… Regulus' voice pleaded and tried to stop him. Although Harry was significantly weak to it, he was still a greedy bastard. If he wanted something, he'd get it eventually. However, Harry had rather… violent methods to get what he wanted.

He'd fulfill the promise, having vowed to himself that Regulus would get a proper funeral. Regardless, he was still contemplating on whether to do it in the near future or not. He'd save the corpse of the man he cherished, but the time was still undetermined. So he looked down upon Kreacher, who was sobbing and screaming his head of.

"The locket," he reminded the elf. Kreacher straightened, nodding as he popped away and returned seconds later. With shaky hands, Kreacher presented him with Slytherins locket.

It was cold against his skin, the familiar design of the locket felt right. He traced the letter S with his finger, the smile on his face falling. The soul within raged, growling and hissing at him— Harry wanted to throw the damn thing into the fire. But he couldn't. He had to extract the soul from his own first, place it into the locket, then fix the idiot dark lord with the soul he trapped. Once this was all finished, he might keep the locket or hide it in the many secret rooms the founders had created.

"You've done well Kreacher…" Harry hummed, before conjuring a small antique clock. It was a replica of one of the clocks in his past life, one he remembered to be Regulus' favorite. Unfortunately, the original had been destroyed but Walburga.

"Take this as a reward… and further proof that I know of Regulus."

Harry would secure Kreacher's loyalty…

Then he would secure the seat of head of house Black. 

And one of the voices screamed, LIAR!!

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 24:

Luna's gaze fleeted from one teacher to the next. Their request was rather absurd and a part of her wanted to yell at them all for being so irresponsible… well, for Dumbledore being irresponsible.

Having been excused from classes, along with her fellow Ravenclaw, Cho Chang, she found herself in a room with her head of house and the visiting head of the two schools. Although her gaze remained fleeting as she hummed, observed, and assessed what she should do next. Hadrian had predicted this. No matter how much she loved the master of death, she knew he'd be both smug and irritated that she hadn't listened to him. It was best to avoid his strained smile, lest she found herself stuck in a room and him lecturing her till her ears bled.

Her gaze landed on Cho, the older girl fidgeting as s the teachers discussed in front them. There was also another girl, blonde with pretty green eyes. Not like Hadrian's green, more blue than that of the crystalized Avada Kedavra. Then there was the only boy among them, with a mop of dark hair and knowing light brown eyes. His gaze met with hers, nodding.

She offered a knowing smile, to which the boy shook his head and turned his attention to the teachers.

"Miss Lovegood, Miss Chang…" Professor Flitwick spoke in a gentle tone. "Mr. Oblansk, Miss Delacour."

Asen Oblansk and Gabrielle Delacour, she thought with a curious loon before humming quietly.

Professor Flitwick explained the situation. They would be put to sleep, a magical coma and placed underwater with bubble charms around their heads. The mermaids would guard their bodies, and the champions would save them from the lake. If the champion fails, they will be immediately be retrieved by the teachers and tended to by Madam Pomfrey. 

However, that did not quell whatever worries Luna had. Her eyes observed the reactions of the other three treasures ; Cho Chang looked dreamily at the ceiling, clearly fantasizing  of Cedric saving her, but she then turned towards the two foreigners. Gabrielle looked curious while Asen looked rather troubled at the prospect of being unconscious and underwater. His brown eyes found hers, before turning to his headmaster.

"And if I refuse?" His accent was thick, voice higher and softer than she thought. But his expression was cold and frustrated.

"Bold of you to assume you have a choice." Karkaroff scowled at him.

"You wouldn't dare! Putting us under enchantment without consent is a crime, especially with us being minors." Asen exclaimed, his magic frizzing through the air.

The son of the Bulgarian Minister was not particularly attributed to physical magic, however, his control over water was a terrifying thing.

"Mr. Oblanks—"

"Excuse me…" Luna raised her hand as of she were in class. She nodded to her head of house, before turning to Madame Maxime with a concerned look. "I heard from Hadrian that Fleur Delacour is part Veela. That would mean her sister is as well… from what I can remember, Veela's are not well fit to be under water for a time and they have resistance to magic. Regardless of whether you are powerful enough to put us to sleep, Gabrielle Delacour may wake up. Let us also consider the bad effect she would receive from a period of submergence."

The half-giant headmistress blinked, before she paled and started speaking in fast and frantic french. She approached Gabrielle, whispering to her as the girl slowly started to understand the situation. Luna picked up faint parts of their conversation.

" You will be underwater… they will put a spell on you…"

Gabrielle's fair face turned paler, as fear crept into her eyes. She shook her head, frantic and started to speak in french. Her voice was filled with anxiety and concern, practically begging her headmistress not to go through with the plan.

"Madame Maxime, s'il vous plaît... Je ne veux pas être sous l'eau ! Cela me rend malade." ¹ Gabrielle pleaded, shaking her head. Madame Maxime, please... I don't want to be underwater! It makes me ill!

Luna glanced back to Asen, silent understanding coming between them. Her steps were light as she approached Gabrielle, the girl was a year or so younger than her. She smiled softly at the part Veela girl, tilting her head and speaking in the girls mother tongue. 

"Bonjour petite demoiselle. My name is Luna and it's nice to meet you. It's okay for you to not want to be underwater. I can understand that since one of my friends is more on fire than water. If you are uncomfortable with being spelled and submerged, please speak to someone about it… preferably your headmistress. " 

Gabrielle blinked, tears stinging her eyes as she shakily nodded. Her gaze turned back towards Madame Maxime, who looked rather conflicted.

The headmistress seemed to make up her mind, standing straight and adressing the other head of schools. "Unless Gabrielle's safety is assured, she will not be included in the task. I ask of you to find someone, better yet, something to replace her." Madame Maxime cleared her throat, narrowing her eyes at the two men. 

"Madame… we cannot find someone else." Dumbledore explained, his voice going soft as if speaking to a wild animal. Luna noticed such, offering her hand to Gabrielle who quickly squeezed it.

"She is the only one to motivate Miss Delacour to do the task. The rules have been set Olympe, we will make sure that Miss Gabrielle is safe. Have faith." Dumbledore said, offering a grandfatherly smile.

Luna wanted to gauge the man's eyes out and offer them to Hadrian.

Kill him, a voice spoke and she froze.

Her body froze, unable to move as whisper entered her ears. The voice was familiar, a voice she had done her best to silence. Yet, it awoke. Take his eyes and give them to father.

She shook her head, sighing to herself as she gulped. Her hand hovered against her chest, before she nervously bit her lip and kept her head down. No amount of assurance could calm her as that voice began to sing.

"Come seek me in the depths of your mind.

A voice that you wish to bind.

You have no time left, 

A monster that you've already met 

Dark hair and blue eyes that you lack, 

Too late, it's gone, it won't come back"

All Luna wanted was for silence that the voice refused to give her. To her misfortune, the voice repeated the song over and over again until Luna found herself lying on her bed and staring at the ceiling. Too late, it's gone, it won't come back. The verse that Hadrian has heard to save her from the lack.

Too late, it's gone, it won't come back.

Harry stared at the black lake, feeling the cold of November caress his skin. He knew who was underneath the water. Who he had to save. It made his blood boil, but he had made a promise to Luna… to keep calm and save her.

His gaze turned towards Fleur Delacour, who was nervously fidgeting and avoided looking at the lake. He could understand, both of them were better of with fire than water after all. His gaze turned towards the crowd, brows furrowing as he saw Hermione with Ron. Her hair was still straighter, and she looked to be glowing. She looked happy and proud.

However, his hackles rose as he searched the crowd for familiar light blonde hair and wise grey eyes. He gulped, glancing back down to the water. The lake was like a barrier for him, the magic beneath it was muffled. To his chagrin, Hadrian could feel Luna's gray magic. The faintess of it's light and the tiredness of it's dark, he could feel it from beneath the waters of the black lake. Alarm bells blared in his mind, fingers twitching to jump into the water and save Luna.

He touched his neck, tilting his head from side to side as he listened to the announcement. Ten seconds left till they drowned themselves.

The moment they were told to dive, Harry was the first to jump.

The icy waters of the lake crashed against his skin as he felt himself go down. With a weak snap of his fingers, there was a bubble around his head. His breath was erratic, too shallow for his liking as he calmed himself down and swam deeper into the lake. The barrier the lake provided for him no longer worked, considering he was inside it. He could feel Luna's magic, but it immediately made him gulp. She was asleep . 

He didn't like the thought.

Two grindylows came darting towards him, but Harry bared his teeth and sent a vicious spell towards the creatures. The spell cut through the grindylows, slicing them in half as Hadrian conjured a gust of wind, pushing him against the water and propelling him towards his destination.

He saw numerous merfolk guarding four students: Cho Chang, Gabrielle Delacour, Asen Oblansk, and Luna Lovegood. They were bound to a statue of a mermaid, unconscious and floating quietly.

He didn't even hesitate to move towards Luna, cupping her cheek and growling at the merfolk that got to close. He then moved towards Gabrille, placing two fingers against her pulse and sighed in relief to see she was alive. He had to find a way to save them both without provoking the merfolk.

Fleur wouldn't last long in the water, a frustrating fact to Harry, but he had little faith. But Harry was a 'hero' — a fake one, but a hero regardless.

So he did the most heroic thing anyone could do— help .

A jet of light was senr through the waters of the lake. His magic was burning through the water, tracking down Fleur until it finally found her. Harry didn't exactly know what was happening to her, but he willed his magic to grab the half-veela and drag her to him.

"Fleur!" He yelled as he caught sight of the girl being pulled towards him. Fleur turned to him with an enraged look before she saw the pale face of her beloved younger sister—then terror devoured her expression.

He could understand how she felt. The utter terror of seeing their lovely siblings bound and unconscious underneath the black lake, surrounded by merfolk holding weapons. Fleur began yelling, telling him to pull the string of magic and let her save her sister. He didn't need to be told, he drew his hand back and she shot forth towards him.

"They won't let me save her! Damnit, I should have bought a knife." Harry cursed, fearing that he may harm Luna with his magic. He turned towards Fleur, a silent understanding between them.

Winning didn't matter if their sisters were going to drown.

They two didn't hesitate to perform the cutting curse, slashing the rope biding the two blonde girls. Nothing else mattered in that moment aside from their sisters. The two grabbed hold of their sisters and fought their through the surface. Fleur swam, kicking her legs and continued to struggle—but Harry was always smarter than most.

Ventus! The spell casted in his mind as he pointed his wand to the ground. A current of wind shot from his wand and he, along with the unconscious Luna in his arms, were already rocketing to the surface of the lake. He stared at Fleur, silently telling her to the exact same. The last thing he saw the older girl do was tell a spell, a wind spell, and they were propelled up to the surface.

Hadrian gasped, swallowing the fresh air and hugged Luna tight. He felt himself shiver just as Luna slowly began to wake.

"Little moon, little sister… your big brother will protect you." He whispered as he slowly swam to the edge and hastily pulled her to land. He collapsed on the ground, but held Luna tight. He was sure people could hear his frantic whispers of my little sister.

Second later, he heard a splash and tiredly turned towards Fleur who was pulling her sister to shore. He turned towards McGonagall who was urging him to give her Luna, and he trusted her enough to slowly hand her over. On instinct, he darted to the edge and helped Fleur pull Gabrielle to land. 

"Fuck!" He cursed, pressing his finger against Gabrielle's pulse. "She needs heat, now! Damnit! If she doesn't get warm now she'll die of hypothermia!" 

Fleur was up on her feet, glaring at anyone and Harry could feel fire . He turned to the ground beneath the girl's feet and blinked in surprise to the sparks. "Où diable est le guérisseur ? ! Si ma soeur meurt, je ferai pleuvoir le feu de l'enfer sur vous tous!"²She screamed until Madame Pomfrey and some students of Beauxbatons came running to them.

The healer gasped as she examined Gabrielle, panicked as she demanded for someone to get her some potions. Fleur was holding Gabrielle, begging and sobbing as she kissed her sisters forehead. Harry sighed, shaking his head as he checked up on Luna before tending to Gabrielle. His beloved sister was slowly waking up and once he saw soft gray eyes open, he received a smile.

"Help her." She whispered and patted his cheek. She snuggled into the blanket she was provided as Harry quietly casted drying and warming charms around her. Ginny, who was holding Luna, nodded in gratitude as he stalked towards Fleur and Gabrielle.

He knelt on the opposite side of Fleur as the half-veela turned to him with a cautious look. He offered her his hand and Fleur hesitantly took it. In an instant, the two of them felt fire burst from his palm. Not a scorching and cruel fire, but a warm and comforting flame that people begged for.

Fleur's eyes were wide, tears stinging them as she whispered, " Please ."

Harry nodded, taking Gabrielle's hand and transferring some of his magic into her. The fire of his own magic slowly restored some color to the girls skin, as Madame Pomfrey gasped and started yelling orders.

"Keep going Mister Potter. Just a little bit more and she will be back." Madame Pomfrey whispered as she placed an encouraging hand on his shoulder.

Gabrielle Delacour would live.

He felt her soul, the tether it had to the living and dead slowly blurring. Gabrielle would die, but Harry refused. He was the master of death. There were times that allowed him control of someone's destiny, control of whether they could live or die. Harry was given the choice to kill but barely was allowed to keep someone alive. So he closed his eyes and hoped for the best.

Let me keep her alive .

And Gabrielle Delacour gasped, her soul shining as she turned towards her saviour.

Harry was drenched, silent, and staring directly into her soul. He saw how bright it was, how joyous, how brilliant and energetic. She would live long, she would be happy. Harry was reminded of a soul from his eighth life. So bright, so happy. He wanted to make sure Gabrielle's soul stayed the same.

A tired smile graced his lips, " Bienvenue au pays des vivants, petite lumière. "³ Welcome back to the land of the living, little light. 

Gabrielle sobbed, profusely thanking him and so did Fleur. Harry slumped to the floor, not caring of what people saw as his back hit the wooden floor. He heard Fleur gasped, but he merely laughed to himself. He laughed and laughed, relieved that he could finally save someone.

Finally . He thought, not just death anymore… thank you Lady Life. He grinned to himself. Maybe it was how tired he was. Maybe it was how stressed he was—but he swore he saw a silhouette hovering over him with the loveliest smile he had ever seen. Fuck you death, but I still love you . 

That was his last thought until he fell into darkness.

He was somewhere and nowhere.

Hadrian opened his eyes to a blank space. The silence was unbearable as he squirmed where he stood. Discomfort was all he could feel, pursing his lips as his hands fidgeted against each other. He looked down and saw that he was wearing a loose white shirt, tucked into black trousers. 

Something felt wrong and get it felt right.

The white scene changed.

He was in a room, sunlight pouring into it through the window. The wind blew against the curtains and he couldn't help but look out of it. There was a garden, a familiar one but he couldn't tell from where.

Meow. Hadrian blinked as he looked down on the black cat. He shuddered at its silvery gaze, something akin to a smile spreading across it's face. His brows furrowed as he quietly picked up the car and tilted it. Where did he know this cat from?

Meow.

Then it clicked. 

"Casper."

The little cat meowed at him, nuzzling it's head against his thumb. Hadrian was frozen, staring at his former familiar in horror. The very same familiar he had bonded with in his ninth life and held it as he died of his blood malediction. Bile rose up from his throat as he realized where he was in his part of his mind. He hated it.

There was a knock on his door and before he could even yell, it opened and he was forced to gaze upon a tall young man. His body felt light and he felt his vision blur for a moment. He set Casper down and stared at his hands. Petite, smooth, unblemished hands. Sickly hands. 

He stared up at the boy, throat dry as he couldn't speak. "Are you okay? I heard you haven't eaten yet."

Suddenly, he saw a glimpse of light colored hair. His hands silently went towards it, now long, smooth, and blonde. He wanted to die again.

"Hey, are you okay? Should I call an elf for your medicine?" The boy spoke with a soft voice as he trembled. The boy lead him to the chair and stood behind him and Hadrian shut his eyes. His shoulders were massaged as the boy whispered comforting words into his ear.

His fingers dug into the fabric of his shirt and all Harry could do was keep quiet and let him. He wanted to move, to yell, to run—but he couldn't. This wasn't some dream or figment of his imagination. This was an event that had happened long ago in another life.  

I made a mistake.

"You shouldn't over exert yourself. Your brother worried when you fainted last time. You don't have to do anything, just tell me and I will do it for you." He whispered, slowly letting go of his shoulders and encircling them around Harry.

His arms were firm and steady, holding him ever so gently. Satisfaction and disgust fogged his mind as he leaned back and allowed himself to relax. This was a memory, not a nightmare, but a wretched memory that seemed to haunt him. He didn't understand why he was remembering it all of a sudden but it pained him to know. 

I shouldn't have done it.

"You know I love you, right?" The boy sighed, "But I know that I'm just some little brother to you."

I love you, those words didn't fit well in the boys mouth. Harry questioned if it had actually been real or not, but he knew the answer. The painful truth of it being reality and at the same time not—had it been another life, that boy would never express his love for him. They were destined to hate each other after all.

He was—a little brother in his eyes that was too greedy for the world. Harry had done everything to steer him to a different path that aligned to his ideologies. It had been difficult for him to do considering how the boy was ever so ambitious. He closed his eyes for a moment before opening them and glancing around the room.

It was draped in the blue of his house and Casper, his former familiar, was sat on his bed as if he owned it. But Harry quietly sighed again, shaking his head.

I shouldn't have been kind. I shouldn't have let my guard down.

"Whether you love me or not, I will always be yours… you know that, right? Etiennette?"

Etiennette . An all to familiar name of a sickly girl who died at the age of twenty-nine. Harry wanted to forget his own weakness and kindness. It was a mistake.

He sighed, allowing the blonde hair of his ninth life fall over his shoulders as he craned his neck and gazed into dark pools of black. So lovely, so lonely, so scared. They were beautifully disgusting—a color that would soon stain red. Some part of him— a sick and twisted part of him wanted to see those eyes bleed red. His favorite color, the color of love and war itself. Blood in the boys eyes and all Harry could remember that his own were green. Poisonous, venomous, life and death.

He reached out towards the boy and quietly uttered his name, "I know—"

"You're awake."

Harry snapped his gaze towards a boy— Draco bloody Malfoy. The pompous git was standing beside his bed, hands in his pockets and a nonchalant yet interested expression on his sharp face. Harry narrowed his eyes, shaking his head before rubbing his head. He sighed.

"I expected to see a more pleasant face when I woke up, but you will do… I suppose." Harry hummed, a flat smile on his face.

Draco offered a strained grin, "Everyone else was kicked out after they made too much of a fuss. It's a miracle that Madame Pomfrey actually allowed me in here."

"What time is it?"

"A quarter past six in the evening."

Around six to seven hours of unconsciousness. Harry grimaced but kept himself busy.

Harry hummed again, rubbing his hands together as he shuffled for his wand. When he found it by the bedside, he ran his fingers through it and felt the subtle magic creeping out of the wood. It was being overexerted for how much magic he was using—the wood used wasn't strong enough to handle it.

He turned his gaze back to Draco who had grabbed a chair and was staring at him. Harry merely smiled, mildly mocking the boy.

"Why are you here, Draco?"

"Since when do you call me Draco?"

Harry chuckled, "It sounds better than Malfoy."

Draco raised a brow, "I don't know whether to be flattered or offended."

"Both are okay."

Silence once again reigned. It wasn't the awkward kind of silence that Harry expected— no, it was more like a comfortable and civil kind of quiet.

Harry leaned against the headboard, closing his eyes as his fingers fidgeted against the blanket covering his body. He chuckled again, thinking of how odd the situation was.

"Are you gonna explain what happened when I was out? I don't suppose you are kind enough either…" Harry grinned as Draco scoffed. The blonde rolled his eyes, incredulous to his questions. "Really now! Won't you spare me, indulge my curiosity and simply recount what happened. Why else would you be here?"

"You don't think I'm here to check on you?"

"Are you?"

"You're right, I'm not." Draco shook his head, mildly amused as he crossed arms and leaned against his chair. A smirk graced the pale boy's lips, "The entire thing was a shitshow for the headmasters."

"I do hope that Dumbledore received some sort of punishment… he had the audacity to put my dear Luna in danger." He grit his teeth, clenching his fist over the blanket before taking in a deep breath. Anger was a dangerous weapon that should not be wasted on wrong timing.

"You care about her a lot."

"She's my sister in everything but blood."

"Hm… interesting. Anyways, your hopes have been fulfilled. The Delacours were immediately called and were informed of what happened to their youngest daughter. Karkaroff and Dumbledore got an earful from them and some others but Maxime was given a warning since she was the one who pleaded for them to change the tasks." Draco explained, snickering before he composed himself.

"What about the Bulgarian Minister? Asen Oblansk was one of the treasures submerged."

"Oh, that was an even worse affair. Markov informed me about it after Oblansk explained and all… Now that I think about it… he was supposed to—"

The doors slammed open and a panting boy entered the hospital wing. Ash brown hair sticking up in different directions along with his eyes wide. Beautiful purple eyes that landed on Harry.

"Hades! You're awake— are you okay?" Nikolai's accent seemed to grow more prominent with every word he spoke. His eyes were wide, pupils shrunken as he stood opposite to Draco. Worry clouded his gaze as he held Harry's hand and pouted.

Harry was stunned to silence, blinking as he turned to Draco, who merely shrugged. Then he turned back to Nikolai, then Draco, then Nikolai again. There was a fool's smile on his face as he indulged Nikolai's worries. He thought of a little resemblance he noticed with Nikolai and Draco to a certain cocky dark haired boy and a blonde haired boy who could be compared to the sun.

"I am okay now. A bit tired but nothing else."

"Are you sure? Healer Pomfrey said something about a case of Hypothermia."

"It's mild. My body has a higher temperature compared to others due to my natural magical constitution." Harry explained, patting Nikolai's head and conjuring a chair for the boy to sit on. Nikolai looked startled, even more concerned of his use of magic but he urged the boy to sit.

"Now, what exactly happened?"

Having both Draco and Nikolai were good for information purposes. With Nikolai's connections with multiple prominent families and his friendship with the Oblansk children, he would surely be well informed. Draco was a Malfoy and Slytherin, it is guaranteed he was already informed of the events in regards to the Delacours and some issues about the state of their school.

He patiently waited for the two to finally start explaining, however, Harry was stuck in the predicament of said two staring at each other. He glanced between them— Now it's awkward. What happened? He wanted to laugh at their faces.

"Ehem!"

"Oh yes! Minister Oblansk arrived around three or was it four— He arrived a few hours ago and was furious! Asen said that Karkaroff was nearly sacked on the spot if it weren't for the senior undersecretary choosing to have a trial at a later time." Nikolai explained, going into deep explanations in regards to happenings of court. As expected of the son of an attorney.

"Hm… the Delacours are out for blood too. Gabrielle Delacour was taken back to France an hour or so after you passed out. Lady Delacour came storming in and argued with Maxime about the wellbeing of her daughters. She also threatened to take Gabrielle out of Beauxbatons after this." Draco added, snapping his fingers as he crossed his legs and quietly fixed his posture. He took little glances towards Nikolai who was rather oblivious.

Harry didn't know whether to vomit or cheer.

"Poor Gabrielle. Veelas have some resistance to magic and are rather sensitive to long term submergence." Harry hummed, "Did either of you speak to Luna?"

"Lovegood? Little Weaslette nearly bit someone's hand of when they went a foot near her." Draco scoffed, finding the whole thing ridiculous.

However, Harry silently agreed with Ginny's need for violence after Luna had just nearly drowned.

"Troublesome. Now why don't you to go back to the great hall? I suspect that the feast has begun and neither of you would want to miss dinner." Harry hummed, eyes flashing for a moment as he saw both Draco and Nikolai go rigid, before their bodies relaxed.

The tether of emotions he could feel in their minds were a mess but he found it easy to navigate his way through it and tug at the right strings to make them comply. Mind magic had always been a fickle thing, that always included human emotion. A complicated structure that Harry had gotten used to over time.

He watched as Draco and Nikolai get up from their chairs, turning to him with skeptical or worried looks. Draco was the first to leave, telling him not to die. Nikolai took a little longer and Harry felt his barriers crack with his prolonged presence.

Little brother, darling brother… a venomous voice whispered, cackling as Harry felt a section of his soul reach for Nikolai. He didn't allow it, flinching when that part of his soul grew violent and went berserk within his mind.

"Kolya…"

"How did you do it? How did you save Gabrielle?"

Harry pursed his lips. "It's complicated."

"I'm willing to listen." Nikolai offered a gentle smile, practicing patience that Harry wished for.

Although his answer was complicated, it could easily be explained in two words.

"Magic transfusion."

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 25:

When little Arcturus Black the third, and as such, the third life of Harry Potter, he listened to his father lecture him on his honor and what he would become. The next Lord of House Black. Sirius Black the second, his father, was a stern yet caring man. He treated his wife and son well but he had always ensured that neither would be able to tarnish the name they had— Black.

He was eleven when his father sat him down and began to speak of politics and negotiating. He found it absurd that someone would teach their child such things but he has heard of Regulus speak of their lessons back in his second life.

"The art of negotiations… Understand that it is a fickle and complicated thing, my dear son. As heir to our great house, you must master it. You are a child of house Black, if you want something you shall get it… by any means necessary." Sirius II spoke, waving his hand in the air as his son sat before him.

From little Arcturus' perspective, his current father looked almost exactly like his great-grandson that was named after him. Arcturus expected to look similarly when he grows up.

He nods along to his father's words, quietly writing on the little journal his cousin Cassiopeia had given him a few weeks ago. He finally found something to with it, it wasn't like he was going to make a bloody horcrux.

"One thing you must consider when negotiating… is your public image."

That made Arcturus pause in his note taking, turning to his father who looked expectantly at him. He tilted his head, quietly asking for his father to continue.

Sirius II sighed, "Your social standing will heavily impact the fate of your negotiations. You are a Black, Arcturus." He emphasized his name, evidence on his lineage. The Blacks, most of them, were named after astral or celestial bodies. Sirius, Regulus, Bellatrix, Andromeda, Arcturus, Cassiopeia. They were stars, constellations— and those were their names.

"Once you enter Hogwarts, you must be cautious of who you befriend. Our family has many enemies, and those enemies are not afraid to use their own children. Be careful." He places a hand over Arcturus' shoulder, keeping eye contact.

What the young heir saw in his father's eyes were worry and concern. Being a Black meant having to be accustomed to danger, to threats. It was an unfortunate thing but power always comes with a downside. Arcturus understood even before his intial birth. He found it really tragic.

In his second life, Arcturus had been thrown into the fold of the Black Family due to his friendship with Regulus and the fact that Dorea trearwd him as her own son. He understood the politics of his current family and how they work, how they valued tradition, honor, and the loyalty to their house over all. Orion and Walburga became disgraces due to their marriage, before that, they thrived and we're the epitome of Black. 

He vowed to never wed his future son to his cousin. He would find someone else to mother Sirius and Regulus.

"Father… what if I'm not in Slytherin?"

He remembers this question well. The contract to the one his second born asked him. What if I'm in Slytherin? his dearest so  once worried for.

Sirius II blinked, furrowing his brows at his son. But Arcturus merely waited for an answer.

"What makes you think that?"

"Mother is a Ravenclaw and grandfather is a Gryffindor."

Hesper Black, nee Gamp— his current mother had a Gryffindor for a father.

"Cousin Pollux says that if I'm not a Slytherin, I'll be disowned and he'll be the heir." He murmured but knew that his father could hear it.

If his cousin wanted Slytherin than he would act like it. Besides, if he were to be disowned, Cassiopeia would be the heir, not Pollux.

He was well aware that your lineage didn't particularly affect the choices of the sorting hat, but it had some affect on it. Depending on your family— on how you were raised, your house could be easily determined. However, that was still something that the hat could easily disregard. What house you belonged to depended on who you are as a person— the sorting hat will place you in the house where you are most similar to.

"Arcturus Sirius Black the third."

Arcturus went silent as he stared at his father with wide eyes. Sirius II had knelt before him, a hand on his shoulder before grasping his own. The man offered him a soft and loving smile, something Arcturus hadn't expected much from a Black.

"You are my son. Whether you are Ravenclaw, Slytherin, or even Gryffindor, you will still be my son." Sirius says softly before his voice became stern. "Do not listen to your cousin. He is a fool to think that you would be disowned for what house you end up in. I shall speak to my brother about this." He grumbled.

Arcturus gulped, shaking his head but his father simply continued on. "Arcturus, you are named after my brilliant little brother and myself. Both of us are said to be exceptional Slytherins but neither of us were guaranteed for it. I was almost sorted into Ravenclaw and your uncle was… well he had many friends in Gryffindor for a reason."

Such information made Arcturus contemplate on himself. He dared not to look into his father's eyes, clutching his journal tightly and nodding quietly. He let out a quiet breath…

"Thank you… father."

Arcturus' mind instantly went to a boy with pitch black hair and crystal like green eyes. He wore green robes, oozed a relaxed kind of confidence that allowed him to happily converse with a boy with platinum blonde hair. His secondborn, his son that was most like him in terms of appearance and personality. 

Arcturus smiled, spelling the boys full name in his head. His entire name was dedicated to the house Harry had proudly bequeathed to him. His heir, his son, secondborn child.

Ares Regulus Potter.

Heir to house Black.

Social standing, public opinion, Hadrian remembers those terms well. He often spoke it like a mantra when entering a new life, when forging a new identity. He was often forced to understand that his own fate could not be handled so easily and thus he had to make do with what he currently had. That unfortunately meant near nothing as a child.

But once again, Harry had to take into account that he was human —for the most part.

His grasp upon the paper nearly ripped it as his coffee shook within his other hand. A wry smile found its way across his lips and he took notice to Hermione and Ron shooing their schoolmates that were trying to ask him question. Questions that would surely anger him and have his magic burst into horrific flames.

So Harry took a sip of his coffee again, taking in a deep breath and offering a cold smile.

He read the magazine once more, outraged—

The Boy-Who-Lived and his damsel in distress

Upon the second task, the four champions were told to save 'treasures'. No one had expected them to be people that the champions treasured dearly.

For the most part, the treasures in question were beloved family members, foster siblings, and lovers. Gabrielle Delacour, Asen Oblansk, and Cho Chang. But what category does Luna Lovegood, the treasure of our beloved boy-who-lived, fall into?

Speculations have been in and out of Hogwarts, having asked some students who were willing to answer our questions!

One student from Gryffindor says; "Potter has been hanging around Lovegood since the start of the year. No one knows why but he's awfully protective of her. Possessive even! Someone asked her to hogsmeade once and Potter got really annoyed with them."

Is Mr. Potter the jealous type of lover? Or is this the behavior of an overprotective older brother. 

We've also questioned some students in regards to other events occuring between Mr. Potter and Ms. Lovegood and safe to say, we have received amazing news!

"She was his partner to the Yule Ball. Lovegood wore this magnificent silver and blue dress that had some sort of gems embroidered to it. Potters clothes were similar in colors. I think he had them personally tailored for them," a student explains in detail, "They were real close when they were dancing. Potter wouldn't let her go and dance with others, until Ginny Weasley got a hold of her. After that, he ended up dancing with Hermione Granger."

Ah, yes. Hermione Granger, brightest witch of her age! Yet another suspected lover of Mr. Potter—

Harry did not hesitate to set fire to the magazine, tossing the flaming piece of paper on the table as students shrieked at his fury. Someone, Hermione, was quick to cast Aguamenti on the smoldering flames. Harry flicked his finger, forcing the fire to die as Hermione attempted to extinguish it with more water.

Her dark eyes, rimmed with gray, glared at him as she huffed and crossed her arms over her chest. She frowned, as if trying to convey her disappointment through her eyes, but she needn't do so. Hadrian was the least bit offended.

"They're making up rubbish on me dating you or Luna."

Hermione was quick to change, her disappointment turning into disgust. On the other hand, Ron choked on chicken and glanced from Harry, to Hermione, then his gaze snapped towards a visibly furious Ginevra Weasley.

"Someone ought to calm her down before—"

Ginny did exactly what Harry did, set fire to the rubbish.

For a moment, hazel eyes met with green and Harry offered a friendly grin. He raised his goblet, a mocking salute to their understanding to this nonsense. Ginny nodded, raising her goblet as well before downing it's contents and stomping towards the Ravenclaw table, obviously to rant to Luna and shower her in compliments.

Harry would only let her near their beloved Luna after all, and vice versa.

"Horrid! Who in their right mind would think I would be in love with you ?" It sounded like an insult, it might have been, but Harry knew better.

Hermione found him attractive but her love as a sister to him overpowered such. They weren't gonna be lovers any time soon. She was his sister and he was her brother. It felt like incest.

"Someone not in their right mind." He tells her, stabbing his fork into the poor batch of green he was being fed.

"Can we sue them for defamation?" Hermione asked, pinching the bridge of her nose as she vanished the ashes of the magazine.

"Not really… this situation is not of defamation after all. It's practically advertising the tournament by adding romantic contents into it." Harry explained, making a face once he tasted the food. He wanted to spit it out.

"Still," Ron murmurs, "They shouldn't be talking about you two like this. You're not… you don't love each other like that, right?" Uncertainty was within his expression and a spark of jealousy in his eyes.

Harry needed to get rid of that spark.

"It's like faux incest! Honestly now Ronald, if I were to date Harry, it would be as if I were dating my brother." She loudly declares, utterly disgusted by the pretense.

Harry glanced around. There were those who flinched at her ruthless boldness and he couldn't help but chuckle. Hermione might have been good for Ravenclaw but they were lions by heart.

Lion or Snake? Which one are you? One voice asks and Harry merely hums.

"By my blood and heart I am a lion, but my mind has always been that of a snakes." He whispered to himself, humming as he carefully cut his omelette. The yolk spilled over his plate and he smiled. If only it were blood, one voice says but Harry didn't know if it was his own.

"Right… 'Mione I have to talk to you about something. And Ron, I suggest you go to Luna." He said without further explanation. The two met eyes before hesitantly following his orders. Ron got up from his seat, holding Hermione's hand for a second before his face turned red and he rushed to his sister and Luna. Hermione was left baffled while Harry chuckled at their actions.

He gestured for her to follow as they exited the hall. It was a hogsmeade weekend and the foreign students had also gone of from the grounds and to the little magical town near the castle.

"Where are we going?" Hermione frowned, wrapping her jacket around her as she buried her face into the scarlet scarf that had been given to her for the year.

Harry glanced around hogsmeade, spotting Cho Chang going on a date with Cedric. When his fellow champion saw him, the Hufflepuff couldn't help but offer the brightest smile he had and a happy wave. Harry returned with a lazy grin, waving back before he guided Hermione into the town.

His dark gray coat was a good contrast to the white of the snow. January was still cold compared to December, but Harry hoped by February if would finally warm.

"Did you know that the outcome of negotiations can be determined by your social standing? Or your public image." Harry asked, turning to Hermione before they entered the three broomsticks.

Hermione blinked, shaking her head.

"Well then, let me give you a brief lesson. Negotiations require you to look upon you image. Your reputation can make a negotiation possible and now. Say, you are a nobody and you plan to speak with some powerful politician. They wouldn't even meet you due to your social status. So you must get a better reputation first." Harry grinned, "However, there is also the method of blackmail."

"Harry! That's— That's—" Hermione stuttered but she seemed to falter for a moment. Her eyes glazed over, frowning to herself as she contemplated on his words.

Harry never needed to enchant her.

Learning. Knowledge. Hermione craved for such things and it was easy to sway her opinion with the right words. It was a flaw at the moment but Harry would utilize it before he made her fix it. She would need to harden her mind and adjust her morality, of course.

"See Hermione, if we want certain things, we need to become certain people. For now, let's…  fix my ridiculous reputation." He opened the door and was greeted by several people within the establishment.

It was easy for him to meet eyes with Madam Rosmerta, who welcomed their presence. Harry prepared his most charming smile and the woman seemed to blush, as he and Hermione slip through the crowd and sit on a table occupied by a blonde woman clad in emerald green robes. Her eyes narrowed but he merely smiled at her.

"Hello Miss Skeeter."

Rita Skeeter eyed him suspiciously, but she huffed as butterbeer was served.

"Merry met Mister Potter. Have you enjoyed your yule? Was the Yule ball enjoyable?" She begins to ask, not hesitating as her cat like smile formed on her face.

Hermione bristled, clearly not understanding what Yule is (Harry would have to buy several books, he thinks.). But Harry places a hand on her knee, to which the girl froze.

"It was wonderful. Although Yule was better spent stressing over the new trial. The ball before that was quite enjoyable, dizzying with the dances, but a joy. I must express my thanks to you, Miss Skeeter, for fulfilling my little request." Harry recites as if he's done it a thousand times. Perhaps he has.

Skeeter's eyes lit up like stars, "Oh deary— This little interview of ours is more of a gem to me than it is to you! I should be the one thanking you." She insists and Harry mirrored her smile.

"Very well… What questions would you like answered?"

Hermione snapped her head towards him, but he simply gave her a reassuring smile. She clearly looked affronted by his choice, biting her lip as she clenched her fists on her lap and tried her best not to glare at Skeeter.

"Hm, let's begin with your thoughts in regards to the second task. Reports say that you were quite frantic when it came to retrieving Miss Lovegood."

"It's only natural. Luna is my little sister in everything but blood. Had the staff chosen Hermione, I would have done the same for her."

"So Miss Lovegood and Miss Granger are like your sisters?"

"Yes, of course."

Hermione glanced at him, intrigued as she smiled thoughtfully. He didn't lie in that situation.

"Interesting… and about Miss Delacour…"

"Gabrielle?"

"Yes! They say you did something to save her? Could you perhaps tell me something about that?"

Harry offered an apologetic smile. No, he could not disclose much about what he had done. Magic Transfusion was yet to be discovered in this world.

"Unfortunately, I cannot. That would also mean violating Miss Gabrielle's privacy so I would prefer to stay quiet about it. However, I must clarify that I only helped stabilize her magic with Fleur and Madam Pomfrey's instructions." He explained, lying through a smile.

Neither Fleur nor Pomfrey had given him much instruction. He had only made sure to transfer a bit of magic from Fleur to Gabrielle and made sure that it adjusted well to the girl's body. Harry doubted that Gabrielle would have survived with his magic in her. 

"Is that so…" Skeeter grinned, and Hermione glanced at her parchment and quill. She tugged at Harry's hand from under the table, quietly signaling him of it.

The entire interview went on with Hermione commenting a bit on her point of view on the second trial. Skeeter was absolutely delighted to hear her opinion, less hostile of the girl— unlike Harry's past life.

As the interview ended, Harry and Hermione exited the three broomsticks and walked around Hogsmeade with the cold wafting around them. It was silent for a moment until Hermione began to ask questions.

"What's yule?"

"Pagan Holiday. Wixes celebrate it rather than Christmas but with the arrival of muggleborns, many have been forced to accept Christmas and abandon yule." He explained and Hermione gasped. The horror spreading across her countenance made Harry hum, satisfied with her reaction.

"That's… That's awful! No one should be allowed to abandon their culture for others." She declared, outraged and appalled. A dawning realization came upon her and Hermione grimaced, "Is that why Purebloods hate us so much?"

"Some of them do because of that, yes… but some are simply bigoted prats who do not understand the fact that blood doesn't matter."

Hermione fell silent.

Clearly, she was contemplating while Harry observed her carefully. For one, Hermione was still a muggleborn who had been raised around such traditions and culture that replaced that of the magical world. However, she was a bit more open-minded than her other self. A pensive look washes over her face before she nods.

It was as if she had decided on something. Harry grinned, he had gifted the two with perfect materials. Ron had received Tarot cards as promised, along with a toy snitch that would return to him eventually and a book about divination. Ron had rolled his eyes but thanked him fondly, also eating the chocolate Harry gave him. Hermione had gotten herself that Rune Pen Harry kept mentioning, along with two other books. One about the attributes of magic (she had demanded multiple explanations about that) and a history book on wixen traditions and holidays.

"Harry."

"Yes?"

"Teach me how to negotiate ."

Harry grinned. I win again, he chuckled and mockingly bowed to Hermione. "I will teach you much more than negotiate."

"Will this really help?" Hesitation laces Ron's voice as he watches Luna. They had found an empty classroom to practice in, with Ginny observing them for a moment.

"Believe me Ron, if you have problems with Divination, Luna's got you… though I don't really understand anything." Ginny shrugged, grinning cheekily as Luna hummed in acknowledgement. The two youngest Weasleys watched carefully as Luna placed the deck of tarot cards on the floor, although they were all flipped.

The Ravenclaw hummed, satisfied with herself before she got up from the floor and held Ginny's hand.

"The process cannot be done with an additional presence. I apologize for this Ginevra, but could you please stand guard? If we were to be interrupted we'd have to start all over again." Luna gently spoke, a fondness in her eyes that sparkled as she held Ginny's hand.

Ginny softened but narrowed her eyes at her brother. "Be good."

"I'm older than you."

"So?" Ginny cockily retorts, huffing as Ron rolls his eyes. But the girl smiles and pats his back, "Good luck prat."

"Thanks, gin." Ron smiled back as his sister dutifully stood guard outside the classroom. He didn't doubt her capability to intimidate anyone who even tried to enter. For a thirteen year old, Ginny was vicious and scary in her own right.

Luna chuckles before guiding him to the nearly arranged cards and sat them both down on the floor. She hums a gentle melody, lighting up some candles that she had summoned along with some sort of incense. Ron could smell something from both the candles and incense, something that seemed to cleanse his mind of his worries.

Luna cleared her throat, causing Ron to wake from his stupor and smile sheepishly.

"Now… the most basic kind of Divination for me is Tarot readings." Luna starts, "We're not the same in our capabilities of divination. I am more inclined to see the future and often the present. You, on the other hand, have an affinity to the present and past. Not necessarily a seer but something intensely related to."

Ron nods along, a bit hard to understand but he could get the gist of it. Luna then gestures to the deck of cards that are laid out on the floor.

"First and foremost, you'll have to bunch the cards together. But for now, let's clear your mind and regulate your magic. The cards are laid out so when you use magic, it'll somewhat… bond with you."

"What? That doesn't make sense."

Luna nods in agreement, "Yes, it does not, but in due time, you will understand. Magic is not an inanimate object. It has its own sentience that allows it to be more flexible. Considering the state and who their owner is, magic reacts differently. With your… psychic like abilities, objects tend to be more like tethers and triggers to you. To divine the past or the future, in your case, past and present."

Trigger , Ron pauses as he hears that word. If objects were to trigger such visions, then… "What about people?"

Surprise spreads across Luna's face before she smiles brightly. "With a good connection to someone, then yes. A person can be a trigger to visions, so long as you have a deep bond with them. Was it Hermione or Hadrian?" She asked, tilting her head as she sat across from him.

Ron purses his lips, hesitant to answer. His talent was already a stressful thing to understand. Hermione and Harry were already doing their best to help him, even Ginny had pitched in. He didn't want to ruin whatever bond he had with them by stating that he could see their pasts by simple touch.

But he turned towards Luna, who looked encouraging and comforting. He could see why Ginny and Harry were so fond of her.

"Harry… on the night the champions were declared."

"Interesting." Luna grinned, "Also, be sure to keep your tarot safe. Once it soaks in your magic, it shouldn't be disturbed by anyone else's. Your visions would be influenced if they were— one of the reasons why diviners are rather possessive of their materials."

Ron could actually understand that. His gaze turned towards the cards and he flinched back as he saw familiar magic soaking them. His magic. With hesitation, Ron purses his lips and turns towards Luna, who was rather intrigued by him. As if knowing what he thought, she smiled. 

"Don't worry… that little ability of yours is safe with me. It's quite rare to see someone who can gaze at magic so clearly instead of simply feeling it."

A sigh left his lips, relieved that Luna was quite considerate. Once again, Ron could see why Harry and Ginny were so fond of her. Now, the Ravenclaw sits opposite to him and gestures towards the cards.

"Since you can see your magic, you should know if the cards have been soaked in it." She says, pointing towards every single card of the deck. 

He nodded, clearly seeing the soft glow of his magic wrapped around the card. A smile spreads across his face as he bunches the cards together. With the deck in his hands, his magic spread around the cards until it seeped into the tarots.

Luna gave him an encouraging smile, clapping her hands together.

"Now, separate them into three stacks. Also, whatever question you would like answered should always be in your head. You cannot, under any circumstances, lose focus on what you wish to know." Her warning sounded ominous as her once soft gaze turned sharp. Luna narrowed her eyes, exceptionally serious in this aspect of the process. "Let's start with something simple for now."

"Okay… uh… want to know what someone feels about you?"

A person's current emotions were born from actions of the past, and they existed within the present. If Ron's abilities were based on past and future then he could identify a person's feelings towards another. 

Luna offers a pleasant smile, nodding. "I always wondered what your older brothers Fred and George thought about me. Ginny speaks fondly of them. "

Ron grinned and kept the thought of where Luna's shoes were. He took in a deep breath, closing his eyes and focusing on the feel of magic rather than the sight of it. He tilted his head, shuffling the cards into three stacks, keeping his eyes closed.

'What do Fred and George think of Luna?'

Something was telling him to wait a moment before he made himself flip the cards. With both his eyes closed, he flipped the first three cards of the stacks and then slowly opened his eyes to the results. 

All three were upright cards.

The fool, the two of cups, and, the four of wands .

Luna smiles, "It seems your brother's like me. That's a relief." She says, placing a hand over her chest with a spark of joy in her eyes. "Would you like to try again?"

Ron excitedly agreed and bunched the cards together again. He took in a deep breath, soaking his magic into the cards and thinking of a specific number in his head. Six, he thinks as he was the sixth child in his family. He shuffles the card six times and cuts them into three stacks. With a calm hand, he keeps his eyes closed and focuses on a question.

What intentions does that stranger want? Why do they want to harm Harry?

If Ron was lucky, the culprit who placed Harry's name into the goblet didn't change their feelings towards Harry. Intentions could be considered present rather than future if you think hard enough. So Ron keeps his cool and flips the cards.

He opened his eyes and saw the stiff look on Luna's face. He looked down upon the cards he had flipped and frowned.

What does that mean? He really should have brought a book with him.

The Hanged man.

Seven of swords.

Six of swords. 

All were reversed.

Luna finally speaks, and Ron does not like what comes out of her mouth. "That does not… look good."

Bloody Potter Luck. 

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 26:

Magic was woven through the very atoms that created the very universe. Beings born from it and they often stay dormant. The very magic that rests upon the human body would only wake when Fate wills it. Thus muggles, although said to be magicless, had the smallest of magical cores resting upon their souls — locked tight so their souls could not open them until Fate desires. Squibs ; unfortunate humans who could not access their magic for fate says otherwise — be it a punishment or a blessing for their magic being locked away, no one knows. Magical diseases, curses that run through the blood could be avoided by locking magic.

There were various kinds of magic. From Physical magic; to control physical manifestations of the mortal realm — the reality they knew. Physical magic controlled the elements: fire, water, earth, air, and all the subcategories that lie beneath them. Mind magic that focused on mentality rather than physicality. Thoughts, emotions, imagination itself lies within this kind of magic, but it is fragile and dangerous. Then there was Illusion Magic, a sort of intersection between Physical and Mental — imagination brought forth to reality. Another was Runic magic, born from magic seeping to ink, to letters, to symbols. Spells were straightforward but Runes lasted longer, they were activated by certain requirements and was more durable in a sense. There were more categories, some already arcane. 

Every single wixen alive had a specific affinity to one of these categories. An attribute that mixed well with the wixen itself. For every single life he's lived, Hadrian Potter has experienced every single kind of magic as a main attribute. Although he still finds difficulty on which kind of magic he has a great affinity to. Sometimes he thinks it's mind magic, sometimes he suspects that he has inherited James' affinity to physical magic. It seemed logical, but at the same time, he had to consider that Lily was not a wix with physical magic as a main attribute.

Malcolm had inherited Euphemia's penchant for physicalities, the same as James. Fleamont had preferred runes over physicalities.

With what little Hadrian knows of his current body, he must take every precaution he can to figure out the issues in regards to the vessel he resides in. Experimenting in his magic was risky, but it was the best way to find out how his body worked. He would have expected his vessel to be exactly the same as his original life, but it wasn't.

No.

This version of him had a few more scars painting his back, along with an intense instinct to hide, unlike his brash and reckless first life. It was different. Bothersome really, but he's dealt with worse. His mind goes back to his fifth life, an atrocious experience — having become an obscurial at such a young age. His body and soul had been the most unstable during that life — absolutely revolting .

He tilts his head to the right, groaning as he feels his magic snap for a second. Pursing his lips, he runs a hand through his hair before turning on his heel and marched up to the owlery. As expected, Hedwig was waiting for him. His owl had always been more intelligent than others — she knew damn well that some letters shouldn't be given to him in public. He smiled at her, caressing the snow white feathers of his familiar, and whispering his thanks as he took the letter from her. In the process, he feeds her some treats as he reads through Gellert's letter.

My beloved and almighty son,

It began, causing Harry to roll his eyes at the sentence.

Beware the fat man is what I would like to say, but the fat rat in question will be dealt with. I have raised you well and I expect you to torture the life out of the vermin.

Harry snorts.

The little abomination you have sent me to retrieve is one awful thing. So many curses upon something so precious! Make sure to slap that fool of a dark lord for having cursed a Peverell heirloom. He deserves to be punished for such an atrocity. I've cleansed it as much as I can, but even I can feel his revolting soul fragment within the stone.

Dearest Hedwig cannot carry such a thing, so I've placed an enchantment on a rune I've written on this letter. Make sure to say 'Der Faden des Schicksals' to activate it and the Horcrux shall be apparate to you.

His eyes skim the letter and find a rune written on the edge of the parchment. He presses his thumb against it, humming as he feels the magic.

But let me provide you with some advice my dear son: inform that little imposter of yours of what chaos he has been forced into for his foolishness. The duration of ten months only begins by the end of the tournament, correct? Use those future ten months well. Remember, once a victor is named, he shall be your slave. 

Use him well, do not let any sentiments of your past affect your decision making. The imposter is not the same from your second life. Also, do not announce the return of a dark lord. You've been able to keep my freedom quiet, let us keep silent on the fools return. The twinkly eyed bastard would parade you around like a trophy if he finds out.

Also, clever of you to make that woman into a variable of your plan. I do hope that you will be able to paint the too-many-names old man as an old fool who's gone senile. I would enjoy sipping my tea and reading the prophet to such a scandal.

I have nothing else to say. I trust you.

You will meet your sister soon. Not now, but soon.

Ich liebe dich, mein kostbarer Sohn. keep safe.

Your ever so wonderful father.

Harry laughs to himself, amused by the contents of the letter. A cruel grin plasters itself across his face, running a finger down the rune etched onto the parchment. He felt Gellert's magic from the rune, satisfied that his father had dealt with the issue at hand. He speaks the triggering words and feels magic stretch and squeeze around him. A moment later, a ring lands on his palm and he feels the disgusting magic of a Horcrux. He was in possession of, at the very least, four horcruxes, five if nagini was already turned into one and then he would only have to capture the snake. His main issue was the diary.

A wry smile carves itself on to his lips and he fixes his gaze down from the window and to the black lake. In the very middle, standing on the water was the figure of death. The entity wore their cloak, turning their head towards Harry who merely waved. He was going to have to deal with the fact that not only had he killed Amarantha in his second year, he practically destroyed half of Tom Riddle's soul. Perhaps he could bargain with death. He's done it before, he could do it again if he wishes.

And he feels something cold near him.

The owls in the owlery bristled, hooting and screeching at the sudden cold. But Hedwig, his beloved pet, twisted her neck towards death and hooted as a hello.

"Bargain, you say?"

Harry chuckled, "What must I give you to get that wretched half? I can't exactly keep him sane and on a tight leash without it." He tilts his head, acknowledging his own insanity by bargaining with Death of all entities. But he wasn't stupid enough to make a deal with fate — no, Death was easier. Death had a soft spot for Ignotus and Harry was his last remaining descendant and the very boy who was given the laughable title of their master. At the very least, Death could entertain him. 

"It has always been the same with me, my dearest master." Death spoke. The word master was said mockingly yet, it was said in a fond manner as well.

"An eye for an eye. A tooth for a tooth. A life for a life…" they trail off and Harry catches a grin from under the hood. "A soul for a soul."

Someone was yelling at him. Yelling to stop, yelling to not do it. Half of Tom Riddle's soul didn't mean that much to him. Yet… he feels something vibrate from under his shirt, a warmth exuding from the emerald necklace around his neck. Amarantha silently begs to be saved, to live once again. Harry feels regret, guilt, anguish. It swallows him and he closes his eyes for a moment and thinks. Tom Riddle isn't worth it but Amarantha is. He concludes and turns back to Death.

"Who's soul do you want me to reap?" He asks, pursing his lips before shaking his head and listening intently.

Death grins again, leaning towards him. "Igor Karkaroff."

The headmaster of Durmstrang himself.

Harry chuckled. It wasn't so hard after all.

He grinned, eyes blazing green hellfire. "Of course, my dearest companion."

Bartemius Crouch Jr. was not okay.

For the entire week, he had avoided Hadrian Potter like the damn plague. He supposed that the boy in question was greatly amused by his actions, taking joy in his suffering. Barty hated dressing up as Moody, having to look at Evan's murderer every time he looked into a mirror. It made him want to vomit. While the real Alastor Moody rotted in his expandable trunk. That still didn't stop the displeasure from coursing through poor Barty.

It had started at the very beginning of the week. He had done his best to ignore Potter, even try to relax in such stressful times. So he, a Ravenclaw at heart no matter how many times Rabastan and Evan insisted he was well suited in Slytherin, had mindlessly picked up a book without even reading the title. He had read through the entire book, a catalog of rules and regulations in regards to the Triwizard tournament. And then he found a chapter about non consensually placing another's name into the goblet.  

Barty swears to every god in existence and fate itself that he had a heart attack when he found out. No wonder why Potter was so damn smug about him doing what he says! He has enslaved himself to the boy and once the tournament was over, Barty was Potter's personal servant for ten months! Half of his precious magic would be bound to Potter for ten months, he would have to do potter's bidding so long as it does not kill him. But Barty feared not just the fact that he was no longer ignorant to this.

Potter had known.

Then on the day before the trial, Luna Lovegood — his precious Pandora's only child — came to him with the exact same smile Pandora once wore. A smile that promised trouble, and Barty knew that this girl understood he was a fake. Her eyes had immediately gone to the book and she happily informed him of how it got into his office. "Hadrian told me that you would like it! He says that it will inform you of your fate for the next year." Then she skipped out the classroom, where Hadrian Potter had been waiting for her outside.

The little shit had smirked at him! The knowing smile. The boldness. The recklessness. The fucking audacity!

Barty was going to die.

He had known James Potter back in his school days. He was a year older than him, a troublemaker that was part of a ragtag group of Gryffindors that called themselves the marauders. But Barty had seen a hidden side of Potter. It was on a freezing day in the November of his fourth year. Some idiot had gone out their way to call Lily Evans a mudblood right in front of Potter. He had seen James Potter's face, the murderous intent that his friends didn't seem to notice. Maybe Barty had noticed because he was a spectator and wasn't too focused on Evans.

All Barty knew was that for three months after that, the poor sod had suffered and was miserable. No one knew why, but after that incident, he had been cursed with misfortune. Be it simple stuff like losing their belongings or tripping on thin air to almost life threatening events like getting a severe fever and almost falling from the astronomy tower. Barty could also distinctly remember the sod — an idiotic Slytherin — screeching about a deer chasing after him.

Barty was sure it had been Potter's doing. No one thought it was him, maybe his friends did, but anyone else was oblivious. But Barty had gone out his way to practically stamp red capitalized letters on James Potter's forehead that said 'DANGER! DO NOT PISS OFF!'.

It seemed like his son was just as malicious as his father.

But then again… he was Lily Evans' son as well.

Barty had expected the child between those two to be a menace. He just never expected for Hadrian Potter to literally go out of his way to make his life a living hell — even though it was his fault for putting Potter's name in the goblet in the first place. But still! The menacing demon had tormented Barty for so long, knowing full well he'd be enslaved to the demonic boy by the end of the year.

"I should write a will… yes… I'll send it to Rabastan." Barty grumbled, taking a long swig of the polyjuice. He shuddered, the potion tasted horrid.

He glared at the wooden leg, limping out the door.

It was time.

For that blasted trial — once this all ends, Barty was Potter's slave. So he hunts the boy down. But he finds Luna instead.

She smiles pleasantly at him, a couple of black boxes in her arms. "Hadrian is getting ready. You'll find him in the astronomy tower." She explains, pushing one of the boxes that were slipping from her hold. Her smile brightens, "Don't pick a fight with him. He's not in the best mood but he'll be civil."

Barry nodded, somewhat thankful for the help. But Luna only laughs, rushing away — but she bids him farewell. "Take care, uncle Barty!"

He froze, staring at her figure. Her voice vanishes into the distance and Barty is rendered speechless. He never expected Luna to call him uncle . Pandora would have names Regulus godfather, not Barty but—

There has always been the chance of him getting to raise Luna, along with the rest of their group. Had there not been a war… perhaps…

Shaking his head, he cursed himself for drowning in sentiments and hurried off to the Astronomy tower. The wooden leg irritated him, unable to properly walk nor could he hurry along. He merely hoped that Potter hadn't left — but he was sure the boy was waiting for him. As much as it pained Barty's ego, Potter was the best bet now. He was risking so much; his life, his lord's fate, his magic ! He was risking it all just for an unknown variable in the plan, a literal enigma. If the gods were real, he'd be praying for himself right about now. 

And as Luna promised, Hadrian Potter waits for him in the Astronomy tower. He is dressed in black and red robes, his hair not touched to be styled at all. The boy was cleaning his glasses, not even acknowledging Barty as he entered the room. His presence was obvious, not just because of his magic, but because of the blasted wooden leg.

"How does it feel… to wear the face of your dearest friend's murderer?" Potter asked, not even looking at him; as if Barty wasn't worth it.

Barty flinches, glowering at Potter who merely hums.

At the moment, he could finally feel his screw up; his mistake. His magic was immediately drawn towards Potter, coilee around him and creating a sort of tether towards the boy. Not a connection — a leash . Potter held an invisible leash in his hand that connected to Barty's magical core, and he felt like a dog for it.

Potter seemed to know what he was doing, as Barty felt something tug at his magic. He saw Potter smirk, as if telling him that he was fucked.

"Awful isn't it… to be tied down, for your magic to be threatened. You really should have thought it over." Potter drawled out, flicking his finger. Barty was almost brought to his knees as his magic reacted violently at the silent command. "The book I had Luna planted in your office was the original copy of books that were purged from the castle. Thank Dumbledore for your ignorance, considering the fact that he has either hidden or destroyed the majority of books Hogwarts once housed."

He couldn't believe his ears as he listened to Potter. His wand was nowhere in sight but Barty could feel the tightly woven magic around the boy. It would do his bidding, Barty knew it.

"Get on with it. What do you want?" He snarled.

Potter chuckles, "The graveyard in Little Hangleton is where the portkey will take me, correct?"

Barry flinched, how does he know that?! He grit his teeth, reluctantly nodding.

"Your half-dead lord is residing in his muggle father's old home… ironic." Potter cruelly laughed. "Do you know what made him that way? What turned him into a wraith and what caused his sudden descent to insanity?"

Shamefully, Barty shook his head. As a little firstie, he has heard from older students how great and benevolent the dark lord was. He was magnificent, powerful, clever, a genius! He was the literal definition of power. 

Yet here Barty was, at the mercy of a fourteen year old boy who seemed to know everything.

"Pandora Olivander…" He hummed, "She and Regulus knew exactly what caused Voldemort to go insane. And you know what? It got them killed." He spat, snarling and swiping his hand through the air.

Barty felt his magic snap , stretching in different directions before it acted like rubber and snapped back against his skin. It stung, it burned, Barty felt his skin flare!

"Horcruxes; vile creations. You split your soul through a bloody ritual, a life to split your soul into different fragments. The owner of such souls will store their soul fragments in objects, vessels that become magically protected by their soul… but the more you split your soul, the more you lose. Your sanity — it is often the one most affected, the mind ." Harry ran a hand through the air, eyes shining for a few seconds before the light died down. "The mind is the one most intertwined to your soul. Damage the soul and you damage the mind."

Barry gulped. He hung his head low, shuddering at the cool tone Potter used to explain everything. He knew of Horcruxes, not much but he knew of the forbidden kind of magic. To split your soul through murder was a vile thing, even for Barry. It kept you alive until the horcruxes were destroyed — and Voldemort survived the rebound of his own killing curse. His gaze turned towards Potter, who smiled ruefully at the horrid realization on his face.

"He created around… six or so Horcruxes. Voldemort split his soul six times." Barty shuddered. He didn't know what to fear. That his lord had split his soul into multiple pieces or that Potter knew. "I found five."

Driven by his own shock, Barty whipped out his shock and hissed in pain. His wand was knocked away from his hand and his eyes snapped towards Potter. The boy had his wand out, twirling it like a batton and looking at him with disdain.

"I don't enjoy disobedience Crouch, neither do I have the patience for you. Whether you like it or not, I'm the only one who can actually restore your pathetic excuse of a Dark Lord." Potter made a pulling motion and Barty gasped. His magic had reacted once again, easily submitting to Potter and his own magic turned against him — he fell to his knees. "Tonight, I will get what I want. You won't be able to stop me Barty… but if you wish to help… then—"

That god forsaken smile. Barry gulped, unable to look away as he hissed in pain. Once again, his magic had reacted like rubber, stretching then snapping against his skin. It burned.

"Perhaps I won't do anything. I would have erased your memories at the very least, feed you to a Dementor in the worst case scenario." Potter drawled, grinning darkly.

"Now be good. My patience is running out and I would hate to watch your father drag you back to Azkaban." Cruelty shone through emerald eyes, "You don't want to go back do you? You don't want to waste your mother's sacrifice." 

"How do you—"

Barty's lips were sealed, staring at the motion of Potter's hands. He glared at the boy who was in almost absolute control of his magic, forcing him to do his bidding.

"I'll make your father's life miserable if you help me. Death is too much of a mercy for him, is it not? You want him to suffer, you want misfortune to rain down upon him and watch him rot in the darkest of his moments. So help me… help me and I shall grant this desire of yours."

His throat was dry, unable to speak. It was so tempting. It felt like a snake had coiled around him, whispering into his ear of the sins he wished to commit. His breath hitched, silent as he stared at Potter and his entire body trembled. How the hell was this boy a Gryffindor? Why the hell did the hat let his brilliant and vindictive mind waste away in that den of buffoons? But then again, Potter did admit to having been a potential Slytherin.

There was a kind of hunger that flashed through Potter's eyes. Greed, unimaginable greed that seemed to crush Barty without a single word uttered.

"Help me and you get your lord back. Help me and your father suffers. Help me…" He trails off, releasing the invisible leash he had on Barty, "and I get what I want and you do not suffer my wrath."

Whatever kindness he possessed had vanished the moment he stepped into the maze. He went first, then Fleur, then Viktor, and lastly, Cedric. The order was different from the original as the order of winners of the second trial were different. Well… Harry was still first place. He has only stopped to turn towards the crowd, his eyes lingering on certain people. The Weasleys and Hermione, Nikolai, Draco and Lincoln, and last but not least, Luna. He offered a smile to his seer before stepping into the maze.

The plan was simple.

He got to the cup first and made sure Cedric or any of the champions go anywhere near it. If they do, he would simply alter their memories. 

The obstacles in the maze were mediocre at best. Hagrid's abominations were interesting but he didn't care much for them. It wasn't hard to blast them away and into the enchanted bushes. He had this desire to simply burn down the hedges and cut through the maze but he would have to figure out a way to go through it. Though that was a tedious affair.

Left, go left. Regulus' voice whispered and he followed. Had Luna been present, she would have commented on how obedient he was to a ghost his mind had manifested. But who was he to blame? The ghost in his mind was a creation of his broken heart and desire for the first person who told him that greed didn't automatically make him a bad person.

Right.

Left.

Forward.

Both paths are illusions that will make you go in circles. Go back and take a right. 

Every single instruction the voice told him, he followed silently and had managed to dodge multiple monsters. Although he was rather thankful to have avoided the sphinx, he had cackled the moment he was met with a boggart. The blasted monster didn't even show itself and Harry heard its whimpers. He smirked, satisfied that some Dark creatures could feel him and be afraid . It soothed the vicious parts of his soul that desired carnage.

Will you kill the rat? 

Harry falters for a moment. His brows furrowed and he tilted his head to the direction where the voice is loudest, left. The voice was nonchalant, more masculine than feminine. 

"Isaac?" He was surprised. The eighth life wasn't particularly talkative, often choosing to stay quiet with the ninth and fifth. But Harry shook his head, somewhat relieved that different aspects of him are still willing to speak. Now that I think about it, I haven't heard from Arcturus since I got here. 

It was odd but he was subsequently used to it.

"If I want Sirius free then I have to keep him alive… for now. The Dementors will enjoy a new meal but I don't think they'll enjoy the taste of rat." He chuckled, twirling his wand between his fingers. Glancing towards the enchanted vines snaking up his leg, he hummed and casted a silent incendio. He took great joy in watching it burn.

"Now… my dear Leo, where to?"

Forward.

He followed through with the command. However, he found great annoyance once he crossed paths with Cedric. The Hufflepuff's eyes lit up like stars at the sight of him and Harry only felt exhausted. The mere sight of Cedric was like having his lifeforce being sucked out of him. The young man was too bubbly, too cheery, too joyous. Perhaps his first life enjoyed the bright personality but his current self found it draining. Most of his aspects agreed.

Harry only offered a reluctant smile before following all his Gryffindor instincts… and ran in the opposite direction. 

You idiot! Just stun the damn badger and make a run for it! He isn't as strong as you! Regulus' voice yelled and scolded him. However, it was still kind enough to point him in the right direction. Damnit. Left then right, then forward. 

Harry turned his heel and took a sharp right. He froze at the sight of a Blast-Ended Skrewt. A big one too. Grimacing, Harry pointed his wand at it and didn't hesitate. " Sectumpsempra ." The spell immediately cut the abomination in half and Harry snarled at the blood oozing out of its corpse.

Snape may have been one hell of a cunt but he was a genius in his own right. If someone were to find the Blast-Ended Skrewt, they wouldn't identify his magic. Snape might recognize it but he wouldn't know it was Harry. The bastard had it in his head that Harry and his father were light wizards. Preposterous really — absolutely stupid to assume that a Peverell, especially ones who weren't disowned by the family magic, were light wizards. It felt like a disgrace.

Damn… that's disgusting. He hears Orpheus snarl but it is soon followed by manic laughter. Got to hand it to Hagrid, he's one hell of a monster breeder. 

"Be quiet you imbecile." Harry grumbled, slashing through shrubs that were in his way she scowled, wanting to scream into the sky for having to put up with this stupidity that is known as a maze. He hated it when everything complicated in moments where it shouldn't be complicated. This should have been easy!

He cursed fate, eternally, he has done so from the moment of his very first death.

But hail the fates for their cruelty and kindness, Harry saw the glimmer of blue. The Triwizard cup was in his line of sight… but so was Viktor, Fleur, and Cedric. Hail fate for her kindness comes with more problems. All four champions made eye contact, none of them moving.

"Hey… maybe we should—"

Harry didn't even hesitate. He wasn't going to let any of those three die by touching the fucking goblet. He bolted to the shimmering silver and blue cup. The other three had moved immediately but it was too late.

Harry grins at them and for a moment they are angry, before they have reluctant and tired smiles on their faces. The moment Harry touches the cup, he feels the magic around him shift, twist, turn, and then he feels his entire body spin. The last thing he saw was the scared looks of the older champions.

Cold ground and dirt met his feet as he landed. The cup was kept close to him as he snapped his gaze towards the sound of hissing. His body goes rigid as he hears someone order for him to be attacked. A familiar sensation of magic overcomes him and Harry creates a force field before a spell could hit him. He heard the pathetic screeches of the traitor who got his parents killed and he has this need to hunt.

§Master! Master! I will be saved!§ Amarantha celebrates and Harry smirks.

§Indeed you will…§

Peter flinches at the hissing coming out from his mouth.

There was this manic gleam in Harry's eyes and he felt more animal than human in that moment. Perhaps it was due to how he perceived Peter to be a rat rather than human, but his body reacted to his own thought. For show, for the mere fact that the voices in his head were warning him to stay discreet, he raised his wand and sent a harsh stunning curse towards Peter.

The blithering rat sputtered, hissing at the curse before Harry swiftly follows up with a silent spell that knocks him out completely.

"Wormtail… see… what…"

Harry clicked his tongue. Sticking his gaze to the homunculus monster that writhes under a blanket. It was wrapped around him tight, almost suffocating the damn thing. Harry hears another sound of hissing and smiles, pleased to hear the familiar sound.

§Get away… Stranger…§ the serpent says but flaters, §Why do you smell like that child?§

It had been decades, almost a century since he last saw Nagini. 

§Hello Nagini. I don't suppose Riddle has turned you into a horcrux to survive.§ he hums, crouching to her level. "Be honest with me so I can make sure he lives." He knew better than anyone that Nagini could understand him. A former human she was, but even then, her transformation did not render her incapable of understanding human speech. 

The serpent falters. Nagini glances towards the homunculus before turning her slitted gaze towards Harry. There was this… pull , a sense of familiarity that seemed to suffocate her. She could not understand but she had met this boy before. 

§Yes…§

"I see… I don't think it'll be safe to extract that fragment from you just yet… you have two curses in your body and it is still adjusting." Harry clicked his tongue, "And here I thought I could render him completely mortal… but I suppose with what little part of soul you have, it'll be sufficient."

Harry hums to himself, closing his eyes as he glances towards the cauldron that had been readied. It wasn't going to be that useful but he could simply say that Riddle was required to be dropped into the metal pot and hit his head against it. He smiled ruefully, snickering to himself as he felt a cold presence loom over him.

"The cup you had the goblins retrieve." Death says and gives him one box — Helga Hufflepuff's cup. "The Diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw. The diary restored. The last three are on your person." 

Harry node, reluctantly removing the ring and locket. He sighed to himself, placing the horcruxes in a circle around the husk that was Tom Riddle. With even more reluctance, Harry was part of that circle. He places a hand on the scar and glances back at the figure of death, the one Nagini was hissing fearfully at. 

"Will I retain my parseltongue?"

"Of course." 

Harry grumbled quietly and tilted his head from side to side. 

He was finally getting rid of the damn soul freeloading in his body.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 27:

Mending a soul is harder than splitting it.

It was especially hard if a soul fragment was in the casters body — which, unfortunately, was the situation Hadrian was stuck in. He hissed as he felt his mind, magic, and soul hunt the soul fragment down and dragged it out his body. Something inside of him was ripped away, the damn parasitic horcrux that has been clinging to him for all his life. He grit his teeth, breathing heavily as he places a hand against his scar and felt his skin flare for a moment.

His head hurt.

The voices, aspects of his soul, were screaming. Be it bloody murder or rejoicing that the intruder has been finally removed, they were loud and unrelenting as they celebrated.

He took in a deep breath, glowering at the coil of soul fragments practically screeching at him to stop. Once again, he must reiterate the fact that he despised disobedience when it came to it. The moment the horcrux was out of his body, Hadrian jumped out of the circle of soul fragments and drowned the souls in his magic. They writhed, struggled, doing their best to keep away from him and remain separated from the main soul. For what little patience he had, he grabbed the soul fragments free back his arm.

Smoke was released from the horcruxes and he could hear screaming. The melodious sound of pain and agony was absolutely wonderful to him. He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes and attempting to focus on the broken soul. It was like a jumble of puzzle pieces that weren't the same size. One was bigger than the other, but that didn't stop them from piecing together. But once again, the soul struggled and tried to morph itself into a different piece that wouldn't fit. This enraged him, outstretching one hand towards what he suspected was the diary, the biggest part of the soul. 

-§Behave before I obliterate you!§ he hissed, losing his patience as he shoved the huge chunk of a soul into the rest. For a few moments, the smoking wraith writhe and twisted in on itself. It reminded him of an obscurus, a being of chaotic and uncontrollable magic, but this was an unstable soul. They may look alike but they are severely different. 

He feels death coil around him like a snake, tightly wrapping around his neck. "There will be a price…"

"I know that! Damnit!" He grit his teeth, his entire body trembling. He'd have to kill someone to properly fix Riddle's soul, although that little missing piece of the puzzle irritated him. He couldn't kill Pettigrew. He needed the rat alive to get to Sirius and he needed Sirius to claim the seat of house Black. He needed to become Lord Black, he had to.

There wasn't anyone close enough to be a sacrifice. He needed a sacrifice to finish it.

Then he remembered Luna's words.

You alone cannot change the world.

What this world needs is another like you.

He hated that fact. He hated that he knew it. He hated how in every life he had changed the world but died for it — because he was alone? The absurdity of it outraged him. Hadrian has been alone from the moment he died in his first life. He had been alone for almost his entire existence. Why now? Why give him an equal when he didn't want one? Why did he have to be burdened by the fact that the man who killed his parents was his equal? Why did it have to be the man who got Regulus killed? Why him? Why Tom Riddle?

Fate had never answered his question. No matter how many times he asked, she never answered him. She left him with more questions, more puzzles to solve, more problems to fix, more riddles to figure out. Why did have to be him?

"Never!"

His magic snapped. His control shattered as the soul remained in the air before a blast of green went straight at him. His eyes grew wide and Harry was knocked back. Magic sinked into his body and any kind of warmth he possessed vanished in an instant. Air was deprived from him, unable to breath as his vision blurred and he blacked out. His body convulsed, violently shaking as his eyes closed. The skin on his body went white, gray — as cold as ice and he went still. Silence reigns and Harry Potter lies on the ground, unmoving.

The voices in his mind go silent and he doesn't move any further. He is cold, he is frozen. The sound of a heart beating slows and for a moment it stops. Magic was ready to burst, to explode and destroy his surroundings. Hadrian does not move for a few more minutes and he cannot feel anything. He cannot see anything, he cannot hear anything, he cannot feel .

Death looms over him, humming in interest before they summon a scythe. The entity gazes upon the writhing soul of Tom Riddle and the frozen soul of their master. Death chuckles, amused by the situation before they bring their scythe over their head and gently lowers it towards Hadrian. The frozen soul of the master of death slowly warmths, then it sparks and it bursts into flames.

Hadrian gasps, swallowing air and he coughs. A hand grasps at his chest, pain flaring over his heart. But rather than crying, he laughs. This manic kind of laughter that was evidence to the sanity he has lost. Hadrian laughs and laughs, before he giggles under his breath and pulls himself up. There is no blood on him but he feels his blood rush through his veins and course across his body. His heart was beating, his soul was intact, and he heard the voices of his lives once more.

What's happening?! 

No! No! It wasn't supposed to be like this!

This is absurd! What has he done for us—

He isn't worthy of this!

Cold, so cold… save me, make me warm… 

KILL HIM! MAKE HIM SUFFER!

WHY IS THAT BASTARD STILL ALIVE?! 

It hurts! Make it stop!

Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. 

Can't think properly… magic feels weird.

SHUT UP! Burn that monster!

Magic is haywire, the body is unstable. Need to fix that. 

"Oh you cruel bitch!" He laughed, crazed eyes snapping to the sky. "Fate… Moira…" he whispers and his insanity dies down… temporarily that is.

His gaze turns towards the Horcrux — the soul having calmed down. He heard more hissing, an agitated Nagini slithering towards the husk of the dark lord. Hadrian clicks his tongue, forcing his magic to summon his future slave.

"Crouch." 

And Barty appears before him. The man looks startled, looking around before their eyes meet. Barty had his actual face on, no more Moody sticking to his skin. He was speechless, before he gasped at the wraith that was Voldemort's soul.

"Deal with your lord after this. Slowly put him into that pot." He commands. Weaving his magic through the air, he carefully guides the soul towards its owner.

Barry frantically staggers towards Voldemort, carefully bringing the homunculus into his arms and slowly lowering him into the cauldron. The man glances cautiously at Harry but snaps his gaze away once he sees the boy struggle to control the soul trying to escape his control. Ever so loyal to his lord, Barty is careful when placing Voldemort at the very bottom of the cauldron. Harry wished he had just dropped the monstrosity that looked like a shriveled up baby.

The soul writhed again.

Harry tilted his head and grit his teeth. Slowly, he injected the soul into the body. He forced his magic to coil around Voldemort's, taking hold of the limp magic as if they were puppet strings. With a hefty amount of force, he guided Voldemort's magic through his body and forced it to adjust to the almost complete soul within its body. The cauldron began to shake, smoke — or is that fog — releasing from it. Barry jumped back, alarmed by the phenomenon.

He didn't notice Harry summoning a dagger and stared at the cauldron. A pale hand grasped at the edge of the cauldron and a man used it as support to stand up. Dark hair falls over red eyes and Harry meets Voldemort's gaze — perhaps Tom Riddle was a better name in this situation. He was paler than expected, almost stark white and Harry would have thought the ritual had a side effect had he not noticed how shaken and weakened his soul was. It would take time for it to heal and restore itself properly. 

Harry wanted to kill him. To rip his entire soul out of his body and feed it to the closest Dementor he could find. He wanted to rip the man to shreds and watch him suffer. 

Barty was in awe — he really should have been more attentive.

Harry approached the Dark Lord, his face dangerously blank before a smile graced his lips. Voldemort's expression contorts, reaching towards Harry, still weak. But Harry only takes his hand and tilts his head, keeping his smile. The hand was cold to touch but Harry didn't mind. He was sure that his own skin was just as cold to touch. 

And he plunges the dagger into Voldemort's palm.

Barty screams, trying to get to Harry but he is forced to his knees and unable to do anything but watch.

Hadrian revels in the violence, the scent of blood. He revels in the warm liquid dripping down from his own palm and he feels lighter. Blood for blood. His soul felt free from the parasite it had housed and he listened to the celebration in his own mind — different aspects taking joy in the pain he has caused. Shuddering, he feels a different magic wrap around him and his own snaps at it, forcing it back. 

Venomous green stays on blood red. Voldemort's eyes are wide, startled but he does not move. He is frozen, shocked, horrified, furious, but he is awed at best. He cannot move his gaze away from the boy who didn't even hesitate to shed blood and watch as Hadrian removes the emerald hanging around his neck and drowns it in his blood. His breath hitches as he hears a cold and cruel voice, it was smooth and rough, quiet and loud. He couldn't describe it but he felt pain as he listened.

"It's quite unpleasant to see you, Riddle."

And Harry pulls away, causing Tom to collapse on the ground. Barty regained his senses, summoning a robe and carefully handing it to the dark lord. He glared at Harry, who was fixated upon the blood covered emerald. Satisfaction morphs across his expression as he watches the emerald drink in the blood. The blood of Slytherin. 

"Perfect." He whispers and smirks at the growling Barty Crouch Jr. Out of spite, Harry tugs at Barty's magic and earns a strained curse. "Behave. My job here is done and I've gotten what I want." He explains and settles his eyes back on Amarantha's gem.

I can finally get you back. 

"I'll deal with the situation in Hogwarts. And…" Harry grinned, moving away from Barty who was supporting the weakened Voldemort. He gazed down on the traitor and felt his own magic burn within him. "I'll be taking this one."

"Wait—"

" Rennervate. " 

Peter Pettigrew screamed as he awoke. His gaze snapped towards Harry and he tried to find his wand. Yet Harry only pressed his foot against the rat's hand. The traitor tried to break free but he merely takes the dagger and slashes his arm. He hears Barry yell at him, but he finds himself more fascinated with his blood. 

He continues to grin, dropping the dagger, just in reach for Pettigrew and he removes himself from the traitor. He takes several steps back, glancing towards the shocked Barty and Voldemort, but he only continues on. Peter seems to think he had an advantage with a weapon in his hand while Harry looked defenseless. The rat charges towards him.

Barry makes an attempt to protect him but he forces the wizard back. Peter lunges for him, just in time for Harry to touch the Portkey and he drags Pettigrew back with him.

"Potter!" 

They land on grass and Harry is being pinned to the ground by Pettigrew. The fool had raised the dagger over his head and readied to slam it down. But they feel the air burn and a spell is sent towards Peter's hand. The rat yelps, snapping his gaze towards the culprit and he freezes.

Right in front of a crowd of students, staff, and ministry workers — Peter Pettigrew was alive and had attacked their beloved chosen one. Harry, who had blood all over him, looked exhausted. Perhaps fate's cruel ways also gave him an advantage but he was still displeased. 

"It isn't—" 

"Professor!" Harry yelled, mustering tears to his eyes as he turned to McGonagall with a pleading look. "He tried to kill me! He said he'll give me to the dark lord like he did with my parents! He—he—" he choked, trembling as Peter looked down at him in shock. The next thing they knew, the rat was blasted away and Minerva McGonagall was quick to bring Harry into her arms. 

The rest of the staff turned to restrain Peter who, if not for Ron screaming about his animagus ability, would have gotten away. McGonagall, brilliant as she was, had trapped her former student in an enchanted cage once he transformed into a rat. She scowled, cat-like eyes surely a terrible sight for Peter.

Bartemius Crouch was calling for aurors, who were bewildered to know they were arresting a rat. With further explanation, one of the aurors took the cage and smiled at McGonagall. She bowed respectfully, speaking to the transfiguration professor and asking for more insight on what they were dealing with. Harry assumes she was one of the few students that McGonagall keeps in contact with, silently noting that he would research who that woman is in the future. However, he finds himself fleeting, his gaze towards Crouch and Karkaroff. He'd have to deal with them as promised. Karkaroff's soul and Crouch's suffering.

"Harry!" He hears, turning towards Hermione, Ron, and Luna rushing towards him. It is Ron who gets to him first, pulling him into a hug and muttering about how he should have just let Erol eat Scabbers a few years ago. Harry laughs, patting his back as the boy glares at him. "Never do that again! Do you have any idea how scared we were?" 

Ron grips his shoulders tight, "The other champions came back. We didn't understand what they were saying but Cedric kept saying the tournament was done, that you won. But you didn't appear. We got so worried… and—" he choked, holding on to Harry like a lifeline.

Hermione pushed Ron away, her turn to crush Harry in a hug. She sniffled, and Harry realized she was crying. Gently, he brings her face into his hands and soothes her with his magic. He presses their foreheads together, apologizing for frightening her.

"I can't lose you… I won't have anyone else if you're gone. What will I do when my parents finally leave me? Where will I go, Harry?" She sobbed, "You promised me that the three of us would run away. How can we do that if you're dead?" 

Harry's heart ached. He brings her into his arms, pulling Ron into the hug. The two cried, telling him that they would have Pigwidgeon and Crookshanks assault him if he ever runs without them. They spoke of lighthearted threats, before they began to verbally assault Peter and glare at the rat that was trying to escape its cage.

"I see that you are successful," whispered Luna as she smiled at him. "I am… thankful… that you took my words into consideration. Will you proceed with your plan even though he is alive?"

For a moment he considered replying to her, but he decided against it. Instead, he circles his arms around her and rests his head on her shoulder. He searched Luna's soul until he came in contact with it. This soft, warm, and gray soul caressed his own and gave him comfort. Yet there was something else in those depths that made him falter. Her eyes met his and for a moment he was silent. Gray eyes flash blue.

He flinched but thought nothing of it.

Eventually, he is whisked away by Aurors and McGonagall follows them. He is brought to the Headmaster's office, along with the other three champions. There were four aurors, one holding on to Peter and the other who had been speaking to McGonagall. To his dismay, Dumbledore and Minister Fudge were in attendance. He cursed under his breath, glancing towards McGonagall, who looked absolutely devastated at the sight of Peter trying to escape his cage. He glanced toward Cedric, the young man delighted to see him but restrained himself from hugging Harry to death.

"Hello Mr. Potter, I am Amrita Narayan." The aurora who was speaking to McGonagall introduced herself. "With the supervision of your head of house, I would like to ask you questions."

Harry paused before nodding.

"What happened before… all this?" Amrita gestures towards Peter.

"The four of us were about to get the cup for ourselves. I got to it first and… and I thought I'd be transported back to the entrance of the maz." He frowned, feigning a troubled expression. "I… I don't have a clear understanding of where I was… I think it was a graveyard and…"

He pursed his lips, appearing to be intimidated before he calmed himself and looked Auror Narayan in the eye. "Pettigrew was there, talking about the dark lord. He said that if he killed me, you-know-who would return and reward him."

He heard gasps and looked down at the ground, avoiding Auror Narayan's gaze before meeting it again. This time, his troubled expression intensified, matched with uncertainty and a hint of sadness. His voice was but a mere whisper but within the silence, they could hear him. "He said that he'd get me killed the same way he told you-know-who where my parents were… Auror… does that mean he was the secret keeper?"

He heard someone choke, snapping his eyes towards McGonagall who looked paler than ever. The professor looked sorrowful yet fury clouded her eyes the moment she turned towards the rat in the cage. Her magic had turned from the calm gale Harry knew to a raging storm directed towards Pettigrew. He struggled to hide his amusement, focusing on the facade of a concerned student who saw his teacher as a parental figure.

"Professor… calm down… please."

McGonagall calmed down, "Of course, Hadrian."

He beamed at her, ecstatic that she knew his actual name rather than the one Sirius had butchered.

Auror Narayan cleared her throat, smiling softly at them before she returned to the serious persona she is expected to uphold. "I see… Are there any further inquiries you would like to make? Was there someone else in the graveyard?"

"Yes! There was another man. It was…" he paused, glancing towards Dumbledore who wore a neutral expression. "Professor Moody." They gasped but he continued, "Or someone I think was Professor Moody… their face melted off — I think it was someone pretending to be Professor Moody." 

"Melted off?" Auror Narayan's face scrunched up, turning to her colleague. "Possible use of Polyjuice." said the Auror as she wrote it down on her notepad. "Anything else?"

"Nothing much… Pettigrew had me tied down to a statue and the man — the imposter I think, appeared right after I broke free. The ropes weren't that good so I was able to cut it with magic." He informed them.

"Are you injured?"

"Uh…" he hesitated, instinctively hiding his arm. Conveniently, his head of house saw the ripped sleeve and the blood dripping from his palm. She gasped, taking his arm as he hissed in pain.

McGonagall and Auror Narayan examine the wound. A long slash ran up from his forearm, it cut deep into his skin and blood didn't stop flowing out of it. McGonagall forced him to sit down, performing the best healing spell she could. The wound did not completely close. Madam Pomfrey was soon called and one of the aurors did their best to tend to the wound until the Healer arrived.

On the other hand, Minerva marched up to the Auror holding Peter. She grabbed the cage, not doing anything but she stared down at the rat with all the fury she could muster. In a low and cold voice, she spoke, "Lillian and Jameson treated you like family. They protected you, cared for you, loved you as their own, and you repay them like this?" She spat out and the rat trembled.

"You sold them out to the Dark Lord and brought harm upon their son. You betray your friends, the ones who were like your family! You try to kill the boy who once fondly called you his uncle!" She rages, shaking the cage and listening to Peter screech and squeal. "How dare you! How dare you Peter Pettigrew! Not only have you gotten Lily and James killed, Sirius has been falsely imprisoned for more than a decade."

Her anger, her rage, her desire for vengeance was beautiful in the eyes of Death's supposed master. Harry clenched his fist, trying not to smile as he approached his teacher, not caring for the blood dripping to the floor and pulling her away from the rat. Their eyes met and flashed Peter a venomous smile. He won. 

"Professor… that's enough. He's not worth it." He whispers, trying to soothe his teacher. McGonagall shakes her head, bringing his face into her hands and she struggles not to frown.

"Oh sweet boy… your parents are proud of you. Regardless of whether they are here or not, Lily and James are watching over you." She swears and brings him into a tight hug.

The matter isn't properly settled as Pettigrew was arrested and a trial would be done in due time. For now, Harry was tended to by Madame Pomfrey who was cursing Pettigrew and scolding Harry. The rest of the champions got their own check ups and the four of them were told to stay in the hospital wing until further notice.

That was the very moment where Cedric decided to smother him in an embrace while Fleur scolds him. Viktor watches carefully, as if guarding Harry.

"Oh you reckless — Qu'est-ce qui se passe dans la tête de votre stupide directeur ? Si ma Gabrielle était blessée de la sorte, je ne le supporterais pas! " Fleur huffed, assessing the damage on Harry's arm (damage he caused but she didn't have to know that.) What is going on in your foolish headmaster's head? If my Gabrielle was hurt like that, I couldn't bear it!

Harry laughed, " Le proviseur Dumbledore n'est plus aussi prudent qu'avant. Il est vieux, ne l'écoutez pas. Et merci de votre sollicitude madame. " Headmaster Dumbledore is not as careful as he used to be. He's old, don't listen to him. And thank you for your concern, Madam.

Fleur froze, staring at him in shock before her face turned a shade of pink. She huffed, but smiled as she tried to erase the scar from his arm. Admittedly, he is impressed by her healing abilities, masterfully weaving magic through his skin and immediately removing the scar. 

" Parfait. Ne vous blessez pas à l'avenir ou je devrai envoyer nos guérisseurs personnels pour vous soigner. " she half-heartedly threatens, Perfect. Don't get hurt in the future or I'll have to send our personal healers to heal you.

Harry smiled, grateful for her. He has this urge to request of her to remove the scar on his forehead but he suspects that she couldn't do much with a magical scar caused by death magic.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Cedric asked, handing him a glass of water then grabbed a pillow from another bed. He places it behind Harry, who easily accepts the attention.

"Of course. A bit shaken and tired, but okay." He answered, honest this time.

"Good… good." Cedric murmured, a soft smile gracing his lips as he ruffled Harry's horrendous hair. He receives a scowl from Fleur, the half-veela shaking her head in displeasure as she tries to flatten the mess of black. 

Harry's gaze moved to Viktor, who looked as stoic as ever. However, the young man grinned, nodding in approval as he pats Harry's head. "Congratulations, champion." Viktor says, "You are the victor ."

Harry groaned, scowling at the cheesy pun as Cedric barks out a laugh. Fleur even giggles, slapping Viktor's arm as she shakes her head in amusement. The four of them revel in the peace, conversing with one another — trying their best to ignore the incident.

Friendship blooms between them, a promise is made and Cedric is excitedly talking to Krum about Quidditch. Harry and Fleur discuss the outfits he and Luna wore to the Yule Ball, to which Fleur gasps at the knowledge of where he got them. Eloise Juillerat was rather famous in France after all, thus Harry promised to introduce Fleur to her in the future.

For the next few hours, the four champions promise to keep in contact once the year ends. Hours passed and the four ended up falling asleep, Harry falling asleep last. The final thought he had before he was forced into the arms of Morpheus was the fact that he had established more connections and thus he wouldn't have to struggle much in the future.

"Viktor!" Harry called out to the boy as he and Nikolai dragged Ron to the famed quidditch player. Ron struggled in their grasp, turning as red as his hair.

"Meet Ronald. He's a fan of yours and has wasted the entire year running around and he hasn't asked for your autograph. Mind signing this?" Harry chuckled as Ron hugged his notebook.

The poor boy couldn't stop blushing, silently pleading to Nikolai (who had been introduced to him and Hermione months ago) to release him. But Nikolai, oh sweet Nikolai, was far too excited at the fact that he was introducing his new friend to one of his older friends. His purple eyes shined brightly, turning to Viktor with an expectant look and the Durmstrang champion wears an amused look.

"Come on…"

Ron shakes his head, hiding his face behind his journal.

Hermione takes action, pushing him forward as he sputters to run away. She offers a teasing smile, poking Ron on the back as he tried to run away.

Thankfully, Viktor slowly takes the journal out of his hands and Ron squeaks. Viktor flips to the last page of the journal and takes the quill Harry has conjured. He signs his autograph, plus a little message.

"It is nice to meet you Ronald." He said, his accent thick and Ron looks ready to melt. "I would have been delighted to have met you earlier." And he speaks with sincerity coating his voice.

"I— uhm—" Ron stuttered out, "I… I admire you… a lot. You—You're really great and— and I wish I could be just as good as you in the future." 

And Ron concludes he is about to die.

Viktor chuckled, "All it takes is practice. I do not doubt you will be great." He stated. Once again, Viktor pats Harry's head and bids his farewell to the group.

"See? That wasn't so bad." Harry snickered.

Ron glares at him, "Not so bad? You nearly bloody killed me!" The blush on his face does not die, still as red as his own hair. "OH DEAR MERLIN THAT WAS HUMILIATING!"

"Do not worry! Viktor seems to really like you. Usually, he doesn't like giving people his autograph, but it seems he doesn't mind it with you." Nikolai explained, patting Ron on the back. "He must really like you."

"Like me…" Ron murmured, groaning as he crouched and covered his face with the very journal Viktor had signed. Hermione was laughing at him, rubbing his back as she told him short stories of her time conversing with Viktor in the library.

This caused a bit of surprise, but Harry only smirked and shook his head. Maybe adding Viktor to their shared love life wouldn't be so bad, he cackled and turned towards Nikolai, who was fidgeting. His purple eyes kept moving, searching for something, or perhaps someone.

When Harry found Draco lurking in the corner, Nikolai saw him as well.

"Uhm… Hades, excuse me for a bit." Nikolai quickly moved, rushing towards the Slytherin with a bit smile on his face. 

On the other hand, Draco looked surprised.

Harry's eyes narrowed, quietly casting a spell to enhance his hearing. He tilted his head and shamelessly eavesdropped on their conversation. Leaning against the wall, he plasters a smile on his face as he bids farewell to the students of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang.

"Will you write to me?" He hears Nikolai say.

"I… Would you like that?"

"Of course!" Nikolai replies and Harry glances back at them, seeing the boy smile. "I'd appreciate it greatly and… and I suppose having a friend from a different country is nice. Hadrian is a wonderful conversationalist but I would also like to have another friend… uhm… you would not mind if I write to you?"

Draco blinked in surprise, before clearing his throat and the faintest smile formed upon his lips. "It would be my pleasure."

Nikolai grinned, nodding before running back to Harry. He tackles the dark haired boy into a hug, his cheeks turning a faint red. " Uvidimsya v sleduyushchiy raz, Hades." See you next time, Hades. 

Harry chuckles, hugging him back and waving him away.

"I am surprised you let him go so easily." Luna approaches him, humming softly as she tilts her head. Her knowing smile unnerved him but she intertwined her hand with him and squeezed. Her hand is warm and something about her demeanor was different from her usual self. "That part of me… has awoken." She whispered and Hadrian does not understand what she is saying.

He frowned, narrowing his eyes as Luna cups his cheek. She forced him to look into her eyes and gray once again is replaced by twinkling blue eyes.

An unfamiliar grin graces Luna's face, but Harry recognizes it. It didn't belong to Luna, neither did her words.

" Um zu leben, muss man leiden ." To live you must suffer.

Hadrian is frozen in place, breath hitching as his vision blurs. Blonde hair becomes black, gray eyes become blue. The softness of her expression turns into sharp cruelty — he does not know whether to be relieved or afraid. But he still replies, ever so familiar words that he's whispered to her. But his vision faded again and all he sees is Luna's soul, swallowed by black that is not her — a darkness fate had locked away. A darkness that he has been looking for.

" Denn der Tod ist die einzige Barmherzigkeit ." For death is the only mercy.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 28:

Months ago, he had just been a wraith wandering the country. He found Nagini, then he found Barty. He expected to be resurrected at some point but he never thought he'd have his soul forcefully brought back together, minus the fragment in Nagini. He looked to be twenty, or perhaps his early twenties. Tom debated greatly on that but he continued to be fascinated with his face every time he looked in a mirror.

He glances around Riddle Manor, grimacing at the home that once belonged to his muggle father. He and Barty had stayed there since he was resurrected, focusing on his recovery and hiding at the moment. They had heard of Aurors looking for the graveyard Potter had arrived in, realizing that Potter never actually told anyone where he landed when he touched the Portkey. 

He was still bewildered.

Why would Potter help him?

He assumed that Potter had actually helped him out of goodwill, but getting stabbed by the boy and Barty explaining that he had given Potter something without their knowledge countered such a thought. He had nothing to offer to Potter, aside from the fact that Potter would want revenge for his parents, nothing else came into mind. Until he recalled the events of that night.

Potter had stabbed him. Took his hand and coated something with his blood. His blood . Potter has wanted his blood.

He groans, rubbing his head as tries to figure out the insanity that Potter had gone and displayed. Leaning his head back, he stares at the fire and focuses on his magic. It was slowly mending, slowly healing. Slowly , but it was working properly. He runs his hand over his wand, a small smile gracing his lips.

The sound of slithering and scales grazing against a hard surface emerges, alerting Tom to Nagini's presence. The maledictus hissed, circling around the chair before resting her head in the arm rest.

-§Are you well?§

He nodded, §Yes, simply tired.§

Nagini moves closer, tilting her head. §That boy smelled like him.§

§Who?§

§An old friend of mine… That person.§

Tom faltered. He shook his head, sighing to himself as he ran a hand through his hair. He couldn't do much in this state, forced to wallow in the manor who's owners he had killed years ago.

It felt suffocating. Oftentimes he enjoyed silence, preferring it over the chatter of his subordinates. But now, the silence felt like a cage. Even the melody of his own magic was quiet, a mere whisper in the wind and it grate at his nerves. Since his return the one time his magic was so active was the moment the majority of his soul was restored. Unconsciously, he ghosts a hand over his healed palm, grimacing. When Potter had taken a knife and plunged it into his skin, his frigid magic had flared. It had made contact with fire — Harry Potter. 

The mere fact that his magic was not reacting the same anymore troubled him. Potter was still an unknown variable to his future plans. He was too much of a wild card for Tom, he couldn't proceed further if he couldn't figure out the anomaly that was Harry fucking Potter. The boy's personality had changed over time, his memory of him blurred and vague. Tom filled through the memories of the diary horcrux, once again questioning what drove Potter to resurrect him. The diary had been destroyed — yet here he was, alive . 

Potter's capability to remain unknown was a fact that he had dwelled on for the entire time. There was also the issue of Barty. Tom knew that Barty was loyal, but foolishness and the need to resurrect him had led the wizard to a cruel fate.

Barty was currently Potter's slave, no matter how loyal he was to Tom.

He hears a knock, clenching his fist before allowing the person — Barty — entry to his current room. The man looked better than ever, if not for the fact that there were faint markings around his neck. White markings that signified his temporary enslavement to the wretched brat who had resurrected the dark lord.

"My Lord…"

"What is it that you want Barty?"

Taking out the newspaper, Barty silently hands it over to the dark lord.

With a thinly veiled look of confusion, Tom gazes down at the daily prophet and raises a brow. He hadn't expected for the brat to work so quickly with his winnings. Printed across the paper was Sirius Black, Minister Fudge, and a haggard looking Bartemius Crouch Sr. The headlines clearly stated that Sirius Black had been imprisoned under false charges, as well as the fact that he hadn't received a trial. Tom could clearly see the reactions of the masses. On one hand, Black was a beloved Gryffindor who was close friends with the boy-who-lived's parents, thus it would cause a riot for such. On the other hand, he was the last remaining individual who carried the name Black and was currently the rightful heir to the most noble and ancient house, the Purebloods would riot for such a farce.

But his eyes slowly landed on the statement the reporter had gotten out of Potter of all people.

— “If he truly is innocent then my godfather deserves justice. I can only wish that these fourteen years could have been spent with him so I could have heard more stories of my late parents.” Mr. Potter declared, “Although I do find it questionable that he wasn't given a trial. I wonder how many more have been sent to Azkaban just because of their origin.”

Tom snorted, shaking his head as his eye twitched.

The demonic boy was planning something and he just knew he'd be swept into the mess eventually.

"You've gotten taller."

Sirius smiles bitterly at the sight before him. He had been placed in Ministry provided room. Equipped with a bed, a desk, a bathroom, and some modest clothes he wore.

Hadrian Jameson Potter.

Turning fifteen and yet he looked more like a lord than Sirius ever was. The perfect heir, his parents would have praised regardless of the fact that Harry was a Gryffindor. He only needed silver eyes or perhaps straight hair and he would look like the perfect Black. Dressed in a white dress shirt with a black vest. His dark gray coat hangs off his shoulders as he plays with the emerald hanging of the chain around his neck.

He looked exactly yet so different from James.

It left a bitter taste in Sirius' mouth. He tried to speak but froze as he met eyes with vivid green. They weren't the forest like hues Lily owned. No. Harry's eyes were like the killing curse crystalized and carefully placed into his eye sockets. Sirius swears he could feel magic from them, greatly intimidated by the boy who had been so happy to meet him two years ago. He was different. Sirius could feel it in his bones and he doesn't know if it is good or not.

"And you've gotten thinner." Harry stated, his face carefully blank.

Sirius had seen such expressions in Lily and James a few times. Usually it was when the two were performing their duties as Lord and Lady Potter, as well as the few order meetings they had been dragged to.

Not many knew but Lily and James had left the order the moment they found out they were pregnant with Harry. Neither wished to include their child in the war, choosing to stay quiet — perhaps neutral during the war. Dumbledore hadn't liked this, often condemning the two for their desire to step away from the war. Their headmaster had done almost everything to get them back in the fold and it worsened their relationship. It was deep in the trenches when Dumbledore came to Godric's hollow to inform them of something and they were forced to cooperate.

Sirius thinks they were blackmailed but Lily was far too protective of their secrets to let anything slip. He suspects they were threatened. To be specific, Dumbledore had threatened Harry.

Now, the boy who may or may not have been threatened stood before him. Whilst Sirius was still wearing simple clothes, Harry befitted the title of heir.

"... I'll get my lordship a few days after my fifteenth birthday." Harry told him, a ghost of a smile on his face. "Except for House Black… that is, of course, yours."

"I don't want it."

"Is that so…" Harry chuckles quietly, pulling the chair from the desk and sitting in front of Sirius. "You know… your mother may have disowned you but your father and grandfather did not. From what I heard from the goblins, Lord Arcturus' will included yourself. The will was only opened on 1986, the year he passed away, by his cousin Cassiopeia Black."

Sirius stiffens. His eyes go wide, surprised by the information he was given. He hadn't been disowned. That was not something he expected.

His grandfather had passed away nine years ago. The seat of head of house was left vacant, aside from their current regent, Cassiopeia Black. Sirius' terrifying great aunt who was currently residing in Greece. He wonders if she would return because of his trial. He was genuinely scared to see her.

Aunt Cassie was a cruel woman. She cared deeply for her family and even then, she would harm her kin for threatening the family. Cassiopeia didn't care for blood. No, she cared for the honor of her house. If one of them had gone and tarnished it, the culprit would suffer from her wrath. As a child, he had feared her anger when he had been sorted into Gryffindor. But she didn't care much. The only times she scolded him was when he embarrassed himself and the family during events by getting drunk and running off. 

But he missed her dearly.

Her cruelty was not fueled by bigotry and hypocrisy. She was strict yet considerate. It didn't matter that you were a Purebloods, half-blood, or muggleborn. So long as you had enough skill, she would approve of you. Her harshness had been caused by his recklessness and Sirius liked to think she did care for him — in her cold and bitter way. 

"Sirius… we need you to be free. I've already been emancipated by magic because of the tournament. However, I am not going to risk anything with Dumbledore being my current magical guardian—"

"What? No that's not right. Lily and James perfectly stated who should be your magical guardian. If Alice and I were not available, you would go to Remus. If Remus were unavailable then you would be taken in by either Mary, Marlene, or Dorcas."

Harry faltered, pursing his lips as he clenched his fist. "I see… Unfortunately, Dumbledore has placed himself as my guardian and dropped me of with Petunia. I was not completely aware… I should have opened their wills when I had the chance."

"You'd need your guardians approval to open their will."

"And my guardian is bloody Dumbledore," Harry clicked his tongue.

He abruptly stood up, causing Sirius to do the same. Harry smiled softly, offering his hand to his godfather. "Although it will only be for a short time considering my coming lordship, I would like you to be my guardian. My parents would have wanted you and Remus to be present when we open the wills." He stated, "We should also call for Mary Macdonald."

Sirius' smile could be compared to the very star he was named after. His eyes lit up, taking Harry's hand. He felt all the joy he could possible feel in this single moment, unable to let go of Harry's hand.

"I promised your parents— and you when you were born— that I would die protecting you. Of course I'd love to be your guardian, Harry!" Sirius stated.

Harry tilted his head, "Were you the one who butchered my name or was it my father?"

"Hm? Oh, that was definitely me. Got your mother throwing flower pots at me."

Harry chuckled, rolling his eyes as he patted Sirius on the shoulder.

Sirius couldn't help but flinch. Harry's hand felt cold, even through the fabric of his shirt, he could feel that his godson's skin was like ice. It felt… off. It perfectly contrasted to Harry's fiery magic, that even he could feel from afar. It was a mixture of James and Lily, both were like beings of fire that would most likely devour everyone in their way. James was more of a excitable fire that would warm and burn you. Lily was a controlled flame, like the fire that would boil a cauldron. But Harry's? It was fire that wouldn't hesitate to destroy everything — a controlled fire that only Harry could command.

"Mind you, I almost went to Nikolai for a favor. Nadia Markova could have been the one representing you at court in three days."

Huh? Sirius stared at Harry, shocked and confused. Nadia Markova? Number one attorney who beat the shit out of Bellatrix almost two decades ago? He was ready to faint.

"Take care, padfoot."

Harry didn't say another word as he left the room. Frozen, still very much confused, Sirius fell to the bed and gaped at the ceiling. Harry had chan ged. An extreme, intense, and grim change. The childlike light in his eyes — so dim yet still existed when he saw Harry two years ago, had vanished. It was as if it never existed in the first place. All Sirius could see was green . Once again, he compared it to Lily's eyes. Everytime he looked into her eyes, he would think of nature, he would think of life. But Harry deviated from the hues he supposedly inherited from his mother.

It was like the opposite of Lily's.

Harry's green hues were the reflection of death…

And Sirius likes to ignore the very fact that the last thing Harry saw before he was taken from Godric's hollow was green light.

Evanescent.

It was a word he often associated with all of his lives. Brief, transient, ephemeral.

Perpetual.

He associated the word with his existence.

With every life he lives, it is nothing but a transient process that changes every lifetimes. His existence — it's different compared to his lives. He continues to exist regardless of the vessel he is within. No matter what he looks, sounds, feels — he continues to exist in a different body. Harry likes to think he is permanent, that he is everlasting in the mortal world. But he's not.

One day, fate will get tired of him and end the cycle of life and death. He would be tossed away and his existence would pose no significance. Hadrian is not truly perpetual, but he likes to imagine he is.

The fire burned softly, the crackle of burning wood music to his ears. He had lied to Sirius about his magic. It had been long since he first used magic outside of Hogwarts. It was only a year ago, when he ran away from Privet Drive and freed Gellert from Numengard. Dumbledore hadn't bothered to check on the Dursleys. The order hadn't been called back as Voldemort's return hadn't been announced. He was safe from the scrutiny of the media who enjoyed calling him a liar, a spoiled brat who sought attention. 

He traced a finger through the air and fire moved along with it. The flames looked liquid, floating in the air before it morphed into a ribbon like form. It twisted in itself, wrapping, and turning to his silent commands. 

He felt something cold emit from his chest, discarding the flames and returning it to the fireplace. Slowly, he removed the emerald from under his shirt and smiled.

Resurrection was often restricted, but Fate had its exceptions. Harry had been allowed to do so. He was able to return what was rightfully his and he reveled in his own victory. Dark smoke emits from the gem and the emerald's color dulls into gray.

§Hello darling…§

The serpent wraps around his arm, lowering itself through his body and eventually growing bigger. Hadrian leans against his chair, humming as Amarantha wraps around him and the chair. The basilisk rests some of her body on his lap, her head resting on his shoulder.

§Hungry… Need to hunt,§ she declares and nuzzles against Hadrian. §Feed me.§

Hadrian hummed quietly, leaning against his seat as he caressed Amarantha's scales.

§Later… I'll let you out of the forest and you can hunt whatever you like.§

Amarantha tilts her head, §Even humans?§

§Clean up after you finish. If you plan on eating someone, eat them whole. If you can't feed on the bones, find a way to find them,§ Hadrian hissed back, chuckling at her eagerness. There was a town close to the manor that had an abundance of people in it… Harry was quite sure there were some… unwanted individuals that the citizens would happily get rid of.

"I'll have to lure one of those idiots into the forest."

"If you're going to feed your snake a human, be discreet. The town may be farther than expected but those townsfolk will be suspicious when one of their own goes missing."

Harry rolled his eyes, glancing towards the white haired man leaning against the doorway. A smirk plastered across his face, taking long strides to stand behind Harry's chair.

"Is this why you were so close to that maledictus?" Gellert questions. 

Harry chooses silence over a reply.

Amarantha hissed softly, a curious gleam in her slitted eyes. Gellert was fascinated. The ability to halt it's killing gaze was a magnificent skill he didn't know basilisks possessed. Although he supposed that Hadrian would not have promptly bonded with a magical beast who could immediately kill him. He gently graced the back of his hand against Amarantha's head, hearing the basilisk hiss in satisfaction.

As if the air around them stills, Gellert falters for a moment as he meets Hadrian's venomous green eyes. He misses the mismatched pair he and his son had in common. Damian had always looked more like his father than his mother — so did Harry. But the biggest difference between the two was that Damian was almost exactly like his father. Harry had inherited many features from his mother, unlike his seventh life who hadn't. Gellert assumes it was due to the constitution of his birth.

"Maybe…" he whispers. His fingers grazed Amarantha's scales, the serpent hissing softly. Gellert didn't understand what she was saying but Hadrian did.

§Sleepy…§

§Rest now… once you wake up again, there will be a human-sized meal waiting for you.§

Truth be told, Gellert was not particularly scared of the terrifying and deadly beast. The basilisk had been brought back to life a few weeks ago and Gellert's fascination had never diminished. Seeing Hadrian weave his magic through the fabric of reality itself, commanding life and death as he reconstructed the wraith like being that was the anguished soul of the basilisk. Gellert had questioned why Hadrian couldn't take another Basilisk and only received a vague answer from his son. My bond with this one is stronger, he had said as he held the small snake in his arms.

Gellert sighed, "Fine then… But remember, you promised dear Luna that you would bring her to France over the summer." He reminded.

Running a finger over his heirship ring, Hadrian smiled thoughtfully. "Right… Let's go after the trial… also, I need to go grab a friend of mine."

"The little muggleborn?" Gellert contemplated, "Lincoln Sonnet, right?"

"Mhm… His bloodline will be useful in the future." 

Gellert sighed again, shaking his head. Bloodline — it was a concept that Damian had obsessed over in the past. His son had never cared for blood status, but he valued bloodlines. There had been an instance when Damianos had tracked down a muggleborn in Egypt and had done some research with the unknown wixen. For the entire time his son had been in Egypt, not a single word of him and his progress had returned to Gellert. Truthfully, he was wary of his son's activities, especially when he returned with that god forsaken smile of his. He hadn't brought anyone with him when he ran of to Egypt. Gellert still hasn't figured out what his son had done. It was unnerving and Gellert had feared a possible betrayal.

He never knew how Damian had blocked his ability to see the future, to know what his son had done. But he grows to understand that his son was protected, favored, cursed with Fate's desire for him. No matter the visions he received, Damian would not appear if his son did not want to be found. Sometimes he wonders if Damian had also received the capability to see the future from him, but he doubts such a thing. Gellert often thinks that any visions his son would receive would not be normal visions. Death stalks his child and he doesn't doubt that his prophetic capabilities would show him thus.

"What exactly is wrong with that boy's bloodline?"

"Nothing. He's related to someone that I know and looks almost exactly like him."

Gellert takes a moment to think, closing his eyes. He sees flashes of the boy Hadrian was fascinated with. A boy with dirty blonde hair, eyes as black as Hadrian's hair. His features looks familiar — akin to an old friend of his. Gellert opens his eyes and smiles knowingly.

"... A Rosier."

Hadrian laughs loudly. Rosier , he thinks and doesn't hesitate to smirk at such a name.

"A muggleborn descendant of the Rosiers… One that looks exactly like Evan Rosier." Harry smiled bitterly, "The entire family has almost gone extinct. Aside from Black sisters and their children, the name itself is dead."

Gellert grimaced. "Evan Rosier was the last to carry his name…"

"His father, Acacius would have been the last but he passed away three years ago."

"So the family has died…" Gellert laughs dryly. The Rosiers had been good supporters, they were good followers. His second in command, Vinda Rosier, was a loyal and skilled witch. He fondly remembers her being a motherly figure to Damianos and Ariadne — someone who has taught his children on how to be human , something Gellert had struggled in.