Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“I dream about being away 

I dream of another life 

I dream of being someone else 

Not just someone, somebody

I never really thought about what I wanted out of this life but 

But now 

I wish I was dead.

I feel like an imposter 

Am I real? 

I don’t think so.

There is little in this world that is real 

Everything around me only exists because that’s how my brain perceives it

Now I’m at the edge 

I’m looking out 

Looking for a third option 

There isn’t one I can perceive

I wish I was dead.”

He had done it. Finally, after more than 50 years of trying, he had finally done it.

He had died.

Hundreds of attempts later, probably more (he couldn’t really remember), and the only way for him to actually die was from a modified version of a ritual which entailed sacrificing one’s life to the Ancient Greek gods.

At 134 years old, Harry was desperate. He threw himself into completing an Ancient Greek ritual he found by chance, meant to offer one’s life to the gods. Harry planned to dedicate his offering to Thanatos, the personification of death. However, the ritual was ancient and outdated. It wouldn't work for him unless he modified it.

He worked for weeks to make sure everything was ready, that all his arithmancy equations were correct, and that the runes were drawn sufficiently and placed out correctly.

He collected rare ingredients for the potion he was supposed to drink before the ritual. The potion was meant to make him more connected to the wild magic around him, perhaps so he would suffer more as he died. Harry wasn't sure, but he was aware that the potion was needed, and he wouldn't risk substituting it for something else.

He brewed the needlessly complicated potion and hated every second of it. Despite having a good grasp of the subject after decades of having to brew his own potions, he really disliked the brewing process.

Finally, everything was ready. He was ready. After having lived on this Earth for 134 years, Harry felt more than ready to join his loved ones in death.

To perform this ritual, not only were runes needed, but also a ritual circle, and he spent ages drawing it. Carefully, he undressed, leaving all his clothes in the hallway, placing his wand on top of the pile, and closing the door to the ritual chamber. Nothing of the outside world was allowed to disrupt the ritual. Therefore, he could not have anything on his person. His beloved wand, the most loyal companion he’d had for decades, was left in the hallway. He felt slightly guilty for leaving it behind, but sacrifices had to be made. He stepped into the circle, knelt down in the middle, and was surrounded by runes, but paid them no mind. Finally, the time had come. He began…

The floor was covered in blood. He was losing blood rapidly. He was in so much pain that it was difficult to even feel his body. However, his mind was intact, and he prayed to every god that he would succeed. After what could have been minutes or hours, he felt the last of his consciousness slip away, and everything disappeared. His last thoughts were those of relief.

He honestly expected to fail again. Why this particular ritual had worked while literally dozens of others hadn’t, he didn’t know. He didn’t really care, either. This had been his last hurrah, so to say. If this hadn’t worked, he would have gotten inside a box and thrown it in the deepest part of the ocean. At least then he would be gone, kinda. Thankfully, that didn't happen, and now he was dead.

Wait.

If he was dead, why the bloody hell could he still think?

After dying and coming back to life for the first time, Harry felt empty and detached from his surroundings.

At first, he had thought it was due to trauma; after all, dying is a pretty traumatic event. But no. He had experienced severe trauma before, and it never left him feeling even close to what he felt now. Which was nothing.

He felt nothing. Well, not exactly nothing because he still felt slightly angry, though he wasn't sure at what.

Voldemort's death had changed quite a few things for Harry. Along with his lack of emotion, he was also no longer "Undesirable Number 1," so he was free to do what he wanted.

How great that he now lacked the want for anything in life. He knew, though, that he needed to be alone for a while, and that's how he ended up living in dusty, musty old Number 12 Grimmauld Place with a bitter, slightly insane house elf.

After the Battle of Hogwarts, he had asked for time alone and not to be disturbed. If someone needed to reach him, they could do so with an owl.

Of course, he wasn't left alone for long. Just a day after the battle ended, Hermione and Ron came knocking.

Harry never got what he wanted.

They first showed up through the floo (he closed the floo connection as soon as they left), asking him questions he didn't feel like answering.

"Harry, mate, we're worried. You shouldn't be alone after everything. You bloody well died, mate; that couldn't have been easy enough just to shake off. And then just leaving the battle like that, what the hell happened?" Ron asked after some quick hugs on Ron and Hermione's part. Harry barely paid any attention to it.

Hermione slapped Ron on the arm and huffed. "Ron, you need to be more considerate. Harry has been through something traumatic. What he needs now is our support and love. You shouldn't speak of his death so crudely." She turned toward Harry with frowned brows and concerned eyes. "Sorry, Harry. Just know that whatever you need, we are here for you, day and night. Whatever you need... So, Harry, how are you?"

Their insistence on checking on him, which he would have once found endearing and kind, now only annoyed and invaded his privacy.

Perhaps he should feel guilty for pushing them away. Old Harry certainly would have, but he no longer had the energy to care about their feelings and his lack of them.

There is something wrong with Harry. He knows it. He shouldn't feel this indifferent to people he loves (loved?). They are the most important people in his life, and he would have died for them.

He did die for them, but now, things are different.

The second thing that might have caused his emotional detachment is something he doesn’t like to consider: the fact that he no longer has Voldemort’s soul embedded in him. He hates this theory, as if he needs that monster's soul to feel emotions. It's ridiculous.

Harry doesn’t need anyone. He never did.

Whenever he had tried to kill himself before, he truly couldn’t. Not for a lack of trying, mind you, but because it was simply impossible. He had once thrown himself into an active volcano, and do you know what happened? He felt his body disintegrate, melt, and blend with the lava, but his mind remained conscious. He felt it all. He saw it all. How that works beats him.

So, if he was halfway to the loony bin, you will excuse him.

Dying for real the second time felt pretty much the same as the first time, but waking up from dying certainly wasn’t the same the second time.

As Harry slowly felt his consciousness return to him, he despaired.

"FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!"

He really thought he had done it now. That death had finally accepted him and would greet him with open arms. Nope. No. He could feel his body again. So, FUCK, he was alive.

Slowly, he tried to move his fingers or toes or anything, really. But his body felt like it had been run over by a truck, and his mind was not faring much better.

After what must have been hours, he opened his eyes. Dark. He couldn’t see for shit, so had he somehow gone blind?

Moving his arms still felt awful, but he needed to move sooner or later, and he would prefer to lie in bed. Harry froze. He felt something soft under his fingers, but he was sure he had died on the cold, hard marble floor, so where was he?

Slowly, he turned on his side and realized that he was lying on a small bed. Reaching with his arm, he felt for the edge of the bed and knocked his hand against something hard. A table.

Yes, that is most definitely a table and a lamp.

He turned it on and, relieved, he realized he could see. That relief lasted less than a second when he saw where the hell he was. His old bedroom at Privet Drive.

WHAT. THE. FUCK

He couldn't be back here. No, no, no, no, no.

"Calm down, fucking calm down," he told himself.

There is an explanation. Of course, there is. He might have done some accidental magic in his deathlike state and apparated...

To here? Not bloody likely.

This house is his hell on Earth. Why would he come here, even unconscious as he was?

Still mildly freaking out but a bit calmer, Harry noticed the clothes on his body. If you could even call them that, they were practically a tent on him. He quickly looked away. Weird, he hadn’t owned muggle clothes in a century.

He then risked it and looked again. And again, because why the fuck was he so bloody small!

Ok, now he could freak out again. And he did, for a while.

At last, he stood up, walked towards the closet and opened it. On the inside of the door was a cracked mirror but no matter how cracked, he could still see.

He was young. Harry was used to being young, seeing as he stopped aging when he was barely 18. That’s a story for later; no time to think about that now, seeing as he was bloody 14 again!

What the hell happened? How is he 14? 15 maybe, but still, how did he de-age?! One doesn’t just bloody do that!

"Ok, ok, think Harry, think. You’re back at Privet Drive in your 14-year-old body. What is the most obvious explanation?"

Time travel...

How is it possible? How could he have traveled back in time?

Theoretically, it’s possible. Time magic and time travel weren’t something Harry had spent much time studying. The last he read of it was probably in the 2040s, and he hadn’t felt it was worth his time. Well, fuck, now he was regretting that.

"Ok, ok. Think."

Einstein's theory on general relativity suggested that the existence of wormholes was important somehow, that one could travel through time and space through one. That if you had two parallel universes and if you could somehow create a bridge through them, then you'd fall into one and go into the other.

There’s also the many-worlds-theory in quantum mechanics that suggests every time a measure is made, the universe splits in half. And keeps on splitting every time an observation is made.

And so, maybe when Harry went back in time(!?), the river of time forked, and now there are two universes, similar but not the same. Anything he would do here, right now, would not affect the universe he came from, cause what’s in the past cannot change. He really only creates a split in the river of time so it forks...

Dear Merlin, this is too much theoretical bullshit for Harry right now.

And that’s only some muggle theories; he hadn’t even gotten to the magical ones…

Harry slapped himself in the face. “You idiot, you're a wizard, use your magic.” With no idea where his wand was, he cast a wandless Tempus.

2:16 AM, 3rd of July, 1995

1995?! So he somehow traveled back in time, but only his mind was along for the ride. Apparently, seeing as this is not the body he worked hard for.

Great, just great.

So, not time travel per se, maybe quantum jumping. But was that even proven? Last time Harry checked, it was more of a conspiracy theory than anything. But it made more sense.

Quantum jumping had to do with aligning one's consciousness with the same frequency as that of another universe. If Harry remembered correctly, it was something you had to focus your mind on, and you had to be extremely specific about the universe you wanted to end up in. So...

Wait. Could this be Death's doing? He had never interfered so obviously before, but maybe the fact that Harry offered his life to Thanatos in a sacred ritual gave Death more power to meddle?

Harry had no clue what the entity was capable of, but time travel? That didn't seem like its style.

Harry sighed, feeling lost in his own thoughts. There was no point in dwelling on this now.

What to do now? Having finished freaking out and with the panic subsiding, Harry was starting to feel embarrassed about it. He was, after all, 134 and hadn't panicked since he was about 40 years old.

Perhaps this body was affecting him? Hmm...

A plan, he needed a plan. (He doubted killing himself would work any better in this universe.)

Well, to start off with, perhaps gathering intelligence was necessary. If this was his past (but not really), then he needed to confirm it.

1995, the summer after the Triwizard Tournament. He was 14 soon to be 15. His current friends were limited to Hermione and Ron.

He was a Gryffindor...

Harry grimaced; he was no longer a Gryffindor and hadn't been for some time now. Well, whatever.

First, he needed to leave. No way in hell was he staying here with those pathetic Muggles he was unfortunate to have to call relatives.

He needed to see the master as well. He could help Harry, and thankfully, in 1995, he was still alive.

Alright, pack, and then get the hell out of here.

Harry lifted his fingers and was about to summon his stuff when he realized that the Trace was still bloody active if he was fourteen. Thankfully, it didn't register wandless magic, seeing as it confused it with accidental magic. If he wanted to use his wand, he would need to remove the Trace or get a new wand.

The Trace on his person was easy enough to get rid of; his magic would just need a few hours to burn it away without alerting the Ministry.

He huffed and sat back down on the bed, reaching for his magic, trying to locate the Trace upon it. After searching for a while, he came back empty-handed.

Why wasn't it on his person? It should be on him, unless the magic currently in this body was from the future with him and not a mixture of both? Or someone else had removed it from younger Harry's body.

Harry stood indecisively beside the bed, frowning and pressing his lips together in deep concentration.

The tournament was for adults, 17 or older only, but he had entered. Not willingly, but still in a magically binding way. Did magic declare him an adult?

Hmm. Stopping by Gringotts on his way to his master is a must now. He needs to know if he has access to his vaults and lordships. Lordships, Black, Sirius...

Shit, Sirius is alive!  

No, no time to think about it now. It's time to pack.

Harry summoned his things, unfortunately forgetting where his belongings were, so he was now making a lot of noise breaking the cupboard door and the railing of the stairs. Oops.

Well, not like it matters.

Harry was sure that any second now, Vernon would come yelling at him for making so much noise. Quickly making sure everything was in the trunk, including the things under the floorboards, he transfigured his clothes and apparated.

A moment later, the bedroom door was slammed open, and a screaming Vernon entered, ready to beat the living crap out of his freakish nephew, only to find an empty room.

Chapter Text

The landing outside Gringotts is elegant, far too elegant for young Harry. Fortunately, it’s 3 in the morning, and no one is around to see it.

With his hood pulled up, he walks up the stairs, reading the warning on the wall:

"Enter, stranger, but take heed


Of what awaits the sin of greed,

For those who take but do not earn,


Must pay most dearly in their turn,

So if you seek beneath our floors

A treasure that was never yours,


Thief, you have been warned, beware


Of finding more than treasure there."

Harry chuckles quietly, reminiscing about the past. Riding out on a dragon, now that is Harry’s sort of fun. Of course, at the time, it was anything but fun. How things change.

How he’s changed.

Paying off the goblins after that show hadn’t been fun. They are as greedy as described. Emptying almost all of the Black vault for the damage caused and the "emotional distress" it caused the goblin nation.

Harry huffs. Emotional distress, my ass. Goblins don't feel distress. Greedy bastards.

Still, he likes them more than people sometimes.

Entering the grand white marble building masquerading as a bank, he walked up to the nearest door flanked by a goblin guard clothed in a scarlet and gold uniform.

Harry nodded his head at the guard and received a surprised, stiff nod in return. The guard opened the door for Harry and froze as Harry passed by him.

As Harry entered the main hall, he was unaware of the guard's stare and his quick signal to the nearest goblin that flanked the wall behind the counters.

Harry walked confidently up to one of the counters. He had let his grip on his magic loosen a bit, and the effects he had on the goblins were immediately noticeable.

"Greetings, Master Goblin, I’m in need of a blood inheritance test and a meeting with the head accountants of the Black, Potter, and Peverell accounts," Harry demanded, but of course politely. He didn't want to upset the goblins during their first interaction. However, goblins preferred to keep the interactions short and to the point.

The goblin (was his name Nagnok? Harry couldn’t really remember) seemed frozen in place, holding a quill as if he was about to write something down. Harry raised an eyebrow at him, and he seemed to snap out of it. "Greetings, young master. Of course, follow me, and we will proceed."

The goblin (Nagnok?) jumped down from the counter and walked towards the far west wall. Harry was quick on his heels.

Harry, in the meantime, considered his options. If his guess was correct, and thanks to the tournament, he had been emancipated, he could take up his lordships. The only downside to that was that the ministry would be informed that a new lord had joined the Wizengamot. Hopefully, Harry remembered correctly that Dumbledore had already been kicked off as the Chief Warlock; otherwise, he was the first to be informed. Seeing as Harry would join as the new Black and Peverell (Potter didn't have a seat) lord, Dumbledore was sure to know it could only be Harry taking up those lordships.

Before Harry had enough time to decide how to proceed, they had arrived.

Nagnok (Harry was pretty sure that’s his name) sat down behind the large desk in the room, and Harry, following his lead, sat down on the chair opposite from him.

Looking over Harry's appearance and trying to get a more accurate estimation of the young man's power, Nagnok could feel the danger emanating from him. Trying to hide his fear, Nagnok got started. "So, young master of death, are you familiar with how a blood inheritance test is conducted?"

Harry was not a naturally observant person, but after years of trauma, war, and later on in life, training, he could see the fear Nagnok was trying to conceal. He couldn't help but smirk; fear was always funny to observe.

Also, should he be surprised that the goblin already knew of his title? No. It's to be expected when he released his power near magical creatures; they could sense it.

Nagnok stiffened as he saw the smirk form. "Yes, I am well aware of what it entails. Shall we proceed?" Harry asked and moved his hand forward over the table.

Nagnok swallowed and reached for Harry's wrist. Holding it loosely, he slid a ritual dagger across the wrist. Blood started dripping down onto the enchanted parchment lying on the desk.

A pool of blood had formed, and Nagnok let go of Harry's hand and leaned back, happy to not be touching the master of death anymore.

Harry swiftly closed the cut. He held his non-bleeding hand over the wrist and let some of his magic free with the intent to heal. No words, no wand, no movements.

Nagnok had never seen such magic before, such wonderful, free, wild magic. He wanted to touch the magic, feel it. He felt himself leaning forward once again, but before he could reach out, Harry had drawn back his magic into him, keeping it locked away.

Embarrassment coursed through Nagnok. How could he have lost control of himself so easily? Harry, having seen all this, let an amused smile reach his face.

Words had formed on the parchment, and Harry looked pointedly at it until Nagnok seemed to come back to the world of the living. Grabbing the parchment quickly, Nagnok began to read over the information and soon felt his jaw drop. This was Harry Potter, the Harry Potter who was also the master of death. The wizarding world wouldn't know what hit them.

Inheritance test for: 

Hadrian James Potter 

Born: 31 July 1980

Age: 14 (134) 

Blood status: half-blood 

Father: James Fleamont Potter (deceased)

Mother: Lily Marie Potter née Evans (deceased) 

Blood adopted father: Sirius Orion Black (unfit guardian) 

Blood-Adopted: 1 august 1980

Godfather: Sirius Orion Black (unfit guardian)

Godmother: Alice Longbottom (unfit guardian) 

Magical guardian: Albus Dumbledore (inactive) 

Emancipation: 31 October 1994

Titles: 

Lord of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Potter (Paternal)

Lord of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black (Blood-Adoption)

Lord of the Most Ancient and Most Noble House of Peverell (Parental) 

Heir to the Most Ancient and Most Noble House of Slytherin (Maternal, Conquest)

Master of death 

Vaults:

Trust Vault (Num. 12,313)

Potter Family Vault (Num. 356)

Potter Vault (Num. 11,998)

Black Family Vault (Num. 72)

Sirius Black Vault (Num. 11,201. Access upon owner's death) 

Peverell Family Vault (Num. 7)

Peverell Storage Vault (Num. 8) 

Slytherin Vault (Num. 3. Access upon owner's death) 

Properties :

Potter Manor (Unplottable; unknown location)

Potter Cottage (Godric's Hollow, England)

Potter Summer House (Srinagar, India)

Black Castle (Wiltshire, England)

12 Grimmauld Place (Unplottable, England)

Black Summer Villa (Marseille, France)

Black Island (Pumpkin Island, North Keppel Island, Australia)

Peverell Castle (Unplottable; location unknown) 

Slytherin Castle (Unplottable: location unknown)

Potions and compulsions detected  

The goblin was frozen in place for the third time that morning. (Was it really morning at 3:21 am? Never mind.) Harry twisted his hand, and the parchment came flying into his open hand. He looked it over.

So, his theory had been proven; he was indeed emancipated. At last, something had gone right. This would be very helpful for future plans. He continued reading.

Hmm, some of this was not on his old inheritance test, so what had changed? For instance, the Blacks did not own an island in his world, and his official name was never Hadrian but Harrison. He kinda liked Hadrian better. And no magical blocks on him this time, how interesting.

“Everything seems to be in order. I would like a venenum test as well. I would like to deal with potion effects as soon as possible,” Harry calmly stated, as if getting spiked with potions and hit with compulsions was an everyday occurrence.

Nagnok startled. “Yes, of course. The fee for that particular test is 5 galleons.” Harry smirked; here, he thought the goblin would be too surprised to remember prices. He shouldn’t have underestimated their greed.

“An acceptable price. Add another 5 for the inheritance test and take it from the Peverell vault.” Never be anything but polite to the goblins if you wish to remain on their good side. They do, after all, guard your gold.

After a few silent minutes, the test was complete. The concept was the same as with the inheritance test, the only difference being the enchantments on the parchment.

Abilities, Potions, Compulsions and Blocks:

Parseltounge (paternal, maternal)

Parselmagic (paternal, maternal)

Metamorphmagus (blood adoption) 

Compulsion charm: mistrust targeted to the word “Slytherin” and any associated to that word

Compulsion charm: mistrust towards adults and adult interference

Potions: imperium amisit potion (active) 

Potions: modified version of the befuddlement draught (active)

Huh, metamorphmagus. That didn’t happen before. Was this really not the same dimension as his last? Wasn’t he just in the past of his own world, or were there major differences? It didn’t seem like it; so far, he had only noticed small differences. He would have to contemplate this further later.

Harry wasn’t really surprised by the results. Honestly, he expected more. In addition to the current compulsions and potions, there had been a block of 30% to his core and loyalty potions keyed to most of the Weasley household, Hermione Granger, and of course, the man of the hour, Dumbledore.

The current compulsions were easy to get rid of; he’d just burn them out with his own magic. But the potions would be more annoying, especially the imperium amistit potion, otherwise known as the liquid imperium potion. Of course, none of these potions affected Harry as he was now; his magic kept the effects at bay. Still, he wanted them out of his body, so he would have to brew… he hates brewing. He could just buy the antidotes pre-made, but who knew what the idiot brewers could have done to the antidote.

And besides, the versions from his future were much better than what the current wizarding world could offer.

Having been thinking and planning for a couple of minutes, frowning as he did, he didn’t notice the distress radiating from Nagnok.

“Is everything in order, Master of Death?” Nagnok asked quietly.

Harry looked up, surprised that he had forgotten about the goblin and nodded. "Yes, Nagnok, nothing I can't handle. I believe it's time to meet the head accountants?"

Nagnok nodded slowly, unsure if Harry was angry. "Follow me."

At 5:32 in the morning, Harry finally exited the building. He was exhausted. This had been the longest day of his life. First, he had jumped through time and space, then he had woken up at the fucking Dursleys', and then he had spent almost 2 hours going over financial records.

What a day. And it wasn't over yet.

Now wearing his three Lordship rings on his right hand, a bundle of documents and contracts under his arm, and with a fully loaded pouch of Galleons in his pocket, he was ready to hit the town.

First stop, Knockturn Alley.

As he walked through the quiet streets, he couldn't help but think of the meddlesome old bastard.

Growing up had made Harry realize that even though Dumbledore knew so much, he never said anything. The man had sat back and watched as the world, Harry's world, collapsed beneath them, and he had done nothing. Nothing. (Well, not nothing, seeing as he had dosed him with potions and put compulsions on Harry.)

Harry clenched his jaw, and his steps became more forceful as he continued to walk on.

Dumbledore was no hero, he was the villain. And he had made Harry into one too. For the "greater good."

Merlin, he hated that phrase. "Greater good," there was no greater good, you old pathetic goat. Clenching his fists, Harry willed his magic to calm down. Now was not the time to lose control.

No. The old man would get what was coming. Harry would make sure of it.

He had never gotten the opportunity to enact revenge in his old reality, but here, here the old man lived, and lived well. Harry would burn everything he held dear to the ground and dance upon the ashes of the coot's throne.

Feeling calmer after declaring his revenge, Harry straightened his back and determinedly walked towards the nearest apothecary.

He let his thoughts drift to different topics, and before he knew it, he was there.

What Harry loved about Knockturn was that most shops there kept open 24/7 so their shadier clientele didn't have to be seen there during the day.

He entered a small shabby shop named Fairy Wings and Other Things. How unique, Harry thought with a little snort.

It wasn't the biggest nor the best shop, but he was sure to find what he needed. Among brewing the antidote, he had also planned on brewing an eyesight potion and nutrition potions so he would be ready to later take the Valexo Valetudo potion and fix this horrible body.

First world 

Harry had felt different after dying at Voldemort's hand, but he remembered how he used to feel before that, so he put on an act. At first, he did it for Hermione's sake. She was, after all, the only one who visited him anymore. Since joining the Aurors, Ron had had little time to spare, and that time he preferred to spend with his current fiancée, Hermione.

After a while, Harry knew that the act was as much for himself as it was for Hermione. Even if it wasn't real, it still made him feel somewhat normal to act as he used to. He wasn't ready to accept that he had changed.

Time moves on, and as the six-month mark for the end of the war passes, Harry feels less and less motivated to pretend that everything is alright. So, he stops.

When he finally admits to himself that something is wrong with him, with his soul, his magic starts acting up. He's turned 19 when it starts getting out of control.

His magic, which has always protected him and cared for him when no one else did, stops cooperating.

And Harry hides, isolating himself at Grimmauld place with only Kreacher for company. He blocks the Floo and silences the door. No one can enter.

And he won't leave.

It takes two years for his magic to start working again.

Year 1, he tried to force it, doing everything he could think of to get his magic to react. He started out easy enough by throwing things and trying to stop them from falling. Then he moved on to having Kreacher throw things at him to get his magic to subconsciously protect him, but no. Then he moved on to jumping down the stairs to get his magic to soften the fall. When that didn't work, he moved higher, to jumping off the roof.

That hurt. And it didn't work. He was running out of ideas.

He tried to recreate the same scenarios as when he was young and his accidental magic acted up. He directed Kreacher to sneak up on him and hit him with a frying pan, but it didn't work. He pissed off some lowlife thugs who then chased him down, in the hopes that his magic might apparate him away to safety. No such luck.

Year 1 was tough psychologically and physically.

Year 2, he tried a different approach. He let it be.

Instead, he focused on himself and his mind.

Harry has always been shit at Occlumency, but he was more determined now than ever. And he had more free time on his hands now than ever.

He meditated daily, saw a mind healer, and started doing things he used to love, like flying. Despite not feeling the same about the sport anymore, it was still calming and enjoyable. Being free and away from everything.

He started feeling better. His mind felt better, his emotions were slowly returning. His mind healer said it was important to "feel your feelings," which, to Harry, sounded ridiculous. He did try his best anyway.

He found it difficult to acknowledge his feelings when he didn't know what he felt.

Most of the time, Harry could identify if it's a positive or negative feeling, but he gets stuck when trying to specify what feeling it is.

It felt like relearning the most basic, fundamental shit even children know, but what other choice did he have?

He still didn't know why this had happened.

His mind healer was certain it was a state caused by the trauma experienced during war times. Harry didn't believe that, but he never said anything.

At the end of year 2, his Occlumency had improved tremendously. His mind wasn't an impenetrable wall, more like a high fence. If someone wanted to get through, they could, but those that just wanted to have a look wouldn't be able to see.

Satisfied with his work and feeling the best he had since the end of the war, it came as a surprise when his magic started reacting again.

Well aware he still wasn't at full strength but feeling in control of his magic, he decided it was time to end this self-imposed isolation.

Luna, who has been writing to Harry over the past two years but never receiving a reply in return, didn’t seem surprised at all when Harry turned up.

Chapter Text

Peverell Castle was a mess.

Had it been this decaying and ominous in his time? No, not really. Sure, it was in bad shape when he visited it for the first time in the 2010s, but it had been a quick fix. This was not a quick fix.

It was ancient and made of dark stone with wooden doors. You could clearly see that this was an old, abandoned castle. Still, the structure was mostly intact, and the stone walls were strong and unforgiving. It stood as if conjured up from a child’s nightmare, dark and looming, casting a shadow on the overgrown garden that surrounded it. The surrounding forest did nothing to brighten the place.

The inside of the castle was covered in a thick layer of dust. Cobwebs, almost as old as the castle, were on every windowsill, even though there were no spiders to be found. The whole place felt dead, lacking the magic it once had. All the rooms and corridors were empty except for the occasional broken chair or table pushed into a corner. A great hall completed the western wing of the castle. Floor-length windows bordered the hall, letting in a lot of light, but they were so dirty that you couldn't see what was going on outside.

Harry would need help if this was where he chose to settle down. Exhaustion hit him hard as he stepped into the master bedroom of the western wing. Waving his hand, he vanished the dust and cobwebs, and he transfigured the broken chair in the corner into a queen-sized bed. He was out as soon as he laid down and let his body relax.

...

With the sun shining through the windows, Harry squinted his eyes. Visions of the past day (maybe he should call it night?) assaulted him as he rose from the bed.

His mind was not as clear as it used to be. This body was affecting him. The brewing would have to start today if he wished to be back in his old, healthy body before summer ended. He needed to brew the antidote as well, so his system would be flushed of all current potions slowing him down.

With a plan for the hours ahead, Harry set out to look for the potions lab. It should be in the basement. He had never bothered to look for it before, just stopping by the castle once in a while to pick up some books or crash for the night.

Making his way through the maze of hallways, he thankfully found the stairs leading to the basement. The closer he got to the bottom of the stairs, the more it smelled of mildew. Ah, and here were the spiders, hiding in the corners. Oh, shit, was that a rat as well? Great... more ingredients if he ever needs rat spleen.

Having looked behind a couple of doors and found a room full of broken furniture, a dungeon with cells, a room with a bunch of shelves (food storage, maybe?), a wine cellar stocked with wine (yes, now he could get shit-faced drunk this evening), the ward-stone room (he would get to that after the potions), the elves' sleeping chambers, and then finally the potions lab. And he still had a couple of rooms left to look over later.

Stepping into the room, Harry felt the magic in the air. A preservation charm? Hmm, whoever left that, good job.

Harry reached forward to touch the bench in the middle of the room, but his hand was stopped. Oh, a protection enchantment as well. Did someone’s kids try to nab some potions or something?

Waving his hand, Harry lifted the enchantment, and the room was in pretty good shape. It just needed an update. Snapping his fingers, furniture started moving around. He directed the two shelves to the wall furthest from the door, and the two workbenches into the middle of the room, facing each other. The only thing left to do was to vanish the remains of a half-finished potion, and Harry did that with a snap of his fingers.

There, all done.

Now to get started. Taking off his Mokeskin pouch from around his neck (he rebought one in Knockturn; he learned the hard way to always keep an emergency stash of all his things), he proceeded to pull out all the newly bought ingredients and equipment needed, such as a cauldron, a mortar and pestle, a brass scale, some stirring rods, a chopping board, and a knife.

Well done, Harry! You remembered everything! Give yourself a pat on the back!

Talking and having an inner monologue with himself had become the norm after so many years living in isolation. The only company he used to get was with the house-elf.

Oh! He should summon them after he’s done. Not having to eat his own cooking, however delicious, would be nice.

Satisfied with his setup, Harry mentally prepared himself for the brewing he was going to be doing for the following hours.

Three hours later, Harry was stretching his back and groaning. Merlin, he hated brewing. So much effort, so much focusing and paying attention and being patient. And he had done all the potions simultaneously, which was even more demanding (but faster so worth it). Yuck, though he did hate it even more if he messed it up and had to do it all over again. Not this time though!

With the eye-healing potion, nutrition potions, and antidote complete, Harry quickly cleaned up the slight mess he’d made and added the potions to his Mokeskin pouch. He was planning on taking the antidote before bed, seeing as it worked best when the body was relaxed.

Now heading for the ward-stone room to reactivate the wards for this place. Maybe he should have done that sooner; he was pretty sure Dumbledore and the flaming chickens had noticed his disappearance. Well, whatever, it’s not like they can track him. He had runes engraved on his bones to stop that—FUCK. No, he didn't. This wasn't his body. God dammit.

He couldn't do that ritual until he took the Valexo Valetudo potion and corrected years' worth of damage caused by childhood malnourishment. How freaking annoying.

Fine, he’d have to make a protective pendant with a mountain of enchantments and runes on it. "Uhhhh, so much work. I haven't put this much effort into anything in years," Harry complained. Well, he was just going to have to do it.

Entering the ward-stone room and walking up to the huge limestone engraved with thousands of tiny runes, Harry hovered his hand over it to get a feel for the magic in it. Yes, this would do quite nicely. No one would be able to get through the wards of the castle once he activated them. They would have to be physically keyed into the stone to even step on the grounds if Harry wasn't around to loosen the wards.

The Peverells who made this stone had also added a lot of fail-safes so that even if the wards were inactive, only those of Peverell blood could enter the castle. Apparently, Harry hadn't spotted the runes engraved around the entrance door. He’d have to check those out some other time. It was rather clever.

The use of limestone was also a good choice, considering that limestone is one of the few smart materials in the world, meaning it self-repairs. If a crack ever forms, only a drop of water is needed for the calcium in the stone to repair the crack. Practical.

Now that Harry had a clearer view of the different wards and ward layering, he put his hand on the stone and let his magic be absorbed by it, feeding it until the wards were as strong as they would ever get, stronger than even Hogwarts, thanks to Harry's never-ending supply of magic. Harry then connected his magic and life force to the stone so he would be recognized as the lord of the household and be able to control the wards at any time with only his intent.

Done with that, Harry planned to call the house-elves so they could get started with cleaning the castle and cooking dinner.

Entering the sitting room, Harry transfigured the poor excuse of a sofa into a nice, comfy armchair and practically threw himself into it. After relaxing and almost falling asleep, he found the energy to summon the house-elves.

"I, Hadrian James Potter, Lord of the Houses of Potter, Black, and Peverell, summon to me all house-elves bound to my houses that do not currently serve a master," Harry spoke in a loud, commanding voice and waited.

Perhaps he didn't have any house-elves in this universe...

A few cracks echoed through the empty room, and about a dozen house-elves appeared.

With big, round eyes, they all looked at Harry, shocked to have been summoned after so many years. One brave old elf stepped forward.

"A new master has appeared after so many years. How can we be of service to the young master?" The very polite and well-spoken (how unusual) old elf asked.

Harry looked him over, noticing the dark circles under his eyes and the moth-eaten piece of cloth he wore. Drifting his eyes towards the others, he noticed they were in similar states. Had they not been taking care of themselves? Or couldn't they?

Clearing his throat, Harry spoke. "I'm Hadrian Potter. You may call me Master Hadrian. I am the Lord of the Houses of Potter, Black, and Peverell. Pleased to meet you all." He took a breath and continued. "I would like each of you to tell me your name and the house you serve."

The elves looked unsure and scared but proceeded to answer one by one.

"My name is Drippy, sir. I serve the noble House of Black, sir."

"I'm Niff, Master Hadrian, and House of Potter."

"I'm named Roji, sir. I serve the noble House of Black."

"Gruff, noble House of Black."

"I'm Bole, sir. House of Potter."

"Daisy, Master Hadrian, I serve the noble House of Black."

"I'm Fill, House of Potter."

"My name's Opie. I'm serving noble House of Black."

Finally, the last elf stepped forward, the brave elf that had spoken up first.

"My name is Soy, Master Hadrian. I serve the noble House of Black."

How the heck was Harry supposed to remember all these names? It's a good thing that remembering names of things, places, and people is not his best skill!

During the introduction, Harry noticed that there were no elves from the House of Peverell. Well, it's to be expected when there hadn't been a lord in over a century. If he remembers correctly, the last of the Peverells had been wiped out by Grindelwald during the war, though they hadn't been from the main line.

"Welcome, everyone, to Peverell Castle. As you can all see, it needs a lot of work, and I was hoping you could help me with that?" Harry asked instead of demanded. He wanted his house-elves to like him. It would be more useful in the future if they were loyal to him not out of duty but out of want.

They had all seemed to agree that Soy was the leader, and so he stepped forward. "Of course, Master Hadrian, whatever you need, we are here to help."

"Great, thank you, everyone. First off, I would like you to clean the west wing and the kitchen. You can divide the work among yourselves. I would also like for two of you to cook my meals and preferably be able to whip something up for dinner in a while. The garden outside also needs a good trimming, but it's not something urgent, so you can leave that until you have the time." Harry took a moment to think.

"I also have a couple of rules I would like you all to follow while being in my service. Firstly, you need to take care of yourselves. You all will need to make sure you rest, sleep, and eat enough. I would also like for everyone to be wearing matching uniforms and to make sure you're always clean and presentable. Secondly, if there is anything wrong, or you feel like you've done anything wrong, come to me, and we will find a solution. I don't want any of you to punish yourselves or get hurt in any way. Thirdly, if you ever wish to speak or make a request, come to me, and I'm sure we will be able to work something out."

"Now, any questions?" Harry asked, not really expecting anyone to ask anything.

One tiny elf, Drippy, raised her hand and, with Harry's nod of approval, spoke. "Drippy is with child, Master Hadrian. Drippy would like to be cooking."

"Oh, congratulations, Drippy! How wonderful. Yes, you could work in the kitchens if that's what you're most comfortable with right now. If you ever need rest or help, please talk to me, and it will be given." Harry tried to keep his voice warm and friendly to show all the house-elves he was no threat to them.

Drippy smiled and bowed. "Thank you, Master Hadrian."

With that, the elves got to work, with Soy dividing the work and directing the other elves.

It appeared that Drippy and Niff would be handling the cooking while the others did the cleaning. When the others got to work, Harry asked Soy to stay behind.

"So, I would like for you to be the head elf and make sure everything goes smoothly. Here is a money pouch connected to the Peverell vaults. It’s limitless, and I would like you to use the money to decorate the castle as you see fit, preferably in natural colors with splashes of rich blue and emerald green. There is also a Peverell storage vault that might contain some decorative pieces. You have my permission to look through it. The money will also be used to buy food, and I would like you to stock up the potions lab with ingredients. Just the most common ones will do," Soy nodded, and Harry continued.

"I would also like you to turn three rooms in the west wing into a dueling room, a library, and a personal study if that’s alright." Harry asked, a bit uncertain if he was giving the poor elf too much work.

"Of course, Master Hadrian. It will be done," Soy sounded calm and collected, so that's good.

"Thank you. Take all the time you need to complete the tasks."

As evening approached, Harry had almost completed the protective pendant. Just an hour or so more, and he would be done.

The elves had been very efficient during the last two hours. They had cleaned up all the rooms in the west wing and were now out shopping for furniture. You gotta love house-elf magic.

At seven o’clock on the dot, there was a crack in his room, and Niff appeared. "Dinner is served in the dining room, Master Hadrian."

"Thank you, Niff. Would you please show me the way? I'm not familiar enough with the layout of the castle."

Niff nodded and led the way. On their way there, Harry inspected the wing. It was perfectly clean, and with the wards activated, Harry could feel the magic current through the walls.

Not much furniture had been acquired yet, but Harry was sure that by the time he awoke tomorrow, it would be done.

As they approached the dining room, Harry observed the stained glass windows stretching from the floor up to the ceiling. A beautiful moving dragon could be seen flying across the three windows. The elves had somehow gotten their hands on a grand chandelier with similar coloring as the dragon. Underneath it was a large rectangular table in a dark wood, with carvings alongside the edges. Eight chairs in the same wood were placed around the table. Otherwise, the large room remained empty, with the exception of a fireplace and the farthest wall from the door.

The elves had truly outdone themselves.

After entering the room, Harry asked Niff to get Daisy so both could be informed that Harry was on a strict diet and was in need of nutrition potions.

Otherwise, dinner was a quiet affair, with Harry watching the dragon flying around.

After dinner, Harry completed the pendant and, as promised to himself, raided the wine cellar.

Thankfully, he still remembered to take the antidote before passing out.

Waking up with a pounding headache was not an unusual experience but still unpleasant.

Shower, he needed a shower. Did this place even have a bathroom?

“Uhhh, whatever. I need clothes, new clothes,” Harry mumbled to himself.

Pulling out young Harry’s trunk from his Mokeskin pouch, he started looking for acceptable clothing and found nothing.

Had his style always been this bad? Had everyone been oblivious to the kind of clothes Harry wore? No normal child would choose to wear this... They must have noticed something was wrong but chose to ignore it...

But you couldn't ignore it.

Not the shirts that hung over Harry’s thin shoulders and appeared more like dresses on him.

Not the pants that Harry could fit thrice into with how wide they were.

Not the torn sneakers that were practically falling apart with every step he took.

No, you couldn't not see it.

Someone must have seen. The Weasleys, who he spent weeks with during the summer, must have seen.

Mrs Weasley always complained about how he was dressed and how thin he was, but neither she nor anyone else ever did anything about it.

Well, fuck them! Fuck them all!

Now Harry was fucking angry. Of course, he knew they all saw the signs of his abuse, but they couldn’t see him. All they saw was a tool, a savior, the fucking boy-who-lived, and he couldn’t be abused.

He hadn’t thought about his childhood in decades, but being back here, being a child once more, really brought all those nasty memories up to the surface.

Harry clenched his fist, trying to regain control over his magic, which had slowly been making itself known by draining the area around Harry of warmth, leaving in its stead ice growing like vines out of his body.

Perhaps he should have let some of his anger about this whole situation of being in the past out earlier so as not to let his anger control him now, but afterthoughts are a bitch. There’s no time like the present to let some anger out.

Harry apparated to the nearby forest where no one could hear him and screamed.

“Nothing in this life or the last was my own, will be my own! I have been alive, fighting, not for my own sake but for others! I have given everything for the sake of others. Even my death was not my own.

NOTHING WILL EVER BE JUST MY OWN, MINE!

…I cannot go on in a world like this, I want to, no, I need to be free. I need to be my own person.”

By this point, Harry had fallen to his knees and was clutching onto the grass. Harry lowered his voice and in a deathly cold tone continued. “No one will get in my way, no one will force my hand or stop me from doing what I want, and if they do, I will show them exactly how painful it is to be alive, never, never getting the sweet release of death.”

He cursed death, life, and Lady Magic.

Letting go of his hold on his magic, it consumed.

It devoured.

Sucking out all life around, like a vampire draining someone of blood. Harry closed his eyes and let it happen.

Harry had never been as light as everyone always assumed, even when he was young and naive, the darkness was always there in the background. Hiding, waiting, growing.

Harry's magical core had been gray. He knew that from the second he touched the diary and felt the same pull towards the dark magic as he did towards the light.

His magic now wasn’t the same. After dying in that clearing in the Forbidden Forest, his magic began to shift. After those two years when his magic was messed up, it came back different.

Not light, not gray, not dark.

Different.

Not human.

Not magic a wizard could wield.

Opening his eyes, Harry breathed out. And in. And out.

Looking around, only dust remained where there once had been trees, grass, and life.

This.

This is what Harry had become.

Inhuman.

A monster.

A god.

….At least his headache was gone.

Now seated at the dining room table with the Daily Prophet in his hand, Harry felt alright. He had decided. No one would control him. Not that they could anyway.

Calmly drinking the tea Niff had served him, an owl tapped on the window. He waved his hand, opening the window. Didn’t Dumbledore put a mail ward on him when he was 14?

Hmm, maybe not in this world or perhaps his magic had simply burned it away. His magic was very possessive that way, not letting anyone else’s magic touch him.

Taking the letter from the owl, Harry gave it a piece of sausage and watched it fly away.

Where was Hedwig? Didn’t she exist in this world or was she staying with someone else?

Pondering Hedwig's location, Harry let his magic touch the letter to make sure there was nothing harmful on it.

A mild compulsion charm and location tracker had been despeeled as soon as Harry Potter’s name had been written down as the receiver.

A clever modification on the Taboo curse, if Harry was to say so himself. He was proud of that creation, having it be one of his first attempts at spell crafting. Essentially, it blocked any tracking spell meant to find Harry Potter. It didn’t work if the person used a dark tracking ritual using Harry’s blood or bodily fluid, but most light wizards and witches didn’t even know how to perform those rituals. Anyway, he had his pendant to stop any such ritual from working.

Scoffing at the weak attempt at a compulsion charm meant to make the recipient more compliant to whatever was written, Harry opened the letter.

Hermione. He wasn't sure how he felt towards her anymore.

After all, he did once kill her...

For his own sake, avoiding her would be best. Even if it wasn't fair to her, Harry no longer felt any obligation towards her or the rest of humanity.

He took care of himself.

It was best that way.

And besides, he decided to be himself, and being himself ensured chaos would follow. It was best for them to stay away from him as well.

Harry was, however, slightly surprised she hadn't written sooner.

Dear Harry,

Where are you? We are all so worried, I do hope you're alright.

Whilst I was on vacation with my parents, I received a letter from Headmaster Dumbledore. He's so very worried and concerned for your safety. He's even out there looking for you himself!

Please come back, Harry!

Sirius must be climbing the walls with worry for you. Please come home, Harry!

Regardless of how things are with you and Ron, he and all the Weasleys are sure to be very worried for you as well.

I'm sure you can stay at the Burrow or with Sirius if you don't want to go back to your family.

We can figure something out, but you have to come home first!

Love,

Hermione

P.S. Headmaster Dumbledore said I could only send one letter before I get there, so please come home, and we can talk face to face!

Cute.

So the compulsion was to get him to come back. They seemed to be getting desperate. How funny.

Trying to guilt trip him using Sirius was a weak attempt at manipulation, and throwing in Ron like that was strange. "Regardless of how things are," what things? He couldn't remember anything happening with Ron during this time.

Another change in this universe. Did they have a fight after the tournament or something?

Also, why wasn't the old man and he grilled by the Prophet? Didn't the old man know Voldie was back? Surely, if he did, he would try to warn the public, as he did before?

Wait, was Voldie even back? This is a different universe after all...

Calling for Bole, he asked the elf to find him all the papers that had been published about Harry. He would start by reading those, and if he had time, he would read everything else that had been published in the past couple of years. Good thing he loved spending hours just reading about himself...

Right, back to the letter. Harry didn't really feel like replying now, maybe later. He was already stirring up chaos. Should he make things even more exciting?

How could he create more chaos for the old man and the flaming chickens? Harry snapped his fingers, and a vicious grin formed on his face.

He had the perfect idea.

Chapter Text

When Harry turned 22, he was ready to rejoin society again.

Walking around Diagon Alley as himself was not his finest move. After having been gone from Wizarding Britain since the day he defeated Voldemort, never having responded to any mail from the Ministry inviting him to galas or reward ceremonies or to join the Aurors, and burning any requests for interviews, he should have expected the chaos.

At first, people looked like they had seen a ghost. Fear and shock could be seen on most faces, but then it changed to excitement. Crowding around him like he was an angel that everyone wanted to feel the "divine power" of.

It was overwhelming, and Harry had fled, somehow ending up in Gringotts.

And while the crowd of people had been more than happy to see him, the same could not be said for the goblins.

Being led to an office after threats of torture and beheading, and promptly dumped in a chair, left Harry feeling even more overwhelmed.

If he didn't have a panic attack soon, he would be surprised.

Joined by the head goblin of the branch, Silverhook, Harry was informed of the money he owed due to the damage he and his friends caused.

Harry was flabbergasted by the amount. And taken aback when Silverhook also informed him that Hermione and Ron had put the debt on Harry's head.

The betrayal stung. Why hadn't they told him?

Silverhook went on to inform him that most of the Black fortune would cover the damage, and Harry didn't understand. He tried to explain that the Black fortune wasn't Harry's, but Silverhook only looked annoyed and asked Harry for his hand. Confused but not in any position to refuse, Harry held out his hand. Startled when Silverhook cut his wrist and let the blood drop down on the parchment.

That's when things got even worse.

The loyalty potions, the distrust potions, the compulsion, the blocks on his magic.

It was all too much. So Harry did what any sane person would do and fainted.

Exiting the building later, Harry was numb. With three new lordship rings on his fingers (and two more potential if he wanted them) and two fewer friends and a thousand tainted memories.

He contemplated forgiveness. They had been through so much together, did he really want to throw that away? But could he forgive it?

Is it really forgiveness if it's your only option?Is it really forgiveness if you never had the ability to enact revenge? Forgiveness is always to help the perpetrator and does nothing for the victim.

Moving on is different, but is it better?

Justice is a children's tale.

Taking up his place at the Wizardmon seemed like a good idea at the time. Like he would make a difference... he doesn't.

It's as corrupt as ever. Only now, it's the light that has blinded the people.

Bitterness creeps up on Harry, and by the time he's turned 27, he knows there's no helping those that do not want it.

He finally understands that when everyone agrees to the same lie, it becomes the truth.

He leaves England.

Harry, for all that he loves magic, despises it as well. What is the Muggle saying? "There's a fine line between love and hate."

Harry travels. Sees the world. It's so different than he imagined. So much better.

He discovers a new love for learning, for understanding.

While in Indonesia, he's taught about the theory of how everything is connected. The magic users call it the Greater Connection. Muggles, as Harry later discovers, call it quantum entanglement.

According to the Indonesian coven, the greater connection starts with your inner connection to your magic. For your magic to flourish, so must your body, mind, and soul.

Is that why his magic had been so chaotic?

Harry learns more. He learns all he can from different cultures around the world, but the greater connection theory sticks with him.

When he turns 29, he meets the master.

Who is this master, you might wonder? Harry doesn’t know, and everyone he asks only answers in vague, unhelpful ways like “he is the master” or “the master is supreme.”

Whatever that means.

The master must see something in Harry (or lack thereof) and asks him to stay a while. Harry does.

The master confirms Harry’s thoughts. His magic is acting and had acted weird because it can’t connect to him properly.

The master makes Harry a promise of helping him as much as he can.

They begin with the body. Thanks to years of childhood malnourishment, his body is weak, and his organs are failing. The only reason he’s even standing is thanks to his magic. His bones are weak and brittle. His nerve endings are screwed, and his brain and intellect are impaired.

Thank you loving relatives.

It takes months of potions, dieting, and working out to correct all his issues.

Not even mentioning the agonizing pain he suffers through when he takes the last potion to fix all the “permanent” issues, such as his height, his build, his intellect, and his never-developed logical thinking and consequence apprehension.

He’s in a sort of coma for weeks while the matters correct themselves. When it’s finally over, Harry can’t recall ever feeling so good.

His body is light but developed. It doesn’t look like he’s stuck in the body of a teenager anymore. He’s taller, and the muscles he’s worked hard on gaining these last few months are finally visible. He's finally a man. He looks good if he’s to say so himself.

Next comes the mind, which is much harder in Harry’s opinion. Letting the thoughts flow, acknowledging them, and letting them go is alright, but when it comes to some memories he had suppressed, he can’t do it.

It takes four years for Harry to be at peace with his mind and create good Occlumency walls around his mind.

Once you start working on yourself, you never stop. His body and mind have improved, but they will never be complete. Next, however… next is the soul.

The soul.

What soul?

…

He studies for a few more years. Everything he couldn’t concentrate on long enough before. He relearns a lot of things he thought were true, such as how a wizard can’t do complex magic without a wand. Not true, he’s seen old magical tribes do some amazing magic, all with wild magic.

The first time he saw it, he returned to his master and begged him to teach Harry, and he did.

He learned about healing from the Native American tribe he stumbled across.

He studied the old scripts in Alexandria, learning black magic and necromancy. The connection to that type of magic was instantaneous, and Harry learned not to ignore what his magic told him.

Seven years had passed, and Harry, now a completely different man, felt a need to return home. He returned home at 35, and that was the beginning of the end for Harry.

Harry spent the following days at Peverell Castle, by owl ordering robes, clothes, pre-made potions for healing and such, and books, lots of books. And of course, he read those books.

His eyes were coming along nicely, just two more days of drops, and he wouldn't need those awful glasses.

Should he grow out his hair again? It had been a lot easier to manage once it got past the shoulders. But it was also easier to control with that haircut Draco gave him. And Harry personally preferred shorter hair, not as much maintenance.

Alright, he’d get one of the elves to shave the sides of his hair short and keep it longer on top so the messiness would seem intentional. Harry remembered turning that style into a mohawk to piss off Draco. Chuckling quietly at the prissy face he used to make, Harry made his way to the sitting room.

Oh, had he forgotten to mention that he went to Gringotts and made them invest in a shit ton of IT companies, like Microsoft and Apple? He told them to invest in Amazon once it went public in a year or so as well. Never having a client ask them to invest in Muggle businesses (in the US or anywhere else), they were interested to find out how it worked and how much money could be made from it. "Well," Harry thought, "have fun following the American stock market! It's so easy and enjoyable!"

Having been in the sitting room reading for a few hours, Niff popped in with tea.

"Thank you, Niff," Harry said politely. Niff seemed to have gotten used to him now and simply nodded. But before she could leave, Harry asked a question.

"Hey, Niff, do you know if anyone is good at giving haircuts? I’m in desperate need of a new one."

"Niff will ask others. Be back in a moment." And she popped away only to return a minute later with Roji.

After having explained what he wanted done, Roji had conjured up scissors and a blade and got to work. Harry was slightly startled when the scissors flew towards him and started cutting. Ten minutes later, and it was done.

"Thank you, Roji. It is perfect, exactly what I wanted." Harry's delight was easy to see, and Roji seemed a bit uncomfortable with it being directed towards him. He bowed and popped away.

Now that it was done, Harry got back to reading, and thankfully, there had been a warming charm on the tea.

Harry couldn’t really remember the last time he was this relaxed.

Unlike Harry, the Order was not relaxed.

They were indeed very stressed.

First Voldemort is back, then Harry disappears, and lastly, they get kicked out of their headquarters by the house itself.

(If Harry could see them now, he would be cackling hysterically.)

Now they had to conduct their meetings at the Burrow, which was way too cramped.

The only one not kicked out of Grimmauld Place had been Sirius. Why? They weren’t sure, but they believed it had to do with blood.

The sun was shining in through the window above the sink, and the birds' song could be heard from outside. One would believe that on such a beautiful summer day, nothing could be wrong.

But oh, how things were wrong for them.

Everyone was gathered around the kitchen table, waiting for their beloved leader to show.

“Does anyone want tea?” Molly asked, trying to lighten the strained mood in the room.

“No thank you, Molly. I’m quite alright,” Remus said, always the polite one.

Before anyone else could respond, the floo lit up, and out stepped Dumbledore, followed by Snape.

“Forgive an old man’s tardiness. There were some matters to attend to,” said Dumbledore slowly, smiling lightly.

“Is everything alright, Albus?” Minerva asked, concern visible on her face. Dumbledore looked at her with his twinkling eyes and smiled.

“No need to worry, my dear. Just a small matter of fetching a letter from young Harry delivered to Miss Granger.”

All eyes seemed to light up and look towards him. Snape, however, scoffed and moved to the back of the room, hiding in the shadows.

“What does it say, Dumbledore? Is Harry okay? Is my godson safe?” Sirius was the first to question.

Dumbledore's eyes drifted to Sirius and calmly replied, “It would appear he’s indeed alright, if one is to trust what’s written in this letter. Perhaps it shall be best if I read it aloud.” Dumbledore cleared his throat and continued.

“Hermione and whoever else may read this, I know you will, old man, and hey Padfoot!

I am safe and happy and healthy, no need for concern.

I will not tell you where I am because I’m not stupid.

I haven’t yet decided if returning to Hogwarts is in my best interest, so I suppose it shall be a surprise.

I would say ‘do not look for me,’ and that is what I wish you would do, but I know you, old man, and your flaming chickens will continue to hunt me down till the end of time so a child can fight your imaginary wars.

I believe that’s all.

Ta ta,

Hadrian Potter.”

The room was deathly quiet. Eyes were wide, and some even seemed angry. All at once, everyone started shouting.

“What the hell was that?”

“Arrogant, naive child will get himself killed if he doesn’t have CONSTANT VIGILANCE!”

“Hey Padfoot, that was all he had to say. I need to find Harry!”

“There’s no need for concern, of course, there is, the precious child is out there on his own. We have to find Harry quickly before something terrible happens!”

“Way to go Harry, that was awesome!”

“TONKS, that was not awesome! That arrogant little brat believes he knows best.”

And on and on it went.

“SILENCE!” Dumbledore's voice could be heard throughout the house, shaking the walls from the vibrations of his magic.

“Now, everyone please, be quiet.” Dumbledore sighed as if he had the entire world upon his fragile shoulders.

“I have run as many tests as I can think of, and this is definitely Harry’s writing. It’s still unclear as to why he ran away, but the dear boy seems unwell. It is not like Harry to be so rude.” Another loud sigh left his mouth, but he powered through.

“Youth cannot know how age thinks and feels, but old men are guilty if they forget what it was to be young. I’m sure young Harry is simply out having fun, believing nothing will happen to him. What he is not aware of is, of course, the return of the Dark Lord. Our first priority is his safe return to us. Do not forget that.” He said sternly, looking from each person until he saw them all shift and fidget.

“Now, do we have any leads on his location?”

Moody stood up and huffed. “Nothing has been found on the brat, he has simply vanished, which should be impossible for a schoolboy with no magic. Nothing from his house has proven any use either.” Frowning, he dropped back down onto the bench.

Shacklebolt went next. “The trace hasn't been activated, which means he isn’t using magic. I’ve asked around quietly amongst the aurors if there’s been any sighting of him, and there have been none.”

“I’ve asked the goblins if Harry has been by, but they aren’t very forthcoming with answers. Client privacy and all that.” Bill stated, looking concerned and slightly ill.

Dumbledore nodded his head and frowned. How could young Harry be so well hidden? He must have help, but from who?

“I believe it’s justified to conclude that the dear boy has help. Who might offer assistance to young Harry?” Dumbledore asked the group.

No one answered, seeming to think it over and coming up empty.

Remus cleared his throat, and focus was instantly on him. Blushing lightly, he spoke. “If I may offer a personal observation of Harry?” He took a breath and looked toward Dumbledore, who nodded encouragingly.

“Harry does not generally trust adults. I believe I can name five adults who Harry would trust enough to help him run away, and they are all currently in this room. So it seems unlikely he has an adult helping him. Perhaps an older student?” Remus glanced at Sirius, who was looking down at the table, frowning, lips pressed into a tight line.

“Well, Black, where are you hiding the brat?” was asked in a cool, calm tone by Severus.

Sirius was not calm nor cool. “What the hell's that supposed to mean, Snivellus! Do you think I would sit here, worried out of my mind if I had Harry stashed in some shed somewhere! Maybe you’re the one holding him hostage, you pathetic Death Eater!!”

"That's enough from both of you. We must try not to sink beneath our anguish but battle on," Dumbledore said before either could speak. Snape and Sirius seemed to settle down a bit at Dumbledore's disappointed eyes.

"For now, let's move on to other matters. Severus, has he reached out yet?" Everyone looked towards Snape at the Headmaster's question.

Snape seemed to become angrier at having all the attention on him, if his narrowed eyes were anything to go by. "No. I haven't felt anything from the mark. I questioned Lucius, who hasn't heard anything either."

Dumbledore seemed to deflate before their eyes at Severus' reply. "I'm afraid dark and terrible times lie ahead. Soon choices must be made between what is right and what is easy…" He straightened his back and focused his eyes.

"Moody, Shacklebolt, any whispers in the Ministry regarding his return?"

Nice things never last for Harry.

Waking up in the middle of the night because of a vision is never fun.

Stupid Death, always interfering at the worst times.

He hates their "clues" or whatever they are supposed to be.

In the dream, all Harry could really make out was the vague sense of urgency he felt, the importance of him being somewhere.

"Well, you'll have to be clearer than that, Death if you wish to convey anything!"

Harry wasn't actually sure these "visions" even were from Death, seeing as he never left a note or card or anything. But they always smelled of death, so he just chose to believe this was Death's way of trying to communicate.

Being the master of Death didn't really come with an instruction manual. Wouldn't that have been nice?

They didn't really feel like those visions he used to get from Voldie either. Voldie's were always painful and violently alarming. These newer visions were simply impressions of feelings, places, or people.

They were a bitch to understand though.

It had been a couple of decades since he last had one, so it must be important.

Sighing out loud, he spoke in the hopes that Death could hear him. "Where exactly am I supposed to be? You have to send a location as well, Death. I don't magically know what you are thinking. I get it's important to be there soon, but do let me know where. Alright? Thank you, good night."

And with that, Harry closed his eyes and was dead to the world.

Chapter Text

Three weeks ago

Voldemort was buzzing with anxiety, anticipation, and excitement as the time neared.

Soon, he would have his body back. No longer would he be forced to rely upon the pathetic rat's substandard care, living in humiliation by not even being able to feed himself. Soon, he wouldn't need anyone's care. Soon, he'd be himself again.

All that was left was for the Potter boy to arrive.

Using the boy for the ritual was an ingenious idea on his part. With the child's blood running through his veins, the blood protection his mother somehow invoked would be null. And then, finally, vengeance would be his.

Potter would be his.

He would kill the brat, but only after he begged for it. They would all know how Potter begged for death, and how Voldemort, being a merciful lord, obliged.

Barty better be successful in his mission. Death would be the least of Crouch's concerns should he fail.

Minutes ticked by, and the silence became deafening. Where is he!? Voldemort thought.

A few meters away, a crack followed by a thump and a moan could be heard.

He's here! Voldemort thought. If he could grin, he would.

Wormtail, thankfully not a completely incompetent fool, was able to tie up the brat while he was still down.

The ritual proceeded as planned, and the last thing Lord Voldemort saw as he was dropped into the potion was Potter's terrified, bloodied face.

And then pain.

So much pain. So much worse than being separated from his body.

The water burned the temporary flesh away. He could feel himself being put back together, one painful piece at a time. And then he could breathe.

With a deep wheezing inhale, he hastily sat up.

Once more, Lord Voldemort had conquered death. As he stepped out of what remained of the potion, Voldemort felt exhilarated.

Alive at last.

He could feel the earth beneath his feet, the cold air blowing through his hair. The silk of his robe was soft against his skin. He was a man once more.

Looking over his body to make sure that the fool did everything right, he moved his hands across his arms, up to his neck, and over his face.

It was the skin of a body he had long ago forsaken. That of Tom Riddle.

He was a man and not a wraith anymore, and he even looked the part.

He had hypothesized this was a possible outcome but had not dwelled on the fact, seeing as it was a very slim chance of it occurring. He was unsure of the consequences this would have.

He felt off, something was off. Something was different, but not in the sense that he now had a functioning body, but in a different sense.

"My wand, Wormtail," he demanded, quickly taking it from him.

Transfiguring a gravestone into a full-sized mirror, he looked upon himself and was bewildered. Was this him?

Once upon a time, he too had succumbed to the social ideal of aesthetic appeal. And once more, he felt himself surrender.

He was visually appealing. Symmetry, contrast, proportions, balance, emphasis, unity, youth, he had it all.

Had he forgotten what he once looked like?

Getting lost in his own reflection like some Narcissus imposter, he forced his mind to focus on what was different, off about himself.

Nothing external, it would appear. Internal then. It would have to be examined later, for he did, after all, have an audience and some followers to summon.

Looking towards young Harry, the boy seemed dumbstruck, gazing down at the ground with wide eyes. Harry must have sensed eyes on him because a moment later, he was staring back at Voldemort, defiance clear in his gaze.

Voldemort smirked, amused by the boy's quick change in expression. Such defiance from someone so weak...

Slowly, he approached the boy, the smirk still etched on his lips. Harry eyed him up and down, searching for weaknesses or perhaps unable to resist his curiosity. A frown appeared between Harry's eyebrows.

Curious about Harry's thoughts, Voldemort leaned in as he stepped in front of him.

"How could someone so beautiful be such a fucking monster?" Harry's most prominent thought echoed through his mind.

Tom smirked, leaning closer until their faces were only a breath apart.

"Without morals, Darling," Voldemort whispered, almost brushing his lips against Harry's as he spoke. Suddenly, he took a step back and observed Harry.

A lovely blush had spread across Harry's cheeks. It was almost a waste to kill the boy when he could elicit such a reaction just by being close and using an endearment.

Did he need to kill the boy? Tied up as he was, he didn't seem like much of a threat anymore. Why had Tom been so afraid of him?

No, not of him, but of what he represented. The prophecy had foretold of Harry's power, but was it logical to believe in a half-heard prophecy? Hadn't he always valued logic above all else? What had changed?

Harry was almost as famous as he was nowadays, perhaps he could be of use. Doubtful, though, considering he was the reason Potter became an orphan.

An orphan, like he was.

Irritated by his own thoughts and their inconsistencies, he decided to move on by summoning his loyal followers.

As they popped into existence one after another, they gathered in a circle around him, with the boy a meter or so behind them.

"Welcome, my loyal friends. Thirteen years it's been, and yet, here you stand before me as though it were only yesterday. I confess myself disappointed. Not one of you tried to find me."

"And here we have six missing Death Eaters... three dead in my service. One, too cowardly to return... he will pay. One, who I believe has left me forever... he will be killed, of course... and one who remains my most faithful servant and who has already re-entered my service...."

As Voldemort continued his speech, no one paid attention to Harry until it was too late. Somehow, he had gotten loose and used wandless magic to summon his wand from Wormtail (incompetent fool!).

As Voldemort spotted the boy, Harry accioed the cup and disappeared.

Voldemort was astonished. "Such luck the brat has."

Quickly, that astonishment burned in the wake of his rage. He became furious and took that anger out on his faithful followers.

Once more, he'd lost what was his.

What no one had seen was Wormtail's wand move as he loosened the bindings on Harry’s wrists. And no one would ever find out.

...

Harry, in shock as he returned, did not notice the cheering or the people approaching him or being led away towards the castle by Moody.

It was only after having a calming draught shoved down his throat that he became able to think once again.

Voldemort was back.

That was the only thought running through his head as Moody sat him down in a chair.

"What has happened, lad?" Moody was close, too close for comfort, but he had always been strange.

"Voldemort… he's back… he's alive once more."

"The Dark Lord has risen?!"

"Yes."

"Then I must go. It's time to return." Moody sounded excited, but Harry, still having a hard time processing what was going on, didn’t think much of it. Or the fact that Moody was summoning all his things into a trunk.

But when a wand was held in front of his face, Harry started to suspect something was wrong.

"You are the Dark Lord's to kill, but I can't let you tell anyone else what you know." Moody sounded almost apologetic. Harry didn't understand.

"Obliviate." And the world went black.

...

Harry awoke to adults surrounding him.

"What's going on?" Harry grumbled quietly, but somehow everyone heard.

"Harry, my dear boy, what happened? Where is Moody?" Dumbledore seemed concerned, why, Harry didn't know.

"What do you mean Moody? How would I know where he is...?" Then Harry sat up so quickly that the adults startled and took a step back. In a panicked voice, Harry frantically spoke.

"Did I miss the final task, sir? Is my magic gone? Is that why I'm in the hospital wing?!" Harry was breathing quickly, too quickly.

"Move out of the way! I need to see my patient!" Madame Pomfrey came running with a potion in her hand. "Here, Harry, drink this."

As Harry swallowed the potion, everything seemed to slow down. Calm waves hit him as he laid back on the bed. But before he could close his eyes, Dumbledore continued talking.

"No, my dear boy, your magic is still there in you. It would seem you have been obliviated, Harry. Do you not remember competing and winning the tournament?" Dumbledore was concerned now, what had happened?

"No, sir, the last thing I remember is leaving the Great Hall." Harry was mumbling uncomprehendingly now.

“All of you, leave now. Mister Potter needs to rest. Get out of my wing,” Madame Pomfrey waved her hands at them until they walked away.

As Harry was falling under Morpheus' hold, he heard a quiet conversation nearby.

“Do you believe this is the work of Him , Albus?"

“It is too early to tell, Minerva…."

And Harry was out like a light.

Voldemort was sitting in the armchair in front of the fireplace when he heard the distinct crack of someone Apparating.

Fully believing his wards would not let anyone without a Dark Mark in, he remained seated.

He let his magic go and feel towards the other person's magic, trying to determine if he recognized the signature of their magic.

It was Barty.

Voldemort grinned; he hadn't been able to do that in years. His magic felt stronger than ever now. It was of the greatest importance to figure out what had changed with him.

As Barty approached the door, Voldemort waved his wand and opened it, letting Barty know he was free to enter.

As soon as he stepped into the room, Barty knelt down and grinned excitedly.

“My Lord, it’s great to see you in the flesh once again. I bring some news from Hogwarts.”

Despite having lost Harry, Voldemort was feeling quite joyful this evening and decided to show Barty some gratitude for a job well done.

“Come join me, Barty.” Voldemort said in a surprisingly warm voice. Barty startled slightly at the tone, his eyes going wide in wonder as he apprehended what his lord just said.

While approaching the armchair opposite from his lord, Barty watched him for any signs of danger. Not seeing any, he slowly sat down.

“Now tell me what happened upon young Harry’s return.” Voldemort demanded, quite interested in the answer.

As Barty told, in detail, what had occurred that evening, Voldemort was unsure of how he felt.

On one hand, using an Obliviate was a wise choice seeing as it would prevent Harry from remembering his return, safeguarding their future. For his larger-scale objectives, it was a wise decision.

On the other hand, Harry's oblivion felt improper. He wanted the boy to remember what had happened. Wanted him to dwell upon his return. Remember how close they had been. How he had blushed from Voldemort calling him darling…

No. This was the best outcome.

Now he could work undisturbed in the shadows.

What Voldemort didn't know was that in three weeks, Harry would be gone forever…

Weeks had passed since that day and Voldemort finally had an idea as to why he was so different.

Mind, body, and... soul.

His soul.

How was it even possible that he had absorbed another piece of his soul without feeling remorse? It was something he had pondered.

Barty had filled him in on what transpired in the Chamber of Secrets during Harry's second year. Barty, the clever Ravenclaw that he was, had looked into the minds of every child in close proximity to Harry. Seeing as most of them were not followers of the old ways, they didn't know Occlumency. Very convenient indeed.

Having daily meetings with Barty so he could share his memories of Harry and those that he stole had been surprisingly pleasant. He had never noticed Barty's intellect or his keen observation skills. Though he would never tell a soul, Voldemort found Barty's dry sense of humor amusing.

Another thing that had changed consequent to the return of his biggest soul shard: he felt emotions. He had forgotten what emotions felt like. For years, all he had felt was anger, fear, and sick amusement for the suffering of others.

Joy, calmness, nostalgia, relief. All forgotten, now found.

He had forgotten a lot. His plans, his ideas, his goal. All forgotten in his madness. He now knew that he had been mad, insane. Not anymore.

At first, the thought of one less Horcrux protecting his immorality had been distressing, to say the least. He could now see that the positives outweighed the negatives, but he still feared for the others. They weren't as impervious to damage and destruction as he had previously thought, which could be ruinous.

Who knows what Dumbledore would be able to accomplish if he got his hands on them? If a young child with a sword had the power to free the soul shard without even being consciously aware of what he was making happen, by Merlin, what could Dumbledore do? He needed to retrieve them.

While he wasn't sure what he would do with them once he had them, at least they would be safe. He needed to find them. Additionally, there was no need to draw attention at this point by spilling any blood. Any drop of magical blood spilt was a waste. As much as possible, he would avoid it in the future.

The gods know, he had spilled plenty already.

Of course, he wasn't so gullible as to think that discussions and political scheming would succeed in achieving freedom for the dark. No matter how he felt about it, war always involved casualties.

But now Voldemort was stronger and sharper than ever. He would prevail. There was nothing that could stop him. This time he would not lose.

As he contemplated plans for the future, a crack could be heard. Letting his magic free, he searched for the intruder.

Lucius.

Since Voldemort hadn't summoned him, Lucius must have discovered something significant for him to dare bother him.

A knock on the door. He waved his hand and let Lucius enter. Quick enough to have hurt his knee, Lucius was kneeling, his eyes fixed on the floor.

"My Lord, I bring with me important news of the Potter boy."

Eyes widened against his permission, how intriguing.

"Speak, Lucius. I haven't all day." He said in an even, emotionless tone.

“There are rumors among the Aurors, whispers really, that Potter is missing and has been for weeks.” Lucius couldn't keep the venom out of his voice whenever he spoke of Harry, Voldemort found it amusing.

“It appears Dumbledore and his people are looking for him, so far with no success. Dumbledore has also failed to report Potter as missing to the law enforcement department.”

Voldemort grinned involuntarily. Harry was missing, and because neither Dumbledore nor he had him, Harry was left to fend for himself. This was perfect. He would find him.

"That is most pleasant news, Lucius. Perhaps your punishment for losing my journal shall be forgotten. Am I not, after all, a merciful lord?"

As Lucius pleaded and praised him, Voldemort made plans to call his inner circle; they had a boy to catch.

Chapter Text

It was now July 11th, 1995.

Harry had been in the past for a week. He had completed taking the eye healing potion and had promptly thrown away his glasses. He had also upped his dose to two nutrition potions a day to speed things along.

Not his greatest idea, one potion a day was recommended, and now Harry knew why. Not only did it cause stomach cramps (not dangerous at least), but seeing as the potion added nutrients but also absorbed nutrients for the foods he ate, he was digesting food too quickly and, well… let’s just say he spent quite some time in the loo.

Despite his stomach issues, he was gaining much-needed weight and felt ready to take the Valexo valetudo potion in a few weeks. So it was about time he went to the master.

The master and his pupils lived somewhere in Asia; he wasn’t too sure where exactly. The only way someone could enter was if they knew of the temple’s existence and had been taken there before. Thankfully, Harry had been there plenty of times.

To get there, he could use a portkey; however, they were highly regulated by the ministry. He could make one himself, but they were more trouble than they were worth for a one-time usage. A permanent portkey locked onto the master's temple would be more worthwhile.

But you couldn’t just use any old boot as a key; you needed a very special, very rare type of crystal for it to be able to hold the magic needed. A painite. Rare and expensive. Sure, he had the money to spend, but stealing it would be more fun.

Oh! Like that Spanish muggle show he watched in the 2020s. A heist.

Okay, who did he know that would, in this time, own a painite? Didn’t the Parkinsons have quite a few rare crystals? Not sure if painite was one of them, but Harry remembered hearing Pansy brag about it to Draco. Alright, he’d just have to steal them and find out.

No time like right now. Abandoning the half-finished book and summoning his cloak…cloak… his invisibility cloak! Harry smacked himself in the face, idiot! Harry had forgotten to summon the Hallows.

What an idiot. Why hadn’t he done that the second he arrived in the past? How could he have forgotten about them?!

Harry slumped back into the armchair. Fine, he’ll just do it now. “Come to me, my Hallows.” And into existence popped a cloak, a ring, and a wand.

Well, at least now he didn’t need to go wand shopping… And he got a free horcrux along with his ring… Maybe it would be useful in the future. He didn’t really feel like thinking about it now. He’d have to come up with a plan regarding those later.

Honestly, at this point, Harry was so done with himself he just decided to ignore the fact that he had left his Hallows alone in this world for a week while they would have been able to feel his presence but not come to him… Scrunching his face up in guilt, he gently caressed the items.

“Please forgive me for my stupidity. I’m so sorry I left you all alone for a week.” The magic of the Hallows seemed to hum. Interpreting that as a “all is forgotten,” Harry focused on his current plan of breaking and entering.

Apparating would be too loud and would definitely set off the wards even if he could easily get through them. So that was out. Hmm… What to do?

Oh! He could shadow walk. Yes, that would be perfect.

Shadow walking was something he had learned during his study of necromancy in Alexandria. It was a method of travel that could only be used by natural necromancers, and thanks to Death, he was even more of a necromancer than natural necromancers. If that made sense...?

And now you might wonder, "Why doesn’t Harry just shadow walk to the master?" The answer is simple: Harry doesn’t feel like potentially getting lost for days in the shadows. Travelling to places in the same country was fine, even travelling to places abroad he’d recently been to was alright, kind of scary but overall fine. But travelling through the shadows to a place he hadn't visited in almost a hundred years, that was also hidden from the majority of the world, was not alright. He’d get lost. It was almost certain, and Harry didn't feel like risking it.

Alright, so that’s how he got into the manor, then what?

Walk through the shadows to not set off the wards - the shadows weren't on the same plane of existence so wards wouldn't register him - find the crystal displays they were sure to have, and nab it.

Harry shrugged his shoulders. "Good enough."

So off he went.

Now with the most powerful artifacts in existence in his possession.

Well, that had been easy... how boring.

No one was even home.

He’d used shadows to travel like planned, looked through a few rooms until he found them, then promptly summoned all the crystals in the room. Of course, that set off the wards, but he’d just shadow walked out of there.

So boring. That was not at all like the Spanish muggle show.

Well, whatever. Now he had more crystals than needed. Let’s see...

A couple of grandidierite, a quite big tanzanite, black opal, a few larimar, oh a taaffeite and a poudretteite, and his main prey, two pieces of painite.

No idea what to do with the rest of the crystals yet, Harry just added them to his mokeskin pouch.

Seeing as he’d neglected his precious Elder Wand, he used it to create the permanent portkey. With the portkey complete, Harry added some things to his mokeskin bag, informed the elves he’d be gone for a couple of weeks, and to come to him if anything happened. Then he activated the key and was off once more.

High up in the mountains of what Harry presumed was China lived the master. Harry was pretty sure the old man wasn’t Chinese though...

The mountain had an abundance of smaller peaks - many odd-shaped - rock outcroppings, steep cliffs could be seen, and even though you could not see them, Harry was aware beautiful caves, ponds of various sizes, bubbling springs, and spring-fed streams existed in the mountain range. Quite a few other temples resided nearby, unaware that a large temple housing wizards and witches were their neighbor.

A fog thick enough that you couldn’t see even 20 cm ahead covered the area in front of him. He closed his eyes and redirected his magic to his eyes so he could see the magic in the air, unknowingly making his eyes glow in Avada Kedavra green.

Through the fog, a temple emerged.

The temple - maybe Harry should call it a large estate? - varied in material from wood to brick to iron to stone, including more exotic materials such as glazed glass and crystal glass.

Walking through the fog and entering under the archway leading into the courtyard, Harry was greeted by a woman in what appeared to be a toga…?

“We weren’t expecting guests today, who might you be?” she asked, seeming more curious than concerned about his sudden arrival.

“Hadrian Potter, Madame, I am here to see the master,” Harry answered politely. If things turned out like they did in his world, this woman would become the next master, and Harry did not want to get on her bad side.

“Oh! All the way from England, are you? Oh chosen one, boy-who-lived, master of death…am I missing a title?” She walked towards him smirking.

“Hmm, in this dimension…you forgot Lord Potter-Black-Peverell,” Harry smirked back.

Her eyes widened, and mouth opened slightly. “…in this dimension… yes, I suppose you must see the master…” she muttered. She straightened and turned around. “Follow me.”

As they walked towards the master’s quarters, Harry observed the surroundings, taking in as much as he could. Constant vigilance and all that rot.

Approaching the enormous double doors, the woman - second in command, Harry presumed - knocked. When they heard the quiet “enter,” they went in.

The master looked pretty much the same as when Harry met him in the future, and that was almost 15 years from now. Did that mean the master aged well or that he had aged badly?

“Come join me, Harry. Gretchen, thank you for bringing him.” That was a dismissal if he’d ever heard one. As Gretchen stepped out, Harry sat down on the floor and mirrored the master's cross-legged position.

Grey long hair and a short, well-kept beard were the most prominent features of the master. His eyes looked tired and wise, by knowing too much perhaps. He, as well, was clad in a toga-like robe.

Harry bowed his head slightly, then straightened. “Thank you for seeing me, master. I’m sure you have an idea of why I’m here… I’m in need of guidance. I have landed in the past of a world different from my own, and I’m not sure how to proceed.”

The master scratched his chin and hummed. “Hmm, I had felt the disturbance in the wild magic and reckoned something out of this world had entered. I didn’t know it was you, master of Death, who had caused it… you seek my guidance, but I cannot give it. What brought you here is beyond my scope of understanding. What I can give you is advice.” The master looked at Harry, waiting to see if advice was welcome. Harry nodded.

“Wait and see. What has brought you here did so for a reason. It may be beyond our understanding for now, but in time your purpose will reveal itself… I’m assuming Death has visited you since entering this world?”

Should Harry be surprised by how much he knew?…no, but was he anyway?…yea.

“They visit in dreams, bringing with them vague images, feelings, and I cannot interpret them. I know I’m needed somewhere but not where… it’s rather frustrating.”

He nodded his head, seeming thoughtful. "The only way to deal with an unfair world is to become so absolutely free that your very existence is an act of rebellion," the master quoted.

Harry snorted. "Sounds like me. Who said that?"

"A muggle, Albert Camus. Very clever and wise, although I do not always agree with him. He did say something I think is relevant now."

"In a universe suddenly divested of illusion and lights, man feels an alien, a stranger. His exile is without remedy since he is deprived of the memory of a lost home or the hope of a promised land."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Meaning what? I've lived too long, and now I see no positivity in the world and have lost my way in exile..."

The master smiled. "Stay for a while, Harry, and think on it some more, and we shall talk again. You may stay in your old chambers."

A week passed, and Harry picked up his old routine of waking up, going running, working out, eating breakfast, studying, eating lunch, practicing dueling, eating dinner, and then going to sleep. He joined the other dozen or so pupils during mealtimes and dueling practice - not that they were much of a challenge for Harry - but otherwise kept to himself. He thought about the master and his discussion enough to make his brain hurt, but still, he didn't understand. What was the master trying to teach him?

That the universe is cruel, unfair, and absurd? That nothing made sense when you lost the sense of home and comfort? He would talk to the master tonight.

Sitting in front of the master once more, Harry was uncertain and confused.

"So have you thought some more about our last talk?" the master asked, smiling. Was he amused at Harry's confusion? How rude.

Harry felt like pouting but was able to contain the urge and sighed instead. "I have, not that I've come up with much..."

"Go on, Harry."

"When you can see the world for what it is, you're lost, exiled because you cannot remember what matters, and you cannot hope for better because there is no better."

The master seemed to consider his thought. Harry couldn't tell whether the master agreed or not.

"Hmm, yes, I suppose that's what it would be for you... tell me, are you happy in life, Harry?"

"No," Harry answered without needing to consider. He hadn't been happy for a long, long time. He might have forgotten how.

Amusement he felt, joy and happiness not so much.

The master tilted his head slightly, his eyes sad, and his eyebrows furrowed. "The absurd. The absurdity of the world is what's being spoken of. We find ourselves as beings who desire meaning and purpose, only to be put into a world in which meaning seems absent. We live. We die and seemingly enter an eternity of non-being. Anything beyond that is hope, not knowledge. All the things we create and accomplish seem to go for naught. Our work, our lives, seem meaningless in light of our fate." The master paused for a moment and watched Harry's face for any sign of - well, anything, but he remained emotionless.

"That is the absurdity of man. You, Harry, are not a mere man. We live, we die, but you don't. Dying has no meaning to you; you have surpassed it, the mortality of man. The meaninglessness of life in the face of death." Whether the master actually believed that or was just trying to prove something to Harry was unknown.

"No...I have not surpassed death. Death has rejected me," Harry stated bitterly. "Death does not want me."

Tilting his head to the side as if he heard something interesting, the master replied, "Death and dying are not the same, Harry. I did not say you have surpassed death; I said you have surpassed dying. Are you not the master of Death, Harry? You know what that entails? You are no longer alone. Unlike us mortals, you are half of a whole. The other side of the same coin. If Death rejects you, it's because you reject Death. If you wish to understand them, you must let them understand you. If you wish for acceptance, you must accept them."

Harry had been the master of death since he was 17 years old. He had not wanted to accept it then, and he did not want to accept it now. "How do I do that? Accept Death when they took dying away from me? When they took away any chance of peace I had? I cannot find it in this world or the next." Harry felt like crying now; he could feel the tears gathering in his eyes.

"I cannot tell you how to accept Death; you must do that on your own. But might I suggest talking to them, going to them, to their realm to talk." The master smiled a small, sad smile, maybe trying to cheer Harry up or show support. It wasn't working.

"How can I go to them? They do not welcome me there. Every time I die, my body gets destroyed, but my mind stays here."

"You say they visit you in dreams? Why can they do that?" The master let Harry think on it, but Harry did not want to think, and perhaps the master saw that.

The master sighed. "Your consciousness stays while your body is destroyed, not because it's your mind that's tied to this realm, but your body. Your body can never leave this realm, and your consciousness needs the body so it stays here while your body reforms. But your mind is free; your consciousness can move. It will always come back in the end, but for a while, it can leave and go somewhere else."

Harry frowned, still depressed but now also thoughtful. "I need to move my consciousness into Death's realm, and then we can talk...?"

"Yes," the master replied simply.

"How does one do that? Meditate or enter my mindscape or what?" Harry was pretty sure that every time he talked with the master, he would end up confused.

Now, smiling gently, the Master said, "All and none. You have to enter a trance-like state while holding onto the part of your being that belongs to Death. Oh, and I would recommend having all the Hallows with you. It will be easier for you to find Death."

That night, lying in bed with his Hallows surrounding him, Harry thought about his connection to Death. How they would always be together, one and the same but different parts. How they were each other's, tied to the same fate of immortality.

Could he accept them? Dying and Death, the same but different. The concept or the entity. Dying, he had always accepted, welcomed even. But Death, the destroyer of worlds? The mortal end of all life? They were different.

Could he accept that Death was inevitable? That all things would at some point belong to Death? He had cursed death upon the dying of many. But did Death enforce dying, or was that life? Life is not living if it's endless. Dying is life's end. Death did not force dying upon us; it just embraced us. Man can force dying upon another. Isn't man and life more cruel than death by that logic?

"People speak sometimes about the bestial cruelty of man, but that is terribly unjust and offensive to beasts. No animal could ever be so cruel as a man, so artfully, so artistically cruel." Ha, had Harry taken after the Master and started quoting Muggles? It would appear so.

Closing his eyes, Harry searched for whatever part of him was tied to Death. If he didn't know better, he would say the soul was the tie, but Harry had no soul left. Then there were only two things it could be: the mind or his magic.

Looking through his mind, finding nothing, he moved onto his magic. Finding the edge of the magical core, he worked his way inwards, feeling or imagining feeling along the smooth plane of his magic. It felt like a stream leading towards a waterfall or pond. He could feel himself getting closer to the core.

The stream became faster, crushing against him. He was swimming against the current, and although he logically knew he couldn't drown, it felt like he was. Pushing forward as hard as he could, the magic/stream got colder, thicker.

He was here. What he thought would be a pond turned out to be a never-ending ocean. He followed the cold water until it got freezing, and he knew he had found the tie. Letting himself sink, he grabbed onto it and felt his consciousness slip deeper and deeper down.

As he saw the bottom approaching, he believed he would settle there. With his head pointing down, he imagined he would hit it, but as his head touched the bottom, it shifted, and he was sucked through it. Landing on his back in a white room.

Limbo. He was here. As Harry sat up, he took a look around. It was no longer a white King's Cross station that he found himself in. No, it was the garden. Their garden.

Not knowing whether to smile, laugh, or cry, Harry decided it was best to ignore what Limbo looked like to him. Unsure of what to do, Harry called out quietly, "Death, are you here?"

No answer.

"Please, Death, I wish to talk. To accept you."

Harry could feel something change; the magic in the air thickened. The feeling of Death was encompassing.

When most would feel dread being among Death, Harry felt peace, calm, and divinity.

“Why have you come to accept me now, master?” The voice was low, too low for a human. Despite how quietly they had spoken, it echoed all around them. His voice sounded like a thousand different voices spoke all at once and out of sync.

As Harry turned to look upon Death, he couldn’t help but gasp. Despite already knowing it, Harry couldn’t help but think that was no man. That was a creature, an entity, a god.

Death was around 4 meters tall, with a flowing black robe covering him. You could not see their face as it looked to be covered by shadows. Harry thought that this was perhaps where the description of the Grim Reaper had originated from.

As Harry stood there stuck, frozen, Death spoke again.

“I had waited for a long time for a master, for a companion, another half, a friend, and you rejected me. I gave you a gift most mortals would have killed for. That mortals have killed for, and you tried to destroy it.”

Was Death angry? His voice didn’t sound angry, and Harry couldn’t see his face!

“I… I never asked for immortality. I never wanted that. I wished to be with my family, my loved ones... My husband. How could I abandon them when I could hear them screaming at me to come to them? ...When I had nothing left in the world of the living but myself. When I loved them... missed them. How could I not long to join them?”

Harry could feel the tears running down his face. He didn’t care. He took a big breath.

“I still wish to join them, but I’ve accepted that it can’t happen. I’ve accepted not dying. I’ve accepted that I’m tied to you, and that it’s you and me forever...Can you accept me?” During his speech, he hadn’t been able to look at Death, staring at the ground instead. Facing his fear of rejection, he looked up at Death.

Death was quiet, still as a statue. Harry really wished he could see their face.

As if reading his mind, the shadows disappeared. His face, while resembling a human's, was not. His face was too white, almost pale blue, his eyes were black. They were beautiful, like a galaxy was living in them. Harry had a hard time looking away. His hair was as red as blood, reaching down the middle of the entity’s back. And then they smiled, a very gentle tiny smile. Like they weren’t sure how to do it.

Death was beautiful.

“Death is the mother of beauty,” Harry whispered unconsciously. When he realized he’d said that out loud, he felt a blush rise to his cheeks. But Harry couldn’t look away from Death.

Their smile became a little bigger, and Harry almost fell to the ground.

Death started to walk closer. With every step they took, they seemed to become smaller. Once they were centimeters from Harry, they were about 2 meters tall.

Harry had to lean his head back to be able to look them in the eye.

“And what is beauty, young master?” Death questioned.

Harry swallowed. “Terror.”

Death nodded their head and picked up the last thread of the conversation. “Master, I accepted you the moment you picked up all my Hallows. That is how you became my master.” Death spoke.

“But...but aren’t you angry at me? That I rejected you and tried to destroy your gift...?” Harry frowned in concern.

"No, master. I knew it would take time for your acceptance. I was willing to wait. You are mine, and I am yours forever. I could wait forever if I had to."

Harry felt the tears that had dried being replaced by new ones. "I'm sorry I left you alone. I won't leave you again, I promise," Harry swore.

Another smile grazed Death's lips. "Thank you, master." Harry couldn't help himself and practically tackled the being as he hugged him tight.

Harry wasn't sure why he felt so differently now than he did earlier. Maybe because he understood their connection now? Or because he had actually met the being now and saw that Death was just... just Death?

Death, never having received a hug before, tried to reciprocate, placing one hand on Harry's head and the other on his shoulder.

Harry, with his hands wrapped around Death's waist, just laughed at the awkward placing and stepped back.

"Death, place your hands around my waist." Doing as instructed, Death wrapped their arms around Harry, holding him close. As Harry tried to reach his hands up and wrap them around Death's neck, Death must have felt him struggling because he picked Harry up. Harry giggled quietly, a bit surprised.

He felt quite emotionally unstable and drained after their conversation, and it probably showed.

Wrapping his arms around Death's neck and burying his face in their neck and hair, Harry felt peaceful for the first time in a long while.

Chapter Text

As Harry wakes up from his visit with Death, he feels lighter.

After the hug, Death had explained that now that they had accepted each other, things would be different. Better.

To start with, they could now communicate through a mind link. When Death had tried to establish it, they had discovered - or rather, rediscovered - that Harry was a horcrux. How had that slipped his mind? Maybe because he hadn't really thought about Voldemort, to be honest. He wasn't even sure if Voldemort was alive in this dimension...

But back to the point, Death had been spitting mad when they felt it, and they had demanded, respectfully, that Harry remove it.

Harry had no idea how to, but apparently, being the master of Death also meant he could use Death's power, unlike how a necromancer mimicked it.

It also helped that the Horcrux was weak, having no other soul to live off of.

Should he be grateful for his lack of soul?

Death had shown him how to remove a soul from a body... It was way too easy. Dangerously easy...

He wanted to try it out... No, Harry! Later. You can do that later. Focus!

Holding a part of someone's soul in his hand was mind-blowing. Feeling the energy of it, how the life force sparkled like a little star.

Surreal... it was surreal.

As he cradled the little life to his chest, he couldn't let it go. It was so fragile, small, and helpless. And it needed him.

So, in an unusual display of kindness, he used the black opal from his heist as a container for the shard and turned it into a necklace to keep it close.

After that small bump, Death forged the mind link between them. All they had to do to reach each other was to push some magic at the connection, and it would open whenever they needed it.

Death also mentioned that, seeing as Harry now had access to their power, Harry might attract some unwanted attention from Death's creatures. Well, Harry would just deal with that when the time came.

During their talk, Harry asked why and how he ended up in a different dimension, but Death seemed as clueless as him... so much for godly powers.

Slightly annoyed at Harry for his dismissal of their powers, Death stated in an emotionless voice that they were not omnipotent. Death then proceeded to wake Harry up.

What a lovely host Death was...

Perhaps he should apologize. He'd do it later.

The day turned out like the others. Working out, reading, dueling, eating.

After dinner concluded, Harry went to tell the master of his success and to ask if the master could oversee the effects of the Valexo Valetudo potion Harry was taking tomorrow. Last time had not been pleasant, and the supervision had been entirely necessary.

Hopefully, he wouldn't be in a coma for too long this time.

As Harry once more laid in bed at the end of the day, he decided to open up the connection.

"Death, are you there?" Harry asked, projecting his voice into the link.

"I'm here," came Death's kind of frosty reply.

"I'm sorry I insulted you, Death. I did not mean to. I have been alone for quite some time and haven't needed to think through what I say. I was careless and unjust, and I'm sorry," Harry tried to push as much of his sincerity through the link as he could so Death would believe him.

Death sighed. "It's alright, master. No need to apologize. My reaction was too harsh. Did you call me tonight only to apologize?"

“That was the main reason, yes. I want us to be friends, but I’m not sure how to make that happen… so maybe we should talk every now and then and learn about each other?”

“I would like that, Master. Is there anything you wish to ask me?” Death asked.

“Yeah, I have a lot of questions, but first things first, please call me Harry. I’m as much your master as you are mine, and friends call each other by their first names or nicknames. What should I call you? Just calling you Death seems kinda impersonal…” Harry tried to come up with a good name for Death, but could only really come up with Mort or Morty. He supposed he could call Death his Greek name, Thanatos. But that didn’t sound right either.

“Of course, Harry. You may call me what you wish. I have been called many names since the beginning of time. The one that has the truest description of my existence is that of Thanatos, but my favorite of my names is Kali.”

Harry smiled, happy Death was sharing. “Alright, Kali it is then. Alright, my first question is what was the deal with all those visions?”

There was now only a week left before Hogwarts started, and Harry was planning on going after being pursued by Kali. Kali would not tell him any details as to why he needed to go, but was very adamant he needed to be there. Deciding to trust the god, Harry had agreed to go. But he would quit if it got too annoying or boring. And he’d stated as much to Death.

They had talked almost every night since that first night talk. Harry liked the talks, he enjoyed talking to Kali, who was such a complex and interesting being. They spoke of everything from what their favorite foods were (Harry’s is fish and chips, whilst Kali’s is mint chocolate chip ice cream) to what being a god was like. Harry was quickly starting to care for Kali.

Harry had taken the Valexo Valetudo potion, and it was worse than he’d remembered. He must have blocked it out after the first time. Thankfully, Kali had come to the rescue and loaned him some magic, which helped speed up the healing and rebuilding process, so he’d only been in a coma for 5 days.

Now, in a younger version of his healthy body, Harry was happy with how he looked.

He had reached his maximum height of 180 cm and was slender and slightly muscular; he would have to continue his training to get any bigger. His lanky knees and shoulders were gone, and his limbs no longer seemed uncomfortable in length. Although the defined muscles had replaced the formerly shrunken waist, it was still quite thin. Now that the wind didn't appear to be able to blow over him, his body appeared more solid.

His eyes were his most prominent feature, with their vibrant green color that pulled you in. His new hairstyle complemented his features nicely, and its deliberate messiness gave you an alluring impression as though he had just come from a tumultuous night with a lover. Now to complete the look, only the expensive, beautiful new robes were needed.

Harry knew he looked good.

Having also undergone the bone marking ritual a week after his coma had been ambitious. He only survived it thanks to being immortal. Now with thousands of tiny magical runes carved into his very bones, there was very little in this world that could hurt him.

Being inspired by the ritual, Harry had also begun branding his skin with different useful death markings that Kali had shown him. The language of the dead had been lost long ago, so having Kali teach him was amazing. The language was odd and difficult, but its connection to magic was much stronger than ordinary runes. The marks were needlessly difficult though, and progress was slow.

It was a work in progress, but he was quite satisfied with the few markings on his chest so far.

He had branded the mark for summoning the hellhounds and demons of the underworld. Death refused to call them that, preferring to refer to them as reapers. But after he projected an image of what they looked like to Harry, Harry refused to call them anything but demons. He had the mark for protection from bodily modifications. If he had to be around Dumbledore, it was best not to take any chances. And the last one he had was for enhancing his senses to magical life forces, meaning he could now see when someone was about to die. He kinda wanted to stab someone and see how long it would take before he saw their life force leave their body. He refrained from doing that, however. Harry might be cruel, but he disliked taking unnecessary lives.

One mark contained a lot of smaller symbols, so they took up a bit of space on his body. Two markings covered his chest, and the third covered one side of his ribs. Unless he wished to be covered in markings, it would be best to choose their meanings wisely.

Getting them done had taken about two days, and the whole process made him reek of death, so he would have to save more for when he was home and alone.

It would be so fun to show up at Hogwarts looking like this. He was sure to cause quite the upheaval.

The letter came three days before the term started. Apparently, the old fool had a difficult time finding a defense teacher this time around as well.

If Umbridge showed up again, she was dead.

Harry would rip the soul out of her body before she could even start her first class.

Don’t get him wrong; he would hunt her down sooner or later anyway. He wanted revenge. It didn’t matter if this Umbridge hadn’t made his life miserable; he was sure she had made someone’s life miserable.

Getting his school shopping done had been easy. No one could even recognize him without his glasses and the now very light scar covered by his fringe.

He could have tried his metamorphmagus ability out, but he wanted to get the shopping over with as quickly as possible and didn’t feel like practicing that particular ability yet.

On his way to the shops, Harry spotted suspicious-looking people just standing around watching the surrounding area. Looking for him most likely. It was a rather crowded day, and they would be lucky to spot him in this massive gathering even if he looked the same as he used to. Well, did it affect him? No. So why bother thinking about it?

The only thing that bothered him was the fact that he couldn’t tell if they were Order members or Death Eaters...

He picked up a new trunk first, seeing as his old one was quite beat up, and a new school bag as well in matching black leather. Then he proceeded to pick up the required books, potion ingredients, quills, and parchment.

With the boring stuff out of the way, he headed to Eeylops Owl Emporium to pick up some food and treats for Hedwig, who Kali informed him had stayed at Hogwarts. As he headed to the food section of the store, he could hear quiet hissing coming from the back.

Walking toward the sound, Harry came upon two adorable little snakes. One was as white as snow with red eyes that reminded Harry of Voldemort's, and the other was as dark as the night sky with yellow eyes that reminded him of a basilisk.

As he approached them, they huddled together and looked up at him with big eyes, seeming threatened by the unknown man.

Harry smiled and hissed quietly. "Hello, vicious vipers. Aren't you both the most beautiful serpents I've ever seen?"

They both straightened up at hearing Harry speak. "A speaker! I've only heard tales of such men from Mother. Have you come to take us away from this horrid place?" the white snake asked in a desperate tone.

"If you wish, you may come with me. I am Harry, or Hadrian if you prefer. Shall I pick you two up then?" Harry asked.

This time, the black snake spoke. "Please take us away from here, speaker. Wherever you go must be better. Hold out your arm, and we shall climb up."

Harry proceeded to do just that, and the snakes slithered up around his arm until they hung around his neck like a weird sort of scarf. Well, at least they weren't fully grown and were still rather light.

He picked up some mice for them and food for Hedwig, and headed to the register.

"Do you have names yet, and what species are you two?" Harry asked the snakes.

They looked towards him, and the black one answered. "We have had no need for names, but you may give them to us. We are magically bred black mambas, and our venom is lethal."

Harry hummed and began thinking of names, not paying any attention to the man behind the register's stare. He paid and left.

"Are you both female and siblings?" Harry asked.

"Yes to both questions," they replied together.

"Then I believe I shall call you Nyx," he gestured towards the black one, "and Selene. If those names are to your tastes?" Harry asked.

"They will do," they replied together. Could all close siblings talk in sync?

Harry continued his shopping, entering Twilfitt and Tatting's. He would have preferred to do his clothing shopping abroad, but time was not on his side.

After having his measurements taken, Harry described what he was after, apart from the plain school robes, and told the tailor to send them to his home once finished.

Three days later, Harry stood among the sea of people in front of the Hogwarts train, observing his surroundings. His presence was unknown to the crowd. Having asked Kali about the Hallows had spiraled into a two-hour rant about the original brothers' stupidity. But it had also revealed some interesting information regarding the Hallows. For instance, they were adaptable to the will of their master.

Harry had tried it out a few times, using his will to change the Hallows. Their magic remained the same, but the forms they could take were endless. Very useful indeed.

The Elder Wand had insisted he started with it and easily changed to look like his old holly wand when he willed it. It had remained in that form for days now, and Harry suspected it would remain so until he willed it to change again.

So now, Harry had willed the cloak to change into the form of a black silk robe that wouldn't look any different from a normal high-end robe, willing it to hide his entire form.

He had arrived an hour early but refrained from boarding the train; he wanted to see the chickens running around. It was now close to boarding time, and they still weren't here.

Ah, speak of the devil, and he doth appear.

Why were they running so late? Had they been on the Muggle side of the platform?

A reasonable assumption on their part, Harry Potter shouldn't be able to do magic outside of school, after all.

They looked frazzled. Harry spotted Moody, Tonks, and Shacklebolt. Only using Aurors to not draw attention was smart.

Moody's eye twitched frantically from side to side, presumably scanning the area for Harry. Of course, his enchanted eye wouldn't be able to see through the magic of one of the most powerful artifacts in existence.

They huddled together and started searching, starting with the platform. Moody looked suspicious towards some of the Slytherin students and their parents. Harry could see his fingers twitch as if he wanted to reach for his wand and curse anyone with a dark core.

The Moody of his world had been so fucking hypocritical and prejudiced. Using the same spells as the Death Eaters, but because he was an Order member and fighting for the light, it was alright. It was justified. He was glad when Moody died, even when he'd been under the light's control. He'd been relieved when he died. The man always put him on edge and made him excessively angry whenever he spoke of someone even associated with the dark. The way he treated Sirius was the most unforgivable.

Harry sneered, such blatant prejudice.

Moody deserved some messing with.

Harry began by casting a spell on the magical eye with the Elder Wand. He aimed at Moody and waved it in a swirling pattern. As soon as he completed the spell, a loud shout could be heard, and all eyes turned towards the sound.

"GET AWAY, YOU MONSTERS! DEATH IS THE ONLY THING THAT AWAITS YOU SHOULD YOU COME NEAR!" His voice was high-pitched and cracked in the middle of the sentence.

Harry couldn't help but giggle at the display, though no one would hear him over Moody's yelling anyway. Moody was spitting mad and waving his wand frantically, his eyes wide with horror. Harry wasn't sure what Moody saw, but he had only put a variant of the nightmare curse on the eye.

Maybe the people he'd killed were coming back to haunt him? Harry certainly hoped so. It was a fitting punishment, and while the spell would wear off, the damage would be done. Moody would see them in the corner of his eyes, feel their stares and phantom touches. He wouldn't be able to forget. This was justified.

Tonks and Shacklebolt had come running back as soon as they heard Moody's frantic yelling.

Good, he sounded like a madman. If he wasn't asked to retire now, Harry would be surprised. Many pureblood families were witnessing the display, and Harry was certain they would push the Minister to get rid of Moody. He was, after all, "obviously unstable and a danger to the public." Harry grinned viciously. It was time to board the train.

Seeing that the Order was busy trying to calm down Moody and the remaining families were distracted, Harry willed his invisibility cloak to become visible again. Stepping up the stairs to board the train, Harry took a quick peek over his shoulder and met Shacklebolt's eyes. Harry smirked. He wasn't sure if the auror recognized him, but it didn't matter either way. The train was leaving the station.

He walked down the hallway, using his magic to sense if there were any magical people in the compartments he passed. As he neared the back of the train, Harry spotted a familiar head of short blonde hair.

Draco.

He had to see Draco again.

Of course, he knew logically that Draco was also at Hogwarts, but he hadn't wanted to dwell on that fact. Now he was regretting not having a plan when facing him. Harry was sure he wanted to end the rivalry at least. He wouldn't be able to stand hurting or being mean to a version of his dead husband.

Having made up his mind to extend his hand, Harry walked towards the direction Draco had headed in. If Harry had been more self-aware, he may have understood that running into Draco again would not only trigger memories of a Draco who was long dead, but it would also affect how he handled this Draco. Unfortunately, Harry wasn't the most self-aware when it came to Draco and would not recognise the mistake in projecting his emotions onto an unsuspecting boy. He wouldn't be aware that attempting to replace his husband with this younger version would be detrimental to both Draco and himself...

As he stepped in front of a compartment, the door was slammed open, and storming out came Draco, running right into Harry.

“Watch where you’re going, you-” As Draco looked up with wide, surprised eyes, Harry couldn’t stop the teasing smirk from reaching his lips.

“Hello, Draco,” Harry said in a teasing voice, continuing to smirk at Draco. At the impact of Draco bumping into him, Harry had steadied himself by putting a hand on Draco's waist. Draco had put up his hands to steady himself, and his hands now rested on Harry’s chest.

Draco seemed frozen in place, eyes still wide, and a lovely blush forming on his cheeks. He was quiet for about 10 seconds after Harry spoke until he seemed to snap out of it and gasped quietly.

Mouth moving, but no words came out until a confused, uncertain, “Potter?” left his lips.

Harry smiled wider, looking almost manic, his eyes sparkling with mirth. The amusement was clear in his voice. “In the flesh, funny how you ran into me when I was just looking for you.”

Draco was still shocked, seeming to not even register their quite intimate position. Draco didn’t seem to think this was real.

“Why are you looking for me?” Finally, something like suspicion entered his eyes, and he apparently became aware of how close they were if the darkening blush was anything to go by.

Pushing himself away from Harry and taking a step back, Draco continued eyeing Harry. Harry followed after him, taking a step forward. Draco frowned and leaned back against the wall to get more personal space. But Harry couldn’t let him get away so he placed a hand on the wall behind Draco.

Draco glared, even as he felt the heat in his cheeks. What the hell had happened to Potter, why did he look like…like…that! Why was he hot now? That was totally unfair!

Harry smirked as if he’d followed Draco’s train of thought. Draco quickly glanced to the side, avoiding any possible legilimency attempt.

“Well, Draco, I have been quite busy this summer and have reprioritised a few rather important matters. I would tell you all about it, but then I’d have to kill you.” Harry joked. Draco did not find it funny. “Let’s just say I have more important things to spend my time doing than participating in schoolboy rivalries. Therefore, I’m proposing a truce. I would like for us to put our differences aside and focus on what actually matters. Do you agree?” Harry asked, now smiling more gently at Draco.

Draco couldn’t understand that expression. Why was Harry looking at him like he cared about him…and why was he proposing a truce?

“I will accept the terms if you agree to tell me what changed during the summer.” Draco replied hesitantly.

Harry grinned at Draco. Such a Slytherin, don’t do anything if you don’t get something in return. “Sure, I’ll tell you some, but if I’m to tell you about my life, we must at least try to be friends, so,” Harry backed up a bit and held out his hand, “friends?”

Draco was still unsure of Harry’s angle, but he’d always wanted to be close to Harry, so without much thought for concern, he gripped Harry’s hand and shook it. He huffed in mock annoyance. “Fine, friends, I suppose.”

Harry just grinned brighter and pulled Draco by the hand until they were almost chest to chest.

“We will be great friends, I’m sure.”

Chapter Text

Draco might have been too hasty to accept Potter's ("Call me Harry or Hadrian") offer of friendship.

Still slightly flustered and startled by the whole interaction, Draco wasn't sure how they ended up back in front of the compartment Draco had stormed out of less than 10 minutes ago.

Stupefied, Draco pulled open the door.

"Back so soon, Draco?" Blaise sounded amused. Then he saw who was close behind Draco. So close, in fact, that Draco could feel Harry's chest against his back.

What was up with all the touching? Harry Potter had stayed away from physical touch as much as possible, Draco had observed.

Draco couldn't see what sort of expression Harry displayed, but whatever he did made his housemates straighten and stiffen. They were watching Harry as if he was a threat.

"So lovely to see you all. Draco and I have made amends, and I would like to offer the same for all of you." Harry spoke in a clear, low voice.

Draco looked around the compartment. Pansy was frozen, Daphne looked shocked, Vincent and Greg just looked plain confused, Theo looked surprised, and Blaise was the only one who managed to keep up his mask of nonchalance. Draco could see the interest in his eyes, though; his pupils dilated and wide.

Turning around, uncomfortable with the glint in Blaise's eyes, he grabbed Harry's arm and shut the door behind them.

"If we're to talk, it's best to do so in private, Potter. Who knows-" Draco was suddenly cut off by a screeching sound.

"POTTER?! There's no way that's Potter!" Pansy sounded shell-shocked and seemed to believe it was some stupid joke.

Harry looked towards her, waving his hand and warding the compartment so they wouldn't be overheard or spied on. "Do you not recognise me? You wound me, Parkinson, and here I thought I was special enough to be remembered." Harry spoke in an overly dramatic way.

Pansy just looked from Draco to Harry and back to Draco.

"Tell me that isn't Potter, Draco! If I had known Potter would grow up to look like that, I would have been a lot nicer."

Before Draco could reply to Pansy's ridiculous statement, Blaise spoke up.

"Did you just perform wordless, wandless magic as though you were swatting away a fly?" Trying to keep his mask up, Blaise kept his voice flat. But Draco could see the awe radiating off of him, and he was pretty sure Harry noticed as well.

Harry had a smug smirk on his face that made him look deviously attractive.

"I did." Harry simply replied, and to prove it, he once more waved his hand, and all the occupants startled as the compartment expanded.

Harry smiled, ignoring the awed looks, and sat down by the window beside Theo. Draco, still standing by the door, quickly sat down beside Pansy, across from Harry, Theo, and Daphne. Blaise sat beside Pansy closest to the door opposite Greg and Vince.

Theo looked at Harry with wide eyes full of wonder. "How'd you do that, Harry? Could you teach me?" He sounded overly familiar with Potter, but Draco wasn't sure how they knew each other.

Harry looked into Theo's eyes for a few seconds, seeming lost in thought. Draco saw the slight raised eyebrow, but it disappeared quickly.

“Well, how I did it was easy. I just willed my magic to do as I commanded. And regarding teaching you, sure, I could try. It’s not something that can really be taught though. I’ll explain more at our library study session,” Harry told Theo. Everyone looked confused as Harry mentioned the study sessions.

“Library study sessions? Since when do you study with Potter, Theo?” Draco asked.

“Oh, I never really told you seeing as you disliked him and got worked up as soon as someone mentioned his name. But we used to meet at the library after dinner sometimes and do our homework together,” Theo explained as if it was entirely normal.

Harry got a predatory look in his eyes and turned to look at Draco. It made Draco want to fidget, but he refrained from doing so.

“You got worked up every time someone mentioned me? I feel honoured being the center of your world even as rivals,” Harry spoke in a honeyed voice.

Draco could feel the intense blush on his cheeks and felt embarrassed that Harry had made him blush multiple times in less than an hour. Straightening up and glaring at Harry, trying to be intimidating but failing.

“Oh, please, I did not! Such a blatant lie you tell, Theo. And you are not the center of my world, Potter! As if you would ever have that honour,” Draco spoke in a slightly too high pitch.

Harry just smirked and hummed. “If you say so, dear.” And as Draco’s blush deepened at the endearment, Harry just grinned wider.

Pansy couldn’t help but laugh at Draco. “You’re as red as a tomato, Draco!” Pansy continued to laugh.

Draco felt like storming out again, seeming to sense that Harry switched the subject.

“So any idea who’ll be our Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher this year? I presume someone from the Ministry seeing as the old man failed to secure a professor for the position,” Draco noticed Harry’s slight hardening tone as he mentioned Dumbledore, how very curious.

Harry appeared to be upset with the man, which the golden boy had never been before. Draco once again wondered what had happened during the summer for Harry to change so drastically.

How could someone go from a quiet, stubborn, and naive golden boy to becoming this confident, powerful man?

As Draco's thoughts drifted, he noticed the stares sent his way.

“What?” He asked defensively.

Blaise tilted his head to the side and raised an eyebrow. “Harry asked who the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher is, have you forgotten your father will be teaching this year?”

Draco had indeed forgotten, not that he would admit it out loud. "Of course not, Father will be a great teacher. He is there on the Minister's orders so he can conduct a report on the teachings of Hogwarts."

Harry looked contemplative and amused. "Lucius, huh? That will indeed be fun. Draco, would you mind terribly if I seduced your father?" Harry asked in a serious tone.

Draco spluttered. "What!? Of course not! He's a married man and he's my father! No way! No, you can't!" Draco sounded practically hysterical.

Harry couldn't keep the mask and started laughing loudly, gasping for breath. "You... you thought I would actually... that I would actually seduce him..." Harry said between laughs.

Finally calmed down, Harry said, "To be honest, he is pretty good looking, but no, Draco, I wouldn't. That was a joke, and you should have seen your face!" Harry started giggling then.

He should be angry at Harry for embarrassing him once more, but the most prominent thought in his mind was how beautiful Harry looked when he laughed freely. He didn't think he'd ever seen him laugh like that. He wasn't the only one looking at Harry funnily; apparently, the others were entranced by Harry's laugh as well.

"You're such a bastard, Harry," Draco said, not sounding as angry as intended, more playful.

Suddenly Harry turned and looked towards the door and stared at it intently. Waving his hand around, they felt the magic graze them. It was cool and icy, reminding Draco of how a Dementors' magic felt. It had the same feeling of death, but while Dementors brought fear, Harry's magic brought the feeling of peace.

Draco vividly remembered what Harry's magic felt like before the summer. Hot and burning, the opposite of now. It used to feel like getting too close to the sun; now it was as if he was submerged in a deep, dark, cold ocean.

Once Draco got a chance to be alone with Harry, he would demand answers.

"What did you do, Harry?" Theo asked, sounding curious.

Harry frowned and looked towards the door as a redhead passed, followed by brown curls.

"I felt their magical presence nearing and did not wish for them to notice me, so I placed an overpowered Notice-Me-Not charm on the door. And neither of them are strong-willed enough to see through it."

Harry's expression eased. "That reminds me, don't you two have Prefect duties?" He looked pointedly at Draco and Pansy.

Pansy shot up to her feet. "Shit, we're gonna be late! Let's go, Draco! See you all later!" She shouted as she dragged a reluctant Draco out of the compartment, Pureblood decorum forgotten.

The rest of the ride had been calm, Harry mostly spent his time reading and occasionally talking to Theo about school work. As they approached the platform, Harry covered his scar and cast a mild notice-me-not charm on himself. As a few people glanced at him curiously, their eyes couldn't seem to focus and they quickly lost interest.

But as Harry arrived at the Great Hall, it felt like coming home. Although more than a century had passed since he last set foot in here, the magical atmosphere was as enchanting as ever, and Harry couldn't help but feel a rush of nostalgia. Glancing around, he noticed someone he'd dearly missed - his little moon, Luna Lovegood. He removed the charm and Luna, who was already heading his way, approached him with a warm smile.

"Good to see you again, Hadrian," Luna said, her blue-grey eyes twinkling with joy. Harry couldn't help but smile back genuinely.

"Good to see you too, little moon. I have missed you," Harry replied.

"Me as well. I'm sorry for leaving you all alone after what happened," Luna said, her voice calm and aloof, but Harry noticed the sadness in her eyes.

He should have expected that Luna knew more than was possible. "How much?" Harry signed, unsure if he wanted Luna to remember the carnage he caused.

"Kali visited me this summer in a dream. They opened up the waves for me," Luna said, looking far away in her own world. Harry knew Luna better, though. She was taking in the magic of those around them, seeing if they were being listened in on. And he could feel the Slytherins trying to eavesdrop on their conversation.

"Everything?" Harry asked, not sure what he wanted the answer to be. If she knew everything, how would she see him?

"Everything," Luna replied, smiling genuinely, which made Harry relax slightly.

"Still open?" Harry asked.

"Mm yes, I believe they will stay that way for me," Luna said, looking up to the ceiling, lost in thought.

"Wow, little moon, that's a lot," Harry said, unsure if he could have handled that.

"Hmm, yes, but it's quite interesting as well. I like it," Luna said, smiling and seeming far away.

"So you've seen it, my...?" Harry wasn't sure how to formulate himself.

"Yes, it was a very sad beginning of the end. I didn't like it as much as the pursuit of pigs," Luna said, causing Harry to make a choked sound at her description of the aurors. Luna smirked.

"Yes...that was very...chaotic. Wasn't it?" Harry was surprised that Luna seemed so okay with everything, but he shrugged it off. Well, she was a seer and they were always a bit weird. In the best way, of course. Their perception of reality was different from ordinary wizards and witches.

"It's alright, Harry. I'm still yours, and you're still mine. We're each other's, yes?" Luna showed vulnerability, which was unusual for her.

"Yes," Harry replied quickly, without the need to think about it. He let out a relieved breath.

"Thank you, little moon... I'm sitting with you for the feast! Let's go find a seat," Harry said, turning towards the waiting Slytherins. "See you later!" And walked off with Luna.

As they headed towards the table, Harry took note of the panicked expression on some of the staff members' faces. They were undoubtedly keeping an eye out for him and hoping for his return but were unable to recognize him despite his presence. Too bad for them, the same Harry would never return.

Taking a look toward the Gryffindor table, he saw Hermione and Ron, who seemed uncomfortable, with the rest of the house leaning towards them and whispering questions, probably asking about his lack of presence.

As the first year sorting ceremony began, Harry's mind raced with anticipation. He couldn't wait to see the look on their faces.

As the headmaster stood to speak, the hat started speaking. "A RESORTING IS NEEDED. HARRY POTTER."

it announced, causing everyone in the Great Hall to freeze in shock. This was the third time Harry had been called out by the Sorting Hat since he started attending Hogwarts.

Despite the murmurs and whispers around the room, Harry couldn't help but feel amused at all the attention. He knew he looked different - taller, stronger, more confident - and he relished the thought of surprising everyone with what he had done.

As he made his way to the front of the room, he could hear the whispers growing louder. "Harry Potter? That's not Potter," he overheard one student say. "What happened to Potter?" asked another. “Wow, he’s so hot!” A high pitched voice said. Most students seemed to be wondering the same thing. “Why is he getting resorted? How does that even happen?”

How did it happen, indeed? Harry smirked at the thought of what had occurred a week prior.

Harry knew Dumbledore would never let him get resorted, so he'd just have to go around him, straight to the source.

Harry had waited until Dumbledore had left the castle, then easily broken in with the help of his map and the Hallows. No one was the wiser.

He'd taken a quick look around the headmaster's office and found a few things of interest. A few vials of his blood were promptly destroyed and replaced with fakes, a handful of memories and books were copied, and a few trinkets tied to various magical signatures were tampered with.

Proceeding with his main task, Harry spoke with the hat and informed it of the outside interferences tied to his sorting and requested a new sorting now that said interferences were dealt with.

The hat didn't like being messed with and had readily agreed. After Harry told it of a certain old goat's part, the hat had promised not to inform the headmaster beforehand.

With a malicious grin on his face, Harry sat down in the chair and leaned back, his arms resting casually on the armrests. "Shall we begin, Professor?" he said, turning to face Professor McGonagall. The professors in attendance seemed to snap out of their shock, but Dumbledore still tried to maintain the appearance of control.

"My boy, there's no need for a resorting," he said, his voice wavering slightly. But Harry wasn't going to back down. He had waited too long for this moment.

The smile finally dropped from Harry's face as he turned to face the headmaster, his eyes cold and calculating. With a pureblood mask firmly in place, Harry spoke.

"You shall refer to me as Lord Potter as is decorum," Harry's voice was cold and unwavering as he addressed the headmaster. "I would allow Mr Potter whilst in school, but you will show me the respect that is required for the Lord of three of the most ancient houses."

The headmaster remained quiet, seemingly taken aback by Harry's demands. But Harry didn't falter. He turned his gaze towards the crowd of students, his eyes scanning the sea of faces.

"Now, let's not keep the students waiting, shall we, Professor?" Harry's words were calm, but there was a hint of impatience in his voice. He wasn't here to waste his time with petty formalities.

As the Sorting Hat was placed on the stool, Harry waited patiently for it to call out his name. But as the seconds ticked by, it became apparent that something was wrong. The hat didn't move. It didn't speak.

Growing tired of waiting, Harry waved his hand, and the hat flew out of the professor's hands and landed softly on his head. The Sorting Hat took no more than two seconds to decide before shouting out its verdict: "BETTER BE SLYTHERIN!"

The crowd erupted in outrage, but Harry wasn't surprised. He knew he wouldn't be sorted into Gryffindor, the house that had turned its back on him. No, he belonged in Slytherin, with the cunning and ambitious.

As he walked towards the Slytherin table, Harry could feel the tension in the air. The students were angry, confused, and even a little bit scared. But Harry wasn't intimidated. He knew what he wanted, and he was willing to fight for it.

"So, did you enjoy the show?" Harry asked, his eyes locked onto Draco's. He could sense the fear and nervousness radiating from the others, but he didn't care. He enjoyed messing with people.

Draco, the good pureblood heir, kept his composure in public, at least. "Yes, you put on quite the show. I thoroughly enjoyed the headmaster's reaction to your scolding." Draco frowned. "Which reminds me, to which houses do you hold the lordships?"

"I hold the lordships of the noble House of Potter, the ancient House of Black, and the most noble and ancient House of Peverell," Harry stated matter-of-factly, relishing in the shock and awe on the faces of the other students.

Pansy was the first to speak. "You're Lord Peverell? And Lord Black? How is that possible?!" Her half-shouted, half-whispered question was heard by the whole table.

The other tables were abuzz with heated conversations, but all eyes were on Harry, the Lord of three ancient and noble houses.

Harry smirked, his eyes shining with a dangerous glint. He hummed in confirmation, relishing the tension that hung heavy in the air. "Let's eat and discuss it when we have less of an audience," he said kindly, but his words seemed to have the opposite effect on the girl. She seemed to grow more agitated.

Draco, ever the jester, attempted to lighten the mood with a story about his summer adventures, but the tension persisted.

Finally, the first years were sent to bed, and the conversation continued in the Slytherin common room. Harry was itching for a confrontation, and when seventh-year Graham Montague approached him with his chest puffed out, Harry couldn't help the wicked grin that spread across his face.

"Who do you think you are, Potter? You don’t belong among us purebloods, you filthy half-blood!" Montague spat.

Harry's grin only widened, his eyes flashing with deadly intent. "Pureblood?" he scoffed. "I don't see anything pure about you. Filthy morals, filthy ideals..." Harry's gaze locked onto Montague's, and the boy shivered as if a cold hand had touched his spine. "And such a filthy mind. So many impure thoughts in that head of yours."

Harry tilted his head to the side, a small, malicious smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "And your blood," he continued. "Not so pure, is it Graham? Shall I tell everyone about your mother's less-than-pure actions, which resulted in a not-so-pure you?"

Montague's face went ashen, and he spoke with a trembling voice. "Don't you speak about my mother. You don't know anything."

Harry leaned closer, his voice a low, menacing whisper. "Oh, but I do, Graham. I know everything there is to know about you. I have looked into your mind and soul, and I have judged you. I have seen everything."

Harry took a breath, letting his words sink in before continuing. "How would they feel if they knew you weren't even a Montague by blood? That your filthy mother slept with a filthy mudblood and gave you filthy blood? What would they think of a filthy liar like you?"

The Slytherins exchanged nervous glances, unsure of what to make of Harry's sudden viciousness. Montague's face was ashen, and he looked like he might faint.

"Aren't you supposed to be a savior, the hero?" he whispered.

Harry's eyes gleamed with a manic light, and his grin turned feral. "Nah," he said, his voice laced with deadly intent. "Why would I be a hero? That's so boring. Being a villain is so much more fun."

The room fell silent, the air thick with tension. Harry's face turned emotionless, his voice cold and steely. "If there is a light, I'm going to swallow it. If there is a hero, then I'm going to make them cry."

Chapter Text

First world, circa 2017-2024 

After returning from his studies abroad, Harry had a naive notion that magical Britain might have changed for the better in his absence. But he was wrong, oh so wrong.

In fact, it had only gotten worse. The light's prejudice had only gotten worse. Dark families being ruthlessly targeted and suppressed. Raids and unjust arrests and killings were now common occurrences.

Despite Harry voicing his concerns about the current state of affairs, he was mostly ignored and sometimes even attacked himself. It was a bleak and dismal time, with no sign of any hope on the horizon.

But then, a beacon of light appeared in the form of Luna Lovegood. She was an angel among them, helping countless people who had been subjected to this sort of behaviour. Luna would take them in, offering them safety and shelter, while also taking note of all injustices conducted and publishing her findings for all to see.

It was after one of these raids that Luna reconnected with Draco Malfoy, who had recently lost his wife Astoria. Her death had been blamed on Draco, even though there was no evidence to support it. The light had been desperate for a reason to shun and terrorize him, and even his son Scorpius wasn't safe living with him anymore. The poor boy had to move in with his dead mother's parents at the young age of 10.

Luna and Draco became good friends, and Harry was surprised to see them talking and laughing together when he returned. Although he had opened his mind to all kinds of magic and different beings since his youth, he was still surprised to find himself befriending Draco.

Harry still remembers their first interaction upon his return...

Draco was seated outside in a lawn chair next to Luna when Harry entered. Harry felt amused by Draco's attempt to keep his cool upon seeing him, despite the nerves he could feel radiating off him. After greeting Luna with a quick hug, Harry turned to Draco and exchanged pleasantries.

"So, how have things been here?" Harry asked, glancing between Luna and Draco. Draco quickly understood what he was insinuating and blushed, while Luna giggled.

"What-what, no, we're not- we haven't-" Draco stuttered, flustered by Harry's teasing.

"Since when did Draco Malfoy stutter and blush from a little teasing? My, my, have you gone soft in old age?" Harry smirked, his eyes sparkling with mirth.

Draco glared at Harry, hating to be made to look like a fool. "At least I've outgrown my childish behavior. Such immature teasing is just tragic. Even your face is still childlike Potter." He countered, unable to resist taking a jab at Harry's youthful appearance. But then he noticed how young Harry actually looked, despite nearing their 40s. It was as if he hadn't aged at all, with no wrinkles, stubble, or sunken features. He looked like a very young adult, or perhaps even an older teen. How was that possible, when Draco certainly didn't look the same as he did in his early 20s?

Harry appeared lost in thought, but Draco could see the contemplative expression on his face. "Yes, I do look quite young, I'm aware. I wasn't expecting anyone other than Luna, so I forwent my usual glamours," Harry spoke, watching Draco closely to make sure he didn't alarm him.

Draco seemed more perplexed than anything and raised his questions. "Is this a new spell, an eternal youth elixir, or something? You haven't aged. It's difficult to tell, given that your body and facial structure have changed, but you're still the same age as when you left Britain."

Taking a deep breath to stall for time, Harry decided not to reveal the truth for now. "I haven't aged since I left, no. Why that is, I cannot tell you. Perhaps in the future, I'll feel inclined to do so, but right now, it's not important. This fact isn't widely known to the public. In fact, the only person aware of my apparent eternal youth is Luna, so I would prefer it if you kept this to yourself," Harry said, staring Draco straight in the eye with a firm and commanding voice.

Of course, Harry told Draco the truth less than a year later when they began dating.

After their first meeting at Luna's house, Harry and Draco kept bumping into each other "coincidentally" at various places like the Ministry and Diagon Alley. Harry started looking forward to these encounters so much that he arranged for them to happen. After a month of such meetings, Harry finally asked Draco out. Even when Draco wasn't the good kind of special, he was still the center of Harry's attention.

Draco, who had also "coincidentally" run into Harry, quickly accepted. After the first date, a second quickly followed, and then a third, a fourth, and a fifth... Their love was explosive, passionate, and intoxicating. They brought out the best and worst in each other, completely surrendering their souls to one another. Harry had never felt so alive, so complete, so happy. He thought that happiness would last forever, but he was wrong.

After two years of being together, Harry finally proposed to Draco, creating the most magical and unforgettable moment. He had planned everything down to the last detail, a beautiful picnic under their favorite tree, fireworks, and the perfect ring. A white gold band with a black diamond in the center, two alexandrite stones on each side of the diamond to represent Draco's birthstone, and two rubies on the sides of the alexandrite to represent Harry.

Draco had been waiting for Harry to propose, so he wasn't too surprised when the fireworks went off and Harry pulled out a ring box.

“Draco, you are my everything, you are what I dreamt of when I was young and you are still my dream now. Having all my dreams come true, the one I want next to me is you. When I look at you I feel it, when I look at you I’ve come home. I love you not only for who you are but also for who I become when we are together, you are pretty much my only anchor to sanity. I love you. Regardless of what has happened in the past, what you have done, or what you do... I'll love you forever. I swear it."

Harry exhaled slowly and looked lovingly into Draco's wet eyes while he continued.

“I choose you. And I’ll choose you over and over and over. Without pause, without a doubt, in a heartbeat. I’ll choose you. If I know what love is it’s only because I met you. Draco, will you marry me?” Harry was pretty close to tears himself but tried to keep himself together. Draco had no such inclination and was openly crying.

Draco laughed quietly, breathlessly. And smiled as the tears rolled down his cheeks. “Of course I’ll marry you, you idiot.” Harry grinned and laughed with happiness.

The summer of 2020 they had married. Choosing to have a small, intimate wedding consisting of only Luna, Scorpius, and Pansy. For four blissful years, they were happy, complete, and they felt like a family. But their happiness was short-lived. The suspicions and accusations began to rise when a group of dark wizards started to gather for protests. The Ministry rounded up anyone with even the slightest connection to the group, and unfortunately, Draco was one of them.

Draco was held in suspicion for weeks, and Harry was livid, determined to break him out of custody illegally. But on Draco's insistence, Harry took the legal, lengthy route. After fighting and proving Draco's innocence, he was finally released. Draco came home, beaten and starved, but alive. Harry was ready to seek revenge on those who had hurt Draco, but Draco stopped him.

After the war, Draco's heart had softened, the brutalities of his past now only a distant memory. He had never been one for physical violence, preferring instead to hurl barbs and insults with a cold and calculated tongue. But after being forced to participate in unspeakable horrors, Draco refused to take part in such depravity again. The thought of Harry, his beloved husband, partaking in such atrocities was enough to make dread burn deep in his stomach. So he begged Harry to refrain, and Harry, always eager to please him, held back.

The summer crept by at a sluggish pace. Harry had been anticipating another attack from their enemies, hoping to seek vengeance. But the summer passed by relatively uneventfully. Without their jobs at the Ministry (which they both had quit the moment tensions started rising), they had ample time to spend together, and they cherished every moment they had.

Rumors about Harry began circulating throughout their world, but they both dismissed them as ridiculous. Harry, a dark lord? It was preposterous. After all he had been through, there was no way Harry would ever willingly follow in Voldemort's footsteps. But the thought lingered in Harry's mind, and he turned to Luna for guidance.

As they lounged on the lush grass, Harry struggled to find the words to express his fears.

"What haunts you, Harry? What are you afraid of?" Luna prodded gently.

Harry gazed up at the clouds drifting overhead, trying to steady his thoughts. "All I ever wanted was to be treated like a human being. But in this world of hatred and bigotry, I should have known better. I thought there was a chance for change, but now I'm not so sure. Hope can be a cruel mistress."

As they watched a cloud shaped like a serpent slither across the sky, Harry continued. "Hope can sustain you through the darkest of times, but when it's misplaced, it can be a fatal wound. It's like bleeding out, until there's nothing left."

Harry was letting his guard down, revealing his deepest fears to Luna. "But hopelessness is even worse. It's like drowning, the water closing in around you until there's no escape. Luna, I feel like something terrible is going to happen. Something I won't be able to stop."

Tragically, that terrible event came to pass on Samhain 2024.

Draco, the love of his life, was brutally murdered.

Harry remembered little of what happened next. He felt their marriage bond snap, felt his heart shatter into a million pieces. He apparated straight home and found Draco under their tree, lifeless and cold. The world spun out of control as Harry's screams echoed through the empty fields.

He cried out for Draco, begged for him to come back. But there was only silence.

And then, a seething rage took hold of Harry. He swore an oath of revenge and began his hunt, determined to make his enemies pay for what they had taken from him.

Searching.

Finding. 

Torturing.

He remembers their dying words, their pleas and their excuses, the ones he had so mercilessly snuffed out. The weight of their lives on his shoulders was a burden he carried heavily not because he’d killed them but because he’d broken his promise to Draco.

The guilt was suffocating, he’d promised Draco not to sink this low, yet Harry could not stop himself from reliving those moments. The memories of his victims haunted him day and night, driving him to the brink of madness.

He had killed so many, half of the ministry, and now he had found the one who had fired the killing curse. They were hiding, cowering in a corner of a rotting old house. He could see the fear in their eyes as he approached, relishing in the power he held over them.

He remembers himself smirking and bragging. 

“You wanted a dark lord,

Well here I am. 

And fine… if you want a dark lord so bad,

I’ll be the best damn dark lord you’ve ever seen.

You want me to be a villain,

I’ll be a villain.

You will regret it though.

Not that you will live long enough to see what your actions have caused upon the world.

Just remember this is all your fault.

It's funny though,

The only thing that stopped me for killing everyone in the first place was Draco.

And you took him away from me.

….

I killed them all.

They’re dead.

Every single one of them.

Dead.

Not a single one left. 

I slaughtered them like animals!

And I didn’t even hate them.

But I hate you.

So your death will be even more gruesome.

Are you afraid now Ron?

You should be,

But I’ll start with your beloved.

It’s only fair isn’t it?

After all you took mine,

So I will take yours.”

He remembered her pleading and begging, and their rants and excuses, but it was his own smirk and boastful words that haunted him the most. He had become the dark lord they had feared, the villain he had promised to be.

He had taken everything from them, and now he reveled in the agony of his final victim. Ron was tied up, forced to watch as Harry mercilessly killed Hermione. He had wanted her to suffer, to feel every moment of her pain, and he had made sure that Ron saw it all.

Harry knew he was a monster, but he could not help himself. He had never known kindness or happiness, only pain and loss. The world had taken everything from him, and now he was taking it all back, one life at a time.

He tortured Ron for hours, the screams and pleas falling on deaf ears. He cut him, burned him, ripped his limbs from his body, drowned him, suffocated him, and cursed him. Harry took pleasure in the pain he inflicted, knowing that it was his own way of seeking revenge.

It was a cruel way to die, but Ron deserved it. Harry had used his own version of the nightmare curse, a fitting end for the man who had taken everything from him. The curse would take a couple of hours to be completed, but by the end of it, nothing of the person Ron once was would remain. He would feel as his mind slipped away, as the nightmares grew graver and more visions appeared with time. Stuck in an endless loop off his worst nightmare for what felt like eternity. 

As the sun set and rose again, Harry finally let him go. The weight of his guilt and the pain of his victims were still with him, but for the first time in a long time, he felt a glimmer of something else. Maybe it was regret, or maybe it was something else entirely, but he knew one thing for sure - this world did not deserve to be saved.

He’d become what he once dreaded the most, he’d become a monster, a murder, a villain. 

Second world, 1995

Heading up the stairs to the dorm, Harry could feel the weight of their fearful looks boring into his back. But he didn't care. Let them fear him, as long as they left him alone and respected him, he had nothing to fear from them. After all, they were just children, and Harry had no intention of hurting them.

As he entered the dorm, he looked around, taking in his new surroundings. The Slytherin dorm was a lot nicer than Gryffindor's and bigger too. Four beds meant two dorms for all the fifth-year boys. Harry was lucky enough to share with Draco, Blaise, and Theo. Apparently, they didn't want to share with Crabbe and Goyle. Now why would that be?

He made his way towards the empty four-poster bed, with its Slytherin green curtains adorned with small embroideries of snakes. A dark wooden nightstand stood by its side, and his new trunk was placed at the end of the bed. A bookshelf and a desk were a few steps away.

He could hear subdued footsteps behind him, but he didn't turn around. Instead, he sat down at the desk and waited. Draco, Blaise, and Theo soon entered.

Draco, true to his arrogant nature, spoke first. "What the hell was that, Potter?! What did you say to Graham? He was still deathly pale once you left."

Harry didn't like Draco's tone. He didn't like demands, and Draco was getting too close to demanding answers. Harry could feel his temper starting to flare up.

"It was a simple demonstration of a small fraction of what I am capable of," Harry said, his voice dripping with confidence. "What I spoke to Graham about is none of your concern at the moment. They wanted to test me, so I showed them that there are no tests that will work on me."

Blaise, being the most composed of the three, spoke calmly. "Making enemies with all the Slytherins is not a smart move. They will come for you despite knowing you are more powerful than them. They will come in numbers, most likely unexpectedly."

Harry smirked and drew back his magic, causing the poor boys to shake with fear. "Unlike some people, I don't doubt myself or my ability to take on multiple people in the case of an ambush."

But Blaise wasn't done yet. "You're not invincible."

Harry's smug smile widened. "I'm very close."

Draco scoffed. "Yeah, sure you're a god amongst us weak humans," he muttered under his breath. Harry heard him and started to laugh uncontrollably. His emotions were getting the best of him, switching from murderous anger to uncontrollable laughter in an instant. But Harry didn't care. He felt alive, like he was finally free from the constraints that had held him down for so long.

Still laughing Harry got up and walked towards Draco with sure steps, his laugher getting quieter and quieter the closer he got. With a half smile on his lips he leaned forward until they were almost breathing in each other's air. With a teasing tone he said, “If you wish to know just how godlike…powers I have I’d be more than willing to show you. I must warn you though quite a few have screamed for god when I’ve shown them exactly what that entails.”

A blush was quickly spreading across Draco’s cheeks despite not being a hundred percent sure of what exactly Harry was insinuating. With his mouth slightly open Draco looked adorable, thought Harry and he voiced his thoughts.

“When you blush like that it really makes me want to coo at you.” Harry said with a grin. 

Blaise couldn’t contain himself anymore and burst out laughing. “Oh Merlin, I've never seen him so flushed. Gods, you’re gonna be hilarious to have around Harry.” 

Harry smirked at Blaise, turning back to Draco he gently pushed his chin up and closed his mouth. 

Chapter Text

As the morning sun cast its warm glow on Harry, he stood in front of the mirror and admired himself in his new Hogwarts robes. The emerald green of the Slytherin crest complimented his striking eyes, making them pop. He felt good, like he could conquer the world.

But suddenly, he felt someone's presence behind him. Looking behind him using the mirror, Harry found Draco standing there, looking at him with an expression that was difficult to read. Harry smirked at his reflection in the mirror and then turned to face Draco.

“Good morning Dragon,” Harry teased Draco with a nickname he knew would embarrass him.

Draco's reaction was as adorable as expected. He blushed and his left eye twitched, pouting slightly as he spoke. “Good morning Po-Harry. Why do you insist on teasing me now? You have never done so in the previous years.”

“Well, I suppose I was too blind to see how endearing your reactions are. Now my eyes are open and how could I resist when you blush so prettily,” Harry said, stepping forward into Draco's space and reaching for his face as if to touch him but stopping himself at the last moment. Draco looked uncomfortable and flustered, seconds away from fleeing.

As Harry looked at Draco, he began to frown. This wasn't his Draco, the one he loved with all his heart. He didn't want to force himself on this innocent child, make him uncomfortable or anxious. He wanted this Draco to be whole, pure, and happy. Harry didn't want to have to see him dead again.

He’d made Draco uncomfortable and confused. Harry knew what unwanted attention felt like, and he hated it. How could he put another person through that? Realising what he had been doing, Harry felt sick to his stomach. He had been acting anything but sane, deluding himself into believing that this was his Draco. But it would never be. He had been selfish, putting his wants and needs before anyone else's, especially Draco's. Harry couldn't let this continue.

Harry realised then that he had to make things right, for Draco's sake. He wanted to be a part of his life, but he couldn't do it at the expense of Draco's happiness. He vowed to himself that he would make sure this Draco lived a life he would be proud of, even if it meant he wasn't in it.

As he grew quiet in front of Draco, Harry appeared lost in thought, with a sad expression on his face. But before he could say anything, Draco reached out and poked him on the arm, pulling him back from his thoughts.

Harry's hand trembled as he reached out to touch Draco's cheek once more, his eyes fixated on the blonde's face. A small smile crept across his lips as he savored the sensation of human contact. Was he touch-starved? Maybe. But he didn't care. As long as Draco was comfortable with it, he wouldn't be able to resist the occasional touch.

Draco's eyes widened in surprise as Harry's fingers brushed over his cheekbone, a gentle touch that was unfamiliar to him. Only his mother had ever touched him with such tenderness. Despite his initial discomfort, he found himself welcoming the warmth and comfort of Harry's touch.

Harry's voice interrupted his thoughts. "Is this alright, Draco? If I do something that makes you uncomfortable, please tell me. It's just... you make me feel content, and I want to be near you, and to make sure you're happy and protected." Harry's thumb continued to caress Draco's cheek as he spoke, his gaze never leaving Draco's.

Draco's eyes narrowed, but he made no move to pull away from Harry's touch. "You do not need to protect me. I can protect myself," he said, his voice soft and guarded. "I do not mind the touches as long as you keep them...appropriate." He glanced away from Harry's gaze, his lips pressed into a thin line.

Harry's smile was genuine as he withdrew his hand. He was relieved that Draco was accepting his newfound affection, despite his erratic behavior lately. "I know you can. Come, let's head to breakfast." He grabbed Draco's hand and pulled him towards the common room.

Their brief moment of happiness was cut short when they were stopped by Snape, who demanded Harry's presence in the headmaster's office. Snape's eyes widened as he caught sight of their intertwined hands, a moment of disbelief flashing across his face before he composed himself.

Harry chose to ignore Snape's reaction and instead adopted a polite tone. "Now, professor? Should we get going then?"

Snape narrowed his eyes at him but found no reason to reprimand him. He turned around and walked towards the door. Harry took that as confirmation and dropped Draco's hand.

“I'll see you later, Dragon.”

“Bye, Harry.”

The walk to the headmaster's office was quiet and tense. Harry was not bothered by it and chose to ignore the professor's narrow-eyed stare. He had more important things to think about than a bigoted, self-centered, obsessive dungeon bat.

As they neared, Harry thought about what he should do. He knew he couldn't play the part of the golden boy anymore, pretending to be someone he wasn't was too exhausting. The weight of his past experiences had left him too old and jaded for that. But lying and deceiving when necessary? That he could do.

As he climbed the stairs with Snape and neared the office, Harry still hadn't decided on his approach. He knew he couldn't afford to be outright aggressive or hostile, no matter how much he wanted to. That would only be counterproductive. But he also knew that the old man no longer held any power over him. Now, it was Harry who had the power.

When they arrived, Snape spoke the password and they entered. But instead of waiting for the usual three knocks, Harry pushed the door open with his magic and strode in, Snape following silently behind. The headmaster was startled by their sudden entrance, his surprise quickly replaced by his usual fake grandfatherly smile, filled with fake concern and fake gentleness.

Despite his unease, Harry sat down and put on a mask of fake confusion as Dumbledore prepared to question him about his sudden disappearance from his relatives' house. It was a test of wills, and Harry knew he had to be careful with his answers.

“My boy, how lovely to see you again. It is unfortunate it has to be under such dire circumstances.” He looked weary and sighed loudly.

Harry put on a mask of fake confusion as he sat down. “Whatever do you mean, Headmaster?”

Dumbledore's eyes filled with pity and disappointment. “Why did you leave your relative’s house, Harry? It was a very reckless and immature move on, and it made us all very worried, my dear boy. Where did you go, Harry?”

Harry tilted his head and contemplated an answer: tell the truth or lie? Easy, lie. "I-I wanted to see my girlfriend, headmaster," Harry lied, trying to sound as convincing as possible. "She had invited me to her house and asked me to stay the summer there. I didn't want to stay with my relatives and I didn't want to be alone, and spending time with her is amazing. So of course I chose the better option. I didn't tell you or anyone because I knew that if I did, you would come and drag me back to those despicable muggles." Harry couldn’t help but spit out the last two words. And as for choosing to make up a fake girlfriend, well, it would throw them off, and it would be fun watching them trying to find a nonexistent person.

The headmaster's eyes widened with surprise at Harry's bold lie. “A girlfriend? Who might that be? I don’t believe I saw you at the Burrow, and I did ask Miss Weasley about your whereabouts, and she was clueless. I do not like being lied to, my-“

Harry abruptly interrupted the old man's rambling, not wanting to hear another word about Ginny. His voice was laced with surprise and disgust as he spoke, "Ginny, no way! She has never been my girlfriend and she never will be. Yuck. That's just wrong. No, no. I met my girlfriend last year during the tournament, and we've been together ever since. I spent the summer with her and her parents."

The old man seemed slightly irritated at being cut off, but his curiosity was clearly piqued. He leaned forward in his chair, causing it to creak. "Then what's the name of this young lady? I would really like to speak to her parents and her. It's imperative they understand the situation and won't do anything foolish."

Harry couldn't help but inwardly laugh at the old man's transparent agenda. He wondered how he could have ever fallen for the man's kind words and soft looks when he was younger. "I can't tell you that. It's for their safety. They don't want to be brought into the limelight, and I'm inclined to agree with them. It's best they remain unknown. Was there anything else you wanted to speak about, Headmaster?" Harry was eager to move on from this uncomfortable conversation.

Dumbledore could see the stubborn set in Harry's shoulders and knew that he wouldn't get any more information on the subject. He would have to find out on his own. With a deep sigh, he leaned back in his chair and continued, "Having to leave your friends and your house must be hard, my dear boy. I'm sure what happened was simply a misunderstanding. It can be rectified easily, thankfully."

Harry didn't buy it. He had already made up his mind and was determined to stay in Slytherin. He smiled innocently and replied, "Thank you for your concern, Headmaster, but it's unnecessary. I'm quite happy in my new house. It was, after all, the house I was meant to be in."

But Dumbledore wasn't ready to give up yet. "Harry, I believe it would be best if we did another resorting so you can head back to Gryffindor." He smiled as if it was the best idea in the world. He didn't think that Harry would outright refuse him; after all, he had never done so before.

Harry tilted his head to the side, his expression cold and unfeeling. "No, I won't do that. Slytherin is my house, has always been my house. And if you hadn't meddled with my sorting in the first place, it would have been my house from the beginning."

For a moment, Harry could see the anger in Dumbledore's eyes, but it was quickly replaced by sadness. The old man lowered his eyes and exhaled heavily. "Yes, I did what I had to for the greater good, my boy. The consequences of our actions are always so complicated and diverse that predicting the future is a very difficult business indeed. I did not foresee this future, for instance, but things happen that are out of our control."

Harry was furious. The man was admitting it all, as if he believed that Harry would just forgive and forget. No way.

“You admit you interfered with my sorting and that's all you have to say? That things happen out of our control!? You meddle and try to control my life for what? The greater good!? There is no greater good! Are you naive enough to believe that?” Harry's voice was laced with anger as he confronted the headmaster, who was becoming more agitated by the second. Harry didn't care. He wanted to tell the old fool exactly what he thought of his "greater good."

“First, individual rights cannot be sacrificed for the greater good, and second, the justice principles that define these rights cannot be based on any particular ideal of what it is to live a happy life. The fact that the rights provide a fair framework within which people and groups can choose their own goals and ends while yet allowing others the same freedom is what justifies them, not the fact that they maximize the general welfare or in any other way advance the good.” Harry delivered his argument with conviction, his eyes blazing with passion.

He paused for a moment, taking a deep breath before continuing. Dumbledore didn't have time to contemplate what Harry said before he continued on.

“Now, if all you brought me here to do was question me on my whereabouts and scold me for being sorted into the house of evil, as you see it, then I believe I shall take my leave. Do not summon me again unless it's related to my education.”

Harry turned to leave, walking towards the door, leaving Dumbledore wide-eyed and bewildered.

“Oh, and by the way, if you haven't been informed, I am dropping divination and joining classes for arithmancy and runes. Good day.”

Harry stepped out of the room before anyone could comprehend what had just happened.

Meanwhile, Draco and his friends had been in the great hall trying to enjoy their breakfast.

Draco's thoughts had been occupied by the green-eyed boy since meeting him on the train yesterday. What had he done to Harry to make him feel content in his presence? It was strange. Draco hadn't really felt much towards Harry before the train. They had only spoken a few times and the conversations had been tense and forced. Draco had chosen to ignore Harry, seeing as he was friends with that insufferable weasel. But Harry had always been quiet, never saying anything hurtful, but never defending him either, just observed. So this total change in attitude had thrown him off.

Before starting Hogwarts, Draco had been excited to befriend the famous Boy Who Lived, but he had been sorely disappointed when the real Harry had appeared. Draco had found him lacking in all but magical power. He had, of course, offered his hand, and Harry had shaken it in greeting, but friendship had never developed.

So going from zero to a hundred was indeed strange. He wasn't sure why Harry felt so comfortable with him. Draco himself was flustered by the constant teasing and flirting, but it was nice to be noticed and paid attention to. When Harry had caressed his face with such gentleness and tenderness, he had felt warm and seen by Harry. But he wasn't sure what he felt about the boy. He didn't want to lose this new friendship. It felt important and like it could develop into something amazing, so he wouldn't let this new Harry go.

Still, he was unsure as to what Harry wanted. The flirting and teasing were innocent but still clear. If Harry wanted a romantic relationship between them, Draco wasn't sure he could offer that. Draco had come to terms with the fact that he didn't really care about the gender of his partner too much, but he was well aware his parents weren't as lax in that regard.

Draco Malfoy was torn between duty and his heart's desire. He was expected to marry a pureblood woman from a good family, and he was prepared to do just that. Duty before romance, family before anyone else. But as he sat next to Harry, his thoughts were in turmoil. He hoped that Harry could accept that he was content with their current friendship and didn't wish for more than innocent teasing and light touches.

As Draco contemplated how he was going to tell Harry his thoughts, the messy-haired boy sat down next to him. Harry's presence was a soothing balm, and Draco couldn't help but steal glances at him. If you only looked at Harry's expression, you would believe he was calm and relaxed. But if you looked closely, you could spot the tenseness in his shoulders and the clenching of his fists.

Before Draco could ask if he was alright, Blaise interrupted. "Where have you been, Harry? Breakfast is almost over," he spoke in a light, curious tone.

Harry looked at the other occupants of the table and smirked. "Oh, you know, just confronting old deceptive goats as one does," he said amused.

"He was in the headmaster's office, he was summoned this morning," Draco spoke before anyone could question Harry's weird statement.

Harry looked at Draco and pouted. "Must you ruin my fun?"

Smirking at Harry's pout, Draco answered in a deadpan voice, "Yes."

Harry squinted at him, the pout still on his lips. Draco could see the moment Harry decided to mess with him again, the slight twinkle that entered Harry's eyes was a familiar one.

"Such a meanie, little dragon," Harry said in a childish tone, with a hint of amusement.

Blaise promptly choked on his bite of food and started cackling. "Little dragon?! That's hilarious, from now on that's the only thing I'm gonna call you," Blaise giggled lightly whilst the others regained some of their dignity and only smiled deviously at Draco.

Draco sighed loudly and let his head fall onto the table with a smack. "It was my mother's childhood nickname for me...how Harry found that out, I have no idea."

"It's just a talent of mine, dear. I know everything there is to know about everything," Harry smirked at Draco and patted his head consolingly.

Pansy perked up at that. She was the gossip queen of Slytherin, and if Harry had valuable gossip, she needed to know. "What else do you know?" she asked.

Harry looked towards her. "Well, pretty much anything. I just need to look at someone, and I know their secrets. Want a demonstration?" Harry looked maliciously around the table, daring anyone to accept.

Blaise, the intrigued fool, volunteered, and Harry swiftly focused his attention on him. "The first woman you ever slept with was a friend of your mother's. You had tried to seduce her for years, you started when you were 13," Harry smirked, his focus solely on Blaise. "That's illegal, you know."

Blaise felt his eyes widen at his secret being revealed, thankful Harry hadn't picked one of the more damaging secrets. And it wasn't like Blaise was embarrassed by this secret, and Harry hadn't even spoken her name. For his or her sake, Blaise wasn't sure. As he looked around at his friends, he couldn't help but wonder what secrets Harry knew about them.

Pansy was in utter shock. She bombarded Blaise with a flurry of questions about the woman's identity, but Blaise refused to answer.

Pansy was livid. "Blaise, what that woman did was not only illegal, but also morally wrong. Even if you were the one who seduced her, she's an adult and should know better."

Blaise appeared disinterested in the conversation. "There's nothing to say, Pansy. What's done is done, and I don't regret it. But if my mother found out, she would skin the woman alive."

The tension grew thicker by the second, but Harry knew just how to break it. "Pansy, let me show you what I can do. I promise it'll be fun."

Pansy was hesitant at first, but her curiosity got the better of her. As Harry began to speak, her eyes widened and her cheeks turned bright red. How could he possibly know that embarrassing secret about her childhood?

“When you were younger you begged your parents to have another child since you wanted a sibling and every time your parents asked why you wanted a sibling you refused to answer because you were embarrassed by the reason…” 

How could he know this, she never even told Draco! 

"You wanted a sibling so you could dress them up as a doll and pretend they were your child."

Pansy was mortified, while the others chuckled at her childish antics. "Okay, I get it," she said, embarrassed. "You have a talent. Just don't do that to me again."

Harry grinned mischievously, but before he could say anything, Theo interrupted. "Hey, have we gotten our schedules yet?"

"No," Draco replied, "but Snape usually hands them out at the beginning of breakfast. I wonder what's taking him so long."

Harry realised it was his fault. "Snape was with me earlier for my meeting with the goat. Sorry if I caused the delay."

Draco's concern was palpable. "Did everything go okay?"

Harry's warm smile put him at ease. "Yeah, everything went smoothly. No need to worry, dragon."

Draco feigned annoyance. "I'm not worried. I just want to be prepared for your whining."

Harry laughed at Draco’s fake expression of offense. 

“No, no damaging consequences… but you should all be on your guard around him.” Harry ended the sentence in seriousness.

The Slytherins glanced at each other before Pansy answered.

“We are always on guard with him. Who knows what ridiculous accusations he’ll throw our way if we’re not careful.” 

Harry nodded his head in agreement.

“Just remember the next time someone says Dumbledore wouldn’t do that. Oh yes he would.”

During the day, Harry was scrutinized more than ever. Some people looked at him with curiosity, while others directed outright hatred and hostility his way. However, Harry had grown accustomed to this treatment during his first life. This worlds Harry was not very confrontational, so nobody really expected him to respond to their threats or accusations. When Harry glared back at them or let his magic flare out, people seemed to back off. If someone later decided to become physical, Harry would show them exactly why that was the stupidest idea. He wouldn't tolerate anyone's crap anymore.

As always, classes were boring, except for potions class. Snape had been avoiding eye contact with Harry for the entire lesson, probably happy to pretend he didn't exist. But as the class was about to end, Snape lingered around Harry's desk, maybe hoping to scold him for making a mistake. As Harry looked up at him, Snape took his chance and dived into Harry's mind. Well... he tried to.

He didn't get very far.

Harry's walls were impenetrable, like diving head-first into a brick wall. Snape looked dumbfounded and actually stumbled a step. For a moment, it seemed like he had no idea what had just happened. But a moment later, it was like nothing had happened. Snape was scolding and glaring at Harry once again.

Harry tried to contain his glee, but his lips twitched, and he was sure Snape noticed. Not that Harry cared, though. The look on Snape's face had been hilarious.

Snape, on the other hand, was both angry and befuddled. How could the brat have such magnificent shields? It would take years, decades even, to build such impenetrable walls, and the brat was barely fifteen. Even his own occlumency shields hadn't developed that quickly. It had taken him more than fifteen years to reach the level he was at now. And still, if someone powerful enough wasn't afraid to damage his mind, they could get into Severus' mind.

Having such shields wasn't possible. It simply wasn't possible. Who had helped him? Who had enough power to build such walls? The only answer that came to mind was... Voldemort.

But that was insane.

The Dark Lord was dead, and even if he was alive, he wouldn't help the brat. He wanted to kill him. Potter wouldn't have accepted the help either way.

This needed more investigation. Perhaps he should bring this up with Albus. No, he needed more information first before he made any accusations. Besides, no one would believe the brat was capable of such difficult magic.

As Harry and the gang headed toward the common room after a day of classes, Harry remembered something from his first life and smirked.

"Hey, Draco, want to make a bet?" Harry beamed at him.

Draco scrutinized Harry with suspicion. "What kind of bet?"

"Just a little one... I bet you I can get into the common room without using the password," Harry said confidently.

Draco sneered. "That's impossible. Fine, I'll take your bet. What are the stakes?"

Harry tilted his head to the side, still smiling. "Just a boon."

"Anything?" Draco asked.

"Anything," Harry confirmed.

The others looked on in interest as they neared the hidden door. Theo was pretty sure Harry would somehow pull this off, but he wasn't sure how. Harry always did the impossible.

As they stopped in front of the wall, Harry turned to Draco, who raised an eyebrow.

"Well, get on with it, Potter," he huffed in fake annoyance.

Harry smirked victoriously at Draco and maintained eye contact as he spoke.

"Open," he said.

Only it wasn't in English.

A hitched breath could be heard as the walls groaned open.

As he looked around, Harry noticed the stunned expressions. Oops, did they not know?

"Ha-Harry, that was parseltongue?" Theo whispered, frozen in place from fear or amazement, it was unclear.

"How can you speak parseltongue?! You shouldn't be able to do that," Draco's voice had risen an octave.

Harry pretended nothing was out of the ordinary and smiled.

"So, it appears I won the bet."

Chapter Text

The past week had been unusually peaceful for Harry. He had spent some quality time with Luna and gotten to know the Slytherins better. But as they say, all good things must come to an end, and for Harry, the end came sooner than he had anticipated.

After staying up late into the night planning for the future and testing out his newfound powers with Kali, Harry stumbled into the Great Hall feeling like he hadn't slept in days. It was just typical that Weasley would choose today to confront him. Of course, he had known it was coming; Ron practically had smoke coming out of his ears by the end of the week.

As Harry slowly made his way towards the Slytherin table, he noticed that Luna was sitting with Draco. Did she know what was about to happen? Not really in the mood to deal with childish tantrums, Harry proceeded to sit down by Luna and grab a cup of tea. Unfortunately for him -or Ron, seeing as now Harry was annoyed- he didn’t get to take a sip of it before a pesky voice interrupted him.

Without warning, Ron started shouting, "You traitor! Why did you leave us for these...these...fucking snakes?!" His voice echoed throughout the Great Hall, and students from every house turned to stare.

Harry took a deep breath, bracing himself for the argument he knew was coming, and for having to reason with an idiot.

"Traitor?" Harry replied calmly. "Weren't you the first one to betray me? And why does it matter? We're not friends anymore. The Slytherins are my friends now, and I won't stand for anyone disrespecting them. So if that's all you've got, it's best you leave."

The condescending tone was noted by Ron, and it infuriated him even more. His face went as red as a tomato, and his teeth clenched too tightly.

Ron was not backing down. He was like a dog with a bone. "I said I was sorry! What more do you want? Those snakes are not your friends! They're tricking you! They tricked you into getting sorted into Slytherin. You belong in Gryffindor, just like your parents."

Low blow, Ron. Not that he really cared for what his parents would think of him. He never knew them, so why would he base his life on the potential disappointments he might cause his long-dead parents? But still, using someone's dead parents against them was not cool. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one to think that, if the angry expression on the Slytherins' and surrounding students' faces was anything to go by.

Ron continued his tirade, oblivious to the angry expressions on the faces of the surrounding students. "What would your parents think if they knew you were consorting with the enemy? You have to demand a resort so you can go back to Gryffindor, your home!"

Harry was just slightly bored and irritated. Honestly, he had hoped this world's Ron would be better. This one would never have to be on the frontlines of a battlefield, fighting for his life against the dark and therefore further fortifying his twisted beliefs that all dark wizards are bad. This Ron knew nothing of war and hardship, and still, he was a condescending bastard for no reason, judging people based on their core and house, and not on their actions. Harry’s hate for Ron was slowly returning, and if Ron continued on this path, Harry would end him.

“The crumple-horned snorkraks are having a feast, and they will drown their victims in honey glazed coal.” Luna spoke up for the first time, and all attention was turned to her. Everyone looked at her in confusion and pity, except Harry. Harry looked concerned.

“Is it undeniable? Nothing can stop it?” Harry asked, not sure if he was upset for the children. If Harry understood Luna correctly, Ron and Hermione were too far gone already, and they would not stop believing the old coot's lies.

Luna looked towards the enchanted ceiling, looking mesmerized by the moving clouds. “Hmm undeniable. The snorkraks are too deep, there is no remedy.” Luna nodded her head as if to confirm it for herself.

“What are you talking about? There is no such thing as a snorkraks.” Hermione decided this was the perfect moment to interject.

“Does something have to be seen to be real? Air isn’t seen, still it's there. We can’t see China. Does that mean it’s not real?” Luna asked, sounding genuinely confused.

Hermione huffed and crossed her arms but didn’t answer.

Perhaps Harry should try harder in class so he could outperform Hermione and annoy her…. Yes, that would be fun.

Hermione then focused her attention on Harry and spoke in a haughty tone. “While I don’t agree with everything Ron said, we are your friends, not them, and you belong in Gryffindor. You are not a Slytherin like them. You are good.”

Well, now he was starting to get a headache.

“I’m gonna make this abundantly clear so you understand," Harry said, his patience wearing thin. “We are not friends anymore. We have grown apart, and I’m fine with that. I’m good with that. I don’t want to be friends anymore. And secondly, I am a Slytherin. I’ve always been a Slytherin. I’ve done my best to meet everyone’s expectations of what a golden boy should be, but I’m done. I’m not the golden boy, I’m not the savior. If it hadn’t been for outside interference, I would have been sorted into Slytherin in the first year.” Harry spoke once more to them like they were complete idiots who couldn’t comprehend the simplest of statements.

“Now then, we have nothing more to discuss. Leave so I can eat my breakfast in peace.” Harry turned away from them, determined to finish his breakfast in peace.

But no, of course, it couldn’t be that simple.

“No! We are not done here! You are our friend! I won’t let those slimy snakes steal you away! I will not-“ Harry had had enough. He quickly silenced Ron, he did not seem to notice at first, but when he did, he looked about ready to jump them.

Harry, already predicting his movements, put up a variant of the shielding charm that was meant to stop not only magic but physical attacks as well.

What no one other than Hermione and the Slytherins seemed to notice was that Harry had done all of this wandlessly and wordlessly.

She was astonished and quickly dragged Ron away before things could escalate. Ron was back to being as red as a tomato and was now waving his fist around like a brute.

Deciding not to look a gift horse in the mouth, he proceeded to eat his breakfast, not paying attention to the looks he was receiving from the old coot and Granger.

“Harry, are you alright?” Draco asked quietly.

Harry looked towards him in confusion.

“I am fine, dragon. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Draco reached out and touched Harry’s hand lightly.

“Well… they were your friends, won’t you miss them?” Draco asked.

Harry tilted his head to the side.

“We haven’t been friends for a long time now, I hold no devotion to them. You are my friends now, so why does it matter if I don’t have them? I don’t want them. I won’t miss them.” His tone was even as he spoke, no indication that what he said was untrue. Draco frowned and looked down, seeming lost in thought.

Harry, meanwhile, was planning to call Kali to ask if they had influenced Draco somehow. Draco was too docile, too nice, too understanding to truly be the spoiled little brat he was supposed to be. No matter the reality, Harry was certain Narcissa would have spoiled her only child rotten. That was just the kind of woman she was. Had she been alive with the birth of Scorpius, that child wouldn’t have turned out the humble person he was.

Harry had a rising suspicion that Draco’s behavior had something to do with Kali. Kali wouldn't have given Draco any specific memories, that would be careless, but perhaps emotions, if they could do that. Harry was still fuzzy on the details of Kali’s powers.

Pansy’s cheerful voice brought him out of his thoughts.

“Come on, boys, time to head to class. It’s Lord Malfoy’s first class with us!”

As they neared the classroom, Draco gripped Harry’s arm and brought him to a stop.

“Please don’t seduce my father,” Draco pleaded.

Harry was confused by the sudden plea. Why would he- oh right. Teasing Draco was fun, and having Lucius as an ally would be useful, but Harry wouldn’t actually sleep with him to get what he wanted. No, there were easier ways.

“The only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it,” Harry quoted, aware Draco wouldn’t recognize the Muggle quote.

Draco groaned but dragged a smiling Harry towards the lesson.

As they neared the classroom, they heard quiet hissing. Harry looked around, trying to spot Selene and Nyx. Following the sound of their hissing, he saw them hiding behind armor.

“What have you guys been up to?” Harry asked in Parseltongue as he bent down to retrieve them.

“We followed the white-haired, smelly man, he left the nest a little while ago,” Nyx hissed back at him as they both settled on his shoulders.

“Hmm, we will speak more of what you saw at a later time. Thank you for your hard work, Nyx, Selene.” Harry petted them on their heads as he turned back to a dazed Draco.

Harry looked at Draco's face and couldn’t help but smirk at his expression. His eyes were dilated, and his cheeks slightly flushed.

Harry’s smirk widened as he stepped closer to Draco. Harry couldn’t help but tease him. Who knew Draco had a Parseltongue kink?

"Draco... why don't we go and have some... fun?" Harry purred, his voice low and seductive, as he reached out to touch Draco's cheek with a sly smile. The air between them sizzled with an electric tension, and Draco found himself blushing uncontrollably despite not understanding what Harry just said.

Harry's eyes trailed slowly down Draco's body, making him feel both exposed and desired in a way he had never experienced before. He struggled to find words, completely taken aback by the sudden shift in their dynamic.

"Draco darling, are you okay?" Harry's husky voice pulled Draco out of his daze, and he stumbled over his words, his face as red as a tomato.

Harry couldn't help but chuckle, enjoying the effect he had on the normally composed Slytherin. But their moment was abruptly interrupted by the sound of the classroom door opening, and Lucius stepped out, looking disturbed.

Harry knew exactly what Lucius was thinking, and he intended to use it to his advantage.

As they entered the classroom, Harry noticed that the only seats available were at the front. "How convenient," he thought with a mischievous glint in his eye.

Lucius was a skilled teacher, but there was something cold and distant about him that Harry couldn't quite put his finger on. He seemed to be constantly scrutinizing Harry and Draco, throwing fleeting glances in their direction.

Despite the tense atmosphere, class continued on, and Harry found himself lost in thought. This world was different from the one he knew, Harry had scanned through most of his housemates' minds to determine the differences between the worlds and had discovered that people seemed slightly nicer here, not plagued as much by the last war. He wasn't sure why that was. But he couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy at how much better everyone seemed to have it. Lucius had managed to break free from the cycle of abuse, and he had saved Draco from a terrible fate.

But even as Harry acknowledged this, he couldn't help the bitterness that crept into his heart. Why did they get to be happy when he had suffered so much? It didn't seem fair.

Class had finally ended, but Lucius had asked Draco and Harry to stay behind. As they approached the professor's desk, Lucius turned his eyes to Harry, and without hesitation, Harry dove into the professor's mind. He kept his presence unknown to Lucius, biding his time until the perfect moment, and then, in a daring move, he let his intrusion be known.

Lucius' eyes widened in shock, and Harry felt his occlumency walls slam up, but it was too late. Alarm quickly made itself present in Lucius' magic, and he quickly grabbed Draco and shoved him behind him, raising his wand at Harry, his eyes wide with fear and panic. Draco was startled, but he obediently allowed himself to be hidden behind his father's back.

“Who are you?!” Lucius practically screamed at Harry, his wand still pointed directly at him.

Harry felt a taunting smirk tug at his lips as he stared down the length of Lucius' pointed wand, feeling no fear whatsoever.

“What are you doing father?” Draco questioned quietly, sensing the tension and danger in the air.

“Quiet, Draco! Stay behind me,” Lucius hissed, his attention completely focused on Harry.

But Harry couldn't help himself, and he chuckled darkly, reveling in the thrill of the moment.

“Who am I? You know who I am, Lucius. I am Harry Potter. Lord Potter-Black-Peverell. The boy who lived. The saviour of the wizarding world. The prophesied destroyer of the Dark Lord. The golden child.”

Harry tilted his head to the side, his eyes glinting with a dangerous bloodlust.

“No. You can not be Harry Potter. Harry Potter isn’t a parselmouth, he isn’t a Slytherin, he isn’t this skilled with magic.” Lucius straightened his back, getting ready for a confrontation, tightening his grip on his wand.

Harry clicked his tongue and tutted, waving his hand and easily disarming Lucius of his wand. As he caught the wand mid-air, Harry spoke in a taunting voice.

“Such recklessness, Lucius. I expected better of you. Such Gryffindor behaviour is unbecoming of a man of your status.”

Harry relaxed his shoulders, letting a calm smile claim his face.

“Come, Draco. Time to get to class. Lucius, tell him I’d like a meeting, alright? Good day, Professor.” Harry levitated Lucius' wand over to his desk and they proceeded to exit the classroom, leaving Lucius to contemplate his fate. As they walked away, Draco couldn't help but glance back, noticing the unnatural paleness and stillness of his father, realizing that Harry had truly shaken him to his core.

Lucius, meanwhile, decided he needed to speak to his lord.

As night fell, Harry was nowhere to be found in the dormitory, his bed, or the common room. He had other plans for the night. He needed to speak with Death and see them, so he required a place to meditate and enter his mindscape. The room of requirement would suffice until he had time to renovate the chamber.

Perhaps he should explore the chamber? He didn't have time to do so in his previous life. Salazar Slytherin must have concealed more than just a basilisk down there... perhaps books and artifacts as well.

Requesting a replica of his gathering room at Peverell Castle from the room, Harry stepped inside and found exactly what he had asked for. He settled into his most comfortable armchair and got to work.

As he sunk deeper and deeper into his mind, he felt his consciousness connecting with Death's, but something was tugging at him. Something that refused to let him go, that didn't want him to leave. What the hell was that?!

With a sudden jolt, Harry was brought back to the surface, gasping for air.

“What just happened?” Harry whispers to himself. As he looked down at his hands he saw something glowing at his chest. The pendant, Tom's soul shard. It had pulled him back! How could it do that? It shouldn’t have a consciousness right now.

"Death, Kali," Harry called out through the legilimency connection he had with Death, knowing he wouldn't be able to see Kali.

"I'm here, Harry. I felt you approaching, but you left quickly. Why?" Kali asked, sounding puzzled.

"The pendant, his soul. It dragged me back... it's not supposed to do that, right?" Harry asked, his calm tone masking his inner turmoil. He didn't like the idea of the soul shard somehow controlling him.

Death hummed and fell silent for a moment.

"No, it's not supposed to do that. Horcruxes are fragments of the soul, not the consciousness. Even though the two are linked, the consciousness clings to the soul and remains with the main part. I suppose that if the horcrux was close enough to the main soul part, it could reconnect and mimic the appearance of its consciousness. This is all highly theoretical; I've never had to deal with the idiocy of humans..."

Death took a deep breath, and Harry remained silent as Kali spoke.

"The soul in the pendant was closely tied to the soul of the body you're presently inhabiting. Even if the body no longer has a soul, thanks to your journey into this world, the pendant still yearns for the prior soul. It could be attempting to link to your non-existent soul but encountering your consciousness instead..." Kali trailed off and fell silent.

"But why did it try to prevent me from seeing you?" Harry was a little baffled.

"It wanted to keep you, I suppose. Perhaps it became frightened when it sensed you drifting and tried to hold on to you. Either we need to create a new ward to block its influence, or we need to dispose of it... I'm still not sure what you plan to do with it," Kali's voice sounded hesitant, as if he didn't want to bring up the future.

Harry was at a loss for words. He had no plan for the soul shards, he just collected them aimlessly. Why did he even bother keeping them safe? Was it out of a sense of duty or responsibility? He couldn't quite put his finger on it.

But then he realized something. He didn't care about Voldemort, but he cared about Tom Riddle. He saw a reflection of himself in the younger boy, both growing up in similar circumstances. Harry knew that he and Tom could have easily ended up on the same path if it weren't for the manipulation of Dumbledore.

Harry felt an urge to save Tom Riddle. It was a sudden realisation, something he hadn't really thought about before. He wished someone had saved him in his darkest moments.

"I can't just destroy the soul shards," Harry said aloud, lost in thought. "We'll need to create a spell or something. Maybe a rune or a death marking? Do you have any that could work or that we can adapt?" he asked Kali.

Kali replied, "There are thousands of different markings, but only about a hundred are used for protection or enclosure. I'll have to do some research before we proceed. It's best if you keep the pendant in your pouch until we know how it affects you."

As Harry was about to leave, he brought up the topic of Draco. "You did something to him, didn't you?" Harry accused Kali.

He sensed Kali mentally cringe, which was strange. "I didn't hurt him or influence him too much. I simply made his feelings towards you more amenable. I let him feel a fraction of what he used to feel in your presence so he wouldn't hurt you."

Harry was disappointed. "Kali, you can't do that. He isn't my Draco, and he never will be. I want him in my life, but not like this. You need to stop influencing him."

"I stopped influencing him after the first week. What he feels now is his own emotions. He genuinely likes you, Harry," Kali said apologetically.

Harry let out a sigh and ran his hand through his hair. He was exhausted, and he still had a lot to do tonight. "Okay, thank you for your concern, Kali. But you can't do that to anyone else, understood? You haven't influenced anyone else other than Draco and Luna, right?" Harry asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

Kali reassured him. "No, I haven't. Luna is a seer, and she would have sensed your presence sooner or later. Your existence will change things, and those who are sensitive to magic will notice it."

Finally, Harry brought up the subject that had been on his mind for a while. "What happened to the Harry that occupied this body before me?" he asked Death hesitantly.

Death hesitated before answering, afraid of how Harry would react. "The previous Harry has left the world of the living and joined me in limbo. He hasn't passed on yet, still clinging to life desperately but unable to grasp it. For now, he's in limbo with the other lost souls, and I'm doing my best to guide him. But it will take some time before he can move on."

Hearing this only made Harry feel more conflicted. Would he have clung onto life if he had known what was to come? With what happened to him and his loved one in the future, would he still hold on to hope? Fifteen-year-old Harry would have, there was no doubt about it. He had been too stubborn and too desperate to do anything but force himself to keep living. Perhaps out of spite, but still, he wouldn’t have left willingly. Yet, he felt that this was a more merciful fate than what would have happened had young Harry stayed. Anyway, it wasn’t like he had chosen to be here; he was also forced into a situation he didn’t want to be in. He had no choice, and neither did young Harry. He would let it go for now and pray to the gods that Harry's soul would be able to move on soon.

“Thank you for telling me, Kali. I need to get going now so I can accomplish my task tonight,” Harry said, slightly conflicted about his feelings, but keeping a polite tone.

“Of course, my dear master. I will never lie to you. Goodnight, Harry. Have a fruitful hunt,” Kali replied, their amusement clear in their voice. They would enjoy watching Harry later tonight.

“Goodnight, Kali. I will.”

As he ended the conversation, Harry stood up and stretched. He had been sitting for a long time.

Time to get going, Harry thought, smirking venomously. This was going to be a fun night, he realised, as he stepped through the shadows.

Chapter Text

UNDERSECRETARY DOLORES UMBRIDGE FOUND DEAD: Suspected werewolf attack 

By Andy Smudgley 

On the evening of September 12th, Dolores Umbridge, Undersecretary to the Minister, was found dead in her home. This was no natural death, however, and Madame Umbridge is believed to have been murdered. We have confirmed with the head Auror, Amelia Bones, that this was not an ordinary death. Madame Bones had the following to say about the murder: "At first, we thought it was a straightforward murder, but closer inspection revealed what looked like claw marks on her body. We are currently operating under the hypothesis that a werewolf attacked. Although we think retaliation was the motivation, we can't be sure until the perpetrator or perpetrators are found." Madame Umbridge's primary responsibility at the Ministry was aiding Minister Fudge with various initiatives, however, Dolores had her own special interests in the Ministry regarding werewolves which is what might have led to her horrendous death...

How interesting, a werewolf attack. Although there had been no reports of planned attacks on Umbridge, he couldn't rule out the possibility that she was the target of a personal vendetta. Her work on the werewolf regulations was pretty gruesome, and coming from him that was significant. No matter, he didn't care if she died. She possibly might have made a good pawn, but her temperament made it impossible to even consider accepting her into the fold.

As he took a sip of his morning tea, he put down the copy of today's Prophet. He had more important things to focus his mind on, for instance, why hadn't Dumbledore been shouting from the rooftops that he was back? He must have his suspicions, and the old coot would have warned the public if he could. Wouldn’t he do anything for his greater good after all?

Despite how much Voldemort despises the old man, he knew even the coot had his set of principles, mostly the principle that he could make a difference in this world. However small, it would be for the greater good. And Voldemort hated the greater good, he didn’t believe in it. Many atrocities had been done in the name of the greater good. Yes, yes, how hypocritical of him to speak of atrocities when he had committed so many himself, but his had been done for a cause more justified than the broad notices that made up the wholeness of the greater good.

Dumbledore believed he could do no bad if it was in the belief of the greater good, for love and peace. He had stagnated the improvement of their world, and Voldemort would never forgive that. No matter how harsh the punishment, the cost of speaking out for the truth will always be less than the soul-damaging cost of silence. His soul had suffered already; he wouldn’t make it suffer more than necessary for the sake of greedy, misguided old men. Again he was aware he was one as well.

Voldemort’s darkness is different from Dumbledore's darkness in that he was able to acknowledge his own badness while Dumbledore is occupied with covering his mirror reflection with a white linen sheet. Voldemort's sins are different from his in that he's aware of them, whereas Dumbledore has been deceived by false beliefs he has created himself. Voldemort learned at a young age that dwelling in the dark sea of obscurity was what he needed to do, and that whatever creature might enter he would devour and rip the flesh from the bones and consume them. The darkness has been a home to him when he’d lacked the most basic of abodes; he knows in the dark, he is beautiful like no other, basking in the despair forced upon him. But Dumbledore is naive. His white rays battled to dispel the darkness, yet he was consumed by it. He sought to manipulate a world that existed long before humans, all while denying that he too had succumbed to it.

Voldemort, on the other hand, found solace in renunciation. He knew that doing so served a higher purpose beyond himself. He made no pretense of acting for the betterment of the world; he did it for his people and for the darkness being pushed to the depth of the ocean.

But the ones who made the greatest sacrifices were those who lost their lives in the war for the darkness. Though for the dead, the outcome of the war and the winner hardly mattered. They all make sacrifices, and tragic events occur frequently in their lives. Despite everything, Voldemort could always choose contentment. He saw no sense in feeling guilty for his part in anyone's death or suffering, nor for the pain he endured while being molded into the person he was now.

They decide for themselves what is right and wrong, good and evil. Voldemort believed, as he once told Harry Potter, that there was no good and evil, only power and those too weak to seek it. Some people abide by the law out of fear, while others do so out of a sense of duty. In his opinion, no light magic had the power to transform a "bad" person into a "good" one or save a "good" one from harm.

Dumbledore and Voldemort were polar opposites.

But what if evil wasn't real? What if man created it, leaving them powerless to overcome anything but their own limitations? The ongoing conflict between their desires, willpower, and decisions is what truly matters. The concept of good and evil is a construct created by the powerful as a means of control. No man has the power to decide what is good and evil, but Voldemort was no mere mortal. He didn't bend to the rules of men.

The soft sound of hissing brought him out of his spiraling thoughts. Lately, he had been able to focus more, but certain topics still clouded his mind.

"Master, what has you lost in thought?" Nagini inquired. If snakes could display concern, she certainly did.

"Nothing of importance, my dear," Voldemort breathed out. "We are expecting a guest soon, Nagini."

Nagini perked up. "One to eat?"

He huffed out a quiet laugh. Seeing as he was alone with only his dearest companion, he felt no need to hide. "No, unfortunately not. You shall have your treat later, Nagini."

A small, affectionate smile grazed his lips as he watched Nagini slither towards him. It dropped as soon as a quiet knock was heard at the door.

He had felt the presence approaching, but his magic was not up to par as it was before his fall. His connection to his magic was weakened. It was something he’d need to build up once more. The exercises were long-drawn and tedious, but they were extremely necessary if he planned on gaining the same amount of power as in the last war.

"Enter, Lucius," he said in an emotionless tone as he waved his hand and the door opened.

Lucius hurried in and dropped to his knees.

"My Lord, I bring news about Potter," Lucius spoke slowly, the nerves radiating off him and annoying Voldemort. Respect, loyalty, and obedience were what he wanted in his followers, not this insufferable weakling.

"Stand, Lucius, and proceed," Voldemort demanded.

Quickly standing, Lucius spoke in a clearer voice. "The child has been resorted to Slytherin, my lord, and has openly defied Dumbledore and his former friends."

Hands twitching and mind freezing, Voldemort remained silent for a moment.

"The children have been at the school for over a week, yes? Then why haven’t you reported this earlier?" he spoke in a tone that promised pain.

Lucius unconsciously started shaking and twitching, most likely remembering the consequences of his past mistakes. He dropped to his knees, head bowed forward.

"Forgive me, Lord. The old man has been keeping a very close watch on me. Every time I leave my chambers, I can feel the eyes watching me…" Lucius trailed off.

"What else haven’t you told me?" he asked with narrowed eyes.

"Before my first lesson with them, I went to look for Draco and saw the two of them together. Potter was speaking in Parseltongue to two snakes. I thought he was possessed, so I confronted him after class, seeing as my son could be in danger. I had my wand on him, but he didn’t falter in the least. He went through my mind, and he told me he was himself. Then he requested an audience with you, my lord."

Before Lucius could say anything else, his lord forced his way into his mind. Voldemort did not tell him what he was going to do; he was entirely focused on seeing this memory. Lucius had probably expected this sooner or later and had left his Occlumency walls down, so his lord had free access, and it wouldn't hurt as badly.

The more Voldemort watched, the more entranced he became. This child was strong and capable, a force to be reckoned with, and nothing like the child he had encountered at the graveyard. Potter had always been headstrong and fearless, and now it was confidence, seeing as he had the skills to back up his behavior. After watching the memory in the classroom, Voldemort proceeded to watch all memories he could find where Potter was present.

He needed to meet this new version.

He was intrigued.

This new child felt dark, way too dark to be natural.

He would agree to Potter's request for an audience. How could he not when this child could be useful? And if he wasn’t, well, it would be easier to kill him if he was near.

Thankfully, Lucius was free to leave later that evening with the only thing to show for his visit with his lord, a letter, instead of the usual rattling shakes and twitches. He had absolutely no idea what his lord had written in the letter and how he’d responded to Potter. The only instructions he’d been given were to observe Potter but otherwise remain out of his way. No direct contact with Potter was allowed unless he was about to betray them by telling others about them.

As he neared his chambers to retire for the night, he was surprised to see Draco by the door.

Why was he here? It was after curfew on a school night. As he neared, he saw the scrunched-up expression on his son's face. Draco looked concerned.

“Draco, what’s wrong?” Lucius asked quietly but somehow still startling Draco.

“Nothing, father. I just wished to see you. Let's talk in your chambers.” Draco rushed out.

They sat down on the sofa facing the fireplace together. Lucius looked over his son to make sure there were no physical injuries present. When he spotted none, he asked Draco once more what was wrong.

Draco huffed out a breath and spoke slowly as if not to upset his father.

“I’m not sure if I imagined it, but I felt an intrusion in my mind a week ago. No one was around, and I’m not sure what happened, but I can’t stop thinking about it. So, I need you to look at my Occlumency shields and make sure something isn’t wrong.”

Lucius had grown more and more concerned as Draco spoke, and quickly did as he asked. After thoroughly checking his son's mind, he did not come across anything alarming. The only thing of note was the rapidly growing emotions Lucius could feel towards Potter.

That was not ideal. If they ended up at war with the Light, what would Potter do? Join the Dark or the Light? If he chose to be against them, Draco would not be able to harm him. Draco was already a sensitive and kind-hearted soul; he would not harm those he considered friends. Where would that leave Draco? Stuck in between duty and love... Merlin, Lucius hoped his son wouldn’t fall in love with Potter.

It's not hard to make decisions when you know what your values are, but Draco was too young to have formed consistent values.

“Father, is everything alright?” Draco's voice brought him back from his drifting thoughts.

“Yes, Dragon, no issues. No foreign magics, no irregularities in your memories. I’m unsure what it was you felt,” Lucius tried to reassure Draco.

“Alright, thank you, Father. I must have imagined it… so where were you this evening?” Draco tilted his head questionably.

Lucius was unsure if he was allowed to tell his son about the meeting with his lord. Not that he would tell him anyway, as it was dangerous for him to know such information. He wouldn’t put his son in unnecessary danger.

“It’s not of importance, Draco... There is something you can do for me, however. Please deliver this letter to Potter, and utmost discretion is imperative.” Lucius reached into his robes pocket and retrieved a small, white, inauspicious letter.

Draco hesitantly reached for it.

“Of course, Father. I will get it to him.”

As Draco left his father and headed down to the Slytherin dorms, he consciously stopped himself from ripping the letter open and reading it.

Harry was not in the dorms when he arrived, which had become the norm lately.

By the time morning came, Harry was nowhere to be found. Draco had scoured the castle and come up empty. It was a Saturday, so thankfully no classes were held. After searching for what felt like hours -but was actually an hour- Draco called it quits and decided to wait for Harry. The sneaky new Slytherin always turned up at least once a day to tease him.

Harry, meanwhile, was busy experimenting with his newfound powers. Most nights for the past few weeks, he’d spent trying to control his magic - well, Death’s and his magic, to be precise. He’d practiced raising the dead, reading creatures' life force (he’d try humans later), and manipulating their development.

The only thing he was struggling with after weeks of solid practice, both during the summer and at Hogwarts, was manipulating their development. Now, one might ask, why the hell do you want to manipulate someone’s bodily development? Well, the short answer is if he mastered it, he could change someone’s physical age. Again, why would Harry need to do that?

Honestly, he just thought it would be fun to turn someone (cough, cough, Dumbledore or Snape) into a child.

But it would be useful for himself as well. He could age himself up permanently and not be stuck as a seventeen-year-old for the rest of his life as he’d been in the last. Right now, he was in the body of a fifteen-year-old, and Death had informed him that once he reached seventeen, it would stop aging, which would be annoying.

The process was slow, however. He’d managed to age a bird, but he’d no control over how much he aged it. He’d unfortunately aged it till it was nothing more than bones.

And making someone younger seemed even more daunting. Kali had said it required extreme control over how much magic you used to not do it too fast. So he needed to practice precision and patience with his magic.

Thankfully, he had a basic understanding of how to do that, and with the help of Kali, he’d come up with a good way to help him control even the smallest part of his magic.

He started by dulling all senses other than his magical sense, so his focus couldn’t drift, and he’d not be distracted. He’d use wandless, wordless magic as he summoned a big rock. Never moving a muscle, only controlling his magic with his will. He’d then force his magic to break it apart piece by piece until it was nothing more than fine dust. He’d then levitate each individual small grain of sand into different patterns. Levitating it over his head, around his body, into different shapes, and finally having it hover in front of himself to heat it up to the point it melted. As it remained hot, he’d shape it into different creatures. Once he was happy with his glass creation, he’d open his eyes and look. The first few ones didn’t turn out too great, but he’d really gotten the hang of it now. His latest creation was a beautiful Hungarian Horntail he’d planned on gifting to his dragon.

During his studies of death magic, he’d learned that while resurrection was frighteningly easy, it had consequences. First off, the person he’d resurrect would be tied to his person, forced to follow his will. Secondly, if he waited to resurrect someone after 48 hours of being dead, their body would be dead. They’d slowly feel themselves rot away in a broken body unable to leave this world, seeing as their soul was tied to his magic. Of course, he could release them by killing them, but it was dreadfully painful for him.

Well, whatever, not like he planned on using that particular skill.

As he returned to the common room, he was cornered by Draco as he took his first step into their dorms.

“Where have you been? I’ve been looking for you for ages!” Draco complained in an irritated voice.

“Ah, I was out hunting down the elusive giant squid in the lake.” Harry replied, sarcasm dripping from his voice. He could feel his lips twitch as he tried to keep his expression natural.

“Not funny, Potter. Here, take this.” Draco scowled at Harry, pressing a letter to his chest.

“Thank you, dear. I have something for you as well.” Harry handed Draco the miniature glass dragon he’d decided to animate to imitate a real dragon.

Draco carefully took the dragon into his hand as it flexed its wings, preparing to take off. Draco looked at it in amazement.

“Wow, where did you get this? It’s beautiful.” Draco whispered, his previous anger forgotten as he gazed in awe at the magnificent dragon sculpture.

Harry leaned in, his hand settling on Draco’s neck as he ran his thumb across Draco’s jawline. “I made it myself. A dragon for my dragon. Quite fitting, don’t you think?” Harry teased, his voice filled with fondness.

Draco blushed, a small smile gracing his lips. “Thank you,” he murmured softly, his eyes never leaving the beautiful sculpture.

Harry took Draco’s hand, bringing it to his lips and placing a gentle kiss on it. “You’re welcome, my Dragon,” he said with a grin.

Harry Potter,

Your request for an audience with me is intriguing, and so I will grant it.

Since it may be difficult for you to meet, I suggest you choose the time, and I will select the location.

Once you have made your decision, pass on the information to Lucius.

You are to come alone and not tell anyone of this meeting.

Lord Voldemort

Harry couldn't help but snicker to himself at the thought of Voldemort granting him the power to choose something. Was it bad that he was feeling a little excited? He had taken a gamble by reaching out to the Dark Lord, unsure of what kind of response he would receive. Yet here he was, intrigued by this new version of Voldemort, eager to learn what was different in this world and what the Dark Lord had planned. It was all out of curiosity, of course; Harry had no intention of saving the wizarding world from Voldemort again.

He longed to meet Voldemort as soon as possible, but knew it was not wise to meet in person. If he upset the Dark Lord, he would be met with the Cruciatus Curse - a tedious and painful experience, to say the least. Although there was nothing Voldemort could do to kill or seriously harm Harry, he didn't want their first meeting to be filled with curses and death threats. It was perhaps overly optimistic of Harry to expect otherwise.

Nevertheless, Harry had a plan to avoid a violent meeting. Later that evening, as Voldemort was drifting off to sleep, he felt a slight tug in his mind, which quickly turned into a strong pull that dragged him from his bed. He fell and fell, until his feet finally touched the ground once more. As panic began to set in, Voldemort forced himself to remain calm, assessing the situation logically. He reached for his wand, but it was nowhere to be found. He tried to access his magic, but it was blocked. Dread filled his being. What had happened? How did he get here?

This place was unsettling. It was different from anything Voldemort had ever experienced before. The room was hazy, distorted, almost like a dream. But he knew better. This was someone's dreamscape, and he was trapped in it.

He looked around, taking in the ordinary sitting room with its bland furnishings, empty bookshelf, and blank paintings. The window on the far wall offered no escape, as it was unnaturally dark outside. And without his magic, he felt utterly helpless.

But just as the fear began to turn to anger, another figure materialized across the room. Voldemort could not make out any distinct features, as if the person was shrouded in shadows.

"Who are you? Why have you brought me here?!" Voldemort demanded, his fury palpable.

Voldemort had always prided himself in being a person of cold logic, rational, never giving in to his emotions. Growing up in a unloved environment had forced him to adapt to his feeling having no importance to his circumstances. His control over his emotions had been near perfect during childhood and early teenage years but everything changed when he made his first horcrux. 

He knew he was risking his control, his mind but what choice did he have. Survive or die. Those were his options and as all humans do he chose to live even at the cost of a half life.

The shadowy figure replied in cold indifference, "Me? What does it matter, my name is buried and gone."

But Voldemort wasn't about to let him get away with that. "Soon you will be too if you don't answer my questions," he snapped back.

Meanwhile, Harry was having a mental breakdown. He had seen this person in Lucius' mind, but seeing him through someone else's memories was different. The man looked human, like Tom Riddle. And Harry could feel his resolve crumbling, feel the possessiveness and desire curling in his chest.

He didn't understand these feelings. They were consuming and empty, making him want everything and nothing all at once. He wanted to devour Tom, to touch him, to hurt him. He wanted to consume him until there was nothing left.

Seconds passed as Harry searched Tom's face for a reason for his blinding feelings. But he couldn't look away. He was utterly consumed by this man, and he didn't know what to do about it.

He is perfection.

What is this feeling?

“Found you.” Harry whispered to himself as he looked upon the most powerful dark wizard in the world (well, except for him).

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he cleared his throat sharply to focus.

“Why I have brought you here is simple: to talk. I asked for a meeting, and you granted one. Of course, this is probably not what you had in mind.” Harry couldn’t help but smirk.

“Harry Potter? Why can I not see you?” Voldemort seemed to be running through his options, deciding on the best course of action.

“Oh, my apologies.” Harry waved his hand, and the shadows receded.

Voldemort took his time studying Harry. The child certainly didn’t look like a child anymore. Seeing him through memories didn’t do Harry justice. He was startlingly beautiful, too perfect to be natural. His eyes were his most prominent feature, a chilling killing curse green that Voldemort couldn’t take his eyes off. He didn’t recall the boy having such striking eyes. He wanted to spoon them out of his head and keep them in a jar on his shelf to look at whenever he wanted.

The memories of the boy in the graveyard could not be compared to this Harry Potter. The changes were too severe to truly understand. How did this change come about? What had happened while he was missing during the summer? A few months were not enough to change a person so fully. Perhaps the child he’d seen in the graveyard had been the fake, but again, he wasn’t convinced. The child had displayed genuine fear, and as he looked into his mind, briefly, he felt no deceit. Only time would tell, and Voldemort had never been one for patience, but to solve this mystery, perhaps he could be.

“This is not what I agreed to, Potter,” Voldemort hissed at him.

Neither had moved a meter since they arrived, as if an unspoken rule was set between them to keep as much distance as possible.

Harry broke that rule when he took a step forward, heading towards the armchair.

“I’m aware, Voldemort, but I’m also aware that if we had this conversation in real life, it would end in death.” Harry said as he sat down.

“I wanted to keep this conversation…friendly. And worthwhile.” Harry spoke, leaning back, looking all too casual.

Voldemort couldn’t help but scoff. “Friendly? No. Productive? Perhaps. How about you tell me what has changed? The golden boy wouldn’t willingly drag the Dark Lord into his mind.”

Harry contemplated the question, not rising to Voldemort's bait. It was probably best to start at the beginning. So, in his best storytelling voice, Harry proceeded to tell a story.

“Long ago, this naive fool of a man set about devising a new era. The fool dreamt of bringing forth the light into the world. But instead, he created me.”

Voldemort frowned at Harry, irritation clear in his features. “Do not taunt me, Potter!”

“I am not, fine fine. What has changed for me is simple: I want the old man dead," Harry spoke in a sharp voice with anger coating his words.

"Now, what has Dumbledore done to anger his precious savior?" Voldemort seemed to find that particularly funny, his emotions switching too fast for Harry to follow.

"His grievances against me are far too many, so I shall tell you just the main ones. Firstly, he did the same thing to me as he did to you and Snape, leaving me with abusive Muggles knowing they were abusive. Secondly, once I arrived in the wizarding world, he put compulsions on me and potioned me to make me easier to control. Thirdly, he has raised me like a pig for slaughter, seeing as I have to die in order for you to die." No emotion was present in Harry's voice; he had long since come to terms with what happened to him.

Voldemort, however, was stunned. The old coot had left him with abusive Muggles, potioned him, and planned his death. Dumbledore was even more despicable than Voldemort remembered. That the man had done that to his own people... he needed to die.

"Some men are not meant for life. It is better if they're struck down where they stand. Some men don't deserve to be alive. It might be unjust for me to make that decision, but I have made it, and the world will be a better place without Dumbledore in it," Harry voiced his thoughts exactly.

Perhaps they had more in common than Voldemort previously believed. He wanted to know if they had more things in common. Potter had wished to keep this conversation friendly, and who was he to deny such a request?

"I am curious about your thoughts on Muggles," Tom asked, leaning forward as if to better hear Harry's answer. He had finally decided to sit down.

If Harry was surprised by the sudden change in topic, he didn't show it. Harry took his time considering the question. Finally, with a nod of his head as if he had decided something for himself, he answered.

"I believe humanity, as a whole, is evil to the core. And I believe that if I choose to, I have the right to destroy them all."

"What happened to make the golden boy turn into such a bitter, cynical person? A person who hated humanity so much he would rather destroy it than see it thrive? Despite the wrongdoing done to you, I thought you'd be a kind-hearted person."

While very intrigued by this side of his prophesied enemy, Voldemort did his best to appear casual.

Harry looked into Voldemort's eyes, no emotion displayed on his face and eyes as cold as ice, he chose not to answer the last statement. He'd show Voldemort what kind of person he was.

"Who said I hate them? I pity them. But their existence has no bearing on my own. They do not matter. They are expendable. Inessential. If they become an annoyance, I will obliterate them."

"Such a hero," was spoken sarcastically by Voldemort.

Harry finally smiled. Not a nice happy one, but a small, bitter smile.

“Don’t you think hero’s become the best villains? Heroes die heroic deaths but the hero that survives long enough becomes the villain. And besides, the role of the villain is only decided by who tells the story and this is my story.”

“So if this is your story as you say, you don’t see yourself as the villain?” Voldemort asked, honestly too curious to stop himself from asking questions.  

Harry laughed.

“Of course I’m the villain. I’m not the hero that saved the world. I am the villain who survived it. I’m not proud of all I did but I would do it again, does that not make me the villain? I think it does.”

“Everything we hear is an opinion, not a fact. Everything we see is a perspective, not the truth.” Was said quietly as if Voldemort was uncertain if he wanted Harry to hear him. Harry heard. 

“Quoting muggles now are we, how unexpected.” 

“Well you are not the only one with hidden depth.” 

Was Voldemort joking? How curious. 

“Hidden depth? Nothing about me is hidden. I’m as open and truthful as anyone else.” Harry’s lips twitched upwards slightly.

Voldemort would have rolled his eyes if it wasn’t so uncultured. 

“What a double meaning. As truthful as anyone else. No one is truthful or as truthful as they pretend to be and truth is rarely pure and simple enough to be considered the whole truth.” Voldemort was getting more comfortable, Harry noted, he’d relaxed back in his seat. Or at least that was what he wanted Harry to think, it was difficult to tell with Voldie. 

Harry smirked. “When everyone agrees to the same lie it becomes the truth…However much I like discussing philosophy with you perhaps now is not the time. There are, after all, more important matters that we need to discuss.”

"Heroes becoming villains, the role of the villain being decided by who tells the story...I must admit, I find your perspective on this quite intriguing," Voldemort said, leaning forward in his seat.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "I'm glad you find my worldview entertaining, but that doesn't change the fact that I'm the villain in this story."

The Dark Lord chuckled. "Ah, but who gets to decide who the villain is? Society? History? The victors?"

Harry's lips curved into a wry smile. "I suppose you have a point. But that still doesn't absolve me of my actions. I've done things that most people would consider evil."

"Ah, but that's where it gets interesting, doesn't it?" Voldemort leaned back in his chair, his crimson eyes glittering with amusement. "The definition of good and evil is subjective. What some may consider evil, others may see as necessary. It all depends on your point of view."

Harry's smile faded. "I don't know if I agree with that. Killing innocent people, torturing others...I can't justify those actions, no matter what the circumstances were."

"Ah, but there's the rub. Can any of us truly claim to be completely innocent? We all have blood on our hands, one way or another."

Harry's expression turned cold. "Don't try to justify what I've done. I know what I am."

Voldemort chuckled. "I'm not justifying anything, Potter. I'm simply pointing out that there's more to morality than black and white. But enough about that. What else do you wish to discuss?"

Chapter Text

A few days had passed since their meeting and still Harry could not get it out of his mind. Well more like he couldn’t get him out of his mind.  

All extremes of feelings are allied with madness and he makes Harry feel the most extreme of all, always had. Before it had been rage now it was something else, something he didn’t understand. 

Where these feelings came from was unknown, the second he laid eyes on him this thirst became insatiable. He craved him, breathed him, saw only him and now he wished their souls touched again.

It was an obsession. The overwhelming need to be close, so close, he wished he could melt into him, absorb him and walk around with him encased in his skin forever. Harry felt like he was going insane.

And this obsession wasn’t going away either, Harry could feel it, as they meet more often it will only grow. It’s only getting stronger, more addictive as the days without him pass. The more time he spent without him the more he realized his feelings were not shallow, they ran deeply. The only question was on what level they ran, emotionally, sexually, romantically? 

Voldemort was undeniably attractive in his current form but physical attraction could not account for what he was feeling. Sexually, of course he wanted him. It left him burning and churning inside to imagine such a situation but at the same time it left this disgusting taste in his mouth to submit to such desires. To be controlled by such human weaknesses, he would not crumble under the tension of sexual desire. He wouldn’t. 

Was this the horcrux influence? He did still wear it around his neck everyday…but no. His magic would have burnt it to pieces had it tried to corrupt his mind. No one could get that close. 

So if not for the horcrux then what? He did not understand. These feelings were new in the way they presented themselves. The obsession had always been there but it had taken the form of hatred and loathing now it took the shape of attachment. Should he suffocate these feelings or let them burn?

What was it Luna told him once upon a time: “Emotions that are suppressed never go away. They are buried alive and will eventually reappear in more repulsive ways.”

What she said was of course true. Harry knew that pushing it down would only make it hurt more in the end. He had after all suppressed his feelings regarding the ministry and look what happened to his Draco and later what Harry had done to them in return.

No, suppressing them would do no good. But acting on them was inexcusable. 

He needed to seek out Luna. Fortunately he didn’t need to look far seeing as she was waiting outside the common room door. 

“How’d you even know where the Slytherin common room is?” Harry questioned but was not really surprised to see her here.

Luna smiled mysteriously at Harry.

“The nargles told me. They also told me you needed to see me?” Luna tilted her head to the side and got a far away look in her eyes.

Harry suspected Kali was the one to tell her.

“Yes, let’s head to ROR and talk there.” 

Harry asked the room for the Ravenclaw common room, he was curious to see if it looked the same as the last time he’d seen it. It did.

As they settled into the sofa beside each other, Luna was the one to break the silence.

“Kali told me you have a bit of a dilemma..?” Luna’s eyes were weirdly focused.

“I met with Voldemort but I guess you know that… I was surprised to see him so sane and…and human looking.” Harry chose his words carefully.

Luna just smiled at him knowingly.

“Yes he is quite the handsome man if you disregard the inside. Only surprised were you? You felt nothing else?”

Harry let out a deep breath. There was no hiding from Luna, especially not when Death was helping her.

“You’re too perceptive little moon. But yes his appearance was very…pleasing to look at. He brought out a side of me I am unfamiliar with.” Harry spoke solemnly.

“What did he make you feel, Harry?” Luna asked.

“Obsession, attachment… desire…I did not like it.” His brows unconsciously pulled together in annoyance at himself.

“No I suppose you wouldn’t…” Luna leaned back and looked towards the ceiling. “Harry you must understand the two of you are connected regardless of how much you try to separate yourself from him. What is between you is undeniable. Fate has brought you together once more but it’s your choice what happens next.” 

“What if I-I don’t want anything to happen between us?” Harry questioned.

“It won’t, it’s your decision but I suggest you stay away from him if that’s what you want.” Luna looked back at him as she spoke.

“I don’t know what I want. I still want to meet with him. See what he has planned and what kind of person he is with more of a soul.” Harry confessed, concerned for his own sanity.

Luna tilted her head to the side. “More of a soul?”

“Oh yea, it’s just a theory but I think he’s absorbed some of his soul. I’m not sure how but the most likely theory is he used the diary somehow. It’s the only explanation I can think of that would account for his new-found sanity and human appearance.” 

“Hmm I see. So you want to meet him to confirm this theory amongst other things?” Luna smiled, no judgment in her eyes.

Harry nodded. 

“Then you meet with him again. You wait and see and decide after meeting with him if you want to see him again. Take it day by day. No need to rush.” Luna spoke kindly. 

Harry knew Luna would know what to do, she was wise beyond her years. Harry leaned over and pulled her to his side, hugging her. 

“Thank you my moon, you are truly amazing. Now let’s go see Hedwig, I feel really bad I forgot about visiting her. I’ve gotta bring a lot of treats to make it up to her.” 

A month had gone by quickly at Hogwarts and a week had passed since Voldemort and Harry’s meeting and Harry planned to see him again soon. 

He had given Voldemort time to process what he’d told him before. Voldemort hadn’t been too happy when Harry said he would never join the death eaters and that he would sooner kill them all than join them. 

Hopefully Voldemort had forgotten that particular part of their meeting and wouldn’t be too angered still… well he’d have to make a tactical plan for their next meeting. But that has to wait until after class. 

Classes were going as usual, way too easy and anything but stimulating. He’d easily impressed the teachers seeing as he had more experience than any of them. He’d perfectly performed all the spells on his first try (what they thought was his first try) and knew all the theory by heart.  

The teacher had at first questioned if he was somehow cheating but after testing him plenty of times by asking him unprompted questions that he answered perfectly they seemed to decide he simply hadn’t tried in previous years or that he’d hidden his talents. 

Now Harry was by no means stupid when he was younger, his mind simply hadn’t developed properly thanks to his relatives loving care. But even when he was properly developed and in the best shape of his life his intellect had only been slightly above average. Thanks to years of studying, experience and potions and spells he’d invented to sharpen his mind, he’d become what most would describe as a genius. Of course he never felt this way himself, he was just old and had had more time than most. Not that they knew that. 

With his new-found genius status Granger had become a huge annoyance. So far she’d just thrown disrespectful remarks his way or told the professors he was cheating so he had tolerated it. But as the DADA class ended, where he had dominated, she was apparently not able to keep quiet anymore.

Harry was just on his way out with his new friends when she called out his name. 

“HARRY JAMES POTTER STOP RIGHT THERE!” Everyone stopped at her shouting but Harry decided it was best to ignore her, he wasn’t allowed to though seeing as she grabbed his arm harshly. 

“Let go of my arm Granger or you will no longer be able to use that hand.” Harry warned her. Apparently the underlying threat wasn’t unheard and she quickly let go.

She looked shocked at his tone but a moment later she had gathered herself and wore a determined expression. 

“How are you cheating? You need to stop! It’s unfair to the other students who are actually smart!” She spoke in a superior voice as if there was no one else that was as smart as her.

Harry quickly lost his temper and his grip on his magic. The air became so cold the students started to shiver and rub their hands and arms.

“Are you so stupid you can’t even comprehend the fact that others are more intelligent than you? You are nothing special Granger. What you know you have memorized from books. Being able to read does not make you clever Granger. Quoting other people and having no idea how to form your own opinions and conclusions doesn’t make you superior. You are nothing.” Harry spoke in a cold indifferent voice, looking her right in the eye.

Then he lifted his chin and looked down at her with a smug smirk on his lips.

“Besides you’re not even top of any class, my friends and I hold that honour.” 

Hermione looked close to tears as she opened her mouth to yell once more but before she got the chance she was interrupted.

“Do tell what kind of evidence you have that Mister Potter is cheating. You wouldn’t go around spewing out unfounded accusations now would you, Miss Granger?” Lucius stepped out from the corner, most likely having been listening in the whole time.

She seemed to unconsciously straighten her back in the presence of a professor. Harry would have scoffed if he didn’t think doing that now would be unwise.

“Of course not professor, I know he is cheating because no one gets that good that quickly. He must be cheating, it's the only logical explanation. I don’t know how he does it, maybe a memory charm or an illusion spell making whatever source he uses to answer the questions invisible to us but I know he’s doing something!” Hermione ranted, was she so frustrated she didn’t even notice that she actually was only spewing out unfounded accusations?

Lucius seemed to agree with him. “Those are not facts, Miss Granger. They are assumptions. Mister Potter has upped his grades thanks to motivation and hard work. Plenty of professors have tested it themselves so if you don’t wish to accuse the staff of being incompetent fools who are being deceived by a 15 year old I suggest you keep those thoughts to yourself. And the next time I hear you bad mouthing Mister Potter it will be a week of detention. For now, 20 points from Gryffindor.” 

Lucius tried to keep the sneer of his face but Harry could see his lips twitching and brows spasm. 

Harry tried to contain his own smirk. 

Granger was dumbfounded, for being as smart as she claimed she could be idiotically naive. 

Her mouth pressed together as if to stop herself from arguing, at least she knew when she had lost. She quickly turned on her heels with a furious glare Harry's way and left. 

Harry looked at Lucius who felt eyes on him and looked back before remembering what happened the last time he looked into the demon child’s eyes. 

“Thank you professor, how very noble of you to come to my rescue.” Harry teased in a low voice, emphasising the word professor making Lucius feel like Potter wanted to call him something else. 

Lucius was slightly unnerved but was doing an admirable job at not showing his discomfort at Harry’s tone. 

The rest of the surrounding Slytherins could do nothing but observe the weird dynamic between the student and professor.

“Well yes- it’s-it is my job to protect the students. I shall be on my way now, I have a class to teach.” Lucius chose to ignore the obvious stutter and quickly retreated but not before he heard Harry call out after him.

“Until later, Lucius.” 

Harry had been at Hogwarts for a while now and it had been both great and utterly boring to be back. He had missed the magic and the feeling he got in the school but having to be around the people almost didn’t make it worth it. 

Almost. 

But Hogwarts had more to offer and Harry had been taking advantage of that for the past month. The Room of requirement and the chamber of Salazar Slytherin were his main focuses. 

Now that he had gained unlimited access to the Slytherin common room he had looked relentlessly for another way leading to the chamber. Salazar must have created a different path than one going through a girls bathroom. So far Harry had found nothing on the upper levels of the common room but he had a growing suspicion Salazar had placed the other entrance in their communal bathroom. 

As midnight approached Harry laid in bed and was reading his latest book from the chamber. One on the difference between using the latin variations of spell incantations versus parseltongue in relation with the latin incarnation of spells. It stated that by combining the two languages the opponent would be helpless to the spells, not being able to counter nor understand. Harry had learnt of this before but still it was an interesting read. It was fascinating to see it written from the perspective of an actual parselmouth, the ones he had read before had only been theoretical hypotheses done by non parselmouths. 

“Master, we found something.” Harry looked down and saw Nyx climbing up the end of the bed.

“What have you found my dear?” Harry asked. 

Settling around Harry’s shoulder Nyx spoke. “We found an empty space behind one of the walls in the hot room. Selene is exploring it. Come.” Nyx demanded and Harry obliged.

Entering the “hot room” or what most referred to as the showers, Harry followed Nyx. 

“Here master.” She had stopped before an normal looking wall just to the left of the shower stalls. 

“Open.” Harry hissed and the wall slid open with a grinding sound. Harry cringed, hopefully no one heard that.

Casting a couple of detection charms on the opening to make sure nothing would hinder him. There was nothing, all parselmouths were so stupidly sure that no one but their descendants would be able to enter. 

Following the dark corridor down and down and down, Harry came upon stairs and at the bottom of them, a door.

“Open.” But it didn’t.

Hmm, what could it be? Harry reached out with his magic and felt blood wards. Oh that’s kinda annoying. Maybe blood wasn’t needed, magic might be enough. Harry grabbed the pendant hanging around his neck. Thankfully Death had put some death markings combined with runes on it so it couldn’t leach off of him anymore but that didn’t stop Harry from leaching off of its magic. 

Pulling some of Tom's magic into his palm, Harry pushed it at the door. Thankfully Tom's connection to his family magic was strong and could bypass the blood ward. 

What lay inside was magnificent. Books as far as Harry could see and old parchments spread out on the nearby desk and armchair. Yes, this would be a great night.

The next morning came all too quickly and Harry grumpily left the library/office. Throwing some refreshing charms on himself and transfiguring his robes to new ones. Harry was not looking forward to the day of classes.

Dropping into the seat next to Draco, Harry grabbed some hot tea.

“Where have you been Potter?” Pansy inquired, too curious to keep quiet.

“Out fighting your father.” Harry drawled, not really caring if she heard or not.

“What?!” Pansy shrieked.

Harry couldn’t help the tiny smirk. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Pansy.”

Pansy narrowed her eyes and spoke with fake anger. “You’re a daft cunt Potter.”

The chuckle that left Harry’s lips was unintentional but it made her smile as well.

“What got you in such a mood this morning?” Blaise teased.

“Didn’t get much sleep last night.” Harry leaned back with a smug smile in place, trying to imply more fun than what actually happened.

Blaise’s smile widened at the implication. “Oh, did someone get lucky last night?” 

“I’m not one to kiss and tell.” Harry spoke in a low honeyed voice. 

Blaise looked over at Draco but saw no other emotion in his eyes other than mild discomfort which was surprising. He’d expected Draco to be jealous and upset, maybe he’d misjudged their relationship. 

Harry followed Blaise’s gaze and threw an arm over Draco’s shoulder leaning into his side. His lips were a breath away from Draco's ear as he spoke.

“Don’t worry Dragon, you’re still my favourite.” Harry spoke in a husky voice meant to tease Draco.

“Are you trying to make me blush Harry?” Draco asked, completely unfazed with Harry’s attempt. Harry needed to step up his game apparently.

“You do blush so prettily darling.” Harry smirked at him, keeping intense eye contact. 

“If you two are done flirting, we have a proposition for you Harry.” Theo spoke up.

Harry turned back to the whole group and continued to eat his breakfast, it was important to eat enough if he wanted to keep this physic. 

“Well, call me intrigued. What do you propose Theo?” 

“It’s no secret you're the best seeker in the school and whilst we have a seeker, Draco has so generously offered to step down from the position of seeker and become a chaser if you decide to join the team.” Theo spoke loud enough for the whole table to hear him, purposefully, Harry was sure.

“Whilst it is a most generous offer I’m afraid I’ll have to decline. It’s going to be a very busy year with the OLWs, not even accounting for my own projects and I would just not be able to dedicate the time to the sport that it deserves.” Harry honestly didn’t have much interest in participating in quidditch. If he had to play against school children, it would be much too easy.

The students at the table let out disappointed sighs at Harry’s announcement. 

“However I’d been more than happy to train with you, my dragon, from time to time and I’ll even agree to be the backup seeker if I’m excused from participating in practices.”

Flint, who was the captain, agreed. 

The human race's avarice strikes Harry as weird. As long as they believe they can get what they want from you, people will like you. Or for however long they believe you to be the person they want you to be. But Harry has learnt to enjoy interacting with people because of all the unpredictable changes they bring, the thoughts they have, the warmth that turns into cold, and the cold that turns into warmth. People are the worst of beings yet they desire each other. 

Lucius was dreading this meeting. He’d gone against orders and he knew there would be a price to pay. He wasn’t even sure why he’d helped Potter. The boy could clearly handle himself. 

But getting on Potter's good side could only be positive. 

He hoped his Lord saw it this way.

“Enter Lucius.” Lucius hadn’t even had time to knock yet, it seems the dark lord was in a hurry. Was that good or bad for Lucius?

Dropping to his knees the second the door closed he saw the Dark Lord was standing by the window, overlooking the garden.

Lucius dared a glance at his face, hoping to catch a glimpse of what painful future awaited him but instead of anger he saw his lord frowning and looking deep in thought.

His lord had never displayed his feelings so casually. It made Lucius even more apprehensive.

“Speak Lucius.” Was said in a short clipped tone.

“My Lord, I spoke to the Potter boy today. It was not planned, my Lord and I beg for your mercy.” Lucius pleaded, he knew he looked pathetic right now.

Finally Voldemort looked towards his follower and walked hastily towards him.

“Show me.” That was all the warning Lucius got before Voldemort forced his way into his mind. At least this time his Lord had warned him.

After resurfacing Voldemort looked conflicted. 

Potter seemed to have positive feelings towards Lucius which, while displayed earlier, Voldemort had taken into account as false. Now they seemed genuine, at least in the way that Lucius amused Potter. It was clear as day that Potter was just playing with Lucius but still it could be useful for his followers to assert himself into Potter's life.

It would certainly give him more information on the brat. And after their last meeting Voldemort needed to be more prepared.

He had been completely blindsided by the prompt method of summoning him and he was still not able to understand how the boy had done it. 

It needed more consideration. The boy shouldn’t be powerful enough to do any kind of mind magic. Perhaps it had been dark magic but Voldemort doubted Potter had enough control to use it.

He was brought back from his thoughts as the door slowly opened and Nagini came slithering in. Lucius stiffened immediately upon noticing her entrance.

“Master, why are you in a bad mood?” Nagini hissed.

“We shall talk about it later.” Voldemort hissed back with finality.

“Lucius, you will endear yourself to the Potter boy and gain his trust. Any information you receive you will bring to me, understood?”

“Yes, my Lord.” Lucius said quietly, quickly retreating as Voldemort dismissed him.

“Now then master, what did the trembling blonde say?” Nagini picked up the conversation as Lucius left.

“Nothing of importance my dear, I saw a memory of Potter and it made me think.” Voldemort leaned back in the chair by the desk and let out a breath. 

“Has the boy shaken you so?” He imagined she was trying to show concern.

“My stubbornness prevents me from ever allowing myself to be shaken by another person's will. Every time someone tries to intimidate me, my determination always increases.” Voldemort didn’t mind sharing his feelings with Nagini, it was not like she could or would tell anyone.

“Still it means the boy affects you enough to destabilise your mood, in a positive or negative way would you say?” Nagini had once upon a time been a human and it showed in the way she was able to express herself and understand human emotions. She was, however, a slave to the instinctive nature of a snake.

“Positive or negative? Neither I would say. You are right in that he upsets the balance of my emotions. After my return they have been unstable on their own and he affects me. Still I wish to see him again, he has become a rather interesting character and as you know I rarely feel interest for another human.” Voldemort spoke in a modulated tone. 

“Then you shall see him again.” It wasn't a question that Nagini voiced, it was a fact.

“Yes.”

Harry had ditched the gang as they all left the great hall after dinner. He wanted some time alone to gather his thoughts for tonight’s meeting.

As he came up the stairs planning to go to the ROR he came face to face with four sixth year Gryffindors he recognised from the quidditch team. They did not look happy.

“So I heard you joined up with the snake team Potter, isn’t it enough you betrayed the whole house now you have to join their quidditch team as well!?” One of the idiot boys practically yelled.

Gods, why did all teenagers have to be such drama queens. 

Harry leans in, eyebrows scrunched and eyes concerned. “Do you need a time out?”

Harry thought he was hilarious but the idiots didn’t seem to agree. Their faces had gone even more tense, their jaws clenched and their eyes promised pain. 

“You think you are funny Potter!?” One of the boys roared, what was his name-John-Johnny- Jones! Right, a muggleborn. 

“You’re pathetic, you’ll come crawling back to us, begging to be a Gryffindor again.” The short one Harry didn’t know the name of hissed at him, looking at him with a rage filled glare.

“Well, that was hurtful. I was going to give you a nasty look, but I see that you already have one." Harry continued to joke around, not taking them seriously. 

Harry was certain they were gonna throw curses at him but he wouldn’t attack first. They were still children and Harry didn’t tend to enjoy hurting children but he wouldn’t let anyone walk all over him.

“Shut up freak! You’ll quit the team or there will be consequences.” Jones could barely speak from how tightly he was clenching his jaw. His hand twitched as if he wanted to curse him.

Harry lost some of his amusement at that word. No one had been allowed to call him that in years and get away with it. 

“Why so concerned about me potentially having joined my house team? So afraid of losing? Where’s your courage, Lions?” Harry had a malicious smile on his lips and wide eyes that made him look slightly crazed.

Harry felt the shift in their magic, it was rising to the surface, reacting to his threatening magic in the air. 

He took a step forward and they backed up a step on instinct. Harry couldn’t help but smile at their fear, it was such a wonderful feeling to be the most powerful in the room, well universe.

The one who was yet to speak did so now. “Back off Potter or we'll be forced to teach you a lesson!” 

His voice was trembling slightly but Harry could see he didn’t know why. Like most teenagers, these boys had no control over their magic and could not understand what it was they were sensing. Their body’s reacting instinctively without their control. They did not know how to sense another’s magic, they could not see the threat that was in front of them.

“Teach me a lesson? I’m sure that will be fun for you.” The low cold tone he used made the hairs on the back of their necks stand and Harry could see them tense. 

Before one of them could react Harry, without them noticing, put up a disillusionment charm around the area and a ward meant to make people forget why they were going that way and turn back. He didn’t want to be interrupted.

The boys glanced at each other before turning back to Harry with a determined expression. 

The first spell was expected, what was not expected was how incredibly weak it was. Were they distracted by his magic or were they just this weak?

Harry didn’t need to move a muscle to put up a light shield that easily repelled the spell. 

They seemed to become more encouraged by their failure however and kept throwing weak spells at him simultaneously. 

It was so frustratingly boring Harry didn’t even bother throwing back any spells at them. He just kept his shield up and walked slowly towards them. 

More spells were thrown as he neared. They were trying to step up their game but their magic was already draining and Harry knew they couldn’t keep going for much longer. They backed up as Harry neared, shouting at him to fight back, that he was a coward, a traitor, a backstabber, pretty much all they could think of. Perhaps hoping to distract him. 

Not that it would work.

He’d heard much worse.

However much Harry liked a good chase and however fun it was to play with your food, they were just to pathetic to really bother with.

Raising his hand and closing his fist, their knees gave out and they collapsed to the ground. Two of them were still throwing curses at him whilst the other two trembled. Harry waved his hand and the wands came flying out of their hands into his. 

Still on their knees and unable to get up, Harry neared once more.

“So how do you think that went? Did you teach me a lesson, lions?” Tilting his head to the side as if confused but his face was blank.

No one spoke, instead the two “brave” ones glared. 

Enough fun.

Harry put them all under the tickling charm, what most people didn’t take into consideration is that all spells could be deadly if you want them to be. Take the tickling charm for instance, whilst appearing innocent, one only needed to add more strength and hold it for longer and the victim would slowly suffocate and the light tickling would feel like needles stabbing into you all over your body. 

Harry quite liked this charm.

Having them under the spell until they were begging for him to stop, seeing the tears streaming down their cheeks and their lips becoming blue was beautiful. 

As he stopped the spell they all took a staggering breath and curled into themselves, not being able to speak or breath properly.

Harry gave them a minute to collect themselves.

They glanced up at Harry with fearful wet eyes and Harry’s smile was sadistic. His eyes were glowing in an eerily similar way to the killing curse. 

Them at his feet, powerless, helpless, it made such a lovely picture. 

But all fun must come to an end.

Before leaving Harry took precautions against them spilling his secrets to anyone else. They wouldn’t be able to speak of what he did or said to them but they could warn others that Harry was dangerous and should be avoided.

Prefect.

Now hopefully word would spread not to mess with him.

But if it didn't, Harry wouldn’t really mind, he could have some more fun.

Chapter Text

People were avoiding him so his plan had worked. Word had spread that messing with Harry would not be a good idea. And he couldn’t be happier about it. 

By now the whole school had heard some version of the story and whilst Gryffindor and Hufflepuff seemed to look at him with fear and suspicion, Ravenclaw and Slytherin looked at him with confusion and awe. He didn’t mind the looks seeing as no one was brave enough to confront him about it.

He didn’t even mind the hate he saw in the eyes of his former friends. He hated them as well, it was only fair the hatred was mutual. 

So far the old man hadn’t summoned him or tried to force an encounter, that wouldn’t last though. The coot would hear about it sooner rather than later and if he didn’t infer personally he would send his lackeys on Harry.

Harry knew the old man had his own set of morals and rules, principles he was a stickler for. Everything he did, he did for his version of the greater good. A more forgiving person would perhaps pity the fool who’s so stuck in his ways he couldn’t even understand that crimes committed in the name of the greater good were still crimes. Harry was no longer a forgiving and understanding person. He had given everything for others and he would no longer suffer for the sake of them. 

Is it selfish or instinctual for someone to care about their own well-being? Harry wasn't the kind of person to sacrifice himself for the greater good, well not anymore, and most people wouldn't either. Only those with self-destructive tendencies would willingly die for a cause such as the supposed greater good. It's a personal decision influenced by upbringing, beliefs, and values and Harry’s didn’t fit into the box that Dumbledore had spent Harry’s whole life trying to force him into. 

Harry would judge Dumbledore. He would sentence him and then finally execute him. Death was certainly not a mercy when Harry was involved but still it was too quick, too easy for Harry to be satisfied. No, before moving on to the next existence, the old coot would lose everything he valued in this one.

And what he valued most was his reputation. One’s reputation is incredibly valuable and can have a significant impact on their success and influence, Dumbledore had certainly built it up carefully. Everything he’d done in public had been to gain his oh so great reputation and he’d guarded it with his life so far. In Harry’s last life Dumbledore had willingly thrown it out for the sake of the greater good but perhaps he’d assumed he’d gain it back ten fold once the truth of Voldemort's return was revealed. To win the war the importance of maintaining a positive reputation by carefully managing one's actions, behaviors, and relationships with others is imperative. A good reputation can help to build alliances, gain trust and respect, and increase one's power and influence. Conversely, a bad reputation can damage one's credibility, limit opportunities, and make it difficult to achieve success. That’s where Harry would hit first. Start with small rumours first and watch the cracks form, then throw the last rock and watch it all shatter.

Harry could feel his thoughts spiralling into the dark. It had been happening too often since his arrival in this world. 

He needed to shift his focus to something else before his magic started reacting to his dark thoughts. 

The first thing that came to mind was Voldemort. He should be a sore spot for Harry as well but somehow wasn’t. Despite him having tried to kill Harry plenty of times and actually succeeding once, Harry held no unforgiving feelings towards the Dark Lord. Unlike Dumbledore, Voldemort hadn’t planned out his whole childhood, wrapped his personality to the point Harry didn’t even know who he was and he’d never tried to control Harry. Voldemort's sins had only been those of threat and murder attempts, something Harry could understand himself. He certainly committed his own sins after the death of Voldemort. And in the end had it not been Harry who killed Voldemort? That made them even in Harry’s books.

The meeting he had planned with Voldemort had been postponed after his run in with the Gryffindors. A few days had passed since then, perhaps it was time to plan a new meeting. 

He had enough magic to do it once more and he felt prepared enough to face him. This new version of Voldemort was unpredictable, however Harry was pretty good at improvising if he could say so himself. 

Alright then, he’d meet with Voldemort tonight. 

The day passed slowly, nothing seeming to grab his interest like the coming meeting. His fellow Slytherins had noticed his distracted mind but decided it was best ignored. Harry appreciated that, he didn’t need friends who forced his hand and pressured him to speak when he didn’t wish to. 

Wow, his standards for friendship were screwed. Granger and weasel had messed him up more than he had thought. 

Finally night came and Harry quickly sped through his night routine and headed to bed. 

Grabbing the rune covered pendant around his neck Harry drifted into a calm meditation, forcing the soul piece along for the ride. Using it to guide him to its main part and once located, to grab ahold of it and pull.

Harry was settled into the same armchair as before when Voldemort arrived.

“Fancy meeting you here oh mighty Dark Lord.” Harry was clearly amused and had no plan to hide it.

“Potter, why have you dragged me here once more?” With his teeth grinding together Voldemort proceeded to settle into the opposite armchair.

“I simply wished to speak. We have matters to discuss don’t we?” Harry kept his tone light and airy.

“You made it abundantly clear you have no intention of joining my death eaters. I believe there is no need to speak further.” He was apparently still angry about their last meeting and at being summoned so abruptly, Harry could tell by his clenched fists and frowned brows.

“Come on now Voldemort you are just as intrigued about me as I am about you. Yes I have no desire to be placed below you in any ranking and forced to obey your command but does that mean we cannot speak? Even when it might give you valuable information?” Harry tilted his head, regarding Voldemort.

“Such as?” Having to ask Harry questions seemed to pain Voldemort.

“Well to begin with, aren’t you curious as to how I have summoned you here and how I knew you were still alive and well? Let’s get to know each other and perhaps you shall be surprised about what you learn.” Harry leaned forward towards Voldemort.

Harry wanted to touch his face and squeeze his cheeks. Such annoying thoughts at a time like this.

“Our last meeting was productive, don't you agree? How about a game, a question for a question?” Harry smirked, trying to entice Voldie was fun.

Taking his time deliberating, Voldemort however much he didn’t want to indulge the boy, wanted answers.

“Fine, let's play your game. You will tell the truth or pain will befall you.” Voldemort had calmed in his decision to play the game and proceeded to relax into the armchair.

Harry snapped his fingers and a tea tray popped into existence on the table between them.

“So dramatic Voldemort, I guess that’s a Dark Lord thing though. I will speak the truth but you will grant me the same courtesy in return.” Harry’s statement left no room for objection.

Harry snapped his fingers once more and a sphere that looked similar to a crystal ball hovered above each of their heads.

“This is a creation of mine. The spheres will change colour to red if you lie and stay white if we speak the truth. It will also turn green if we leave something out that we believe is imperative to the truth. Of course you can refuse to answer a question but what is the point of this game if we do not answer.” Harry gestured to the balls above them and watched as Voldemort narrowed his eyes at his explanation. 

“You invented something Potter? Colour me surprised and here all I had heard about you was that you were average in every way…well disregarding this year.” Perhaps Voldemort was trying to be mocking to provoke a reaction by insulting Harry’s intellect. Harry didn’t really care. It was expected.

“To hide insecurities you turn them into angered insults. My my Voldemort, here I thought you’d outgrown such tendencies.” Harry said with a teasing smile. 

Voldemort did not find it funny, if he had his magic Harry was certain a little red curse would have been thrown his way. The surprise was that Voldemort hadn’t resorted to physical attacks yet.

“Let's start this game. Last time we spoke you said Dumbledore had raised you like a pig for slaughter and that in order for me to die you had to die, what did you mean by that?” Voldemort was trying hard to conceal the fury in his tone caused by Harry’s previous statement. Harry was once more surprised by his restraint.

Harry reached forward and grabbed a cup of tea, purring in some milk while he was at it, contemplating what to tell Voldemort.

“I meant it exactly as it sounded. For you to die I had to die. Dumbledore has always known about this fact, since the day you killed my parents and turned your wand at me for the first time.” Harry spoke as Voldemort regarded the sphere, it didn’t change. If Voldemort had posed a more specific question it would have turned green. “Do you know why I survived and if so how?” Harry posed his question, well it was more like two questions in one but whatever.

Voldemort also picked up on that fact but chose to disregard it for now. “No, I do not know why or how you survived. I had theories but all are disproven now.” Clenching his fist was the only sign that Voldemort was upset by his lack of knowledge. “Do you know why and how you survived?” 

“Yes I know how and why.” Harry could have stopped there; he technically wasn’t breaking the rules but he wanted Voldemort to understand.

“Now before I tell you, you have to promise to not interrupt before I’m finished with the story.” Harry looked Voldemort in the eyes but when the other remained quiet and unmoving Harry raised an eyebrow.

“Fine.” Voldemort spoke in a short clipped tone.

“There are plenty of factors that went into what happened that night. Firstly, you chose Samhain as the night to attack, a mistake on your part. The veil between the living and dead is at its thinnest and the magic of this world and the other blend together. It helped in reaching the requirements that needed to be met for what happened to happen. Secondly, you didn’t hear the whole prophecy. Huge flounder on your part once more. If you had known the whole thing you would have chosen to act differently. Thirdly, you underestimated a mothers love for her child and the ingenuity of a muggleborn.” 

Harry took a sip of his tea and gestured with his hand for Voldemort to help himself to whatever was on the tray. Voldemort simply regarded him with concealed contempt and anger, remaining as unmoving as a statue.

“There is more at play here than just those three facts but it is of no importance to you. So, as you know, the soul, mind and magic of oneself is connected. And if one of them becomes unstable the others will follow. You had torn your soul to pieces and the mind had followed, the magic would have been next had you lived. The horcruxes were another mistake, what they grant is not immortality, only prolonging. Do you honestly believe Death would have left you alone when you had messed with them, I can tell you that they wouldn’t have… now back to the actual point. You had messed up your soul and it was unstable, Death had their sights on you, you didn’t know that if you tried to kill me you would set the prophecy in motion and my mother had used a talent of hers she had sworn never to use again, blood magic.” 

Voldemort's eyes had widened as Harry confessed to his mothers darker talents, he wanted to deny it, to yell at Harry that none of that was the truth. That he didn’t make mistakes, that Death wasn’t after him. That muggleborns couldn’t perform such dark magic but the sphere hadn’t changed colour. Of course he wasn’t fool enough to trust that Potter couldn’t manipulate his own creation…however what Potter had said made sense. If anything was to be said about the Dark Lord it was that he valued logic over all other forms. 

“My mother performed a ritual she and Snape had worked on but never completed or tested. It made it so my blood would protect me from those of Slytherin blood. Now, how she got your blood I have no idea. Of course blood magic, despite how powerful it is, isn't all powerful. It should not be able to stop a killing curse. Yet it did. As the killing curse was cast at me it rebounded at you. This you have Death to thank for. They saw an opportunity and took it. As the curse hit you, you were torn out of your body and in the process your soul, which was already unstable, became even more so. I’m guessing you had planned to use my death as a sacrifice for your next horcrux… part of your soul split from you once more and decided to cling on to the only magical thing in the room, me.” Harry was kinda tired from having spoken so much, it was necessary however.

Voldemort was stunned. Harry Potter had a piece of his soul in him. It couldn’t be. It was impossible. A living human being couldn’t be a horcrux… “for you to die I had to die” was what the child said earlier. “I had to die.” Had to-had to. Not have to. Had to. 

“You had to die. That was what you said not I have to die for you to die. I had to, was what you said.” Voldemort mumbled quietly, still Harry heard him.

Harry smiled a little amused smile at Voldemort's shocked state.

“I believe it’s my turn to ask a question now, so have you ever been in love before?” Harry asked leaning forward as if this was the most important piece of information to know at the moment, not the world bending information he had spoken of less than five minutes earlier.

In his bewildered state Voldemort didn’t even hesitate before answering. “No I haven’t.” He said but he wasn’t present at the moment.

Harry hummed and thought it over. He had been curious if Dumbledore had been wrong on that front of Tom Riddle's history but apparently not. Still this didn’t mean Voldemort was incapable of love or had ever been. 

“You said I had to die. In past tense meaning it no longer applies, how is that possible? Do you not need to die for me to die or have you already died and come back?” Voldemort seemed to be coming back to reality, his eyes focused on Harry once more.

“It means I don’t have to die for you to die. The horcrux is no longer in me, I removed it.” Harry spoke in a matter of fact tone.

“Removed it or destroyed it?” Voldemort was trying to hide the rising fear that he had lost another horcrux.

Harry leaned back and closed his eyes, very tired of this conversation. “I removed it, it is safe. No one will be able to harm it unless I allow it. And I won’t.” The game was forgotten and the spheres of no importance anymore.

Voldemort hadn’t moved a centimeter during this whole conversation, trying to contain himself and not lash out at Harry most likely. But now he rose to his feet and neared Harry. Harry didn’t move, just watched him approaching. 

Voldemort stopped a few steps away from him. A frown and tight pressed lips marking his face. 

“Why? Why have you not destroyed it, it appears you know how and still you’ve kept it safe. If this is your way of having a hold on me it will not work. I do not bend to the wills of others.” Voldemort's confusion made way for aggression, as most of his feelings did. 

Harry slowly stood up and walked towards Voldemort. If he just moved his hand upwards slightly he would touch him.

Up close the man was even more breathtakingly beautiful. Even with the frown and tense expression he was the most gorgeous person Harry had ever seen. It was almost unfair that someone who looked like an angel or a Greek god could be so vile on the inside. Not that Harry minded too much, he wasn’t too beautiful on the inside either. He could feel his hands twitch, he wanted to touch such a creature. 

Harry wants to make him smile. What would he look like, he wonders. Beautiful probably considering the rest of the prat. A laugh from those lips could sustain Harry forever. 

As his mind left the conversation behind in the face of such beauty, so did his control. The emotionless expression he usually wore had given way to desire and possessiveness and it was clear to see. 

His eyes hadn’t left Voldemort's face since he stepped forward which was why he easily noticed the slight widening of Voldemort's eyes. Surprise flashed on his face for a brief moment but was quickly replaced by curiosity.

His iron grip crumbled with the open curiosity on Voldemort's face. He looked adorable, should one call a grown dark lord that? He reached out with his hand slowly, giving Voldemort time to stop him. His hand was not stopped and gently cupped the side of Voldemort's face, stroking along his cheekbone with his thumb.

This was a bad move. Harry was aware of it, but his self-control had long since been lost. There was just something about Voldemort that caused Harry to abandon reason in favor of impulse. This would be used against him, he knew it would be, but it would be fun to watch Voldemort flounder. 

“How could I not want to keep something so beautiful safe.” Harry spoke gently, quietly. Trying not to startle him out of his paralyzed state. 

Harry looked at him for a moment longer before he dropped his hand and stepped backwards.

“It is time to wake now.” And they did.

RETIRED AUROR ALASTOR “MAD EYE” MOODY POISONED IN HIS OWN HOME: DEAD AT 63

By Rita Skeeter 

My dear readers it is with utmost sorrow that I have to inform you of the death of renowned auror Alastor Moody. Moody was credited with over 150 arrests and was imperative to the end of the Dark Lord's reign. He single-handedly captured a majority of wanted death eaters after the fall of you-know-who and will be sorely missed. (More on Moody's past on page 14.) Aurors arrived at Mad Eye’s residence at approximately two o’clock in the morning on the 12th of October, after the former auror’s warning ward had been activated. Moody had, in preparation for an attack, keyed his house wards to a friend in the auror force so that should the unimaginable happen they would be quick to respond. After many years in the force Moody had gained plenty of enemies who would like to enact revenge and in the end it appears someone succeeded. While the cause of death has officially been listed as poisoning this reporter has heard some rumours that there is plenty more to the murder. It is speculated that the auror was tortured extensively before the poison was administered, now the question remains did the culprit want information or was this an act of revenge? This dedicated report will not rest until the truth is found….

Harry had arrived at the great hall just in time for the Daily Prophet to arrive and was very glad he hadn’t missed it. 

The reactions to the news of the death were amusing. Most of the students were still unaware that the man who had been teaching them last year had in fact not been Alastor Moody but Barty Crouch Jr. Those that didn’t know the truth seemed uncaring of the death, brushing it aside as a revenge killing. 

The ones that knew Moody, mainly the professors and his old friends, seemed devastated. Harry wasn’t too sure why, it wasn’t like Moody had been a likable man or even vitally important. Harry looked up at the professors table and observed the different reactions.

Snape was stoic, showing no sign that he even knew Moody. Lucius' eyes were bright with joy which he was trying and failing to conceal so he simply bent his head down and ate. Minerva looked shocked more than anything, time had not been kind to her and this seemed to age her up further. 

The funniest reaction however was Dumbledore. Whilst most would look at him and see sadness and grief Harry could see the hidden confusion and anger in his eyes and body language. His shoulders were too stiff to be from grief, his limbs locked and unmoving and his lips tilted down too much to be genuine. He looked like he wanted to curse and cause a scene, perhaps blow off some steam by destroying the great hall but he wouldn’t, he couldn’t. He hadn’t performed any magic since Harry got back to Hogwarts. Harry suspected it was due to his lack of the elder wand which was in Harry’s possession since the summer. Dumbledore most likely used his old wand now but refused to show the masses he’d lost his precious elder wand. It would be rather embarrassing to admit it was stolen and Dumbledore had a reputation to maintain. 

Back to his previous thoughts, Harry had made sure he wouldn’t have heard of the news before the masses. The warning ward had been triggered after Moody's last breath and Harry had made certain that the one on call had been Amelia Bones herself. She had no obligations to the old man and would not ensure him knowing before handling everything according to protocol. She would have called in those she trusted most to help with this case and kept the others in the dark. This was a need to know kind of case and she would have liked to keep it under wraps in the beginning stages of the investigation. Too bad Harry had ruined those plans. 

Before he had left the house -it was perhaps too generous to call that construction a house- he had taken the liberty to photograph the scene and send it to an interested party. Namely Rita Skeeter, who couldn’t resist publishing an intriguing story even at the risk of her job. The photos were not present in the article and Harry suspected she saved those for a rainy day so to say. 

Harry turned his eyes upon his own table and friends. Their masks were in place but elation was buzzing in the air, his friends were exchanging glances thinking they were being discreet. 

Harry waved his hand and put up a muffle charm along with a charm to make it appear as if they were speaking about normal topics if anyone decided to listen in.

“So what are the glances about?” Harry asked the group, they all froze at the question.

“Nothing Harry, just curious as to what killed the infamous auror.” Pansy spoke.

Harry could tell that wasn’t all but chose to disregard the secrecy for now.

“He was killed by ricin after being tortured with various different dark magics. Isn’t it funny he should die from the thing he feared the most. Poisoning.” Harry’s eyes held amusement in them but otherwise his face remained impassive.

The Slytherins looked at him with dread and concern. 

“How do you know that Harry?” Draco whispered. Not even his father would have that information as quickly, not unless he’d been there himself…but that was absurd, laughable really. Harry couldn’t do that, he couldn’t. While many things, Harry wasn’t a murderer. 

Harry simply smiled at them and shrugged his shoulders. “Being the boy-who-lived comes with some perks you know.” Harry joked. 

No one else seemed to find it funny. Harry’s smile was too fake and his body was too relaxed, as if he was doing it consciously. 

Harry knew what effect he was having on the children and whilst he didn’t want to terrify them, messing with them was amusing.

“Want more details? Like how he was tortured or how long it took or if he put up a fight?” Harry spoke in a teasing tone as if joking but if they asked he would answer truthfully.

Blaise rolled his eyes and continued eating his breakfast. “Haha Harry you’re so funny.” He spoke before his first bite.

“I know, I’m hilarious.” Harry said in a serious tone that made the others lose some tension and caused Pansy to snort.

As they all began to eat breakfast Harry’s thoughts were occupied. The article and everyone’s reactions to it had given him an idea. An idea that was sure to stir up some trouble for Dumbledore and be fun for Harry. 

He needed to gather information and proof if he wanted to pull this off and also find out if some blackmail info would still work in this world. This meant he’d need to take more nightly expeditions and whilst he didn’t really need sleep it was still nice to get the occasional rest but whatever. Priorities. The first step of his revenge plan had been to mess with them and he’d been very quiet so far. Just trying to settle into this new world but time was ticking he needed to get a move on. Tonight will be a long night. But it would be worth it. 

And if it meant Voldemort would inevitably be pleased as well, it was of no importance.

Chapter Text

The current school year had proven to be quite troublesome for Dumbledore, as things had not gone according to plan. In fact, even before September arrived, things had already started to go awry. It all began when Harry made the reckless decision to run away, unaware of the danger he was putting himself in and the time and resources it would take to find him. Resources that could have been utilized to hinder the rise of Tom Riddle and the Dark.

However, Dumbledore could not solely blame the child. He knew that leaving Harry on his aunt and uncle's doorstep was condemning him to ten years of darkness and difficulties, but it had to be done for the betterment of all wizards and witches. Dumbledore understood that one life sacrificed for the safety of thousands was a worthy sacrifice, even if Harry may not see it that way if the truth were to be revealed.

Despite Dumbledore's hopes that Harry would come to his senses, he had been out of control since his return. It had been over a month, and there was no indication that Harry could handle the situation on his own. It was clear that he needed guidance, and Dumbledore would have to enlighten him on what was truly important. His friends would assist in this endeavor.

A knock on the door interrupted Dumbledore's thoughts. He knew who it was; he had felt their presence approaching but hesitating to knock. As the headmaster of Hogwarts, he was keyed into all existing wards in the school, including the one at the entrance to the stairs leading up to his office.

"Come in." He spoke gently but loudly.

In walked Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley, looking anxious and concerned. Hermione kept her back straight and stiff, while Ron hunched his back and fidgeted with the hem of his orange shirt.

"Headmaster Dumbledore, good to see you, sir." Hermione greeted him politely. Dumbledore appreciated her respect for authority, as it made her more compliant in following instructions.

"Good to see both of you. Please have a seat." He gestured towards the chairs opposite him, and then to the lemon drop bowl. However, they both politely declined, despite Ron's gaze lingering on the candy.

Hermione kept her eyes fixed on the headmaster, while Ron avoided his gaze, intimidated by him. Dumbledore understood that Ron suffered from an inferiority complex, having to live up to the names of his older brothers. While this could be useful, the recklessness and jealousy that came with it had compromised many of Dumbledore's plans regarding Harry.

"Is there something wrong, Headmaster?" Hermione's voice wavered with anxiety, as she was not skilled at hiding her emotions.

Dumbledore leaned back and sighed. "Unfortunately, my dear girl, we have a problem of utmost importance, namely Harry. His behavior is concerning. He spends much of his time with children from dark families and consequently, their views. It's not healthy for him."

Taking a deep breath, Dumbledore continued, disappointment evident in his eyes. "Since his resorting, you have lost touch with him, children. But for the betterment of the future, you need to guide him back to the light. The poor boy seems to have lost his way."

Hermione frowned and looked away, while Ron appeared mildly annoyed. "We will do our best, Headmaster." Hermione promised with sincerity, but Ron did not seem convinced.

"But he has been avoiding us as well! How are we supposed to get close to him when he spends all his time with the slimy snakes, acting like one of them!" Ron's outburst caused his face to turn crimson, but as he stared at Dumbledore, the cause of his redness changed from anger to shame.

“Do not worry dear children, he will find his way back to you and the light. We will make sure of it.” 

The classes were over for the day and Harry was heading to the library with Draco and Theo when he was stopped by a quiet hissing.

“Master! Master, we bring news of the old goat, the weasel, and worm.” Selene hissed, coming out of one of the vents in the wall.

As Harry had stopped, so had his two human companions. Speaking in the library with Selene and Nyx would not be a good idea, the other houses remained unaware of his gift. So they needed to relocate.

“Let’s head somewhere different, gentlemen, something has come up.” Harry spoke without a sense of urgency or concern. Draco and Theo glanced at each other and shrugged, they didn’t particularly want to study anyway.

He led the way to the seventh floor, and as they neared the portrait of the dancing trolls, Draco was growing impatient with Harry's lack of explanation.

“Why are we here, Harry? There’s nothing over here, and what did your snakes want?” Draco's tone was a bit close to demanding, but Harry could hear the concern beneath it, so he let it go.

“Just watch, Dragon.”

Harry walked in front of the wall three times, thinking of his office at home.

As the door appeared, Harry could hear two small gasps behind him. His lips twitched in amusement.

“Let’s go.” He said as he pushed the door open, gesturing for them to follow.

“Where are we?” Theo whispered in wonder, looking around the large room filled with bookshelves and various peculiar objects.

“Welcome to the Room of Requirement or the Come and Go Room. It takes the shape of whatever you need it to be.” Harry spoke in a showman's voice, gesturing around himself before throwing himself into his office chair behind the desk.

“Now please sit and start on the homework. I need to speak to these two ladies first.”

Draco and Theo sat down on the sofa and put their stuff on the table while Harry leaned back and petted his precious companions.

“Now, what have you seen, my darlings?” Harry hissed at his snakes, keeping it down so as not to disturb his friends.

“The goat called for the weasel and worm and told them to get close to you, and the weasel shrieked.” Selene started.

“He told them he would make sure you saw the light again and that if it had to be done, he would use the smelly stuff on you.” Nyx continued. By smelly stuff, Harry assumed she was referring to potions.

“They told him they would spy on you and report back and try to be your friend again.” Selene hissed.

Harry couldn’t help the snort that escaped him, him being friends with them again? The thought of being friends with them was so laughable that it was almost ludicrous. Over his dead body, quite literally, since he was immortal. What was the old goat thinking? There was no way in hell this would work, and Dumbledore must know it, so why even attempt it? Was it an attempt to distract him or annoy him, or had he simply lost his mind?

With a calm and collected tone, Harry turned to his snakes. “Thank you for helping me keep an eye on the old man. Did you hear anything else of importance?”

“The old man said he would speak with you soon and see how to go from there.” Nyx hissed before sliding down from Harry's neck and slithering towards the warmth of the fireplace. Selene was quick to follow her, indicating that their conversation was over.

Harry pondered his next move for a moment before concluding that it didn't matter. He was confident that nothing they attempted would work, and if they resorted to illegal tactics, Harry wouldn't hesitate to press charges. With a sense of indifference, Harry strolled over to Theo and Draco and pulled out his homework, ready to start working.

As Harry and Voldemort sat across from each other, the atmosphere in the room was tense. The last time they had met in this room a lot of uncomfortable topics had been brought up. The chairs they sat in now were newer, their bright colors contrasting with the somber mood in the air. Voldemort noticed this, but he chose not to comment on it, as it was inconsequential compared to what they were there to discuss.

Harry, always the one to break the silence, spoke first. “Hello Voldemort.” 

“Hello Potter.” Voldemort said, his voice devoid of any warmth. Harry couldn’t tell if it was fake or not.

And he was not one to back down easily. “Aren’t you gonna say anything?” Harry asked teasingly.

Voldemort raised an eyebrow. “Are you expecting a thank you for showing common courtesy?” 

“Didn’t you like it?” Harry leaned forward determined to get a reaction from the Dark Lord.

Voldemort tilted his head to the side regarding Harry with a blank expression. “All the letter said was “See you later.” 

“No, no, you forgot a word, it said see you later Voldie. Don’t you like your new nickname?” Harry asked with a half smirk in a husky voice. 

Harry had made Lucius deliver a letter prior to this meeting so Voldemort wouldn’t be able to complain about the abrupt summoning. 

Choosing not to answer, Voldemort simply stared at Harry, his expression unreadable. Harry persisted, determined to break through Voldemort's silent façade. Harry lost. 

“Uh, fine.” Harry threw himself backwards in the chair dramatically. “You’re no fun.”

“How long are you planning to drag out these meetings?” Voldemort asked after a few minutes of silence and simply watching each other.

“Until I know everything I need to.” Harry replied, his voice firm.

“How frustratingly vague. Fine, what do you want?” Voldemort asked in fake nonchalance.

“I want a lot of things but how about we start with what your plans are if you win the war?” Harry asked, watching Voldemorts face for any sign of discomfort. But to Harry's surprise, Voldemort remained unfazed.

“A question for a question?” Voldemort answered back.

Harry huffed out a breath, really acting like the teenager he was pretending to be. “Fine.” He said as he brought back the spheres he’d invented.

Voldemort then proceeded to propose a series of ideas to Harry, with the intention of improving the state of the wizarding world. He suggested legalizing dark magic, but with the caveat that only trained individuals could practice it freely and without monitoring. Additionally, he recommended the construction of a preschool for muggleborn children to educate them about the wizarding world at an earlier age, installing more classes at Hogwarts, enforcing laws to protect dark creatures, and mandating muggle classes for purebloods to better understand the potential threat posed by the muggle world.

Furthermore, Voldemort proposed strengthening the wards around wizarding communities to prevent any unauthorized exposure and restrict access to the muggle world only with the ministry’s approval. After graduating from Hogwarts, witches and wizards would have to choose between the wizarding and muggle world, and if they selected the latter, their magic would be bound, and secrecy wards would be placed on them.

Harry was taken aback by the thoroughness of Voldemort's plan, which he had clearly spent a considerable amount of time crafting. Although he sensed that Voldemort was withholding some details, he was reluctant to pry further but what was the worst that could happen. 

“Wow, you certainly had that all prepared.” Harry said in disbelief. “But your sphere is green so you must be leaving something out.” 

“I’m leaving out plenty, you don’t need all the details. I have given you an answer that is more thorough than what I have given anyone else. You needn’t know more.” Voldemort spoke with slight annoyance.

"The wizarding world is in dire need of change, and I believe that I have the answers to its problems."

"But what about the risks involved with legalizing dark magic?" Harry asked. "Surely, there's a danger in allowing untrained individuals to practice it."

"Of course." Voldemort acknowledged. "That's why I propose that only those who are educated in the subject should be allowed to practice it freely and and those who are still under training would be under strict monitoring, to ensure that they are not using it for malicious purposes."

"And what about the muggleborns?" Harry asked. "I agree that they need to be educated about the wizarding world, but isn't segregating them at a young age a bit extreme?" Harry actually agreed with this but wanted to hear Voldemort’s arguments.

"Not at all." Voldemort countered. "Muggleborns often struggle to adapt to our world, and they face discrimination from purebloods who consider them inferior. By creating a preschool for muggleborns, we can ensure that they receive a proper education and are given the tools they need to succeed in our world."

"I see your point." Harry said, nodding slowly. "But what about the purebloods? Won't they object to mandatory muggle classes?"

"Of course they will.” Voldemort agreed. "But it's necessary to ensure that they understand the threat that muggles pose to our world. It's time for us to move past our prejudices and work towards a more united wizarding world."

“I do agree with most of what you said. I certainly would have benefitted from some of your ideas.” Harry’s thoughts drifted as his mind slipped back into his horrid childhood. 

Despite the pain of his past, Harry felt strangely detached from it, and he had long ago made peace with his past, although he had never forgotten or forgiven his abusers.

Strength isn’t something your born with, it’s something that forged. A strong person will have a painful past. You don’t reach the type of rationality and sense of mind without something in you being broken.

He believed that his experiences had made him stronger, and they had given him a unique perspective on the wizarding world and how it needed to change.

“How so?” It was now Voldemorts turn to lean forward in interest.

Would telling him about his childhood be smart? Harry wasn’t sure but perhaps it could unite them, they had after all suffered similarly at the hands of muggles. Admitting a weakness was always a dangerous gamble, hopefully the risk paid off. 

“My childhood was not all rainbows and sunshine as I think you believe. My guardians, if you can even call them that, hate anything abnormal and magic was on top of their despise list so you can imagine how they felt about me.” It had been decades since those days hunted him and having his revenge had certainly helped the healing.

As they continued to speak about Voldemort's ideas for after the war Harry couldn’t help but agree to most of Voldies propositions and improvements. The wizarding community was in dire need of change and he could bring it. Harry personally had no intentions of rejoining the coming war but still he could appreciate a good discussion. 

“If you ever need my help all you have to do is ask prettily and I will help you as much as I can.” Harry spoke sincerely.

“Sweet child, what could you offer me that I don’t already have access to?” Voldie teased.

Harry could feel fluttering in his stomach at Voldemort's teasing tone and the enderment, despite being called a child, maybe he had a weird kink. Huh, didn’t know that. He’d have to find out another time. 

“Plenty. I hold over 10 seats at the wizardmong and if you have forgotten I am the boy who lived and that comes with certain privileges.” Was said in a matter of fact tone.

“Sure.” If Voldemort didn’t find it puerile to roll his eyes he would have.

“Well the offer still stands. My…skills are beyond what anyone knows.” Harry wasn’t sure how much he wanted to reveal but if Voldie asked he would tell. And really the reaction he’d get would be worth it.

Voldemort raised an eyebrow at Harry and looked skeptical at him. 

“Your skills, you say? Do tell me more, Harry.” Voldemort said with a low, husky voice that sent shivers down Harry’s spine. He wondered if Voldemort was intentionally trying to seduce him or if it was just his imagination.

Harry leaned forward, his eyes locking onto Voldemort’s. “Let’s just say that I’ve had some…unusual experiences in my life that have given me unique abilities. Abilities that could be of great use to someone like you.”

Voldemort leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. “And what kind of abilities are we talking about here? I hope you’re not suggesting that you can teach me anything about the Dark Arts. I am the greatest Dark wizard of all time, after all.”

Harry chuckled. “I think I could teach you a thing or two but no, not the Dark Arts. I’m talking about something…else. Something that could help you gain an advantage over your enemies. It’s not something that can be shown here however.”

Voldemort narrowed his eyes, studying Harry intently. “Very well. We’ll discuss this further at a later time. But I must warn you, Harry, that I am not easily impressed. If you cannot deliver on your promises, there will be consequences.”

Harry grinned, feeling a rush of adrenaline at the challenge. “Oh, I can deliver. And when I do, you’ll be begging me for more.”

Voldemort’s lips twisted into a wicked smile. “We shall see, Harry. We shall see.”

“If you don’t believe me you’re free to try me out.” He said with a smirk. Was that a hint? Was he flirting with Voldemort? Yes apparently. 

The other’s eyebrow rose as Harry spoke, making Voldemort look surprised but somehow also intrigued. He got a glint in his eyes that told Harry he was planning something, nothing good for Harry he was sure.

“Alright, a duel next time we meet.” Voldemort promised.

Harry’s smile became malicious and savage at the thought of dueling Voldemort. He was certain Voldemort wouldn’t stand a chance if he gave it his all but still, it could be fun.

“That’s a promise.” Harry confirmed.

They sat in silence for a while, Harry summoned some tea that he was now enjoying. Voldemort even grabbed a cup for himself. Could you really eat or drink in your dream? Well not really but it sure felt like it, as long as your mind knows how something feels, tastes, smells, it will make your senses recreate the sensation. 

Alright this isn’t what matters now. 

Harry was not planning to take a side in the war, but that did not mean he did not have a preference. Even though Voldemort was reluctant to accept Harry's generous offer of help, Harry felt he could freely give advice. Harry's mind drifted to a question that had always puzzled him.

"You know, I always wondered why you never claimed your lordships or seats?" It was not a question he intended to ask, but it came out anyway.

Voldemort snapped back to focus, and his intense red eyes locked onto Harry. Harry couldn't help but notice Voldemort's physical attractiveness, which was quite distracting. 

"By the time I could claim them, I had no need for them." Voldemort answered in an indifferent tone as he leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs.

"Still, lordships grant more than seats in the wizarding world, they grant access and respect. Besides, you have been keeping a low profile and, as far as I can tell, have made no moves as the Dark Lord.” Harry ran his fingers through his hair, unintentionally messing it up even more. Voldemort tracked the movement with his eyes.

"No, I have not.” Voldemort replied.

“You don't do anything without a reason, so I'm assuming you're biding your time. Either in preparation or out of necessity, considering coming back from the dead can be quite an ordeal for the body, mind, and magic." Harry pondered.

Voldemort's eyes narrowed in anger. "Do not assume to know me.” He hissed, bordering on Parseltongue.

Oh. Right, that would be fun.

“Don’t I know you though? I was your horcrux for almost 15 years.” Harry answered back in parseltongue with a teasing smirk.

While Voldemort's eyes didn't waver, the anger was replaced with something else. It was hard to make out, but by the way Voldemort's pupils dilated, Harry was pretty sure it was arousal. No doubt, Voldemort would deny it until the end of time.

“You may have housed a part of my soul but that doesn’t make you privy to my mind.” Voldemort retorted.

Wow, hearing Voldie speak parseltongue was something else. It just flowed differently from his lips than Harry’s own. It sounded so sensual and intimidating Harry couldn’t prevent the shiver that traveled up his spine.

“Of course not. But do tell me, am I wrong? You did, after all, avoid answering the question. Classic evasion tactics, answering a question with another question.” Harry continued the conversation in Parseltongue. It was much more fun than in English, and he'd have to do it more often.

Voldemort certainly didn’t like being called out and Harry was questioning him more than he thought would be possible. The anger was back in Voldemort's eyes, and he remained silent, which Harry took as an affirmative. 

"Fine, I'll drop it. Now back to what I was saying, your lordships. You should claim them." Harry huffed out.

Voldemort's eyes softened but in no way became soft. “Why would I claim them? It gives me nothing, and the ministry would be informed that someone has taken up the lordships, and I’m the only one of Slytherin blood left.” Voldemort wasn’t dismissing Harry’s idea yet but if Harry didn’t come up with a good answer he was sure it would be game over soon.

“No, not really. You could claim them in another name. You could pretend to be your own son or grandchild or second cousin or something. And by the way, you’re not the last one with Slytherin blood in you. I have some too.” Harry grinned at Voldemort whilst he glowered back.

“How?” Was hissed at Harry. 

“It's a really long story but the short version is the Potter line is a direct descendent from the Peverell line and the Peverells apparently had a thing for Slytherins seeing as a few actually married them.” Harry's hold on this reality was slipping which meant it wasn’t long before they had to wake. 

Time to bring up the request.

“Morning is approaching out there so before we depart I would like to make a request.” Harry's voice was even and confident.

With a raised eyebrow Voldemort waved his hand in a “get on with it” gesture.

“I want Wormtail.” His voice had dropped an octave, despite how much time had passed Harry still held a general loathing for traitors and cowards.

“Oh? And why would I do that? Wormtail has been rather useful lately.” Voldemort’s voice was light and mocking.

Harry rolled his eyes. “I know you despise the sniveling rat as well, do not pretend otherwise. Now as to what I can offer you, why don’t you tell me and hurry it along. We have little time left.”

“I want you to meet me in person.” Voldemort spoke, still in the same light, airy tone.

What was he planning?

“I will meet with you and you will give me the rat? Alright deal.” Harry didn’t really think there was anything Voldie could do to affect him so what did he have to lose.

Voldemort's lips stretched and teeth followed, a grin was plastered on his face. Looking way too unnatural with so many teeth and far too wide. 

“Deal.”

”Oh and by the way, do not, under any circumstance, summon Snape. Bye!”

As Harry slowly opened his eyes to the warmth of his soft and comfortable bed, a sense of longing swept over him, and he couldn't help but yearn for the night to come again. Meanwhile, in a similarly plush bed, Voldemort startled awake and found himself feeling surprisingly content.

Throughout the day, both individuals were plagued by a constant churning in their stomachs, and despite their best efforts, the allure of daydreaming continued to take hold of them. 

While Harry leaned into these feelings, Voldemort despised them with every fiber of his being.

They both knew that what they were experiencing was irrational, but that didn't make the sensations go away. For Harry, he chose to focus on their upcoming meeting, both physical and in their dreams. He considered sneaking away from Hogwarts to meet Voldemort in person but was apprehensive about whether he was ready for it. 

The anxiety that bubbled up inside him, coupled with the tingling in his limbs, made it clear that it was too early.

Perhaps a few more meetings in their dreams before that, Harry thought. Maybe they could finally meet during Yule, but he wasn't sure if he wanted to stay at Hogwarts for the holiday. Ultimately, he decided against it and opted to go horcrux hunting instead, possibly even giving them back to Tom and convincing him to absorb them.

As Harry pondered his decision, he realized that he had just referred to Voldemort as "Tom" in his mind. He couldn't recall ever doing that before, and his mind went blank for a moment as he considered the implications of this slip-up. Maybe he should start calling Voldemort by his name regularly. It could be a fun experiment and a good way to determine the Dark Lord's mental stability.

With his mind made up, Harry resolved to stick to his decisions, but first, he had to survive two more months at Hogwarts until he got a break.

Chapter Text

Muggle London looked pretty much the same as it did thirty years ago, which surprised Harry. Muggles were creatures of development and improvement, always trying to solve problems and make their lives easier by inventing and developing things to advance their communities.

If Harry had to describe muggles, he would say they were inventive.

It was Hogsmeade weekend, and Harry had convinced a reluctant Draco to join him in London in search of information, mainly books. Harry hadn't interacted with muggles in a long time and didn't miss it. However, knowledge was power, and Harry needed to understand the muggle world more, not only for his own sake but also for argument's sake.

Harry was sure Voldemort would bring up muggles more often, and he didn't want to seem ignorant, considering he should be living with them and should have been doing so for the past fifteen years.

Harry's decision to bring Draco was selfish on his part. He wanted Draco to see that muggles could pose a potential threat and were not Stone Age barbarians, as many purebloods believed. He wanted to show that they were not harmless and primitive.

Draco had never been to Muggle London either, so it would be interesting to see his reaction. The only muggle city he'd visited was Paris, and although he didn't believe they were barbarians, he still thought what he saw in Paris was an anomaly.

They were currently at Piccadilly Circus, the only place Harry could slightly remember. He hadn't spent a lot of time in Muggle London before.

As a child, he hadn't been allowed to come when the Dursleys took their trips into the city, and as an adult, he tended to avoid overcrowded places. He'd been too paranoid to be around so many people. Showing Draco how many muggles there were compared to wixen was also an interesting experience.

Draco wasn't too surprised to see so many muggles. He'd been told by his father that they breed like bunnies. Still, what surprised him was what they were doing, what they were wearing, and how they were conducting themselves.

Harry had dressed Draco in simple slacks and a button-down shirt to not stand out from the muggles. Draco had despised the simplicity of the outfit, but as he regarded the muggles, he liked his own outfit more.

Most of them were dressed in jeans, oversized shirts, and baggy coats. Harry called the sport jackets. Women were dressed similarly, and Draco even saw a woman in what he could only describe as undergarments. Harry called them biker shorts. Draco really despised their fashion so far.

The architecture he did like, but out of principle, he wouldn't admit it.

As they walked down a street Draco didn't know the name of, he regarded Harry. Despite his apparent casualness about being around muggles, the underlying tension in his shoulders and tightness in his jaw gave him away.

Not for the first or last time, Draco wondered what had happened to him during the summer.

Draco had never really thought of Harry Potter after meeting him for the first time and being sorely disappointed with what he saw.

Harry had been a small, quiet child with hardened eyes. He'd never taken up much space, never stood out, and never tried to either. Young Harry had blended into the background, which Draco found ridiculous, considering he was the boy who lived. But most people had seemed to forget that as they met the boy.

Harry had been forgettable, unimpressive, and unimportant.

This Harry, though - this Harry was everything the other wasn't.

He was vociferous, captivating, powerful, charming and a genius. 

This Harry forced you to notice him; his magic made it impossible to forget him. He demanded attention from the room as soon as he stepped in and knew he was powerful.

Manipulative, cunning, sadistic, and cruel, this Harry was honestly the perfect Slytherin, the perfect lord.

This Harry could bend the world to his will, and it would let him.

During his slip into his mind, they had apparently arrived at a bookstore. Harry had his hand on Draco's arm and was leading him into the store, through the bookshelves and people, when he stopped them in front of the history section.

They spent about 45 minutes there before Harry was satisfied with his gathering of books.

“Harry, I’m rather hungry. Could we stop for lunch somewhere?” Draco asked as he stepped out of the store.

“Sure, Draco. Any preferences?” Harry grabbed his arm once more, leading him further into the alley.

“Not really, anywhere that is not too crowded.” Draco had made up his mind to once more ask Harry about his summer once they settled down at a restaurant, and Harry couldn’t easily disappear or steer the conversation in another direction.

They ended up at a small Asian place. Draco wasn’t too sure what kind of Asian place it was. He mostly ate French or other European food growing up.

“A ramen shop.” Harry informed him. They sat down at one of the unoccupied booths in the corner of the restaurant. Harry was very adamant that they needed this precise booth so he could see all the exits.

After letting Harry order for him, Draco thought on how to best broach the subject. He didn’t want to come off as crass or pushy.

His thoughts must have shown on his face, though.

“What's the matter, Draco?” Harry asked, slightly concerned.

Draco let out a breath and decided it was best to just be direct, no games.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you about this summer how - how things changed. How you changed…” Draco must be more nervous than he thought, seeing as he was stammering like a fool.

Harry took a moment to react, then he breathed out deeply, coming to a decision.

“I suppose I should start at the beginning. My childhood isn’t what everyone thinks it was. It wasn’t happy, not at all…”

As Harry told him more and more, Draco’s expression became one of horror. Beaten, starved, locked away. How could they treat a child like that? If Draco disliked Muggles before, he truly hates them now.

A magical child, a precious magical child, treated worse than most house elves. The savior of their world thrown away to abusive relatives.

Draco burned with rage. For the Muggles, for the unjust treatment, but also for Dumbledore's actions leading to this.

But Harry wasn’t finished. They hadn’t even gotten to Hogwarts age yet.

“When I turned 11, and the letter came, they tried to hide it from me. They even ran away when the letters kept coming and coming. At one point, the whole house was flooded with them. Then Hagrid came and found me. I thought he saved me. He told me all about the wizarding world, how my parents were murdered, how I was the boy who lived…”

Harry took a breath and collected himself.

“I hated it. More expectations, more pressure, more, more, more. As if I wanted to be famous, as if I wanted everyone to look at me.”

Harry sneered and spoke in a low rumbling voice.

“Be quiet, you freak. You deserved it, you freak. Don’t tell anyone about this! Don’t be stupid Harry. Don’t be an idiot Harry. You’re overreacting Harry. Your family loves you Harry! You need to do this Harry. You need to die for the greater good Harry! Don’t be selfish Harry! You're our savior Harry! Don’t you dare do that Harry! You’re a freak Harry! You’re a dark lord Harry! You should just die Harry.”

The booth was shaking; in fact, the whole restaurant was shaking. Harry's magic was leaking out, and Draco was frozen in place by it.

“Harry…” He whimpered. It was so quiet, but he couldn't speak louder over the dread spreading through him, the dread Harry's magic was causing.

He didn't seem to be heard. That's when he saw Harry's eyes glazing over for a moment, and then, in a second, he was calm and collected, like nothing ever happened.

“Sorry, Draco, I got lost in some bad memories there... should I continue?” Harry still seemed distracted, exhausted, and overwhelmed, but Draco needed to know.

“If you're alright to continue.” Draco whispered.

“Yes, I'm alright. Where was I... oh yes, Hagrid. He told me all about the houses as well, how Gryffindors were brave and kind, whilst Slytherins were evil and dark. Being the abused, naive child I was, I took that to heart, and when the hat wanted me in Slytherin, I begged it not to.” Harry was watching him, like he finally remembered Draco was the one listening.

“And, well, you know how the coming years went at Hogwarts. Confronting the Dark Lord in first year and second year. Being almost kissed by Dementors in third and forced to compete in the tournament in fourth. You also know what happened at the end of the tournament, Voldemort was resurrected.” Draco was stunned; he didn't know that!

He just guessed by his father's behavior that the Dark side was rising once more. Sure, he'd thought about how the Dark Lord could have left something behind to help them or made plans that were now being used or something! He didn't think the Dark Lord was actually back from the dead!

Harry disregarded his shock and continued, most likely wanting to get it over with.

“During the summer, the waves opened.”

Harry looked at Draco like that should mean something to him. He had no idea what Harry was getting at. Harry must have noticed that.

“The waves are the different versions of the same timeline. The different realities of the same world.”

Draco still didn't understand. Harry seemed uncomfortable and hesitant.

“I saw them. I saw what could be. Versions of the future. I didn't like what I saw.” Harry spoke gravely. Thank the gods Harry put up a privacy ward around them, or the Muggles would have thought them barmy.

“Luna... you talked to Luna about that... you asked her if she saw them.” Draco whispered, his mind trying to understand what he was hearing.

“Yes. She also saw, she saw it. The future, the future that was most likely for us should we have continued going as we were, would have not been bright.”

Draco was conflicted. He did believe Harry saw something, but could it really be the future or a version of it? It seemed mad. Harry wasn't a seer, it didn't exist in his bloodline, so how? And why?

Could Draco put his faith in Harry, trust him?

Draco closed his eyes and let his magic interlace with Harry's. He heard a startled breath but paid it no mind. His magic would know.

Harry's magic was like no other, but he already knew that. It was cold, so cold it felt like being burned, but it was also peaceful and comforting. He knew it was powerful and deadly, but it was gathering around him like it wanted to protect him, like it cared. Harry wouldn't hurt him.

“Alright, I believe you. Please tell me what happened in the future.” Draco said, his eyes alight with determination as he looked into Harry’s glowing green eyes.

Harry swallowed and clenched his hands. “I defeated the Dark Lord in the Battle of Hogwarts when I was 17. Afterwards, I discovered the betrayal of my friends and mentors and hid away in my house. A few years later, I tried to make things right by joining the Wizengamot, but the Ministry was already beyond repair, so I left. I spent the next 10 years traveling, learning, and improving myself. Back in Britain, you got married and had a child, Scorpius.”

Draco’s breath hitched. He had never told anyone that he wanted to name his son that.

“When I returned to England, I tried once more to help, but you can’t help people who don’t want help. Your wife, Astoria, died shortly after Scorpius turned eight, and you were raising him with the help of her parents. But before I’d even returned home, suspicion of the Dark had once more become an issue. I won’t go into too much detail about it right now, so please hold your questions.”

Draco nodded silently.

“We met again through Luna when we were 36. For me, it was perfect. He was perfect. The more we met after that, the more I wanted you, him. We fell in love.” Harry said, his eyes far away as he held onto Draco's hand tightly.

Draco's mouth was slightly parted, and he wasn't sure how to feel, so he chose to remain silent.

“We married. It was the happiest time of my life. We had five years together. But those five years were the only ones that mattered to me. You were the most important person in my life, and when…” Harry was shaking, his lips trembling lightly, and his eyes downcast, looking at their joined hands.

Draco was scared, knowing that something awful had happened. Harry composed himself enough to continue. “As I said before, the suspension and tension in the community were growing. I had even been accused of being the next Dark Lord. They, the Ministry, had started conducting raids again after an attack by a new group of Dark Wizards. They raided our manor many times but came up empty. They had banned all Dark Magic, all old traditions and celebrations. Those with Dark cores were forced to disregard their own natures and study only Light Magic. The laws were changed, the punishments became more severe. They had become what they feared the Dark would be, supremacists. Only not Dark, but Light supremacists.”

Harry’s sadness had changed into wrath. “One of the main men in their new rule was none other than my former best friend, Ronald Weasley, who had somehow risen to the top of the law enforcement department.”

Draco couldn’t help the sneer that was forming on his face. That Weasel in charge of the law was preposterous.

“On Samhain 2024, they came to our manor. I wasn’t home, only you were there. He - he killed you. You were murdered. I came home, and there you were, lying dead at the tree where we married. I couldn’t protect you. You were alone, and I couldn’t protect you. I - I wasn’t with you.” Harry said, his voice breaking.

Draco felt the tears fall on his hand before he saw them. Harry was crying, his lips quivering, shoulders shaking, trying and failing to gather his control.

Draco quickly stood up and walked to the other side of the booth. Before Harry could feel even more devastated, he gathered him in his arms. Harry held on to him for dear life, clinging to his shirt, pressing his face into the nook of his neck and whispering frantically over and over again in a quiet, broken voice. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry Dragon. I couldn't protect you. I'm sorry."

Draco held him tighter, trying to keep his own heart intact as Harry's was breaking. Feeling the tears gather in his own eyes, Draco quickly shut them and breathed. He needed to be strong for Harry. He couldn't break down now that Harry needed him. He needed to hold on to him, comfort him, save him.

"It's okay, Harry. I'm here. I'm safe. I'm so sorry you had to go through that. It's not your fault. You did nothing wrong." Draco whispered frantically back. He wasn't sure Harry could hear him, but after what could have been minutes or hours, Harry's breathing evened out, and the wetness on Draco's neck dried.

Draco still kept him firmly in his arms, rocking him and petting him down his back. "Harry. Are you...alright?" But of course, he wouldn't be.

"I'm okay, Draco. I'm sorry for crying all over you." Despite saying he was okay, Harry didn't move a centimeter to detangle himself from Draco's arms.

"Honestly, all my life, I've just been surviving. I've never been living. And I think you might be the same. I think you understand." Harry's voice was hoarse and uneven as he spoke.

Draco wasn't sure he understood. The other Draco must have if Harry thought he would. He wondered what kind of childhood the other Draco had if he had never lived and only been surviving.

Sure, Draco, this Draco, kinda of understood just surviving. His father had been very strict as he grew up, but he'd never hurt Draco. Draco knew it was mostly his grandfather that was talking through his father whenever he'd get like that. It did hurt as a child. He didn't understand then why his father was so harsh, so demanding. He tried his hardest to please him. Things got better after grandfather died. It was like the cloud hovering over his father disappeared, and the sun could finally reach him.

So, to some extent, he understood surviving day to day, but he had experienced living as well. Should he tell Harry that? Would it make him feel better or worse? Perhaps it was best not to say anything.

Harry squeezed him before slowly letting go and leaning back. Their knees were still touching, which was rather grounding for Draco.

"After...after that, I hunted them down.” Harry's voice was low and rumbling. The raw emotion from before was still present, but it was taking on a different edge.

"I spent months taking them all down. Ruthlessly, efficiently. I tore through their minds and tortured whatever I needed out of them."

Draco couldn't hold his tongue anymore. "Who?" He pressed out.

Harry looked up at him with wide, manic eyes still red from crying. "The ministry. The aurors. Anyone who was involved in your death. In the prosecution of the dark. I slaughtered them all like the animals they were. I hunted them down one by one. The others would know I was coming for them, and it only made it better. Their paranoia, the primal fear, the terror once I came for them. Mm, it was a worthy revenge."

Harry's eyes were glowing, taking on the shade of the killing curse - the same curse they had learned last year with Moody, the one that had made his skin crawl and his blood freeze. But Harry... he wore it so well.

"I saved them for last." Harry spat out the words. "They knew I was coming for them. They tried to hide, to run. They couldn't outrun me."

Draco's mouth was dry, and for a moment, he had forgotten to breathe as he watched Harry's mind be transported back to that time. He was... he was death. He was the devil. He was breathtaking.

"I killed his wife first, Hermione Granger. An eye for an eye and all that. It was only justified that I killed his beloved when he killed mine. Of course, I wasn't as quick as he was. I made her scream quite a bit before she died, but Ron... Ron I wanted him to die screaming. I cursed him - a nightmare curse, but my own variant of it. I slowly drove him insane. It took hours, but by the next morning, there was nothing left of the person he once was. He was nothing, and I made sure he knew he was becoming nothing. He knew what was happening to him, he felt as memories slipped away, as his personality crumbled. He screamed and he screamed. He begged, but why would I show him mercy when he showed you none? No, that wasn't justice. In the end, he was nothing, and as he died screaming that he was nothing." Harry was grinning now, and Draco would be scared for his life if that toothy grin were directed his way.

Harry's eyes glazed over again, and his smile slowly receded. Draco was just focusing on breathing at this point.

“Later I died again, a few times actually. I died violently, desperately and young like I always knew I would. I just didn’t stay dead. And each time I came back I came back a little bit colder. I had less and less empathy for others.”

Harry's eyes snapped back to him, and Draco startled. Harry's gaze softened and turned into one of concern.

"I know this is a lot to take in, so I would understand if you need some time away from me after all this." Harry frowned and looked away.

"No, I'm... I'm alright. Just... just overwhelmed and trying to sort out my thoughts, but I... I don't want to leave you, Harry. It doesn't matter what happened before - I mean, of course, it does, but it doesn't affect how I feel about you now. You're my friend, and I care for you. But umm, just so you know, I'm not... I'm... I can't... I'm not into umm..." Draco trailed off, but Harry must have understood him anyway, as he smiled - a small, amused smile that made Draco explicitly happy to see.

"I know, and despite how much I loved him for who he became as a person, I don't ever want you to have to go through the same things. What I had with him was special. And you are special to me, Draco, but in a different way." Harry spoke lightly, not disappointed at all.

Draco let out a sigh of relief and looked around. "Hey, what happened to our food?"

"Oh, I probably made them leave with my magic. They probably even forgot we existed. Let's reorder."

As they left the shop, Harry felt lighter. It felt nice to have someone know more about him. Of course, he hadn’t told Draco the whole truth. He hadn’t mentioned that it had actually been his life and not just memories of one. He also chose not to mention the whole "Master of Death" thing, but honestly, that was more Kali's input that prevented that.

Kali had spoken to Harry a few times during Draco's and his conversation. They had probably sensed his distress and tried to help him, which Kali did unsurprisingly. What was surprising was how well Draco seemed to be taking all this. Harry wasn't sure what was running through his mind, and he didn't want to look into Draco's mind while his own was so unstable.

He'd felt his emotions through Draco's magic, and none of it had been surprising, considering what Harry was telling him. The only thing that had made Draco truly uncomfortable seemed to be what Harry's expectations for their relationship could be. Harry had felt the sorrow and gloom that spread through Draco's magic as he tried to find a gentle way to tell Harry he wasn't romantically interested in him. He'd stayed calm in the face of Draco's sorrow, and it had been the truth. Harry had no intention of starting up a relationship with Draco. No, that wouldn't work.

The constant comparisons between the two, the fear, the paranoia. No, Harry couldn't put himself or Draco through that once more. He loved Draco, but it would stay a platonic love in this world. However much he craved more, it was not meant to be. 

It took Harry only a few years as a child to realise not everyone gets their happy ending. That not everything in life is beautiful and happy. That some die as sadly as they lived. That happiness isn’t a given and that most likely, he won’t find it. 

"I have one more stop before we head back to Hogwarts, if that's okay with you?" Harry turned to Draco as he walked down the street.

"Sure, where are we going?" Draco asked curiously.

Harry grinned and tilted his head to the side. "Grimmauld Place, to pick up something that is currently residing with my escaped convict godfather." Harry spoke in a light, overly happy voice.

Draco couldn't help himself as he bent over and groaned. "Really Harry. We're committing a crime today as well. This day is certainly endless."

"It'll be quick, I promise. I have no intention of talking to Siri today. I don't even want him or anyone else that we've been there." Harry patted Draco's back and continued walking.

"Besides, what we're about to steal is even more illegal than consorting with a known criminal." Harry said cheerily.

Draco groaned once more, and Harry started to giggle.

Harry resorted to using shadow walking with Draco into the house, seeing as it was the only way to bring Draco along. He wouldn't have been able to enter because of the wards, but thanks to shadow walking, they easily bypassed them.

As they stepped out of the shadows, Harry waved his hand, and an invisible barrier appeared and disappeared around them.

"What was that?" Draco whispered at him.

Harry didn't even bother whispering. "A ward to prevent anyone from seeing and hearing us. It also works against house elves, thank the gods. The one residing here is a very noisy elf, after all."

Harry could see Draco looking around at the terrible state of the once-proud and honored home of the prestigious Black family. With no time to think of the state of the place, Harry let his magic guide him to the locket hidden once more in Kreacher's cupboard. Before Draco could see it, he'd stuffed it into his pocket.

"What is that?" Draco asked with a slight tremble in his voice. He could most likely feel the dark magic transmitting from it.

As Harry stuffed the locket into his pocket, he felt it reaching out to the pendant with the other part of the soul. He allowed them to feel each other briefly, but before they could act, Harry closed the connection.

“This is something I need in my quest against my enemies. It's nothing you should know about, Draco. It will only put you in more danger.” Harry spoke gravely.

“Alright, I trust you.” Draco said, easily letting it go, which Harry was thankful for.

“Let's head back now. It's getting late, and I'm sure the others are wondering where we are.” Harry said as he grabbed Draco's hand and pulled him into the shadows.

As they left, Harry couldn’t help but think back to the conversation he had with Kali and felt the same shiver of trepidation travel down his spine. 

“Your husband, he died, why?”

“Because of me. They were after me.”

“No, he died because humans always do. They are not as strong as you. They never will be. They die. But you - you don’t. You won’t…. And it doesn’t matter how much you wish you would.” 

Chapter Text

Over the past few days, Harry had noticed something peculiar - someone was messing with him and his belongings.

It was of no consequence, of course. Nothing of importance could be touched by others, and if his homework disappeared or got ruined, he just looked for the written homework in his mind and transferred it back onto the parchment. No biggie, but it was getting slightly annoying.

This morning, while sitting at the Slytherin table, eating his breakfast and trying to catch up on some reading, Harry noticed that his copy of "Magical Hieroglyphs and Logograms" had vanished from the table. He frowned, looking around in confusion.

"Where'd my book go?" he asked Draco and Pansy, who were sitting across from him.

They both looked up from their breakfast, equally puzzled. "What book?" Pansy asked.

"Magical Hieroglyphs and Logograms. I had it right here." Harry said, gesturing to the empty space on the table.

Draco looked around and frowned. "Maybe someone took it? Or maybe it fell on the floor?"

Harry shook his head, his mind was already going over the last few minutes, trying to recall when it disappeared. "No, I don't think so. I had it right here a minute ago."

As he spoke, his eyes flicked over to the Gryffindor table, where he saw Ron glancing in his direction. Harry had a hunch that he and Granger might be behind the strange occurrences happening to him over the past few days. He made a mental note to keep an eye on them.

During potions class, his suspicions were confirmed when Ronald tried to throw what Harry guessed was an Ashwinder egg into his potion, which would have caused an explosion. Thankfully, he had a protective barrier around the cauldron, and the extra ingredient just bounced off.

Another fortunate coincidence was Snape's placement as this all happened. He was standing behind Weasley and Granger and had clearly seen Ron throw something towards Harry and Draco's potion.

"What are you doing, you imbecilic dunderhead? Are you trying to kill us all, or are you just so utterly clueless you don’t even know what would have happened had an Ashwinder egg landed in their potion?!" Snape's words were sharp and cutting, and Harry could feel the anger radiating off of him in waves. He was surprised that Snape had even acknowledged what had happened, seeing as Harry was the victim, but most likely, he was doing it for Draco.

Snape demanded to know what Ron's thought process had been. Ron had no answer and had only stuttered out a half-hearted “It-it was just a-just a-a joke.”

“Detention both of you, two weeks with me preparing ingredients and learning of the importance of not mixing incompatible ingredients!” Snape's fury was obvious with the way he was glaring at them. Hermione was shocked - how had she landed herself in detention - was what Harry saw as he skimmed her mind.

Ron’s mind was only filled with anger, bitterness, and resentment. Half-formed plans of revenge occupied his mind. His mind was predictably unguarded, and Harry shouldn’t be surprised, really, but he honestly expected more from Dumbledore's soldiers.

And really, how did they think that messing with him was a good way to rekindle their friendship? Harry certainly wasn’t sure how they planned to spin this to their advantage.

As Snape finished berating them and Hermione looked close to tears, he turned to Draco and Harry’s table. The hatred in his glare was still clear as he looked at Harry, but he said nothing.

Was Harry supposed to thank Snape for doing his job for the first time in a decade? No way, he thought to himself.

As Harry remained silent and looked straight back at Snape, the professor narrowed his eyes and turned away.

"Get back to work, you idiotic brats!" Snape hissed as he headed for his table.

Harry shook off the feeling of frustration and turned his attention back to the potion they were working on. Draco was carefully measuring out ingredients, his movements precise and practiced. Harry watched him for a moment, admiring the ease with which he worked. It was clear that Draco had been raised in a household where potions were an important part of life.

As the class wore on, Harry found himself stealing glances at Ron and Hermione. Ron was still fuming, muttering under his breath and shooting dark looks at Harry and Draco whenever he thought they weren't looking. Hermione, on the other hand, looked torn between anger and concern. Harry could see the worry etched on her face, and he wondered if she was more upset about Ron's behavior or the fact that she had been dragged into detention along with him.

Snape was still watching them all like a hawk, his gaze sweeping across the room every few minutes. Harry tried to ignore him as best he could, but it was getting a bit distracting.

Finally, the bell rang, signaling the end of class. Harry quickly gathered his things, eager to escape the stifling atmosphere of the dungeon. As he headed for the door, he heard Ron mutter something under his breath.

When Harry was young, he remembers how adults praised him for being quiet and well-behaved. They would say things like "Doesn't make a sound" and "Such a calm and silent child," as if being unnoticed was a virtue to aspire to. But Harry despised this kind off praise, he was not choosing to be quiet, he was forced into it. 

As a child, he quickly learned that staying silent was the best way to avoid being hit. Every time he was forced to be in his abusers' presence in the presence of others, they would hiss at him, "Be quiet or you'll regret it when we get home!"

How he longed to scream, to shout out, "I'm here! I exist! I matter!" But he never did. At least, not as a child.

Now, Harry had the power to choose how loud he wanted to be, how much his presence and his voice mattered. He vowed never to remain silent for the sake of others again. So when Ron and Hermione came yelling at him after dinner, blaming him for getting them in trouble, Harry refused to hold his tongue.

"What the hell is your problem!? We're supposed to be best friends, and you can't treat us like this!" Ron shouted as he left the Great Hall with Draco. 

Harry couldn't help but let out a deep, annoyed sigh. Hadn't they been over this before?

"As I have previously told you, we were never really friends, and I certainly don't have friends who drug me, rob me, and betray me. You, Weasley, are nothing to me." Harry spoke in a calm voice, infuriating Ron further.

Ron raised his wand at Harry, his eyes filled with determination, but still Harry found him lacking. Harry thought his attempt to force a duel was idiotic and rolled his eyes. With a wave of his hand, Harry sent Ron's wand flying.

"Did you see that, Draco? The fool wants to attack me, hurt me, make me scream.” Harry said in a cold, honeyed voice. Draco sneered at Weasley and prepared himself with his wand by his side.

"I'll make you come back to the light, Harry! And if I have to hurt you to do so, I will!" The fool obviously wasn’t able to understand the situation he was in.

Even with Hermione standing by his side, Ron was not a threat. No one was. A cold, dark chuckle escaped Harry's lips as he regarded Ron.

"Did you hear that, Draco? He's going to hurt me. Let's see how he does it without his wand." Harry had previously been maintaining his facade, but he dropped it, revealing a malicious, sadistic smile on his face.

Draco had never been one for physical violence, but he wanted to see Weasley put in his place. A smaller, but still malicious smile pulled at his lips.

Ron was still angry, but he had seemed to come to the conclusion that without his wand, this fight wouldn't last long.

"No? Not even gonna try?" Harry asked, still grinning, but his tone now light and curious. You would almost believe he was joking if not for the oppressive magic in the air.

In a second, his smile disappeared, and his expression turned cold, precise, and ruthless. His eyes glowed an eerie green, and his lips twitched as if he were trying to contain a sneer that was forcing its way to the surface.

“You are nothing. Will anyone miss you if you were gone? No? How sad. Isn’t it sad Draco when someone is worth nothing?” 

“So sad.” Draco replied with no hesitation. 

“Hmm yes, so very sad. It’s so tragic when a person is just nothing.” Harry looked Ron dead in the eyes and let his magic surround Ron, making him shiver with unease.

“You know right? You know that's what you are right? Nothing. You are nothing…you will live as nothing. You have no worth, no importance. And after living as nothing you will die as nothing.” At the last words Harry’s magic expanded beyond reach. The air became so cold their breaths could be seen, the floor sparkled as ice crystals formed along the whole corridor. The feeling of death cold touch travelled up their spines and grabbed them by their necks.

Harry stalked towards Weasley and slowly walked around his immobilised form, stopping in front of him. Harry put a hand on Ron’s shoulder and whatever strength the redhead had left him. He fell to his knees with a weak whine.

As he used whatever will he had left to lift his head and look into Harry’s eyes he regretted it immediately. This was not Harry. This was a monster, a demon. This wasn’t a human. 

Draco didn’t think the terror in Weasley's eyes could increase but as Harry laughed, cold and high, it did. If not for Harry’s hand on his shoulder the boy would have fallen backwards and crawled away from whatever sight he saw as he looked upon Harry.

“You wanted to hurt me. You proved you can’t. And I, oh I want to hear you beg. Shouldn’t one of us get what we want at least, hmm?” The light, unbothered voice was back and it made them all flinch in response.

Harry must be focusing his magic on Weasley. He was trembling like a leaf and gone pale making his freckles stand out like blood in snow. Draco could feel the biting cold of Harry’s magic but not to the same extent Weasley did apparently.

Harry’s former friend's mouth opened and closed a few times before Ron seemed to realised no one was coming to his rescue.

He didn’t know what Harry would do to him should he refuse, a few minutes ago he wouldn’t have hesitated to spit in his face for even saying something like that but that was before the monster became known. 

He was certain Harry would hurt him, maybe even kill him if he didn’t get what he wanted so Ron forced the words from his throat.

“I beg you, please let me go.” The words could barely be heard and Harry wasn’t satisfied.

“Let you go? What about your darling know-it-all over there? No plea for her? How selfish.” Harry tilted his head in curiosity. 

Hermione had forgotten she was even there before that moment. She had looked upon the scene as if it were a play and not real life, a grave mistake on her part.

“You can’t do that. It’s illegal to threaten someone. We will go to the Ministry!” Hermione spoke up.

Harry turned his glowing green eyes to her and dropped the hand on Ron’s shoulder. She really wished he wouldn’t look at her with murder clear as day in his eyes.

“Threatened? I haven’t threatened anyone here. Draco, have I spoken a word of a threat to anyone here?” Harry shook his head in mock confusion.

Draco couldn’t see Harry’s expression, but he knew what part he was to play without seeing Harry.

“No, Harry, you haven’t threatened anyone. Weasley over there, however, has. He was quite clear in his threat. What was it? Oh yes, he would bring you back to the light even if he had to use violence. Now that’s a threat if I’ve ever heard one.” Draco spoke as if he were talking about the weather.

Hermione opened her mouth to respond, but Ron was faster.

“Please let us go! We are sorry! Please have mercy.” Ron spoke hastily, finally having used his brain.

“Mercy?” Harry said the word as if he’d never heard of it before. “Let you go? Who is holding you hostage here? Not me, nor Draco. If you wish to leave, I’m not forcing you to stay.” The mock confusion was back at full force.

“Just a word of advice, remember what happened here today. Wouldn’t want to repeat the same mistakes for a third time, would we?” Harry smiled mockingly at them as he walked up beside Draco and crossed his arms, as if scolding them.

Quickly scrambling to his feet, Ron grabbed Hermione’s hand and sprinted away. As he ran, the feeling of death followed him as he heard the mocking, high laughter echo all around him.

During the late evening, a disappointed old man and a seething potions master were found in the headmaster's office.

"Severus, my boy, we are only as strong as we are united and as weak as we are divided. Alienating Miss Granger and Mr Weasley is not in our best interest. They have an important task ahead of them, and they need to be able to do it freely, without interference." Dumbledore spoke with a disappointed sigh to finish the statement.

Snape was seething with annoyance and anger. Did the headmaster not understand what would have happened had the fools succeeded in sabotaging the potion?

"Whatever their task may be, it is of no importance to me. My priority is to the students, and should they have succeeded, many students would have been hurt. I will not stand back and watch. You know my oath will not allow it. Their punishment was too lenient. However, I knew you would have protested should I have punished them accordingly." Snape responded through gritted teeth, not looking away from the headmaster's grave stare.

The headmaster let out a long-suffering breath and leaned back. "I am aware of your predicament and the children's poor judgment in choosing the appropriate time, but I have to ask you to let them go without punishment."

"No. I will not, and that's the end of it. If there is nothing more, I'll be on my way." His glare was hardened, and Dumbledore could see this was a lost fight.

"Very well, then, my boy. I hope that when I ask something of you in the future, you'll be more willing, knowing that everything I do is in our best interest." The old man looked lost in thought as he spoke, but a moment later, the clarity returned to those glimmering eyes of his.

"You may be on your way now, Severus. Please do try to keep your distance from those children. Goodnight." Dumbledore turned away, already dismissing Snape's presence.

Severus quickly rose and headed for the door. But before he reached it, he shot a quick glance towards the bookshelf. Something felt off about it, but he saw nothing out of place.

As he turned back towards the door, he spotted movement from the corner of his eye but pretended not to notice.

With a quick pace, Severus headed for his office, soon reaching it. As he closed the door behind him, he could still feel eyes on him. A second later, that became irrelevant due to the burning pain he felt coming from his dark mark.

Alongside the pain came panic, disbelief, and anger. The Dark Lord was back, and Dumbledore was right. Why was he being summoned now of all times, though? Did the Dark Lord know he was a traitor? That he worked for Dumbledore? Did he know of the oath?

As his thoughts spiraled, the pain became almost unbearable. He needed to go. There was no other option.

With his impending doom on the horizon, Severus' thoughts drifted to Lily. He hoped he had done enough for her to forgive him.

The Dark Lord had summoned him to the Malfoy manor. He recognized it as he landed on its front steps.

A house elf came into existence before him and led the way. Severus' mind was blank as he prepared to face the most powerful Dark Lord once more. His shields were as immaculate as ever, and the Dark Lord had never been able to see past them. He hoped that was still true.

The elf had stopped in front of a double door, most likely holding Voldemort behind them. He raised his fist and knocked once-twice before the door softly opened, leading into an office.

Sitting behind a large, dark wood desk was a man – just a normal man, until he looked up from the papers on his desk, and his blood-red, inhuman eyes met Severus's. Severus couldn't contain the shiver down his back, nor the cold sweat that broke out across his forehead.

The Dark Lord was in human form – a form that was strikingly beautiful and, disregarding the eyes, would make anyone trust this despicable man.

"Severus, how wonderful of you to join me on such short notice." The man spoke. Even his voice was beautiful. The only thing that brought Severus out of his shocked state was the sinister thoughts lurking behind those eyes as he stared into his.

Finally, Severus returned to himself, and so quickly his knees hurt as they hit the ground – he was kneeling.

"My Lord, please forgive my mistake of not kneeling before you sooner. I was rejoicing at your unexpected return.” Severus spoke in a low and surprisingly steady voice.

"Unexpected? Do you think I am incapable, a mere mortal wizard?" Voldemort's voice was cold as he spoke, his eyes narrowing at the sight of his kneeling follower.

Severus's hands shook at the poorly worded excuse. "No, of course not, my Lord. You are the most powerful wizard that ever existed. Of course, you wouldn't be bound to the same rules as us mere mortals. I – I only meant that I hadn't noticed any indications of your return. Please forgive my slight and have mercy upon me, my Lord." This time his voice wasn't as steady. Instead, it was shaky.

With his head lowered as a sign of respect and subordination, he wasn't able to see how Voldemort reacted.

He heard the rustling of papers as he waited for a response. The most likely outcome would be a Crucio to the chest, but that hadn't happened yet. Maybe, just maybe, this Voldemort was different.

"You wouldn't have." The Dark Lord responded without emotion. No hidden anger – that was a good sign for Severus.

It took a second for Severus to understand what he'd responded to. "You wouldn't have." Severus wouldn't have noticed his return because he'd done nothing to attract attention, or he had gotten better at hiding his presence?

Before he got a chance to think it over, Voldemort interrupted.

"Come, have a seat, Severus." Voldemort wasn't looking at him; instead, he was sorting through the papers on his desk. It made Severus relax for a moment to be disregarded, dismissed as someone of no threat.

The peace didn't last long.

Voldemort's eyes snapped back to him with anger clear as day in his eyes.

"It has come to my attention that you have betrayed me, Severus." He spoke calmly, too calmly. Severus's breath hitched.

"My Lord, I would never-" but he was cut off before he could explain.

"Stop. I know what you have done, but I want to hear it from you. You are bound to Harry Potter. You have sworn an oath to protect him. Tell me how that came to be."

He was already doomed – what was the point of turning back now?

“I-I loved Lily. I love Lily. When I heard of your plans to hunt her down after the prophecy was told, I-I had to protect her.” Severus swallowed but continued on.

"I begged Dumbledore to protect her, to save her. He asked me what I would give in return. I gave him myself. I sold myself to the Order of the Phoenix in the hopes that it would save her. I spied on you so he would protect her, hide her."

"But he didn't, did he?"

"No." In that simple word, so many emotions could be heard: regret, grief, anger, frustration, hatred.

Death had been creeping in for a long time; Severus would accept what was to happen. In death, at least, there was a chance he'd get to see her again.

But death didn't come.

A knock was heard as Severus was frozen in his seat.

"Lucius, perfect timing for once." Voldemort said as Lucius slowly stepped inside and knelt.

"My lord, how may I be of assistance?" Lucius hadn't noticed Severus yet or perhaps didn't dare to look at who was seated across from his lord.

"Lucius, you've come to witness an oath between Severus and myself." At the response, Lucius glanced up and made eye contact with a startled Severus.

"Of course, my lord." Lucius said quietly.

Severus' mind was still blank, and he had a hard time understanding what was happening. Why wasn't he dead after admitting his guilt? Why wasn't he twitching uncontrollably on the floor? Why was he breathing?

As Voldemort stood, so did he. The dark lord rounded the table and grabbed ahold of Severus' arm quickly, before he could protest. Lucius put his wand to their connected arms and released his magic.

Usually, with a two-way unbreakable vow, the witness posed the question, but this wasn't two ways. This was Severus' vow, a vow binding him to Voldemort as it did to Dumbledore, tying him to the dark lord with no means of escape.

"Do you, Severus Tobias Snape, swear to never betray my trust, my cause, or the way of the dark ever again?"

"I do." What choice did he have if he wanted to live? And despite everything, he wanted to live.

"Do you swear to never personally or through someone else, willingly hurt the Dark Side or anyone associated with the Dark Side from this moment forward?"

"I do."

"Do you swear to always follow my orders and execute the order to the best of your ability?"

"I do."

"Do you swear to die, should I command you to?"

Severus swallowed. "I do."

Severus had been waiting for a specific question, but it didn't come. The question to kill Potter or to kill Dumbledore. If the Dark Lord asked it, Snape wouldn’t be able to do so and he would be breaking his vow to protect Harry Potter. But it didn't come.

"If you break any of these bonds, know that your death will not come quickly nor painlessly."

"I understand." Severus' voice was grave but accepting.

With that, the magic snapped into place, invisible chains gathering around Severus' core, keeping him bound and restricted. But it didn't matter; what mattered now was Potter.

"My lord, what about Potter?" Severus questioned without hesitation.

Voldemort narrowed his eyes in irritation as Lucius flinched at the question. Voldemort disregarded Lucius.

“The boy does not matter. He shall be left alone. He shall no longer be of concern.” Voldemort's voice was tight and strained as he spoke, as if he didn’t want to accept what he just said.

“Now, leave both of you. I will summon you when the time is right.” Voldemort looked at Severus during his last statement. Severus couldn’t keep his tongue still.

“What am I supposed to do, my lord?”

Voldemort's nostrils flared at the question, and this time the Cruciatus curse did come. Severus fell to the floor but refused to scream. It was, however, as painful as he remembered. Voldemort only held it for a few seconds, though.

“Stand, Severus.” Severus rose on unsteady legs.

“Continue on as if nothing has changed. Gather information and wait for my summons. Do not question me again. Leave.”

And Severus left on even shakier legs than when he arrived.

Chapter Text

Harry plopped down at the breakfast table with a stretch and a yawn. Draco, who was sitting next to him, couldn't resist yawning himself. Harry had been up late the night before, honing his powers, and he was thrilled with the progress he had made. 

He had now almost perfected the ability to manipulate the physical development of living beings down to the year. He had been experimenting on rats, but he was eager to move on to humans. However, finding a muggle subject to practice on was a difficult task, and he wasn't sure where to start. He wasn’t sure how painful of an experience it was to be changed on a molecular level, most likely very painful, so using someone who actually deserves some pain would be best to ease Harry’s discomfort. Maybe he could break into a muggle prison and grab a couple of the worst criminals and then, when he was done, he’d just kill them and drop them back there? In that case he could also practice separating the soul from the body…

As Harry pondered his next steps, he heard a commotion outside the windows. The sound of owls filled the air, and he could hear a growing murmur of voices. He paid it no attention at first, but then he noticed Draco reading the Daily Prophet with a look of consternation.

"What's going on?" Harry asked.

Draco looked hesitant but eventually handed Harry the newspaper. "You should read this, Harry. It's about Dumbledore.” He said, fearful of how Harry would react.

As Harry read through the article, his amusement grew. He couldn't help but snicker quietly.

THE SCANDALOUS PAST OF ALBUS DUMBLEDORE: lover of a Dark Lord

By Rita Skeeter

My dear readers, I have uncovered a shocking revelation about our beloved headmaster, Albus Dumbledore. It turns out that he is not the virtuous defender of the light that he presents himself as. No, in fact, he was once the lover of the Dark Lord Grindelwald.

Dumbledore and Grindelwald first met when they were young men and quickly became involved in a romantic relationship. Their love was anything but innocent, and their relationship was quite scandalous. (More about how they met on page 3.)

It is a well-known fact that Dumbledore and Grindelwald were acquainted and had met previously to their famous duel. However, until now, the true nature of their relationship has been hidden from the public eye…

Now that the truth has been revealed, it is up to us to decide whether Dumbledore is truly the hero he claims to be. Can we trust a man who was once involved with the very embodiment of darkness?

I leave that decision up to you, my dear readers. But I urge you to consider carefully the implications of this revelation.

Harry couldn't help but roll his eyes, Rita was so dramatic. He had sent her information and evidence, but he had forgotten that she had already been gathering her own information on Dumbledore for her book. He had assumed she would release it in due time, but she had acted quickly.

Death is too easy a punishment for Albus Dumbledore. His reputation was what he valued the most, and once it was gone, he would never be able to restore it. Losing a good reputation was much worse than never having one at all.

Harry already knew what the article contained as he skimmed through it. He glanced over the paper and watched the others' reactions to the shocking revelation. The Gryffindors were outraged and believed Rita to be a liar. The Hufflepuffs were split, with some trusting the evidence presented, such as the photo, the witnesses, and the letters between the star-crossed lovers. But some of them still chose to trust in their headmaster. The Ravenclaws were undecided and needed more evidence before coming to a reasonable conclusion. As for the Slytherins, most were able to hide their contempt and disgust, but Harry could see through their masks. He himself was fighting a smirk.

Unfortunately, Dumbledore was not present at the head table, so Harry couldn't witness his reaction firsthand. However, the horrified looks on the other professors' faces were quite a sight.

Yule break was approaching, and Harry still had horcruxes to find. He had in his possession the locket, ring, diadem, and the piece currently around his neck, leaving only one remaining: the cup.

Although Harry was certain the cup was a horcrux, he wasn't sure about Nagini. In his world, Nagini had become a horcrux before the Triwizard Tournament when Voldemort was still a wraith. But, even if Nagini was a horcrux in this world, he couldn't kidnap her without Voldemort noticing. So, for now, he would focus on finding the cup and retrieving it.

Breaking into Gringotts would be a challenge for an ordinary wizard, but Harry was anything but ordinary. Although he had the ability to shadow walk directly into the vault, he wanted to try doing it without that ability first, and if he failed, he would admit defeat and use it.

Harry didn't want to wait for Hogsmeade weekend, which was still two weeks away, especially since he needed that weekend to shop for Yule gifts. So, on a Saturday evening, after his dorm mates had gone to sleep early due to a little something in their food, Harry gathered what he deemed necessary and headed out. For old time's sake, he decided to sneak around using his cloak, which he had willed to take the shape of a winter robe and become invisible.

Walking through the corridors, Harry couldn't help but reminisce about the past. This had once been his home and safe place, the only place he could be himself, or so he thought. While this place held dear memories, it also held some of the worst, such as the tainted friendship with Granger and Weasley, the manipulations of the old goat, and the death of so many innocent children.

This was the place where his dreams had come true, and the place where they had been crushed. Just over in the Forbidden Forest was where he lost an important part of himself, his soul. The fact that Harry had no soul didn't bother him, but that might be because he couldn't miss what he didn't remember having.

All of these memories had taken place so long ago that being back here felt like looking at a long-forgotten memory. It didn't feel real, but then again, he never really felt real either.

As Harry reached the statue of the humpback witch and opened the secret passage, he willed his mind to focus on the present, forcing all memories of Hogwarts behind his occlumency shields. As he walked through the endlessly long tunnel, he called Death to keep him company.

"Hey Kali." Harry spoke in his mind, pushing his magic towards the connection between them to alert Death of his want for their presence.

"Yes, my dear master?" Death's voice was still inhuman and grating, but it brought with it a sense of peace.

"Do you happen to know if Voldemort made Nagini into a horcrux in this world?" Harry asked curiously. He was pretty sure Death wouldn't know, seeing as they had little interest in human lives. Kali only valued their beloved souls.

"No, I don't know. What I do know, however, is that the woman he killed to be able to do the ritual in your world still lives in this one."

"So he didn't kill her. That must mean he didn't make one. Well, I guess he could have made another one later on, but still, this is interesting." Harry mumbled, lost in thought.

"What are you planning to do once you've collected all his shards ?" Death emphasized "shards." He really disliked what Voldemort had done to his soul.

Harry continued walking quietly for a few steps before answering. "I am not sure. I needed to collect them to keep them out of the old man's hands, but what I plan to do with them depends on Tom. Either using them as blackmail or forcing them back together into his soul. But I'm undecided."

He had given it some thought after speaking with Death about it the first time, but honestly, it was difficult to determine what the consequences of his actions would be. His initial thought had been to gather them and hold them hostage as a way to control Voldemort. He wanted him to act a certain way, and if he had to blackmail him into being that way, Harry would. But that was before he met him. The Voldemort he met wasn't what he had expected. He was still a murdering psychopath, but who wasn't? But this Voldemort, Tom, was sane, or well, sane-ish. He could hold a conversation without threatening or trying to kill Harry, so that was an improvement.

Harry wasn't deluding himself into believing he was fundamentally different from Voldemort. He knew he wasn't. Just because Tom was saner didn't mean he wasn't still the embodiment of rage and pain. The man would sooner kill the whole ministry than confirm their law. But again, so would Harry.

This was why he was so hesitant to make any concrete plans regarding Voldemort. Was he so blinded by their similarities that he could not see past them? Was he a captive to the man who reminded him too much of himself, the same but in a different font?

Yet, Harry and Tom had chosen to destroy those things instead. They chose to destroy that part of themselves by destroying those around them that reminded them of that. It was funny how instead of protecting themselves, their minds found the best way to move forward was to obliterate those parts of themselves that they didn't believe deserved to be here.

They both despised and envied the weak. While Harry had protected the weak as an abused child, it wasn't entirely his choice. He had been controlled, but now that he was free, he enjoyed causing destruction and chaos. Although he had more self-control than Voldemort, he still desired to crush the weak and eliminate any weaknesses he once had.

However, the problem with Voldemort was that he wasn't weak. He was one of the most powerful men in the world, and Harry admired his strength and ability to protect himself. The horcruxes made him almost invincible, but Harry couldn't decide whether it was a good thing or not.

As his thoughts spiraled, Harry was interrupted by Kali's gentle voice. "Do you not enjoy his company and look forward to the meetings?" Death asked curiously.

Harry sighed deeply. "I do. I like this new version of him, and I enjoy spending time with him...and looking at him. But I can't be too sure of his motives. I don't really care what he does to the muggles, but I don't want to see the same thing happen to the wixen of this world as in mine, where children were slaughtered for nothing."

Harry struggled to understand his own feelings. Most of the time, he cared for no one and was willing to sacrifice them if it benefited him. But, occasionally he felt guilty and responsible, which he hated because he had been brainwashed into saving others at his own expense.

"Wouldn't talking to him be the best course of action?" Kali suggested.

Harry raised an eyebrow and got a skeptical look on his face. "Are you serious? I know Voldemort is saner now, but that doesn't mean he can make a sane decision about the horcruxes. You know what he fears the most. He would never give up his lifelines in favor of a healthier psyche."

Harry knew it was time to end the conversation. "No, telling him will do no good. I'll come to a decision later. I've got to go, but I'll talk to you tonight, Kali?"

"See you then, master."

Gaining entry to the vault had been effortlessly easy for Harry. A little Confundus charm here, a bit of Imperius there, and he was in. As he stood in front of the vault, he could sense the dark magic emanating from the cup even with the ancient wards of the Goblin community guarding it. His fingers involuntarily reached for the pendant containing the other part of the same soul. He could feel it calling out to its lost counterpart. With shaky fingers, Harry pushed his magic combined with the pendants, into the door. This wouldn't have worked for an ordinary wizard, but Harry had become adept at mimicking the magical signatures of others. It was a skill that he had honed over time. He realised that it was not as difficult as it seemed. All one needed was an object with their magical signature, magical sight, experience, and a high level of control over their own magic. Easy-peasy. 

The door slid open with a loud grinding sound. Harry winced as his ears were assaulted by the noise, but it didn't last long. Once he was inside the vault, Harry went straight for the spot where he remembered the cup to be. And thanks to the magic of the cup, it was easy to locate.

The gold of the cup sparkled in the dim light, and for most wizards, the temptation to reach out and grab it would be irresistible. Harry felt the warmth of the cup spread through him, as if searching for sanctuary within his magic. On the verge of accepting its request, Harry's magic burned and seared, forcing him back to reality.

The fact that he, a being like him, was not immune to the cup's seductive magic was disheartening. Those with darker cores would not have the willpower to resist, and those with lighter cores would be repulsed by its dark aura.

Frowning, Harry levitated the cup and dropped it into his Mokeskin pouch, shivering as it almost touched his skin. After that experience, Harry didn't feel like lingering any longer than he needed to. He was still slightly unnerved by the cup's magic. After erasing his magical signature and obliviating the goblins, he used the shadows to travel back to Hogwarts, leaving a replica of the cup in the real cup's place.

It’s dark and cold. Harry doesn’t know where he was. How did he end up here? 

He looked around and saw sloping walls, but he could barely make them out. There was only one tiny window so his eyes took some time to adjust but soon he realised he was in what appeared to be an attic. A very old, very dirty and creepy attic. As he looked further back, everything became hazier, almost like an illusion, a dream.

But this wasn’t his dream. 

Suddenly, the door he hadn't previously noticed was slammed open, and an older woman dressed in a long, outdated dress barged in, dragging a child behind her.

"You will stay here, you freak! And think of what you did or I’ll be forced to call back the priest for your devilish behaviour!" The woman yelled as she threw the young child onto the dusty, dirty floor.

Harry was appalled. Who was this woman? Why was she treating a child in such a cruel manner? He needed to help the boy.

As the boy lay crumpled on the floor, the woman retreated and slammed the door shut with a frustrated grunt. Harry knelt in front of the child, uncertain if touching him would frighten him further. Instead, he spoke in a slow, gentle voice, hoping not to startle the child.

"Hey kid, are you alright?" The child tensed at the sound of Harry's voice but remained still. Harry slowly reached out and grazed his fingers on the child's shoulders with a featherlight touch, letting his magic spread through the child.

Harry watched as the boy slowly started moving his limbs, almost like a puppet being pulled by strings. As the boy turned onto his side, Harry noticed blood running down his face. Panic surged in him. No, he had to calm down; this was just a dream.

He couldn't heal the child if he didn't believe he was being healed. He had to do it the muggle way; the child was clearly a muggle-born.

The boy slowly rose to a sitting position, pushing himself up with one arm, his head hanging down in defeat.

"Little one, what happened? You're bleeding.” Harry said, noticing the child couldn't be more than five years old. He hoped the child could understand him.

As Harry reached out to help, a hand quickly stopped him by grabbing his wrist. "You're real?" The child whispered in a low hoarse tone, staring at Harry's hand like he'd never seen one before. He gripped Harry's wrist so tight that Harry was sure it would leave bruises if this were real.

"I am real. My name is Harry. May I have your name?" Harry spoke gently to avoid aggravating the child.

After examining Harry's hand, the child looked up, and Harry gasped. This child, he knew this child. 

Gods, are you daft or what Harry? He felt like hitting himself in the face. Of course this was his dream, who else’s? This child was Tom Riddle.

Their eyes connected, and Harry’s eyes remained wide and surprised while Tom regarded him with suspicion and fear. Seeming to come to a conclusion, the child spoke.

"My name is Tom Morvolo Riddle. How did you get here?" Tom spoke louder now, more confident, but was still gripping Harry's wrist to make sure he was real or to keep him from leaving.

Harry twisted his hand in Tom's grip to grip Tom's wrist back. "Hello Tom, we've met before actually. Do you remember?" Harry was curious about how much this Tom recalled. Had he reverted back to his child self, or was the adult still in there?

Tom tilted his head and frowned. "You look familiar, I think, but I can't remember meeting you." Tom spoke very clearly for such a young child but he’d always been gifted. The blood was still dripping down his head, and Harry wanted to heal him up.

"Tom, you're bleeding. I would very much like to heal you and stop the bleeding. Is that okay?" Harry tried to show he was genuine in his words, still looking into his eyes.

Tom slowly loosened his grip on Harry's wrist and nodded his head. Harry conjured up a first aid kit since he wasn't sure if this Tom knew of magic and how healing worked. Slowly he cleaned off the blood and found the wound located in Tom's hairline. Harry cleaned him up and bandaged him to the best of his abilities. "There, all done. Are you hurt anywhere else?"

Tom hadn't moved his eyes away from him for a second. "No." He answered simply.

The urge to hug the child was overwhelming, but Tom was hugging his knees tightly. "How about I take us somewhere nicer? Would you like that?" Harry asked, copying Tom's sitting position.

Tom narrowed his eyes at Harry as if he believed him to be lying. "How?" he asked with a hint of bitterness in his tone.

Harry smiled lightly and reached out slowly to grab Tom's hand. He thankfully didn't flinch away. "Close your eyes, and when I tell you to open them, you'll be in a new place, alright?" Harry squeezed Tom's hand gently. Tom hesitated but reluctantly did as he was told. 

Harry wasn't sure where to bring Tom, but he focused on the image of an endless field of flowers with the ocean in the background. "Open them, Tom." Harry whispered. With a gasp, Tom quickly rose to his feet, looking around in wonder and awe.

"How did you do this? We were just at the orphanage!" Tom exclaimed, his hand running over the flowers. Harry walked towards him, grinning.

"Do you like it?" Harry asked, choosing not to answer Tom's other question.

"Yes! It's beautiful!" Tom replied, flushing with excitement. With a spin, he faced Harry again. "Thank you." He said softly, avoiding eye contact.

Unable to contain his emotions any longer, Harry fell to his knees and pulled Tom into a hug. "You don't need to thank me, Tom. You deserve beautiful things. You deserve better than what you were given, little one. You are precious and special, and you should be treated with love and kindness." As Harry spoke, Tom relaxed and leaned onto him.

Reluctantly, Harry loosened his hold and leaned back so he could look Tom in the eye. "Tom, I know this will sound weird, but this is a dream. You are dreaming right now. I can guide you out into my mindscape, but you've got to let me lead. Do you understand, sweetheart?"

Tilting his head in confusion, Tom didn't seem to understand, but he gave the request some thought. "Alright, I will follow you." He said, nodding.

Harry smiled gently at this adorable version of the Dark Lord. He was having a hard time understanding that this child grew up to be the most feared man in Britain. 

"Close your eyes and focus on my magic spreading through your body." Harry instructed. Tom gasped as the warmth spread through him, the unfamiliar magic latching onto his own. "This is going to feel scary, Tom, but only for a moment, the world will go dark, okay? It will be over very quickly, and then you'll remember who you are."

Tom nodded slowly, keeping his eyes closed. Harry grabbed onto Tom's consciousness and pulled, an unpleasant and disorienting experience. There should be no pain, at least. As Tom's body fell slack, and he lost consciousness for a moment, Harry brought them back to their normal meeting room.

In the blink of an eye, the child was transformed into an adult. It made Harry a bit sad to see the sweet child go, but this version of Tom wasn't too bad either. Slowly, the Dark Lord regained his consciousness. His eyes fluttered, and his fingers clenched. With a gasp, he flew upright, a look of panic on his face as he scanned the room.

Spotting Harry by the window, the clear blue light leaking in through the glass, Tom looked at him with a mixture of wonder and fear. Harry looked ethereal, like the angels he had never believed in.

He had no control over his reaction. His mouth fell open, and his eyebrows raised to make room for his widened eyes. What happened? How did he get here?

Whilst contemplating what had happened, he was startled by a low, light giggle coming from the person he was staring at. As he gazed at those enchanting green eyes, his mind filled with images of a dream, a dream with Harry, where he was a child. A child back in the orphanage, thrown into the attic and greeted by a strange boy, Harry, his mind supplied. Harry had comforted him and helped him out of his nightmare…

“Tom, you okay?” Harry asked softly, once more startling him by being able to talk. He didn't even react at being called by his muggle name.

For the first time in his adult life, Tom chose to run instead of fight. Avoiding his feelings wasn’t something he’d have to do for a long time, probably not since he was the same age as in that dream. Tom hated that he was running from the same feeling once more, acceptance. Once he dreamt of belonging somewhere, of being part of something, having people care and understand him, but he was no longer that child, and he would not submit to such feelings now.

His love for being alone stemmed from control. Having no one around meant not hiding, not compromising, not having to alter his feelings to suit them better. Not having to force himself into being someone he’s not. Tom felt most comfortable when he was by himself and failed to see how that would ever change. But still - still, the gripping, painful longing for a connection still haunted him, despite knowing it would rip him to shreds. Some say there’s peace in chaos, Tom only thinks that authority over chaos brings peace.

He’d remained quiet for some time now, averting his eyes from Harry. 

Harry must have taken pity on him.

“So, have you thought anything more about taking on another identity?” Harry's calm, cool voice was a nice distraction from the bubbling uncomfortable feelings rising up in him. It was best to focus on the present.

“I have. It would be a considerable risk, however, and my magic, while extremely powerful, is not invincible. If I built myself a new persona, there would be ways to expose me. The reward is too little for such high risks.” He spoke as if nothing was out of the ordinary, as if Harry wasn’t the one to pull him out of a nightmare. He felt he was doing a good job of remaining calm.

Harry hummed in thought, his eyes looking up to the right. Tom wasn’t sure if Harry was aware of his habit to look right when thinking of something in the past and looking to the left when making something up and trying to formulate himself.

Tom had always prided himself on being very observant, and whilst he did occasionally pick up on some habits others may have, he tended to pay them no mind, but it was different with Harry Potter.

He knew which side he looked to when he was thinking, he knew he fiddled with his necklace when he was considering something or was deep in thought, he knew he clenched his fist when he got annoyed, he knew he drummed with his fingers when he was uncomfortable, he knew he bit his bottom lip when thinking of something he didn’t like. Tom knew these things. Were they important, valuable for him in any way? No, not really. But still, he couldn’t help but look for them.

“I may have another alternative… it would be almost impossible to be detected by anyone, and there would be no magical signature to expose that you were hiding something. It’s pretty much foolproof, but it won’t be pleasant for you.” Harry was still looking over to the side, his eyes glazed over slightly.

Tom raised an eyebrow at the thought of the brat knowing something he didn’t. “Go on.”

Harry breathed out deeply, he didn’t really want to disclose this information but Kali had promised the Dark Lord could not copy the marks and do them himself. The magic of death was needed and it was something Tom didn’t have.

“I think it’s easier if I show you.” And with that Harry started to unbutton his shirt carefully. Tom watched on in interest and surprise as more of Harry’s toned chest was exposed.

As the shirt was unbuttoned Tom noticed the dark shapes on Harry’s chest and rib cage. He’d never seen anything like it before, the tattoos were the darkest of black, twisted into rough lines forming what he would describe as something similar to hieroglyphs. As his eyes tried to see the details of the tattoos they watered and his vision blurred. Was it a variant of the notice-me-not charm that made his eye unable to distinguish any details?

A warm tingling in his fingers made him come back to the present. Somehow he had gotten up and walked over to Harry and was now touching the marks with his fingertips. For a moment he froze, his gentle touch pausing before continuing investigating as if him touching Harry Potter's chest was a normal occurrence, nothing about this meeting was normal. He dared not lift his eyes and come face to face with him, he would not show weakness in the face of a potential danger.

But had he not done so already. Was he not letting his guard down, letting his thoughts wander in the presence of his prophesied downfall? Hadn’t the same downfall also been nothing but polite and friendly in his presence? This was a dangerous game he was playing. In his effort to disarm the boy he had disarmed himself and evidently grown comfortable in his company.

Such notions were unprecedented. Since the moment he was born, he had been forced to remain on edge. How did such a cheeky brat pull him away from the ledge?

He could not allow it. Something had to change if he was to continue these meetings. A vow, maybe? More consideration would have to be done.

For now, he would continue as if nothing was amiss.

“I cannot distinguish them.” However much he hated admitting to not knowing something, these marks were something special. Just the magic traveling through his fingers proved as much.

Internally, he grimaced. He was still touching him, tracing his finger along the edges and trying to memorize the patterns. He had failed to notice the goosebumps forming along Harry’s arms, but the shiver as he traced the one along the rib cage made his eyes move up to Harry’s face before he could stop himself.

Harry’s breath was shallow, and his mouth was slightly parted, his lips red from biting, making him look edible. His pupils were blown wide, the green of the irises almost unseen. And how Tom yearned. For what, he was unsure.

“You wouldn't. No human has seen these runes in centuries." However much he knew he should remove his fingers and stop this rising tension from continuing, he could not stop the movement. He was not a man who denied himself. Still, where was his self-restraint, his self-control? To fall trap to the human desire for intimacy was a failure. He craved no such thing.

Stop derailing and focus. You are still in his presence, he reminded himself.

“No human, so a creature created this language or has been using it?” Tom asked, no indication of a troubled mind.

Harry tilted his head and looked to the left. “In a way, they would be deeply offended to be referred to as a creature. However, I cannot tell you who made them and what language they are in, but I can tell you what they do if you're interested?” Harry smirked teasingly, perhaps to soften the blow for him of not knowing something. The half-smirk on his face was devilishly attractive, and Tom wanted to ruin it.

Tom waved his other hand in a "get on with it" gesture and looked blankly at Harry. His nonchalant exterior must not be as persuasive as it once was, seeing as Harry’s lips twitched in amusement. Despite it being at his expense, the expression upon Harry’s face had him granting forgiveness before it was even asked of him. Somehow, he doubted Harry would ask for it anyway.

“Well, this one—" Harry grabbed his hand gently by the wrist and guided it to the mark on the left side of his chest. Tom let himself be held and led. “—is for protection.” Harry was still holding his hand and looking at the physical connection between them with an unreadable expression. Tom himself was forcing himself to remain relaxed. However much his muscles wanted to tense in anticipation. Once more he was unsure for what. He was barely able to focus on Harry’s words being this close to him and his magnificent magic.

“And this one is for magic sight enhancement." Harry said as he tangled his finger over his and pulled them towards his ribs. As his fingers glided over the mark, he felt the intrusive thought to grab and squeeze Harry’s slender waist and push him against the nearest surface. He stopped himself from indulging, but as he looked up at Harry's eyes, he saw that desire reflected back at him in them.

A dare.

Harry was daring him.

Harry stepped forward and gently grabbed Tom's wrist, running his thumb over the veins, sending shivers down his back. Giving Harry so much access to him that Harry could make him bleed should make him uncomfortable at least. But no, right now it only made him excited. 

Harry watched his thumb move while Tom watched him. Looking up through his fringe, with eyes wide and open, Harry whispered a simple "Tom."

If he had been a weaker man, his breath would have stuttered, but he showed no signs of the utterance of his name having any effect on him. However, Tom felt it, a fluttering in his stomach and a creeping feeling of desire up his spine. He wanted Harry. But this was a game they were playing, and he knew it. He had played this game before, but he had never felt such a pull to give in, to lose. Harry was daring him to surrender. "I dare you." He could practically hear Harry’s thoughts taunting him. 

Which one would bend first? Which one would give in? Tom was almost certain that he would be the one to bend first, to give in to Harry's alluring gaze. Harry looked like an angel begging to be ruined, taken.

"Harry." He hadn't meant to speak. The name slipped out of his mouth without a thought, a breathless whisper coated with wonder and worship. This man would be the death of him, one way or another.

Chapter Text

"Harry.”

Harry hummed and leaned forward on his toes, millimetres away from Tom's lips. He spoke in a surprised whisper, "I spoke your name yet I still remain uncursed."

"Do you wish for me to curse you?" He replied just as quietly as Harry had spoken. His fingers twitched, unconsciously wanting to grab his wand as a way to ground himself from these feelings making him feel afloat. 

"I wish for many things, I'm unsure if you'll be able to handle them." Harry swayed back and forth on his toes, and with every forward sway, Tom felt that their lips would collide.

"If I could kill you, I would." Tom growled at Harry. Whether it was from anger or arousal was unclear to both of them. 

Harry lowered his eyelids and bit his bottom lip, making Voldemort's attention snap to the soft, full lips becoming red from the blood rushing to them.

"How would you kill me?" Harry spoke softly in a honeyed voice, looking up at him through his lashes, giving him the appearance of someone young and innocent, so unlike who Harry actually was.

Voldemort felt like growling again at the display. He knew Harry was putting up an act to get on his nerves. The annoying thing was that it was working. "How would you want me to kill you?" He asked through gritted teeth. 

"Firmly, with your hands."

He didn't have an answer to that. Tom's control was wavering, and he was quickly forgetting all his reservations about giving in. He needed breathing room; they were too close to be considered appropriate for mere acquaintances.

"I dare you." He could still hear Harry's voice saying in his mind. "I dare you."

So very tempting. Harry was so very tempting. A strange mix of innocence and taint forcing Tom to focus fully on him and only him. Tom didn’t like being forced into anything, even by his own hand. 

Retreating was his only option. It would be a strategic move, not a loss. Yes, that's right, a strategically smart move to gather his thoughts and feelings and come to an educated conclusion.

With his decision made, Tom casually took a step back and slowly walked over to the sofa. He didn't sit down but looked into the empty fireplace opposite it.

He refused to look Harry's way; no good would come of it. Soon, he heard quiet footsteps closing in and a groan as Harry threw himself onto the sofa. He wondered how he’d sound groaning in pleasure. 

Standing rigidly by the fireplace was not ideal, and Tom was quickly wishing to be back in Harry's private sphere. No harm in sitting down, he'd just sit as far away as possible, and besides, the armchairs were gone, so this was the only option. Tom sat down carefully, Harry looking at him as he did. 

"You are sitting next to me." Harry acknowledged the change in behavior.

"Isn't it weird that just a few months ago, you tried to kill me, and now you willingly sit by my side?" Harry's voice was filled with hidden amusement with just a hint of something bitter.

"If you simply wished for me to move, all you had to do was ask." Tom spoke with irritation, already rising to his feet. But before he could take a step away, Harry grabbed onto his arm, forcing him to stay.

"No, that was not my intention. Your presence by my side is pleasant, and I honestly only find the situation we find ourselves in humor-ing. I certainly couldn't have seen this coming a few months ago."

Apparently, at some point, they had decided that ignoring the tension and the previous moment was an unspoken rule. Or perhaps Harry had gotten the hint that Tom no longer wished for such closeness.

"No, I suppose neither could I." Tom replied in a neutral tone.

"Do you wish to speak of it? The dream, I mean." Harry questioned after the silence had hung over them for a few minutes.

Tom looked at him and found no malice or mocking look on his face, only light curiosity tangled with something softer that he couldn’t identify. 

"No, what is there to say? You saw what happened. There is no more to be said." There was a sharp edge to Tom's voice now, promising cuts if one dared to step closer.

“If that is what you wish.” Harry replied evenly as he shifted ever so slightly on the sofa, making Tom very aware once more of their proximity.

“Thank you for bringing me out of there. Of course, I could have done so myself given enough time.” Tom spoke to distract Harry from any lingering thoughts on his past. He knew the boy would find his gratitude surprising, which was exactly why he chose to voice it.

A half-smile formed on Harry’s lips in amusement, so unlike the surprise he’d suspected would force Harry’s eyes wide open and part his mouth. “Of course. You are the mighty Dark Lord, after all.” Harry teased.

Tom simply rolled his eyes, an action he wouldn’t have felt comfortable doing in Harry’s presence even a week ago. Harry refrained from pointing it out.

“I wish I could go back in time and kill them all.” Tom admitted quietly after a few more silent minutes.

“You are experienced in time magic, could you do it?” Tom asked in a joking way, obviously not for Harry to take seriously, but he did. Harry now wore a slightly surprised expression. Yes, he supposed that the use of the time-turner was not common knowledge, but he’d seen enough evidence of it in Harry’s classmates' memories gathered by Barty.

Harry looked into his eyes, his gaze unfocused for a few moments. If Tom didn’t know better, he’d guess Harry was performing legilimency, but it was impossible. The child had no experience in the complicated magic of the mind arts, and he would have felt if an intrusion was occurring.

“Maybe I could.” Harry answered but he startled as he spoke. Tom was unsure of why. Harry twisted his head away from the adamant stare being sent his way.

“Maybe you could? If I asked, would you try?” Tom asked curiously.

“Time magic is fickle. It would not end well for either of us.” Harry spoke, deliberately avoiding the question.

“You did not answer the question. Would you?” His voice was even despite how wrong-footed he had felt this whole meeting.

“Yes.” Harry replied quietly, avoiding his eyes.

The rest of the meeting was spent talking about Harry’s marks and how they could be applied to Tom's situation. Harry was adamant it would help him secure an advantageous position if the war was to continue. Something Harry had spoken of as well in conflicted terms. As for a lot of this meeting, Tom was unsure why Harry was hesitant and conflicted toward starting up the war for their rights again. Bad memories perhaps, or simple dislike for war and battle? Tom had asked Harry what his issue with the war was, and he’d received a long rant because of it.

Harry had made it clear plenty of times he would not take part in the war efforts. He would help if asked, but he would not play a big part. Tom understood, surprisingly. Before Harry could never really understand why Tom chose to attack Muggles when it clearly wasn’t an attack on the Wixen and the government. Now he understands that it was to spread fear. Fear that will later lead to inaction. To keep Tom's reign safe from attempted coups or such. That it’s a strategic move. A very Machiavellian approach.

"One can say this in general of men: they are ungrateful, disloyal, insincere, and deceitful, timid of danger, and avid for profit.... Love is a bond of obligation which these miserable creatures break whenever it suits them to do so; but fear holds them fast by a dread of punishment that never passes." The quote popped into Harry's mind without his consent.

"If I join you, it will not be a war. It will be a genocide. I have powers beyond their imagination. I am too advanced. I am too deadly." Harry spoke with utmost conviction. Tom could not understand why he was so arrogant to believe himself to be the bringer of death, the destroyer of worlds.

"You are but a mere boy in a mask. Why pretend to be more than that?" He was being condescending he knew, but the statement had startled something within him. The same childhood conviction that he was all-powerful, unbeatable, godly. So similar to his own arrogance that it made his chest constrict uncomfortably.

Harry did not acknowledge the tone in which he spoke as he replied. "I'm not. For the beginning of my life, I tried my absolute best to be just a mere child, a normal boy, just Harry. And every time my powers were forcing me to go forward, to evolve, to advance. I am powerful. There is no denying that, and however much you wish it wasn't true, my powers overwhelm yours. You can feel it." The child was speaking as if it was simply facts he was stating, undermining everything Voldemort had spent decades priding himself in: power.

He wished to reach over towards Harry, who was situated at the other end of the same couch, and force him to gain some perspective, some common sense. But the little brat was too stubborn to accept reality, delusions such as his would be hard to overcome and would only bring him down.

"How about when we meet in the physical realm, we duel, and I can show you exactly how delusional I am?" Harry smirked at him, confidence and arrogance clear.

Tom was curious as to how that would play out, so he readily agreed.

As the time approached for them to awaken, they had a rough plan of meeting up during Yule break for Harry's retrieval of the irksome rat of his and the display of Harry's superior powers.

As they started to wake, and the room around them blurred, Harry reached out and grabbed his hand, softly lifting it up to his lips and tenderly kissing the back of his hand. Tom was frozen in place, never had anyone dared to pull such a move on him and get away with it. But somehow Harry, as always, was the exception to every rule.

"I'll see you later, oh mighty Dark Lord."

"Goodbye, little nuisance."

"Hello, my darlings. What have you been up to lately?" Harry hissed in Parseltongue as his beloved little snakes slid up the armchair on which he was currently sitting.

As they settled on his neck, they took in the looks that the other humans were sending their way. "The old man has left the nest once more heading to something called the Burrow with the rest of the birds." Nyx told him.

"They are heading to the Burrow? Then they must be having a meeting. How long ago did he leave?" Harry asked as he thought of ways to spy on the meeting.

"As he left, we headed for you. So, however long it took us to get here from the old man's tower." Selene answered this time.

Harry hummed and contemplated what to do. Going himself would be risky. He could go through the shadows, but did he feel like hiding and listening in to their scuffles? Not really. Besides, he had better things to do. Sending someone to spy would be easier. Now the question was, who?

Harry snapped his fingers and spoke in a clear voice, "Opie." And an elf popped into existence before him.

He had chosen to summon Opie seeing as her magic wouldn't register with the Headmaster. She was already keyed into the wards thanks to her being born here. Her parents had been two of the elves that work in the kitchen, and upon her birth, she had automatically been added to the wards. When she left, she had never been removed from them. It was a convenient little fact Harry had discovered this summer when he helped Opie clean up the garden.

"Master Hadrian summoned Opie?" Opie asked in confusion as she looked around the room and observed the other humans watching.

Harry didn't really care if they saw. He had added a secrecy ward around the Slytherin quarters the first night he got here. Anyone who entered Slytherin territory would be bound to not speak of what happens there outside of the ward to someone who wasn't in the know. So far, no one had dared to complain. Some probably hadn't even noticed the restriction upon them, too ignorant of their own core to feel it.

However, what they were about to speak of didn't need to be heard by others, so he put up a privacy ward.

"Opie, I need you to do something for me. Could you spy on a meeting? It's very important I know what they speak of. You would need to hide your presence and make sure no one knows you are there," Harry spoke in a gentle voice, not wishing to push Opie to do something she didn't want.

He was certain she would be fine. Elf magic worked differently for their magic, and it would go unnoticed by the usual ward and precautions. Dumbledore wouldn't notice unless he was consciously searching for elf magic.

"Opie will help Master Hadrian. Opie will stay out of sight." She answered, seeming unbothered by the request and mission.

"Thank you, Opie. It's at the Burrow in Devon. Here's the address." Harry handed her a piece of paper with the address on it that he had just conjured up. "If they do discover you, do you remember what we talked about during the summer? The Code Orange plan?"

During the summer, Harry had spent a few days coaching his elves on different plans in case of emergency. So, if he ever said the words for a plan, they would be ready.

With a nod of her head, Opie took off with a loud pop, startling Harry's precious snakes that were almost asleep on his shoulders.

The Order of the Phoenix had gathered in the kitchen of the Burrow, their faces tense with worry as they waited for their leader, Albus Dumbledore, to arrive. Molly Weasley fussed over a pot of stew on the stove, while Tonks and Shacklebolt exchanged quiet words by the window.

Finally, there was a soft pop, and Dumbledore materialized in their midst. His eyes twinkled behind his half-moon spectacles as he surveyed the group.

"Greetings, my dear friends.” He said, his voice calm and reassuring. "I trust you have all been keeping well?"

There were murmurs of agreement and nods of heads. Dumbledore's eyes lingered on each member of the Order, as if assessing their state of mind.

"Very good.” He said at last. "Now, let us get down to business—" Before he could continue, the man was cut off by an impatient voice.

"Headmaster, before we begin, could we address the article that was posted in the Daily Prophet?" Tonks hesitated, and her eyes flickered from side to side as if undecided on how to proceed.

"It's just... is it true?" she rushed out. "What they are saying. Is it true that you and—" She choked on the words, unable to bring herself to ask if they had been lovers.

There were murmurs of unease around the table, and Dumbledore raised a hand for silence.

Dumbledore sat down on the only empty chair at the table and sighed. All the exhaustion and regret he had been carrying around was now clear. He dared not raise his eyes as he spoke.

“Once, I was young and foolish and fell for the charms of a promising young man. He was clever and ambitious, and I believed he wanted to change the world for the better. I believed I could help him change the world.” He said, taking a deep breath and relaxing his back, leaning heavily on the backrest.

“But I was blinded, blinded by my love and my faith in him. Only after the death of my dear sister did I understand what kind of man he was, and I’ve spent every day since living with regret and guilt. I decided then and there to give my life for the greater good, to spend every day of my life making up for that mistake.” Dumbledore raised his tear-filled eyes and looked at his people who were looking back at him with various reactions.

“Okay, Headmaster, I’m sorry for bringing it up.” Tonks said, seeming to be one of the few who looked at him with sympathy and forgiveness.

Some looked at him with pity and disappointment, but thankfully no one looked at him with disgust or anger.

“Thank you, my dear. I am sorry to have kept this in the dark. To be truthful, it’s my most guarded and shameful secret. I hope that in time, you will all forgive me for not sharing this fact.” Dumbledore's gentle and coaxing voice was back.

It was now Molly's turn to take a deep breath. “Of course, we forgive you. Everyone makes mistakes, and while yours wasn’t a small one, you’ve done more than enough to make up for it.”

The others seemed to agree with her statement and nodded along.

The subject dropped, and as tea was served, the tense atmosphere eased back into normal.

Albus cleared his throat, and attention was quickly focused on him. “There is something we need to discuss. It’s regarding young Harry.”

The Order tensed, and Sirius was quick to get on the defensive.

“What about Harry? What is wrong?” Sirius hastily asked.

Dumbledore rose and stood at the window in the kitchen, staring out into the night sky. He was worried, deeply worried, about Harry Potter. Something was not right with the boy, he could feel it in his bones.

He had been watching Harry closely for weeks, monitoring his behavior and his emotions. There were times when Harry seemed indifferent to others, jaded and guarded in his actions, but mostly he was able to keep up the newly-formed pureblood mask. He disappeared at odd hours, and while he interacted with the Slytherins, he hadn’t sought out Miss Granger or Mrs Weasley's company since before the summer.

Dumbledore knew that Voldemort was still out there, somewhere, plotting and planning his next move. He feared that the Dark Lord might be reaching out to Harry, trying to infiltrate his mind and corrupt his thoughts.

“I believe young Harry might be falling into the hands of the dark.” Dumbledore said calmly.

Sirius's face twisted into something angry.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Albus?" Sirius demanded. "Accusing Harry of going dark? You know him better than anyone, you know he's not like that."

Dumbledore held up a hand, trying to calm his old friend. "Sirius, please. I do not accuse Harry of anything. I merely express concern for his well-being. Voldemort is still out there, despite how quiet he’s being, and he has tried to manipulate Harry in the past. I fear that he may be trying to do so again."

Sirius snorted. "You think Harry would fall for that? After everything he's been through?"

Dumbledore sighed. "I do not know, Sirius. Voldemort is a master of manipulation, and Harry is still young and vulnerable. We must be vigilant, we must watch over him and protect him at all costs."

Sirius glared at him. "You're damn right we will. But don't you dare accuse Harry of anything. He's been through enough without having to deal with that kind of suspicion."

Dumbledore nodded, acknowledging Sirius's anger. "I understand, my boy. And I apologize if my concerns have caused any distress. But we cannot afford to let our guard down. Voldemort is still out there, and he will stop at nothing to achieve his goals."

Sirius's anger had subsided slightly, but the burning in his magic was still quite clear. “Harry is strong, much stronger than any of us. He will not fall into the hands of the dark. He will follow his path, and whatever that may be, I will be with him.”

Most of the order had remained silent, simply watching the exchange between Dumbledore and Sirius. Shacklebolt had heard enough. “Of course, Harry’s safety is important, and we should help the boy in his endeavors, but if what the headmaster says is true, then we cannot let Potter have free range.”

"We must not give in to fear." Dumbledore said firmly. "We have faced dark times before, and we will face them again. But we must be vigilant, and we must be prepared."

Nods were exchanged around the table among the members, but only Remus remained still as Sirius quietly fumed.

Albus turned to Lupin, who was sitting at the table with his arms folded.

"Remus, I understand you have been keeping an eye on Fenrir Greyback and his followers. What can you tell us?"

Lupin grimaced. "It's not good news, I'm afraid. Greyback's been recruiting heavily, and they've been targeting vulnerable families in isolated areas. They're using some kind of dark magic to track their victims, so it's almost impossible to catch them off guard."

Dumbledore nodded in understanding but Remus wasn't finished yet.

“There is, however, nothing to indicate that Voldemort is behind these attacks or the recruitment efforts. From what I’ve gathered, Greyback is simply trying to expand his territory and take over a few of the larger packs still remaining in Britain. I believe he wants full control of the whole country’s werewolves.”

Dumbledore nodded gravely. "Thank you, Remus. We will need to increase our patrols in those areas and send more teams to investigate further. Tom is staying hidden so far. I do wonder if that is out of necessity or a tactical move..."

There was a flurry of activity as the Order members began to discuss the best course of action. Some suggested a more aggressive approach, while others urged caution and secrecy.

Dumbledore listened to them all, his expression thoughtful. Finally, he raised a hand for silence once more.

"Thank you, my friends. Your input is invaluable. However, I must remind you that we must always act with caution and restraint. We cannot risk exposing ourselves or putting innocent lives in danger."

He rose from his chair, his robes billowing around him.

"Let us leave this meeting with a clear purpose: to defend our world from those who would do it harm. We may not always know the right course of action, but we must always strive to do what is right."

With those words, he swept out of the room, leaving the Order members to ponder his words and their next move.

A second later a quiet pop could be heard. 

As Dumbledore sat alone in his office, his mind was consumed with thoughts of the past, present, and future. He couldn't help but reflect on the decisions he had made and the actions he had taken in the name of the greater good.

His mind wandered back to a time long ago when he had been young and foolish and had made a grave mistake.

He had once believed that he and Grindelwald could work together to create a new world order, one in which wizards would rule over Muggles. He had been blinded by the promise of power and the allure of Grindelwald's charisma and intellect.

But as the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, Dumbledore began to see the darkness that lay beneath Grindelwald's charm. He saw the destruction and devastation that he wrought in his quest for power and domination.

And then, one fateful day, Dumbledore's younger sister, Ariana, died in a duel between himself, Grindelwald, and Aberforth. The tragedy shook him to his core and made him realize the terrible mistake he had made by aligning himself with Grindelwald.

For years, Dumbledore had carried the weight of that mistake with him, haunted by the memory of his sister's death and the knowledge that he had once been party to such terrible ideas. He had spent the rest of his life trying to make amends, to atone for his past sins.

But the regret lingered, a constant reminder of his own fallibility and the cost of his ambition. And now, with the rise of dark forces once more threatening the wizarding world, Dumbledore felt the weight of his past decisions more acutely than ever.

He knew that he could not change the past, but he could use the lessons he had learned to fight for a better future. He could use his influence and his knowledge to stand up to those who sought to dominate and oppress, to ensure that no one else would have to suffer the way his sister had.

As he sat in his office, Dumbledore once more made a silent vow to himself: to never forget the mistakes of his past and to do everything in his power to make sure that they were never repeated. It was a small gesture, perhaps, but it was a start. And for Dumbledore, that was enough.

He thought back to the day he first met Harry Potter, a young boy who had just survived an attack from the most powerful dark wizard of all time. It was then that he knew that Harry was the key to defeating Voldemort, and that he would have to be prepared to do whatever it took to ensure that victory.

Over the years, Dumbledore had put Harry through countless trials and tests, knowing that each one was necessary for his growth and development as a wizard. He had even allowed Harry to suffer abuse at the hands of his relatives, knowing that it would only make him stronger in the end.

And yet, as he sat there now, Dumbledore couldn't help but feel a sense of regret for all that Harry had been through. He knew that it was necessary, but that didn't make it any easier to bear.

But Dumbledore also knew that there was no other way. If they were to defeat Voldemort and bring about a new era of peace and prosperity, sacrifices would have to be made. And if that meant Harry's death, then so be it.

It was a harsh reality, but Dumbledore knew that it was the only way forward. He would do everything in his power to protect Harry and ensure his safety, but ultimately, the greater good must prevail.

As he sat there lost in thought, Dumbledore couldn't help but wonder what the future held. He knew that the road ahead would be fraught with danger and uncertainty, but he also knew that they had a fighting chance.

For as long as there was hope, Dumbledore would continue to fight for the greater good, no matter the cost. It was his duty as a wizard, and as a human being, to do what was necessary to make the world a better place.

And so, with a heavy heart, Dumbledore rose from his chair and prepared himself for the battles to come. He knew that the road ahead would be long and difficult, but he was ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead in the name of the greater good. The first one might be the hardest one, to help guide Harry back into the light. And if worse came to worse perhaps it would be simplest to start dosing him.

Chapter Text

Dumbledore sat behind his desk, his half-moon spectacles perched on his long nose as he scrutinized the parchment before him. Harry stood before him, his arms crossed, a neutral expression on his face, wondering why he had been summoned to the headmaster's office.

"Good evening, Harry," Dumbledore said, looking up from his work. "I hope you're doing well."

"I'm doing quite well." Harry replied evenly as he sat down. He was growing impatient. The headmaster had better make his point soon.

"I've called you here because I have some important news." Dumbledore said, folding his hands on his desk. "As you know, the Christmas holidays are approaching, and I have received some troubling information about your safety."

"Oh?" Harry raised his eyebrow. "And what kind of trouble could I possibly be in?"

"It has come to my attention that you may be in danger if you remain at Hogwarts for the holiday," Dumbledore explained. "Therefore, I'm instructing you to spend Christmas with your relatives."

"My relatives?" Harry repeated, a smirk growing across his face. "And why, exactly, should I do that?" Harry asked in mock confusion.

"I understand your concerns, Harry," Dumbledore said. "But it's important for your safety that you spend this time with your family. It will also be good for you to get some distance from the wizarding world for a few weeks. I'm sure it will be fruitful."

Harry chuckled. "That's funny," he said. "Last time I checked, my relatives didn't exactly have my best interests at heart."

"As your headmaster, I still have a say in your welfare," Dumbledore said. "And I've decided that it's in your best interests to go to your relatives' home for Christmas."

Your relatives' home, Dumbledore said, not his home. Even Dumbledore knows that house could never be his home. 

Harry's smirk turned into a grin. "You know, Albus, I think you're forgetting something. I'm not a minor anymore in the eyes of the law and magic. I don't have to do what you say, and there's nothing you can do to make me go."

Dumbledore's expression hardened. "I'm afraid you're mistaken, Harry." He said. "I still hold a great deal of influence in the wizarding world, and I have ways of ensuring that you comply with my wishes."

Harry's grin turned into a smirk again. "Oh, I'm sure you do," Harry drawled. "But you know what they say, Albus. It's not what you know, it's who you know."

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "And what, pray tell, do you mean by that?"

Harry leaned forward, his eyes glinting with mischief. "I mean that I know people, Albus," he said. "People who would love to hear about all the things you've put me through over the years. People who would love to hear about how you used me like a pawn in your game. People who would love to hear about the horrific abuse and neglect I suffered at the hands of my relatives, abuse you let happen. People who would love to see you fall from grace."

Was it smart of Harry to practically admit to what he was already doing? No. But he was feeling particularly bloodthirsty this morning. He couldn't help himself.

Dumbledore's face paled slightly, realizing that Harry was not just bluffing. "You wouldn't do that, Harry." He said quietly. Harry leaned back in his chair, a smug expression on his face.

"Oh, wouldn't I?" He asked. "You see, Albus, I've learned a few things during the summer. I've learned how to be devious. I've learned how to be cunning. And most importantly, I've learned how to get what I want."

"You are not so cruel as to do that to an old man. You are not ruthless."

Harry's lips stretched into a playful smile, and his eyes crinkled at the corners. He tilted his head up, and now they were on equal ground, looking each other in the eye. Before he spoke, his smile twitched on the left side, almost making it look devilish. "Oh yes, I am."

For minutes they sat in silence. Dumbledore, perhaps waiting for Harry to back down or ask for forgiveness, who knew what went on in that head. Harry was waiting for the inevitable outcome, his victory.

Dumbledore hesitated for a moment longer, then spoke with a slightly uneven voice. "Harry, I understand your concerns, but you must understand that your safety is of the utmost importance. If you refuse to go to your relatives, I may have to take action to ensure that you are protected."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "What kind of action?" He asked.

"I don't want to threaten you, but if I have to, I will, for the greater good. If you don't listen, Sirius will find himself in trouble with the Ministry once more, and I will not be there to help. You know what that will mean for Sirius's fate." Dumbledore sighed heavily.

"I understand your frustration, Harry. But please try to see things from our perspective. You are not just any ordinary wizard. You are the Chosen One, and the fate of the wizarding world rests on your shoulders. We cannot risk your safety." His tone was sober and laced with false regret.

The anger burned, consumed. He wanted to burn this whole place to the ground if it meant this old bastard and all the memories of this place had a chance of burning along with it. But Death was currently warning him about not taking such actions, and despite his blinding anger, Harry knew it was best to listen to them.

Harry stood before Dumbledore, his chest heaving with anger and frustration. The old wizard gazed at him with a mix of sadness and understanding, but it did nothing to quell Harry's emotions.

"I won't do this anymore, old man." Harry spat out. "I won't fight for you or this supposed greater good. I'm just a child, for Merlin's sake, and there is no bloody war, you delusional old fool! Whatever you believe will happen won't. So leave me out of it!"

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled, but the jovial expression was gone from his face. "I understand your reluctance, Harry. But we're fighting for more than just ourselves. We're fighting for a better future for all wizards and muggles alike."

Dumbledore purposefully ignored Harry's words, and the calm tone in which he spoke grated on Harry’s already thin control.

Harry shook his head fiercely. "I don't care about any of that. All I care about is staying alive and protecting the people I care about. I won't let you or anyone else dictate my life and my choices anymore, and it’ll be in your best interest to stay the hell away from me!”

Dumbledore's gaze softened, and he reached out a hand to place it on Harry's shoulder. But Harry hit his arm away before he could reach. Harry's magic would have burned Dumbledore's hand if he had touched him now, and however much he wanted the man to feel all the pain he’d inflicted on Harry, now was not the time. 

"I never meant to make you feel like a pawn in this war, Harry. But the truth is, we need you. Your bravery and determination have been an inspiration to us all." Dumbledore confessed. 

“I'm sick of being used as a tool for your agenda. You say you care about me, but you've put me in danger time and time again. I won't do it anymore. I won't fight for you or this greater good you speak of. Do you understand me, old man?!” Harry was practically screaming in his face now. 

Dumbledore sighed heavily. "I understand your anger, Harry. But you must understand that we are at war. And in war, sacrifices must be made for the greater good."

"I don't believe in the greater good as I told you before.” Harry spat out. "And there is no war. Voldemort is dead, you senile old fool. Stop pretending you can relive your glory days. And you can find someone else to fight your battles for you." Harry wasn’t sure why he was even bothering talking to this imbecile. There was no getting through to him, but still, Harry wanted to relieve some of the anger he’d felt towards the man for years. It wasn’t working.

Dumbledore regarded Harry with a hard expression. "I am sorry to hear that, Harry. But know that the path you choose to take will have consequences. You can't ignore this war and the danger it poses to us all."

"We’ll see who’s right in the end, old man." Harry said, his voice shaking with emotion.

"But I won't be a part of your imaginary war anymore. I'm done with it. I’m as dead to you as Voldemort is to me.” With that, Harry turned on his heel and strode out of Dumbledore's office, his mind filled with conflicting emotions. But before he reached the door, he waved his hand minimally, letting his magic do as he intended without the old man's knowledge.

As Harry neared the ROR, he saw Luna leaning against the wall, looking as angelic as always. It eased some of the tension in his stomach.

As he neared her, her eyes snapped to his, looking as though she knew all the secrets of the universe.

“Harry, do not fret. Death doesn't hold you, but it'll become him. Peace will not find him.” Luna's voice was harder than he’d ever heard before in this life; she must have seen the meeting then.

Harry's jaw loosened, and a small smile twitched at his lips. “Is that so, dear moon? I look forward to it.” The smile quickly slipped away once he remembered what had happened.

Harry paced back and forth in front of the door, his frustration growing with each step. He wanted a dueling room with a sitting area. As the door appeared he turned to Luna smiling at her. The smile was not pleasant, this smile was twisted and crazed. “Come Luna, help me blow off some steam.” 

As he entered the room Harry's eyes fell on a group of training dummies in the corner. Without thinking, he stormed over to them and began to unleash his anger on them.

Luna, who had been sitting quietly on the sofa out of the way of Harry’s spells, watching Harry with a look of concern, got up and approached him cautiously. "Harry, are you okay?" She asked softly.

Harry didn't even acknowledge her presence. He was too busy conjuring spell after spell, blasting the dummies to bits with each one. His magic felt raw and powerful, tinged with the dark energy of death magic.

Luna watched in awe as Harry continued to unleash his anger on the dummies. She had never seen him like this before, so full of rage and despair. She knew that he needed to let it out, to release the pent-up emotions that had been building inside him for so long.

As Harry cast another spell, Luna could feel the magic crackling around him, almost like an electric storm. She stepped closer to him, laying a gentle hand on his arm. "Harry, it's okay.” She said, her voice soothing. "I will always be here for you, I won’t leave you like last time.” 

Harry turned to her, his eyes still blazing with anger. But as he looked into her gentle gaze, he felt something shift inside him. He let out a deep breath and his body began to relax.

"Thank you, Luna.” He said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "You are one of the few who understand me."

Luna smiled at him, her eyes filled with compassion. "I know, Harry. And I'm always here for you, no matter what."

Harry took a deep breath, his eyes still lingering on the shattered remains of the training dummies.

“Perhaps some meditation would do you some good.” Luna suggested lightly. 

Harry nodded and settled down on the floor, trying to relax his body and mind. 

His thoughts enviably turned to Sirius. 

Sirius had been pulled in so many directions that he couldn’t remember which one was his. Harry had seen it in him, the struggle between light and dark, between the person he used to be and the person he had become. It was a battle that Harry himself was all too familiar with, having been torn between his desire to do what was right and his thirst for power and control.

Harry had seen the signs of the toll that the constant tug of war had taken on him. The lines on his face had been deeper, his eyes more sunken, his movements slower and more deliberate. He was a shadow of the vibrant, carefree man Harry had seen in photos and memories, and it pained him that Sirius was now so diminished.

But at the same time, Harry felt a sense of resentment and betrayal towards Sirius. He had put so much faith in him, had looked up to him as a father figure and mentor, only to discover that Sirius was not the person he had imagined him to be. The moments when Sirius called him James or looked at him longingly were like a knife to his heart, a reminder that he could never truly be the son or protégé that Sirius had wanted him to be.

In some ways, Harry knew that his idealized version of Sirius had been a coping mechanism, a way to fill the void left by the absence of his own parents. But now that he was once more facing the reality of who Sirius truly was, he couldn't help but feel disillusioned and betrayed.

And yet, even as he grappled with these conflicting emotions, Harry knew that he could never completely turn his back on Sirius. There was still a part of him that longed for the connection they had once shared, for the sense of belonging and acceptance that had come with it. Despite the bitterness and disappointment, Harry still cared for Sirius.

If Harry just grabbed a thread and pulled, Sirius would come apart. Sirius was already a shell of what he should be, a yarn doll becoming unraveled, and Harry was unsure of what he wanted to do about it. So he held back, keeping his anger and frustration in check, knowing that any sudden outburst could have dire consequences. He tried to find a way to reconcile his conflicting feelings towards Sirius, to see him not as the idealized father figure he had once imagined, nor as the flawed and damaged man he now knew him to be, but simply as a person, with both good and bad qualities.

This shouldn’t upset him, the man he’d known as his godfather had died long ago and he’d come to terms with the distorted memories and lingering feelings about the man. Harry wasn’t even a child anymore, he was an old man. He was older than Sirius ever got to be, and it left Harry with a bitter taste in his mouth. 

Despite all this, Harry felt a duty to protect Sirius, even if it was only to fulfill his childhood fantasies and for the Harry whose body he’d stolen. He couldn't abandon the man who had once meant so much to both of them. 

Sirius Black woke up with the first rays of sunlight piercing through the curtains of his room at Grimmauld Place, the ancestral home of his infamous family. Even after a year of mostly living in this house, he still couldn't shake off the feeling of unease that came with it. Memories of the past, both good and bad, were embedded in every corner, every piece of furniture. But today, he had a purpose, a goal that made him forget about his uneasiness.

As he made his way down to the kitchen, Sirius couldn't help but feel a gnawing anger at Dumbledore's accusations against Harry, his beloved godson. Harry had always been a beacon of light in his life, a young wizard full of hope and kindness. The mere thought of Harry being accused of turning to the dark side was like a punch in the gut.

Kreacher, the old house elf, was already in the kitchen, grumbling and muttering insults under his breath. But Sirius paid him no mind and sat down at the table, lost in thought. Dumbledore's accusations had stirred up some dark memories Sirius had buried long ago. Memories of his own dark magical core. As a member of the infamous Black family, dark magic had been a part of his upbringing. And although he had never embraced it fully, he couldn't deny that it was a part of who he was. 

But Harry was different. Harry had never been exposed to the darkness in the same way that Sirius had, and he was determined to keep it that way.

As he spent the day poring over old tomes and scrolls in the Black family library, Sirius felt a sense of purpose that he hadn't felt in a long time. He was determined to understand his own magical core and how to control it. It was a task that required focus and dedication, but Sirius was up for it.

Later that evening, as he sat in the drawing room, Hedwig brought him a letter from Harry. It was short and to the point, but it made Sirius smile. Harry had always been a source of light in his life, and he was determined to protect him, no matter what. He knew that Dumbledore's accusations were unfounded, and he would do whatever it took to clear Harry's name.

As the day drew to a close, Sirius retired to his bedroom, feeling content. It had been a good day, no slips into the past, no regression into a state of numbness, no painful memories rising to the surface. He’d been productive and able to focus for more than a few moments, his mind felt clearer.

Sirius was just about to drift off to sleep when he was suddenly startled by the sound of a house elf popping into existence beside his bed. Startled out of his calm state, he flew up into a sitting position, his wand in his hand, pointed at the intruder. The elf was holding a vial with a swirling liquid inside it, and Sirius recognised it immediately as a memory.

"Master Sirius, sir! This is urgent! Harry Potter sent me with this memory, you must watch it right now!" The elf's voice was panicked and frightened.

Sirius lowered his wand, feeling a sense of dread wash over him. He knew that when Harry was involved, things were never simple. He took the vial from the elf's outstretched hand and nodded. "Thank you, I'll watch it right away."

The elf disappeared with a loud pop, leaving Sirius alone in his room. He sat for a moment, staring at the vial, wondering what Harry could have sent him. Without further delay, he got out of bed and made his way to the room where his father kept the pensieve, thankfully it hadn’t been moved.

Pouring the contents of the vial into the pensieve, he leaned in to examine the swirling liquid. The memory came into focus, and Sirius found himself watching as Harry was seated in the headmaster's office.

What followed was a conversation between the two that Sirius never thought would take place.

Sirius’s heart sank as he learned the truth about Harry's past. The young wizard had been subjected to abuse at the hands of his own relatives. Sirius had never known the full extent of Harry's suffering until now. He only knew Harry disliked his relatives, but Dumbledore always assured him that nothing was wrong. Why had he believed him?

But what made his blood boil was the realisation that Dumbledore had known about Harry's situation all along and had done nothing to help him. Sirius had always thought of Dumbledore as a wise and compassionate man, someone who cared deeply for the welfare of all wizards, especially the young ones. But now, he couldn't help but see the old wizard in a different light.

Sirius had always held Dumbledore in high esteem. He had admired the man's intelligence, his wisdom, and his unwavering commitment to fighting the dark forces that threatened the wizarding world. But now, as he watched Albus try to force Harry to participate in the war when he clearly didn’t want to, Sirius couldn't believe what he was seeing.

It was a side of Dumbledore that he had never seen before, and it made him question everything he had ever believed about the man. The old wizard's eyes glinted with a dangerous light as he spoke to Harry, his tone firm and unwavering. He made it clear that he expected Harry to take on far too much for someone so young, a mission to save the wizarding community from dark forces, one that could very well cost him his life.

Sirius couldn't help but feel a surge of anger and frustration as he watched Dumbledore's behavior. This was not the kind, gentle man that he had come to know over the years. This was someone who was willing to sacrifice the lives of others for the sake of a greater cause, someone who was willing to make tough decisions without regard for the consequences. Without regard for Harry’s life.

As he watched Dumbledore continue to pressure Harry, Sirius felt a coldness settle over him. This was not the man he had thought he knew. He had always believed that Dumbledore was a great leader, someone who could be trusted to make the right decisions for the greater good. But now, as he watched him in action, Sirius couldn't help but wonder if he had been wrong.

Sirius couldn't even comprehend that the man used his life as a bargaining chip, willing to throw him to the wolves to control Harry. He was so bloody angry.

He thought back to all the times he had followed Dumbledore's lead, all the battles they had fought together, and he wondered if he had been blind to the man's true nature. Had Dumbledore always been willing to make sacrifices, to put others in harm's way for the sake of his cause?

Sirius didn't know the answer to that question, but he knew one thing for certain. He could not stand by and watch as Dumbledore threatened Harry. He had to do something, anything, to protect the young wizard.

As the conversation ended and Harry left the office, Sirius thought that would be the end of it, but no. As Harry left the office and headed down the corridor, he spoke.

“Sirius.” Harry spoke quietly, looking straight ahead. He couldn’t know Sirius was here right now, could he? You can’t speak to someone in a memory, you can’t interact.

“Sirius, I plan to show you this memory as soon as possible, and if you’re hearing this, I must have succeeded in bringing it to you. You need to run; you are not safe at Grimmauld Place. The old man could get to you if you stay there.”

Sirius was looking at Harry's frustrated expression as he walked on.

“The vial I’ll put this memory in will be spelled into a portkey. It'll take you to one of my estates. It will only take you; if you try to bring someone else or someone else grabs on, they will get hurt. The command to activate it is Dumbledork.” Harry's lips twitched, and Sirius couldn’t help the amused smirk that grew on his face despite his growing anxiety.

Harry’s expression a moment later was serious. “Take the portkey, Sirius. Please. When you get there, more will be explained. Please Sirius, do as I ask.”

And with that, Sirius was forced out of the memory, almost falling on his ass as he emerged.

Sirius took a deep breath and got to packing.

Harry was heading to breakfast with a half-asleep Draco when he felt the recognisable tingle in the back of his mind. Someone had entered the wards.

With an abrupt stop, Harry turned, almost making Draco walk right into him, and grabbed Draco's hand, pulling them into the closest empty classroom.

Draco was rather used to Harry’s odd behavior and had noticed the expression on Harry’s face, one he was familiar with and meant that Harry wouldn't answer any of his questions before he’d done whatever it was he needed to do, so he held his tongue.

With closed eyes and a scrunched-up nose, Harry looked for the thread in his mind, looking for the connecting property.

Ah, it was the Black summer villa, and the magical signature that had arrived was one Harry had spent plenty of time with: Sirius.

Sirius was safe for now, he was most likely being greeted by his elves who had clear instructions on how to proceed. 

Harry opened his eyes and the tension, he hadn’t even realised was clinging to his shoulders, eased. 

At least he could do this for the boy whose body he’d stolen.

At least he could offer him some form of compensation. 

Chapter Text

Draco and Harry strolled into their Defence Against the Dark Arts class, exchanging jokes and laughs like old friends. They settled into their seats at the front of the classroom, eager to see what the day's lesson had in store. Today's lesson would be about using the spells and shields they had learned in previous classes by participating in duels, and Harry was excited to show off his skills, especially against the Gryffindors with whom they shared the class.

Turning to Draco, Harry grinned mischievously. "Let's hope we get to duel each other today. It’ll be fun seeing you fall on your ass," Harry joked. Draco shot Harry a mock-scowl. "Don't get too ahead of yourself, Potter," he retorted.

As class began, the pair noticed Lucius giving them an uneasy look. Harry couldn't help but smirk as he caught Lucius's eye, knowing that the man was intimidated by him.

“Good morning, class. Today we’ll put your skills to the test and see who amongst you has what it takes to be a good dueler,” The professor's words hushed the students. “One pair will duel at a time, and the others will observe. Once the duel is over, we’ll discuss what they did right and what they failed to do. Remember to use the spells we practiced in previous lessons so I can see you are actually capable of using them in high-pressure situations.”

The classroom had been expanded to fit a dueling platform in the middle, surrounded by a protective ward to keep the spells cast inside contained. The class scoreboard was kept on the side, and the students eagerly watched as their classmates went head-to-head.

Harry enjoyed dueling, but he knew these were children. He wouldn't hurt them too much, just enough to put them in their place. The duels were entertaining enough, but most of the students fell short of expectations.

First up was Goyle and Dean. It was interesting enough, quite evenly matched. Goyle, while slow and limited in his spell repertoire, was able to keep a pretty strong protego up for the duel. But in the end, Dean was faster and more aggressive, so the win was his.

The atmosphere in the classroom was electric as the students waited for their turn to duel. As they watched their classmates face off against each other, they couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement mixed with nervous anticipation. They eagerly pointed out their classmates' mistakes, hoping to learn from them and avoid making the same errors themselves.

When it was finally Harry's turn to duel, the room went silent as he stepped forward. His wand was held loosely in his hand, and he exuded calm confidence. Before Lucius could announce an opponent, Ron loudly volunteered, stepping forward to face Harry. The tension was palpable, and the students could feel it hanging in the air like a heavy blanket. They knew that this duel would be different from the others they had seen so far, that there was a deep-seated animosity between the two boys that would make this fight all the more intense.

Ron, unable to resist the urge to taunt his former friend, began to whisper insults so only Harry could hear. "Finally have the nerve to face me now, Harry? Scared are you? You should be. You're nothing special, a second-rate wizard who lucked out in everything he's gotten into.”

Harry didn't respond, simply narrowing his eyes in determination. This fool was going to end up in the hospital wing if he kept talking.

"Alright, are you both ready?" Lucius asked. Lucius eyed Ron with barely disguised condescension and regarded Harry with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. Harry's lips twitched in amusement, his eyes gleaming with a hint of mischief as he prepared for the duel.

Both Harry and Ron nodded in agreement and as they got into starting position, Harry's movements were fluid and relaxed, his stance betraying a confidence that Ron seemed to lack. Ron, in contrast, was visibly tense, his muscles coiled like a spring, ready to be unleashed. His facial expression was contorted with effort, his brow furrowed and jaw clenched.

As the duel began, it quickly became apparent that Ron had vastly underestimated Harry's abilities. Harry was lightning fast, his movements precise and calculated. Ron struggled to keep up, his spells flying wildly off target.

At first, Harry didn't even bother to try, simply dodging Ron's spells with ease. He seemed to be enjoying himself, a sly smile playing at the corners of his lips. It wasn't like he needed to use magic, and the more Ron flailed, the more Harry seemed to delight in it.

Ron was starting to lose his cool, his face red with exertion and sweat dripping down his forehead. "Fight back, you bastard!" he growled, his frustration and anger palpable.

But Harry's smile only grew wider, more vicious and bloodthirsty. It sent a chill down the spines of everyone watching. They had never seen him looking like that, and it was a little unsettling. "If that's what you want," Harry replied, his voice laced with amusement and sadistic pleasure. There was something in his eyes that conveyed a sense of cruelty and malice that made Ron shrink back a little.

And then Harry unleashed a barrage of spells that left Ron reeling. The other students watched in awe as Harry demonstrated his mastery of defense. It was like he was toying with Ron, each spell more powerful than the last. Ron was completely outmatched, and it was clear that Harry was enjoying every moment of it.

"You fight to escape, Ronald," Harry spoke quietly but somehow his voice was heard by them all, his voice dripping with venom. "I fight to win. Or I just fight to see the other guy lose."

It had been a long time since Harry had let all his anger and rage out. Burning the Ministry to the ground had been the most satisfying experience he had ever had, but the memory was also tarnished by the grief interwoven into its seams, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth as the breathlessness of satisfaction evened out. As he looked upon Ron's face, filled with anger and fear, the current boy blended into the image of the older one he had faced before. Killing him once had felt like enough at the time, but rage crawls back when you least expect it. Harry couldn't help but think that ripping this person's throat out with his teeth would leave him satisfied without the interwoven grief.

However, now was not the time for revenge. It would come at a later date, but Harry could feel the resolve for it settle into his bones as it had once settled into his heart. The difference now was that the revenge would be entirely self-serving and not born out of love and loss.

Ron was pushed into a tight corner, his wand arm quivering with fatigue. Despite his earlier bluster, Ron now realised that he was no match for Harry. The realization humbled him, and he attempted to yield the duel. But Harry wasn't having any of it. He relentlessly advanced, determined to put an end to the contest.

Lucius hesitated at first, but he couldn't help but watch in awe as Harry displayed his incredible magical prowess. His spells were razor-sharp and potent, and it was crystal clear that he had honed his skills to perfection.

In a final surge of pure magic, Harry unleashed a forceful spell that sent Ron tumbling to the ground. The room erupted in cheers as Harry was declared the victor. Ron stood up, looking bewildered and ashamed, realising that the duel had been a one-sided show of Harry's power.

As Harry returned to his seat, he overheard Ron muttering insults under his breath. Harry paid no attention to him, having already proven his superiority. He hoped that Ron would finally get the message and stop bothering him.

The rest of the class passed uneventfully. Harry was unimpressed by the following duels, which were all slow and feeble. He recalled a time when he had been just as weak and was disgusted by the thought. He focused on the present, pushing aside the unpleasant feeling.

When class was dismissed, Harry sensed Lucius's eyes lingering on him, so he took his time packing up. Draco, his loyal companion, followed suit without questioning. Once all the other students had left, Harry walked up to Lucius with a smile on his face.

"Is there something you need, Lucius?" Harry asked.

Internally, Lucius cringed, but on the outside, he remained stoic. "I was asked to deliver this to you, Potter," Lucius said as he handed Harry an envelope.

Harry turned it over and ran his thumb over the beautiful writing on the front of the envelope. "Thank you, Lucius. Have a nice day now. Bye-bye."

On the walk back to the common room, Harry couldn't contain his smirk. While Draco looked at him curiously, he didn't ask any questions. Draco was quite good at holding his tongue when need be. He wouldn't ask questions that he didn't need the answers to.

Later that evening, as Harry laid down in bed, his heart started rising in anticipation. He was excited, however much he wished he wasn't.

Voldemort had endured an excruciatingly long day, and his patience was wearing thin. His research had led him down a dead end, and he was no closer to retrieving his horcruxes from Potter or understanding how he’d been able to summon him through dreams. To make matters worse, he was completely in the dark about what Potter had been up to all summer. It was maddening, and he’d felt the need to take out his anger on some unsuspecting followers.

As he prepared for the night, his thoughts kept drifting to Potter. Had he received the letter? Will they finally meet tonight? A peculiar sensation rippled through his fingers and his heart raced at the thought. He scowled at the sensation, unsure of its meaning or origin.

Just as he was beginning to drift off to sleep, he was jolted back to reality by finding himself in the familiar room, alone. He settled into an armchair, knowing there was no point in standing around waiting.

Their last meeting had been anything but productive, but this time, he was determined to make the meeting work to his advantage. Something had to change in their dynamic.

As he looked up, he was startled to find Harry sitting across from him. Despite the suddenness of Potter's arrival, Voldemort managed to hide any indication of surprise.

Harry smiled at him, and their eyes locked in a tense exchange. "I got your letter," he said.

"You've been avoiding me," Voldemort responded, his voice flat.

Harry's eye twitched, revealing his discomfort, but he tried to play it cool. "No, I haven't. I've just been busy. Honestly, it’s got nothing to do with you, I haven’t been avoiding you."

Voldemort wasn't fooled. Using the word “honestly” and repeating his denial were signs of deception, and Potter had been avoiding him. After their last meeting, he had also needed some time away from Potter, but there was no way he'd tell him that. He kept his thoughts to himself and moved on to more pressing matters.

"Is that so?" Voldemort asked, his voice even despite his unease. "No matter now. Before we continue these meetings, there is something I wish to ask of you."

Harry's eyebrows raised slightly. "Oh, and what might that be?" Voldemort could tell he was curious and intrigued, but also tense from the way his shoulders were pulled back.

He remained quiet for a moment, considering the best way to approach this. Harry was resistant to manipulation, so he needed to present this as a mutually beneficial opportunity without sounding superficial. He needed to be somewhat truthful as well. Harry's biggest weakness had always been his emotions. If Voldemort showed some genuine feelings, perhaps it would endear him to Harry. But diving in headfirst would get him nowhere. He had to go slow, so Harry came to the same conclusion without him directly telling Harry.

"Our last meeting... it was rather startling. Don't you agree?" Voldemort allowed a small smile to creep across his face.

Harry's smile faltered, and a look of confusion took over his features. "To some extent, I suppose," he said hesitantly.

Voldemort seized the opportunity to press on. "What is it you wish to gain from these meetings, Harry?" he asked, intentionally using Potter's name for the first time.

Harry tilted his head in contemplation, and Voldemort watched as he considered the question. Though Harry may have noticed the sudden use of his name, he chose not to acknowledge it.

"I wish to understand you," he said, his gaze locked on Voldemort. Voldemort did his best to mask the anger that boiled within him at the statement. To understand him? No one could possibly understand him. He didn't want to be understood - no one deserved to know him that intimately.

But Potter seemed to pick up on something, and his eyes grew dull and sad, the bright green fading as he stared down at his lap. And Voldemort couldn’t help but ask himself, was this all an act?

"I see," Voldemort replied, his tone cool and collected.

Potter twirled his fingers nervously before looking back up. "I know you don't want that. It scares you that I might get too close."

Irritation flared within Voldemort, but he kept his expression neutral. "It doesn't scare me. Nothing scares me."

Potter looked away, gazing off to his left as if lost in thought. After a moment, he changed the subject. "Who is your enemy here? It's not me anymore, right?"

Voldemort studied him for a moment before responding carefully. "My one true enemy has always been the same." He chose to be intentionally vague.

But Potter didn't let up. His eyes held a knowing look that set Voldemort on edge. "Oh, I see. Them, huh?" Voldemort knew they were talking about the same thing, and it made his eyes harden.

"Death is the only one worthy of being called my enemy," he growled.

Potter simply nodded, as if he understood what was going through Voldemort's mind. It was infuriating. "It's too bad, really."

"What?" Voldemort forced out through gritted teeth.

"That your one true enemy will always - that they will always win. Memento mori. " Potter fidgeted with his necklace, not looking at Voldemort as he spoke. It was as if what he said was insignificant, but it burned within Voldemort nonetheless.

Remember you must die.

"No. I have won," Voldemort declared, his voice rough and unyielding.

But Potter just looked back at him, eyes full of pity. It was enough to make Voldemort want to lash out, to unleash the Cruciatus Curse upon him. This conversation was not going as he had planned.

"Death has no end. It will come for all men. They will always win, sooner or later," Potter spoke with conviction, and Voldemort could feel the truth of his words resonate within him. But what does a child like Harry Potter know about the true power of death? Voldemort thought.

“Do not patronize me, child! You have no idea what you speak of," Voldemort spat with venomous rage. "You have no idea what it’s like to face death, to feel its icy grip on your soul, to know that every breath could be your last. You don't know the terror that grips you, the sheer terror of knowing that at any moment, death could snatch you away."

Voldemort could see Potter shrinking back in his chair, hugging himself tightly, as if trying to protect himself from Voldemort's words. "You understand nothing! You are nothing but an ignorant, naive boy who knows nothing of the grip death can have.” For a moment, he felt a flicker of something akin to pity. But then the anger flared up again, stronger than ever before.

"I wish death had come for you sooner. At least then I wouldn’t be forced to remain in your presence!" Voldemort sneered, his eyes blazing with fury. He could see the hurt and despair etched on Harry's face, and it filled him with a sense of twisted satisfaction.

"You're weak, Harry. Too weak to even face the inevitability of your own demise. You'll never be a match for me, never!" Voldemort's words were like daggers, piercing Harry's heart and shredding his soul. He couldn’t look at the sight in front of him anymore and turned around, trying to get his ragged breath under control. 

A hitched breath startled him and made Voldemort look back at Potter. 

Harry was crying. 

And it felt like cold water washed over him leaving him breathless and shocked. Voldemort's anger dissipated as he watched Harry cry. He had never seen him cry before. Harry was looking away, tears streaming down his cheeks. His chest was rising and falling unevenly, as he tried to stay quiet. His eyebrows were drawn together, and his lips pressed in a tight line. The only indication Voldemort's words had hurt him was the steady flow of tears dripping from his eyes. 

Voldemort was surprised by his own reaction. He felt something new, something uncomfortable that made his stomach clench. He clenched his fists to stop them from shaking.

Harry was so beautiful. 

He couldn’t move. He just stood there watching. His anger had flown out the window and been replaced by something else. Something he wasn’t familiar with.

“Harry,” he breathed out, once more unintentionally.

Hearing Voldemort speak his name was apparently the last straw.

"Shut up. Shut up. Shut up," Harry whispered frantically, trying to stop the tears from spilling. But they kept falling down his cheeks, wetting his eyelashes.

Furiously Harry rubbed his eyes trying to stop the weakness from showing. 

Voldemort could practically hear his thoughts. Don’t show weakness in front of others, it is unacceptable. 

As Harry tries and fails to stop the onslaughter of tears Voldemort felt a sudden urge to comfort him, to wipe away his tears and tell him everything was going to be okay. But he didn't know how to do that. He had never comforted anyone before, let alone Harry.

Without thought he’d stood, he took a step forward and hesitated, unsure of what to do. He didn't want to scare Harry or make things worse. He just wanted to help for some reason.  

Harry didn't respond to his closeness, he just kept crying. Voldemort's heart ached for him. He didn't understand why he felt this way, but he knew he couldn't let Harry suffer anymore.

He took another step forward and reached out his hand, tentatively. He hesitated for a moment before gently wiping away a tear from Harry's cheek.

Harry flinched at his touch but didn't pull away. Tom took that as a sign to continue. He wiped away another tear and then another, his movements becoming more confident with each touch.

With a gentle hand, he touched Harry's neck and guided him forward. Harry was too preoccupied with his own emotions to resist. He didn't dare look up, and Voldemort was grateful. He didn't want Harry to see the confusion and discomfort on his face. He pulled Harry closer to his chest and slowly, awkwardly reached his arms around him, holding him gently.

At first, Harry didn't make a sound, trying to keep a small amount of dignity. But then, he let out a quiet sob and clutched onto Tom's shirt with all his might. And Voldemort held on tighter.

He was hugging Harry, but he didn't care. And Harry was too upset to think rationally. Why was he comforting Harry when he was the one who upset him? When he wanted to upset him? He'd moved forward on instinct, but he'd never instinctively comforted someone before. Whenever someone had cried in his presence, he'd been quick to flee the situation and berate them for their weakness. Why wasn't he doing the same now?

Harry pressed closer, shaking and trembling, trying to regulate his breathing without success. The contact was foreign to Tom, and he stiffened slightly as Harry buried his face in his shoulder and cried harder. But then something inside him shifted. He focused on the boy in his arms, and everything else faded away. Harry was not tiny by any means, he was about average in height and fit, but right now, trembling in his arms, Harry felt so small. So vulnerable. So fragile.

As Tom's arms around Harry squeezed, his sobs echoed in the quiet room. Tom couldn't really concentrate himself, he was too confused by his own actions. But he couldn't let go just yet.

"Why are you crying?" Tom whispered, his voice barely audible above Harry's sobs.

Harry didn't respond. He simply clung to Tom, seeking solace in his embrace. Tom remained still, unsure of what to say or do, but he continued to hold Harry, hoping that his presence would bring some comfort.

After what felt like an eternity, Harry's sobs began to subside. He pulled away from Tom, wiping his eyes and taking a deep breath. Tom watched him, his eyes filled with apprehension. Something inside him had shifted, and he wasn't quite sure what to do with it.

He hadn't had this much physical contact in decades. The last time he was this close to someone for so long was probably when he was around 25 and trying to seduce an older woman into giving him a rare book. He'd never had to resort to such methods later in life, which he was glad for. He didn't enjoy physical intimacy. 

But somehow he was still holding Harry. Somehow he didn’t mind. It might even feel…pleasant. 

Slowly, uncertainly, Harry looked up at him. With tear-streaked cheeks, red puffy eyes, and a runny red nose and Tom felt something he hadn’t experienced ever, guilt.

For a moment, they sat in silence, Harry lost in his thoughts and Tom in his own uncertainty. Despite their confusion and pain, they both understood that they needed to rely on each other in that moment.

Harry looked tired, he was sniffling lightly and Tom felt the urge to reach out again. Somehow during the hug they’d ended up on the floor, leaning back against the armchair Harry had sat in before.

“Why did you start crying?” Tom whispered quietly, not wanting to startle Harry.

“Why did you comfort me?” Was the question thrown back at him. Harry was looking away now and rubbing his hands all over his face, only succeeding in making it redder. 

Both questions went unanswered and silence settled between them. 

Tom's piercing gaze settled on Harry's tear-streaked face, and for a moment, he felt the unexpected pang of guilt again. It was a feeling he couldn't quite explain, but it was there, gnawing at him like a persistent ache.

He had made countless people cry in his lifetime, but he had never reacted as he did now. Maybe, just maybe, this was a good thing.

The meeting had been a disaster, and Harry would have been closed off and distant if Tom had gloated in his agony. But something had changed. Harry had let him comfort him, had let him hold him. Perhaps, deep down, Harry's feelings towards Tom were more than lukewarm.

The idea sent a thrill through Tom's body. He had always been a master manipulator, but he had never felt this way before. It was a growing feeling, one that he couldn't quite put his finger on, but it was there nonetheless.

As he sat there, lost in his own contemplation, he couldn't help but wonder how he could use these newfound emotions to his advantage. If he could use them to gain access to Harry, he could finally get his hands on the horcruxes that Harry was holding onto.

Voldemort's heart quickened as he considered the possibilities. This could be the breakthrough he had been waiting for. With Harry's vulnerability laid bare before him, he knew that he had the upper hand. And he wasn't going to let this opportunity slip away. I dare you, Harry’s voice echoed through his head. 

Seduction. Giving in. 

Voldemort's eyes flickered with a mix of disgust and desire as he considered his plan. Could he really stoop so low as to use his own feelings to manipulate Harry Potter? It seemed beneath him, a tactic reserved for lesser beings.

But the temptation was too great to resist. If he could seduce Potter, he would have access to the most elusive of all horcruxes. And he couldn't deny the thrill of the challenge.

Potter was too stubborn to fall for his usual tricks, so Voldemort would have to play a more subtle game. He would have to convince himself that his intentions were genuine, so that Potter couldn't question his motives.

As he looked down at Harry, his body relaxed and vulnerable beside him, Tom felt a surge of desire. The idea of seducing Harry, of bending him to his will, was intoxicating.

He imagined his beautiful form beneath him wiggling and squirming with pleasure. He imagined the expressions on Harry’s face, the fully blown pupils in his eyes, his lips parted and breath stuttered. It wasn’t hard to convince himself. He imagined Harry always having to remember what his lips taste like, what it felt like to go down on him and moaning like a slut every time they met. It was a fitting punishment for all the grief the brat had caused him. He wants Harry to always blush as he looks upon him, squirming and smiling in his presence. Forced to relive their passionate nights together and think of what Tom could do to him.

He imagined the thrill of the chase, the thrill of the conquest. He imagined Potter submitting to him, helpless in the face of his power.

Yes, Voldemort thought to himself. This was a game worth playing. And he was going to win.

Voldemort turned his head slightly, his burning eyes meeting Harry’s.

Chapter Text

As they lay in the midst of the flowing grass, staring at the endless stars above, Harry couldn't help but feel a sense of longing in his heart. He hadn't been able to sleep, as was often the case, and Luna had sensed his unease. She had invited him over, and now they lay there together, bathed in the moonlight, enjoying each other's company in the tranquil silence. Luna's hair seemed to shimmer like silver in the moonlight, and her long, flowing white nightdress danced gracefully in the gentle breeze. Harry couldn't help but think that she looked like a fairy, the kind that he had always read about in stories, with flowers in her hair, dancing barefoot in a circle.

But Luna was here with him, and she was asking him about things he had tried to forget. He answered her questions with a heavy heart, recounting the years of neglect, starvation, and abuse he had suffered as a child. "Others had it worse than me," he said with a sigh. "Why does it even matter?"

Luna turned to him, her eyes gleaming like the stars above. "Harry," she said, "it doesn't matter if others had it worse. What matters is that it hurt you, and it was painful for you. You're allowed to feel hurt, and you're allowed to acknowledge that it was real. Your struggle was real, and you matter. No matter how your pain compares to someone else's, it doesn't make it any less valid or true."

Harry's eyes filled with tears, and he looked away, ashamed of his emotions. But Luna gently lifted his chin, and their eyes met once more. "You matter, Harry," she whispered. "Your struggle matters. It's okay to feel anger, and it's okay to be hurt and in pain. No one can take away the truth of your struggle, and no one can take away your worth."

Some days feel like a relentless onslaught, a never-ending barrage of misery that you just can't seem to shake. When happiness seems like an unattainable dream and sadness is your only companion, it can feel like you're drowning in a sea of emotions. Today is one of those days for Harry.

As Harry groggily opened his eyes, he realised that he was alone in his bed. His mind instantly flooded with emotions that weighed heavily on him like a ton of bricks. He was furious, hurt, and betrayed all at once. The memory of how Tom had taken advantage of his trust flashed in his mind, making him feel even worse.

Despite his best efforts, he couldn't shake off the memories of his past life. They haunted him, stirring up a whirlwind of painful emotions that made him feel powerless. He knew that he couldn’t let Tom hurt him like this, but he just couldn't help it.

Lying there, lost in thought, Harry realised that he should have known better than to let his guard down around Tom. It was his nature to strike back when cornered, but Harry had hoped that Tom would be different this time. He had been foolish to think that way.

In that moment, Harry felt like he was staring into the darkness of the abyss. He was angry at himself for being so naive and foolish, but he refused to give up. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, steeling himself against the onslaught of negative emotions.

Harry knew that he had to be strong, to keep his guard up, no matter what. He could never let his guard down again, not in this strange, new world. From this day forward, he would be vigilant, always on the lookout for danger, and never trust anyone too quickly. He would be ruthless, bloodied and bruised, but he would feel alive.

And with that fierce determination, Harry vowed to take back control of his life. He wouldn't let his past or his fears hold him back any longer, but as always it was easier said than done. 

He tried to shake off the frustrating feelings and get ready for the day, but they clung to him like a dark cloud. As he made his way to the Great Hall for breakfast, he saw Draco already seated at the Slytherin table. Draco studied Harry’s face for a moment and undoubtedly took notice of Harry's somber expression.

"Hey, Harry, what's got you down? Did someone mess with your things again?" Draco asked, attempting to lighten the mood. The mystery of Harry’s missing or ruined possessions had become an inside joke with the Slytherins at this point.

Harry couldn't help but let out a small chuckle at the comment, but it quickly faded. "No, it's nothing like that. I just woke up feeling...off, I suppose."

Draco nodded in empathy. "I understand. Sometimes it seems like something's missing, you know? But hey, speaking of missing things, have I told you about the time Parkinson's got robbed over the summer?" Draco's sudden topic change was probably meant as a distraction, and Harry appreciated the effort.

Harry found it amusing that Draco had chosen that specific topic when he was the one who had robbed the Parkinsons. It hadn't come up before, so Harry was interested to see what Draco would say. He decided to play dumb.

Harry shook his head, curious about the sudden subject. Draco launched into the story, recounting how the entire pureblood community had been in an uproar over the theft of the Parkinsons' family crystal collection. How everyone had panicked about how someone could bypass the wards so effortlessly and without triggering them. How the news had spread overnight and how everyone had scrambled to get a ward master to inspect their wards. Harry's mood had lifted after Draco described the summer of the manor wards' frenzy.

As Draco spoke, Harry couldn't help but ponder how information seemed to spread like wildfire among the purebloods. It gave him an idea. What if he could plant a thought or rumor in one of the pureblood ladies' minds and watch as it spread like wildfire through the community? Hmm, something to keep in mind.

The day progressed, and Harry found himself at the Slytherin vs. Gryffindor Quidditch match.

When Blaise and Theo came to his room to drag him to the Quidditch match, Harry was hesitant to go. He didn't feel like being around people, and he didn't want to feign happiness when he wasn't genuinely happy.

But Blaise and Theo were persistent, insisting that they had to support Draco, their friend and fellow Slytherin.

They promised to make it a fun distraction and take Harry's mind off whatever was bothering him.

So Harry gave in and followed them to the Quidditch pitch, feeling sour as they made their way to their seats. The crowd was already abuzz with excitement, and Harry felt out of place, like he didn't belong. He wasn't a child, so what was he doing here? Pretending? But for what, he didn't know anymore.

As the game began, Harry found himself getting caught up in the action despite his earlier reluctance. It was familiar, and a sense of peace washed over him as he took in the long-forgotten scenery. He cheered alongside his friends as Slytherin scored the first goal, and he felt a surge of pride in his house. Harry's eyes were fixed on Draco, following his movements as he searched for the snitch.

The game was intense, with both teams playing hard, and the score tied for most of the match. Harry found himself yelling at the players, urging his housemates to score, and jumping up and down with excitement when they did. Their game tactic was pretty much the same as it used to be: be ruthless but don’t get caught.

As the game drew to a close, Harry's heart was pounding in his chest. It was anyone's game, and he could feel the tension in the air.

And then it happened. Draco caught the snitch after a daunting race against Ginny, winning the game for Slytherin. The stands erupted into cheers, and Harry found himself jumping up and down, caught up in the excitement.

Draco flew over to where Harry and the guys were sitting, waving the snitch at them and grinning from ear to ear. Harry couldn't help but feel happy for him, despite his earlier reluctance to attend the game. It had been fun. He hadn't attended an actual game since his husband had dragged him along to one of Scorpius's games. It was nice doing it again, even if things had changed since then.

That night, there was a party in the Slytherin common room to celebrate their victory. As they entered the common room, the sound of music and laughter greeted them, and Harry felt his spirits lift. He had no idea how they'd managed to arrange such an elaborate party in no time. The game had literally ended less than half an hour ago.

The atmosphere was electric, and Harry found himself caught up in the excitement of the night. He drank and danced with his friends, laughing and joking as they moved to the rhythm of the music. He hadn't been to a party in ages, but Draco used to drag him along to different ministry parties and pureblood gatherings. No, stop it, Harry.

Feeling a bit out of place, Harry had a few too many drinks, which wasn't a great idea. He began to feel the weight of his past bearing down on him. This wouldn't end well.

Memories of Voldemort, the war, the hatred that followed, all flooded his mind, and he struggled to separate the past from the present.

As he stumbled across the dance floor, he caught sight of Draco and felt a surge of longing in his chest. He couldn't help but be drawn to the familiar face and the memories it evoked. Draco, his lovely Draco, he always made him feel better…

Draco was lying face down in front of their tree. Harry couldn’t see his face, he needed to see his face. As he turned him over Harry noticed blood on his cheek - he must have scratched his face on something as he fell - Harry couldn’t think, couldn’t feel. For minutes he just sat there, staring at Draco’s empty eyes - his eyes were always so lively, he couldn’t hide the emotions in his eyes. As a beetle climbed up Draco’s back the walls in his mind rumbled and came crashing down. Heartbreak, sorrow, guilt and anger mixed together into something ugly in his heart. 

Why - why had Draco turned his back on a threat? 

Why didn’t he fight back? There were no indications that a fight had taken place here. The ground around them looked undisturbed - peaceful even. Draco looked as perfect as ever - only the gash on his cheek was out of place. But - but his hair looked ruffled, his shirt was dirty, some of his nails looked broken. He wasn’t as perfect as normal, he - he wasn’t breathing, he wasn’t trying to suppress a smile and a blush as Harry stared at him, he wasn’t - he wasn’t looking back at him. He was gone. He was dead. Why - why had he - why isn’t he - why, why, why? 

Harry was alone. There was no other soul here, there was just a cold body beside him. 

Draco was dead. 

Why when he’s supposed to be dead, is he here across the room, eyes shifting from the girls in front of him to Harry. 

Why - how is he alive? 

This isn’t real. Is it?  

Draco looked up and caught Harry's eye, and a slow smile spread across his face, Harry tried to focus. And god, that smile was so teasing and so fucking attractive, and so fucking familiar . 

The blonde was dancing with a group of girls, his silver eyes shining with amusement. Harry approached him, feeling bold and reckless.

"Hey, Malfoy,” He slurred, grinning crookedly. "Wanna dance with me?"

Draco raised an eyebrow but didn't hesitate to take Harry's hand and pull him closer. 

They moved together, Harry's body pressed up against Draco's. Harry couldn't help but notice how good it felt, how right it felt to be back here with Draco in his arms.

They danced and laughed, their bodies intertwined. Harry felt like he was in a dream, a wonderful dream where he could forget about everything else and just be with Draco.

In his drunken state, Harry couldn't help but flirt with Draco, his words slurred and his thoughts muddled. He felt a sense of comfort in the familiar presence of his old husband, and he longed to relive the moments they had shared in the past.

As the night wore on, Harry's memories faded into a blur of drunkenness and dancing. He laughed and joked and flirted, but Draco wasn’t reacting as he should.

Something was wrong, something was different. Then reality came crashing back, and Harry was hit with a wave of guilt and shame. He couldn't be doing this, not with this Draco. This wasn’t his Draco, what was he thinking? He wasn’t and that was the problem.

This wasn't fair to either of them.

He stumbled back, breaking the connection between them. 

"I'm sorry.” He said, his voice thick with emotion. "I shouldn't be doing this. I'm a mess. This isn’t fair to you. You’re not-“ He choked on the words. “You’re Draco, young and innocent Draco. Not-not him .”

Draco didn't look angry or offended, only concerned and confused. "Harry, what's wrong?" He asked, his hand reaching out to touch Harry's arm.

Harry pulled away, feeling like he was going to break. "I can't do this, Draco.” 

Harry breathed in deeply, tears gathering in his eyes. “I’m sorry Draco, I’ve gotta go.” He rushed out, turning on his heels to flee to the dorms. 

But before he could Draco had grabbed a hold of his sleeve tightly. “Harry, what happened, did I do something?” His voice was slightly slurred and Harry chose to believe that the tremor in his voice was caused by his drunken state. But he couldn’t turn back and face him. Harry would break. 

Still he needed to reassure Draco, his precious friend . “No you didn’t do anything wrong Dragon, I’m just - just tired and stressed and I didn’t mean to flirt with you and insinuate anything.” Harry exhaled shakily and turned around to face Draco. 

He tried to relax his body but it was pulled tightly. “I care about you Draco and I don’t want to ruin what we have now. You're my friend and our friendship is important to me.” 

Dracos fearful and concerned eyes softened into something of understanding and his tight hold on Harry’s sleeve loosened. “It’s alright Harry, I care about you too. Right now I’m happy with how things are between us. I don’t mind the flirting cause I know it doesn’t really mean anything to you-“

“Of course you mean something, Draco I just-“ 

“Wait, Harry. Let me finish. I just meant that flirting is just your way of coping and I know you just do it out of habit and I don’t mind. It's kinda nice to be appreciated actually.” Draco was smiling at Harry and Harry, who was too drunk to think, pulled Draco into a hug. 

“Thank you, Draco.” Harry squeezed him tightly while lifting him off the ground and Draco giggled - he really must be drunk - at Harry’s antics. 

The next thing Harry knew was a voice calling out his name. “Potter. Potter. Potter!”

Harry groaned and rolled over, trying to get rid of the annoying sound. “What - what, Draco?” Was his muffled reply which was apparently not the right answer seeing as he was hit in the head with a pillow. 

“Ow, what the hell?” Harry rolled onto his back and rubbed his eyes, trying to remember how he got here. It couldn’t be the next morning, he still felt pretty drunk. “Dracooo what?”

“I’m not the Malfoy boy, you insolent child.” Was hissed at him. And oh , that was most definitely not Draco. 

Voldemort was in a foul mood. He had been dragged here against his will, and what did he find? A passed-out Harry Potter in an armchair. As he approached the boy, he couldn't help but take in his disheveled appearance - ruffled hair, flushed cheeks, parted lips, and a half-unbuttoned shirt. Hmm, Harry didn't look half bad when he wasn't talking.

But the quietness of the room was bothering Tom. He couldn't stand to look at the peacefully sleeping form of Harry Potter anymore.

Tom wanted to reach out and touch Harry, but he was afraid of crossing a line. He hissed at Harry, but the boy didn't even stir until Tom practically screamed in his ear. And to make matters worse, Harry mistook him for the Malfoy child, giving Tom an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach.

It was then that he realised he was jealous. Jealous of the fact that Harry had called out to Malfoy first, not him. Why was he acting so irrationally around Harry all the time?

He hissed at Harry again for mistaking him for Malfoy, but when the boy simply looked at him with wide eyes, his anger deflected a little, and he felt drawn to the feeling of Harry's eyes on him.

He huffed out a breath and walked back to his armchair, not wanting to linger too close and increase the risk of acting uncouth. "Why am I here, Potter?" he asked calmly, not showing his internal struggle to remain in control.

Potter finally looked away from him, twisted his head around to see the room, and struggled to sit up. "I'm not sure," he muttered and ran his fingers over his face in a haze. Tom tracked the movement with half-lidded eyes before he caught himself and frowned.

"What do you mean you're not sure? You brought me here," he said calmly, reminding himself to remain calm. He wouldn't be a slave to his desires; he had overcome such proclamations a long time ago.

Harry looked tired as he managed to sit upright, leaning heavily on the backrest, and his limbs seemed out of his control. "I can't really remember what happened. I don't think I brought you here."

As he spoke, he shut his eyes tightly, trying to recall what happened. "Well, I didn't bring you here on purpose if I did bring you here."

Harry's words were slurred, and his voice was raspy. Tom recognized the signs. "You're drunk," he stated in a slightly hard tone.

Harry hummed noncommittally at his statement, perhaps he didn’t hear Tom. His gaze was unfocused, and Tom wanted to yell at him to focus, to keep his eyes on him, but he didn't, he wouldn't.

Tom had a plan after all; he was going to seduce Potter, and he could use Potter's drunken state to his advantage. As he mulled over ways to take advantage of Harry's lowered inhibitions, an unpleasant sensation - a tightening - forced his throat to close up, and his muscles to stiffen. He didn't like it.

"Hmm, yes I am," Harry giggled, finally replying. He leaned over and nearly fell out of his chair, interrupting Tom's thoughts.

Tom narrowed his eyes at Harry's undignified and overtly drunk behavior. He had seen Harry act vulgar and crass before, but it had never been in addition to a loss of control. He didn't like it either. It should have made him feel satisfied, but it didn't.

For a minute or two, Harry continued to giggle, and every time he looked at Tom, he broke into fits of laughter again.

Despite Tom's growing irritation at being laughed at, he couldn't help but notice Harry's crinkling eyes and the soft music of his laughter. Every time Tom looked at Harry and saw his radiant eyes dance with mirth, the energy to be upset left him abruptly, and he was overcome with something softer. The tightness in his throat and the stiffness in his muscles dissipated, replaced by a warmth that spread through him, leaving him feeling relaxed.

But he couldn't stand not knowing what it was that Harry found so amusing. Despite not wanting to interrupt Harry's laughter, Tom needed to know.

"What's so funny?" he asked, and the moment Harry stopped laughing, Tom regretted interrupting the lovely sound.

Harry raised his head, and for a moment, Tom thought he would start laughing again. Instead, he received a small, tender smile that made his insides flutter. Tom might be hooked on Harry, but the same could be said about Harry in return.

"Nothing," Harry teased. "You're just so...Tom." His giggles were soft as he looked at Tom in a way Tom didn't understand - as if he were the sun, and despite Harry wanting to look away, he was still watching at the risk of ruining his eyes.

With a raised eyebrow, Tom spoke. "I am Tom. What exactly does that mean?"

Harry was still smiling at him as he answered in a soft voice. "Hmm, I don't know. You're just so you that it makes me happy." Harry's eyes betrayed his sincerity, even behind the hazy tint of his drunkenness. The tips of his ears had gone pink.

Tom felt struck by lightning, and it made him want to squirm. "Should I take that as a compliment?" he asked, shifting his weight a little to ease the weight he felt crushed under.

"Yes," Harry replied, with no hesitation.

Tom looked towards the fireplace, unable to bear the intensity of Harry's drunken gaze. "Hey, now that you're here, why don't we talk?" Harry slurred as he smiled lazily at Tom. "What should we talk about?" Harry trailed off in thought, leaving Tom to his own rumble of thoughts.

Tom sat silent for a moment, taking in the sight of Harry baring his soul, inhibitions discarded. The boy looked almost angelic, with his flushed cheeks and relaxed posture. Tom couldn't help but admire him. He looked rather lovely. 

As Harry waited for a response, his impatience grew evident, and he let out a frustrated breath before standing on wobbly legs.

"You're not gonna say anything, Tommy boy?" Harry teased, grinning mischievously at his own joke.

Tom knew better than to argue with a drunk. There was no point; their judgment and decision-making skills were too impaired. Instead, he just rolled his eyes at Harry, who was too drunk to notice.

"Come on, talk to me," Harry slurred, his eyes fixed on Tom's arms, then slowly traveling up to his gaze. "I'm bored. Play with me?" He took a few unsteady steps closer to Tom's chair.

Harry's sultry tone sent a shiver down Tom's spine. He couldn't help but imagine all the ways he could play with him, explore every inch of his body. But he knew better than to give in to temptation - Harry was too drunk to make any meaningful decisions. He rolled his eyes at Harry's request, but inside he was fighting a losing battle to keep his composure.

As Harry waited for Tom's response, Tom took a moment to drink in the sight of him. His shirt was hanging open, revealing just a hint of toned chest, and his tight trousers clung to his legs in a way that Tom couldn't help but find flattering. Was this what young people wore these days? Despite himself, he felt a surge of desire. 

As Tom dragged his gaze from Harry's legs up to his face, he found himself lost in those dilated pupils and parted lips. Harry looked edible, a thought that had haunted him too often nowadays.

"Perhaps you should sober up before we continue this conversation," Tom suggested.

"Nooo, I don't want to. If I'm sober, we'll fight, and I don't want that." Harry pouted, and Tom couldn't help but wonder what they would fight about. Uncertainty gnawed at him.

Thankfully, he didn't need to say anything just yet. Harry leaned forward, dropping the pout and flashing a charming smile. "Besides, I can think of much more fun things I want to do with you," Harry purred.

Tom felt Harry's gaze on him, those vibrant green eyes looking up at him through thick lashes. It was a dare, plain and simple: I dare you.

Come on, I dare you.

Taunting him, tempting him.

The tension between them was palpable, a live wire buzzing with electricity. Tom knew he should pull away, but he couldn't tear his eyes from Harry's. They were like pools of green fire, daring him to take the plunge. Tom's voice was thick with desire as he responded: "Look at me with those eyes again, and I'll pluck them from their sockets and keep them in a jar on my desk so I'll never have to see them look away from me.” 

It may have been a bit of an overreaction on his part, but he was holding onto his control fiercely at the moment, and provoking him would only end badly for both of them.

Harry exhaled a shaky breath, and Tom couldn't help but glance at his soft, full lips. “Promise?” Harry asked in a silky tone, swaying forward as if he wanted to come closer. 

A strange feeling he couldn't quite place surged through him, leaving him feeling giddy and high-strung. He tried to maintain his composure, not wanting to show any signs that Harry was affecting him, but it was no use. Harry was getting to him, and it irked him to no end.

Still, he remained silent as Harry grew impatient with his lack of response and settled on the floor like a child. He talked about his day to fill the silence, telling Tom about a Quidditch game and an after-party. Harry complained about his easy and boring classes and how stupid his peers were.

"...and then these stupid Gryffindor boys thought they could hurt me. Make me cry. As if." Harry scoffed, clearly annoyed at their stupidity. But then his expression morphed into one of confusion, and Tom felt a sense of trepidation for what Harry was about to say.

"Hey, before, last time we met, I mean yesterday...why did you comfort me? When I cried, I mean. I'm not really sure why I even cried. I just got upset, I think. But why did you...hug me?" Harry rambled and mumbled, looking embarrassed as he stared at the ground.

Tom would have found Harry's embarrassment amusing if he hadn't been so uncomfortable with the line of questioning. He hesitated before answering, unsure of how to explain himself. He'd thought about it himself and hadn't come to any reasonable conclusion. What was there to say when there was nothing that could explain his actions?

Should he be honest and tell Harry that he didn't know, that he acted on instinct? Harry was drunk; there was no guarantee that he would remember any part of this meeting. Perhaps it would ease the guilt he felt over causing Harry to cry if he talked about it.

"I'm not certain," he spoke quietly, avoiding Harry's eyes. "You were crying, and I felt compelled to help ease your troubles, to comfort you. It was instinct. Would you have preferred I did nothing?” 

"No! No, I didn't mind. Well, you were the reason I started crying, so it kinda was your responsibility to fix it anyway," Harry replied with a confused expression.

Tom snorted, surprising both Harry and himself. He couldn't help but smile at Harry's awed expression. Something had changed between them during the last meeting. Their relationship didn't feel as strained or forced, and the wall that had kept them apart had started to crumble. Something softer had started to settle between them, which was strange, considering that neither of them was the softest of people.

"You really do look beautiful when you smile," Harry whispered, gazing at Tom. He quickly looked away, his cheeks flushing. He probably hadn't meant to say that out loud.

Tom said nothing, unsure of how to respond when his supposed enemy said he looked beautiful as he smiled. What do you say to that?

The silence settled between them, and for a while, it felt peaceful. So peaceful, in fact, that Harry was starting to nod off. As his head fell forward, he jerked awake and looked around, confused. Tom snorted again, and Harry's eyes fell on him.

Harry looked up at him, and Tom looked back down. It didn't feel as he had expected to have Harry Potter on the ground in front of him, but it didn't disappoint either.

Harry's eyes slid over his body and settled on the ring on his finger, the Slytherin lord ring. A rather large and gaudy ring in the shape of an ouroboros whose scales were bejeweled with small rubies. His eyes remained focused on the ring as his face opened up with realisation.

"Tom," Harry hissed as his eyes flickered from the ring up to Tom's frozen face.

Parseltongue. Harry was a parselmouth; how could he forget?

"Toooom, why are you looking at me like that?" Harry hissed at him with a playful smile.

How? How was he looking at him? His face was impassive, was it not?

"Tom, you're looking at me like you want to eat me," Harry's smile was teasing, and his eyes bright as he looked at Tom.

Is that an offer? He wants to ask. He wants to accept, he wants to show Harry exactly what he's giving up now. His eyes stray to the infuriatingly inviting lips, and he wonders if Harry would deny him if he were to take what he wants now. He doesn't think he would, and it's so unfortunate that now isn't the time.

"I'm not looking at you in any particular way," Tom replied in English, outright denying the clear truth of Harry's statement. Tom wants to consume him.

"Ssssure," Harry hissed back at him as his lips twitched in amusement. Will he go defensive if Tom were to point out his flirtatious behavior? Would Harry deny his attraction and attempt to distract him from the truth of his actions? It's so tempting.

"Come on, Tom, aren't you bored? Talk to me." Harry's voice is wobbly as he tries to rile Tom up, trying to force the wanted reaction out of him.

"You're drunk, Harry," he breathed out. Stupid drunk child, attempting to force his control to slip. "Perhaps it's time to be quiet, or you'll regret even more things come morning."

Harry pouted, and Tom wasn't sure if he wanted to hit him or do something more sinister to make Harry stop. His murderous mood must shine through as Harry's eyes go lidded, and he sways where he sits.

Harry starts to fidget and shuffle around before looking towards Tom with wide eyes. It must be uncomfortable on the floor seeing as Harry couldn't, for the life of him, sit still.

His eyes lit up, and with slow, deliberate movements, Harry crawled towards him on all fours. It was a weak attempt at seduction, and Tom didn’t like his partners to be growling and submissive. The fire that usually consumed Harry was much more entertaining than watching him play into someone else’s fantasy.

Tom hoped that Harry would remember this encounter come morning. He was sure it would linger in his mind and haunt his ego at nighttime.

As Harry neared, Tom didn’t move. He turned around on the floor and leaned his back on the chair beside Tom's legs. Tom did his best not to move a muscle.

Harry let out a small sound of contentment as their bodies touched, and Tom wondered at the sounds Harry would make were their limbs entwined and bare.

“If you're not in the mood to talk, the least you can do is distract me,” Harry said, leaning his head against Tom's knee. He acted as though this were normal behavior.

Tom wasn’t certain what Harry meant by "distract me" or why his mind automatically thought up ways to comply with the request.

Harry rubbed his face against Tom's knee, and Tom felt himself tense under the movement. He didn’t like physical contact; he wasn’t used to it, and after their last meeting, it put him on edge. It made him feel uncomfortable. But he would not let such weakness control him, not when so many other things about Harry already had him in their grip.

Slowly and hesitantly, he moved his hand forward and touched Harry's rowdy hair with the tips of his fingers. It was softer than he expected, and the short locks on top were not as tangled as they appeared. Gently, he tugged on them and ran his fingers through.

Harry let out a contented sigh and leaned more fully against Tom's leg, wrapping an arm around his knee. It was an innocent gesture, but it felt like so much more. Tom couldn't understand why he cared so much about Harry, why he was letting him get so close when he had never let anyone else in before.

As he sat there lost in thought, Tom realised that Harry had wormed his way into his life in a way that he couldn't explain. He wanted to resist, to take back control of his horcruxes and forget about Harry. But there was a part of him that didn't want to let go, that craved the intoxicating feeling of being close to someone who could challenge him in ways that no one else could.

In their last meeting, he had made up his mind to seduce the little nuisance, but his resolve had crumbled in the face of Harry's charming demeanor. He had decided that winning Harry's trust and reclaiming control of his horcruxes was the quickest path to his goal. He still didn't have the horcruxes, which should have been his main focus with Harry, but he didn't need to go to such extreme lengths to achieve his objective.

Tom had always pushed people away, using them for his own gain and discarding them once they were no longer useful. But Harry was different. He had managed to insinuate himself into Tom's life, and now Tom couldn't imagine how dull his existence would be without these meetings to anticipate and ponder over.

Tom didn't know what it was about Harry that drew him in. Was it his carefree nature, his easy smiles, or the fact that he didn't seem to have a fearful bone in his body? Harry was like a ray of sunshine and the clouds that blocked it. His whole personality was a conundrum, and for some reason, it made Tom want to solve him, to understand him – just as Harry had said he wanted to understand Tom.

Whatever it was that made Harry special, Tom found himself wanting to be closer to him. But at the same time, Tom was scared. Scared of what it meant to care about someone so deeply, scared of what Harry would think if he knew how Tom truly felt. He was so used to hiding behind a mask of indifference, and the thought of taking it off was terrifying.

As Tom gently, almost too gently, ran his fingers through Harry's hair, he wondered if it was supposed to take such violence to be gentle. No one could ever understand how violently Tom had to hold himself back from being too rough. And no one would know that for Harry, he did it with ease.

Tom knew he had to figure out what he wanted and what he was willing to risk. He couldn't keep going on like this, unsure of his own feelings and constantly questioning his behavior. After a lifetime of being alone, forgotten, ignored, ridiculed, and feared, he wanted Harry. He wanted someone to understand him, a soulmate. He wanted to be someone's priority, someone's first and last thought of the day. He wanted to be chosen, to be wanted. How badly, how terrifyingly he wanted someone to choose him. Not just anyone, but Harry.

Tom's mind was a whirlwind of confusion, but as he looked down at Harry, he knew one thing for certain: he wanted to explore this new, uncharted territory with him. But could he?

As Harry's eyes fluttered and shut, he spoke in a quiet voice, clearly drowsy with sleep. Tom looked down at his peaceful face and felt his heart clench uncomfortably.

"Tom?"

"Hmm?" he hummed back, unwilling to startle Harry awake.

Harry didn't say anything right away, and for a moment, Tom thought he had fallen asleep. But then, Harry mumbled in a slurred voice, "You're important to me."

And Tom couldn't breathe.

Harry must be his salvation and his damnation.

Chapter Text

He isn't ready to face Harry just yet.

After their last shared dream - a moment when an inebriated Harry had revealed his innermost feelings, resting his head against Tom's legs before falling asleep - Tom had found himself in an unsettled state.

Uncertainty had crept into Tom's once-confident and poised demeanor. It was an unfamiliar feeling, one that made him hesitate, questioning the depths of his own emotions before laying them bare.

As he weighed the risks and rewards of pursuing a relationship with Harry, Tom grappled with the essence of personal sacrifice, questioning whether Harry was deserving of such devotion. Despite their short time together, Tom saw something special in Harry. His heart and soul whispered in agreement, urging him to take the leap.

What was he willing to wager to secure Harry's presence by his side?

The answer was resolute - a great deal.

But would it all prove worthwhile? Was Harry truly deserving of the sacrifices entailed?

Without a doubt.

Yet, was he prepared to relinquish the carefully outlined future he had meticulously crafted for himself in favor of a passion as human as desire?

Here, he hesitated, caught between the yearnings of his heart and the logic of his mind.

Never before had he succumbed to such raw emotions. In the past, he had claimed what he desired, heedless of consequence. However, Harry, with his presence, promised a myriad of complexities.

Amidst this internal struggle, he pondered whether the challenges outweighed the rewards and if embracing a relationship with Harry would ultimately pave the path to personal…contentment.

The conflicting waves of thoughts and emotions left Tom adrift, trapped within a ceaseless circle of introspection. Acknowledging the need for more time to unravel the intricacies of his own feelings and to fathom the potential impact that Harry's involvement might have on his life, he resolved to create distance.

For now, Tom believed that seeking solitude and engaging in profound self-reflection would help him find the clarity required to make a resolute decision about the fate of their relationship.

If there was ever to be one. 

Betrayal. To Harry, it represented the ultimate breach of trust. He considered it to be one of the most serious offenses a person could commit. From his perspective, betrayal shattered bonds and caused irreparable damage to any relationship. Its pain ran deeper than any curse or hex, leaving wounds that might never fully heal. Scars that remained, blending in with his others. 

For Harry, trust was a scarce and precious commodity. It possessed the power to bring people together amidst chaos, binding hearts and souls. When that trust was broken, it felt as though witnessing a masterpiece crumble, leaving behind only fragmented remains.

Harry had encountered betrayal in various forms. Friends revealing secrets, allies turning against him, and loved ones stabbing him in the back leaving him in a pit of darkness. Each instance felt like a barrage of a thousand knives piercing his heart.

The scars left by betrayal endured, eroding the foundation of love, friendship, and trust. It led him to question every interaction, word, and gesture. Trust became a cautious dance, filled with hesitancy on a battlefield of doubt.

What made betrayal so devastating was its inherent unfairness. Trust was an investment, a belief that it would be reciprocated. When that trust faltered, it felt like a betrayal of one's very essence. Harry wondered if his faith had been misplaced, if loyalty and honesty were mere illusions. An impossible commodity in a world ruled by avarice. 

Despite the pain, Harry found solace in the revelation that betrayal brought. It exposed the true nature of those around him, revealing their cracks and flaws. Betrayal served as a poignant reminder to Harry of human vulnerability, an inherent imperfection. It urged caution in a world where trust could be shattered in an instant.

But, forgiveness did not come easily. Betrayal left enduring wounds on the soul. It became a struggle between seeking justice and finding inner peace.

For some unfathomable reason, he had come to trust Tom. In Tom's disposition to remain unmoved and unbothered in the face of Harry's irksome presence and childish conduct, meant to push him beyond his limits. The belief that Tom would remain stoic and impassive shattered the day Harry confronted him with his worst fear: death.

The betrayal stung as if the wound was fresh, but Tom's kindness when faced with Harry's drunken state prevented the wound from becoming infected.

The self-inflicted irritation gnawed at him relentlessly, a stinging reminder of his own betrayal. Barely a day after he vowed to remain vigilant he had succumbed to his own weakness. The itch of regret taunted him, mocking his lack of self-control.

It had been days since he had last seen Tom, and their last shared dream was a blur of incoherent words and actions that Harry had a hard time deciphering. He had used a pensive to look through the memory, hoping to gain understanding, but it only left him in a flood of confusion and suspicion.

He remembered provoking Tom and trying to elicit a response. The memory of questioning Tom about the embrace and the comfort he had offered lingered, but frustratingly, the response slipped from his grasp. Speaking in Parseltongue was a blur, leaving him wondering what exactly he had uttered. And oh, the embarrassment of crawling on the floor and desperately clinging to Tom's legs—it still made him cringe and shake his head to shake off the rising memory.

How incredibly undignified.

But despite the embarrassment, he couldn't deny that it had felt strangely wonderful when Tom ran his fingers through his hair. He was surprised that Tom entertained his request for a distraction. He had expected Tom to be annoyed with his improper behavior, but to his surprise, Tom was patient and, dare he say, kind. For a couple of days, Harry pondered the reason behind this peculiar behavior. Was Tom being nice as a form of manipulation? Was he attempting to rebuild the trust he had shattered, or was he simply not in the mood for a conflict with a drunk?

His questions remained unanswered. However, one thing Harry was certain of was that Tom never did anything out of the goodness of his heart. Kindness wasn't exactly his strong suit. There must be an ulterior motive, and the most logical explanation was that Tom hoped to lower Harry's guard and break him down further. Harry refused to speculate any more on Tom's intentions until he observed how he would now act around him. After their two tumultuous encounters, one resulting in tears and the other in gentle caresses, Tom was bound to change his approach in dealing with Harry.

But now, it had been days, and Harry hadn't been able to reach Tom at all. It was as if Tom's mind was just beyond his grasp, tantalizingly close yet out of reach. It left a bitter taste in Harry's mouth and an uncomfortable tightening in his gut.

He missed Tom. And what a surprising realisation that was. Harry had made a promise to himself not to deny his feelings any longer, and after thoughtful consideration, he came to the conclusion that he did miss Tom and enjoyed his presence during their initial meetings.

He was almost certain that Tom also enjoyed his company, so why was the wayward dark lord avoiding him? Had he done something terrible during their last encounter that he couldn't remember?

Had his drunken behavior offended Tom to such an extent that he needed time away from him?

It was upsetting not to know, which was why he had planned to meet with Kali after class and ask them what they knew. They must have been watching during the meeting, but when Harry had asked them, they had gone oddly quiet and avoided the question. Kali had promised to never lie to him, so if he could just have a physical - spiritual? - meeting, he was certain he'd be able to get it out of them.

A light tapping on his legs brought him back to the world of the living, and he noticed all attention was focused on him.

"So, Mr. Potter, what is the answer?" Snape drew near him, hoping Harry had been too out of it to know the correct answer and that he would be able to punish him for it.

With a quick dive into Snape's mind, he found the question and answer at the forefront of his thoughts.

"You'd need moonstone powder to counteract the effects, sir," Harry answered calmly, looking at Snape's forehead so Snape had no chance of delving into his mind.

Snape's eyes narrowed, and with a dramatic turn, he went back to ‘teaching’ them. Harry found it all so boring.

As class neared its end, Harry prepared to leave quickly. But as Draco looked questioningly at him, he slowed down enough for Draco to follow his lead. With a snarky comment towards Gryffindors, Snape dismissed the class, and Harry grabbed his things along with Draco's and headed for the door, Draco quick on his heels.

"Why are you running off, Harry?" Draco questioned as they sped down the corridor towards the stairs.

"Sorry, Dragon. I'm in a hurry. I'm meeting someone, so unfortunately, you can't join me," Harry said with genuine regret as he handed Draco his bag.

Draco didn't look upset, and Harry thanked the fates for having such a great and understanding friend. "It's alright, Harry. I'll see you at dinner?" He tilted his head in question, looking at Harry with far too much innocence for the Draco he used to know.

"Hmm, yes, I believe so. See you later, Dragon," Harry said as he ruffled Draco's hair and received an annoyed look in return, making him smirk.

As Harry entered the Room of Requirement, he quickly settled on the ground and immersed himself in his mind. He retraced the familiar path leading to his connection with Death, and at a much quicker pace than the first time he attempted it, he arrived at limbo.

Kali was waiting for him, but this wasn't his limbo. This wasn't the place that left him rendered gutted and despondent. This wasn't the place that holds the best and worst of his memories. This place was unfamiliar.

"This place has color and life," Harry remarked, surprised by the vibrant surroundings. "Kali, where are we?" Harry asked, curious about their location.

"We're in my limbo," Kali answered.

Limbo was a place of waiting, where lost souls drifted in a hazy state of uncertainty, not quite belonging to the world they had left behind and not quite ready for the next one. Kali had made this place their home, patiently waiting for the lost souls to find their way to them so that they could guide them on to the next life.

As they waited, Kali couldn't help but overhear the echoes of the worst memories of the lost souls they encountered. Memories of pain, sorrow, and regret that had left their mark on these souls as they journeyed through life. Kali had grown accustomed to these echoes, as they were an inevitable part of Death’s duty as the god of death.

One day, a lost soul arrived, but this soul was different from the others. It shone brighter than any other soul that Kali had ever encountered, and they were intrigued. Kali decided to look through the soul's memories to try and understand what made it so special.

As they watched the soul's memories, Kali was overcome with emotion he’d never felt before. The memory he saw was one of pure joy, so much so that they could feel the happiness emanating from the soul. For the first time in his long existence, Kali felt what it was like to be truly happy. He got to experience the feeling through someone else. 

The memory was of a simple moment of happiness shared between two people. Kali felt like crying tears for the lost souls that had never experienced such a moment.  The happy memory that Kali saw was that of a young couple sitting together in a beautiful garden, surrounded by blooming flowers and lush greenery. They were laughing and joking, holding hands, and enjoying each other's company.

As Kali watched, they felt the warmth of the sun on their face and the breeze rustling through the leaves. They could smell the sweet fragrance of the flowers and hear the birds singing in the distance. It was a moment of pure contentment, a moment that had stayed with the lost soul even after they had left the mortal world behind. Over all the pain and regret that most lost souls kept closest to their heart this person chose to hold their happiest memories closest and let go of all the pain that burden them. Who remembers kisses when wounds leave scars. 

And then something changed. Kali's version of Limbo, which had always been a hazy, indistinct place, began to shift and change. It transformed into the place from the happy memory, and it would remain that way for centuries. The sky was a bright blue, and the sun shone down casting a warm glow over everything. The air was filled with the scent of blooming flowers and the sound of trickling water could be heard in the distance. Even if it was an illusion it was a welcome one.

Now, as lost souls find their way to Kali in Limbo, they are greeted by a place of joy and peace, a place where they can experience the simple pleasures of life once more before moving on to their next existence. Kali continues to guide lost souls to their next life, but now he does so with a renewed sense of purpose, knowing that he can give them one last taste of happiness before they move on.

Silence hung in the air, and Harry's concern grew as Death's usual air of composure seemed to waver. This was uncharted territory for him, and Harry couldn't help but feel a flicker of uncertainty creep into his voice. "Kali, are you alright?" he asked, his words laced with genuine worry. Tentatively, he considered reaching out to offer comfort, but he hesitated, knowing that physical touch was a new concept to Death.

Kali's gaze softened, their eyes meeting Harry's with a depth of emotion. "Yes, I'm alright, Master," they replied, their voice carrying a faint tremor of vulnerability.

Harry couldn't help but let out a weary sigh, his head falling back in a gesture of fatigue. "Haven't I told you to call me Harry?" he murmured, a trace of exasperation in his tone.

A half-smile tugged at Kali's lips, a beautiful transformation from their previously unnerving countenance. "You did, Harry, but I prefer 'Master.' It's a term of respect," they explained, their words gentle yet unwavering.

Harry huffed in response, a mixture of amusement and affection playing across his features. "Fine, if it means that much to you, then I'll allow it. But I'd still prefer Harry," he conceded, his gaze momentarily drifting to the tranquil garden that surrounded them. Curiosity danced in his eyes as he wondered why Kali had chosen this location instead of whisking them away to Harry's personal realm, his Limbo. "Why have you brought us here?" he inquired, his voice filled with genuine curiosity.

Kali shifted uneasily, and Harry's gaze locked onto the subtle movement. "I thought you'd be more comfortable here," Kali remarked, his voice tinged with unease.

A flicker of suspicion danced in Harry's eyes. "Comfortable? Is there something unsettling you're about to reveal?" Harry's words carried a mix of playful banter and underlying seriousness.

A barely perceptible tension coursed through Kali's body, not escaping Harry's keen observation. It struck Harry as odd how Death, of all beings, exhibited human-like mannerisms. With a hint of apprehension in his gaze, Kali remained silent, leaving Harry on edge, his muscles coiled in anticipation.

Finally, Kali broke the silence, his words laden with a sense of foreboding. "There is something I haven't told you. I know it will be difficult for you to hear."

A sudden pang gripped Harry's chest. This departure from Kali's usual demeanor sent a shiver down his spine, and he realized he wasn't prepared for the weight of what Kali was about to disclose.

"Tell me," Harry managed to utter, his voice barely audible.

"Before I reveal this, Master - Harry, please listen," Kali implored, a hint of desperation in his voice. "Everything that has transpired, it has happened for a reason. There is a purpose behind it all. Please don't forget that and don't rush to judgment too hastily."

Harry nodded weakly, his mind swirling with a mix of fear and curiosity. He braced himself for what was to come.

After a moment's hesitation, Kali locked eyes with Harry, his gaze laden with reluctance. "This isn't your first venture into the past, Harry. You've treaded this path three times before. And this, now, is your fourth."

Harry felt as if the ground had given way beneath him. His breath hitched in his throat, and a dizzying whirlpool of thoughts consumed his mind. He struggled to comprehend the weight of Kali's revelation.

"What do you mean?" Harry managed to stammer, his voice trembling.

Each word seemed to inflict pain upon Kali as he spoke, slowly and hesitantly. "The previous three attempts didn't end well. You had to restart your life, over and over again. But each time, you wouldn't retain any memories of the past. It's the price you pay for another chance at life."

A profound sense of emptiness settled in Harry's core. He felt as if he'd been sucker-punched, robbed of his breath and thoughts. How could Kali have kept this from him for so long? Was this the reason he had always felt an inexplicable connection to death, an eerie familiarity?

The pieces started to fall into place, and Harry's realization struck him with the force of a thousand crashing waves.

Betrayal.

“How could you do this to me, Kali?” Harry's voice cracked with raw emotion, his eyes burning with a mixture of anguish and anger.

The weight of guilt settled upon Kali, and he couldn't meet Harry's gaze. "I couldn't have done it without your request, Harry. You begged me, pleaded with me to send you back."

Harry's fists clenched, his fury rising. "Why? Why would I ever ask to be subjected to such pain and suffering, to be trapped in an endless cycle of torment?"

With a heavy sigh, Kali's voice carried a tinge of resignation. "Because what you had experienced before was even worse. You asked me to send you back, time and time again."

Harry stared at Kali, his mind spinning with disbelief. How could he have forgotten everything from his past lives? And why would he willingly choose to endure heartbreak again?

His voice barely a whisper, Harry asked, "Why would I ask to be sent back? What could have been worse than what I've already faced?"

Kali hesitated, his words weighed down by the gravity of truth. "You were in unimaginable agony, Harry. So, you pleaded for another chance. And I granted your wish." As if to offer solace, Kali took a step forward, but Harry recoiled, stepping back.

"You were returned to your original world, but I could only bring you back to the moment of your first brush with death or the moment you became my master. You asked me to bring you back to the point when you became my master. Though you changed after the first return, your circumstances remained the same. History repeated itself. Yet, those memories lingered in the depths of your mind, shaping you into someone darker, more jaded. The pain and paranoia followed you, consuming you..." Kali's voice trailed off, his words filled with regret.

"That's enough," Harry interrupted sharply, silencing Kali's rambling.

Harry's mind whirled, grappling to comprehend the enormity of it all. He couldn't recall his past lives, yet their weight bore down upon him, a constant shadow in his consciousness. The ache, the loss, the heartbreak—they remained etched within him, unspoken but ever-present.

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" Harry's voice quivered, a mixture of hurt and confusion.

"I promised never to lie to you, Harry," Kali replied, his voice tinged with remorse. "But I also wanted you to have a fresh start each time, free from the burden of your past. I wanted you to forge your own path without the weight of previous lives anchoring you down."

He shook his head in disbelief, his body consumed by a mixture of anger and grief. "How could you do this to me?" He asked again, his voice trembled with raw emotion, a plea for answers. “How could you send me back again and again knowing what I had to go through, are you that cruel?”

Kali's voice was barely a whisper, filled with regret. "I only fulfilled your wishes, Harry. I couldn't have acted without your consent."

Unable to contain the overwhelming surge of emotions, Harry shot up from his leaned over position, his entire being quaking with a storm of rage and agony. "I can't... I can't deal with this right now. I need some time to think," he said, his voice choked with unshed tears.

Kali's gaze was laden with sorrow as they pleaded with Harry, their voice laced with urgency. "Please, Harry, stay and listen. Allow me to explain. There's more to this, a grander scheme at play. It's all interconnected, tied to the very fabric of fate. The gods wouldn't have intervened so many times if it didn't hold immense significance, if it wasn't crucial for—"

"For the greater good," Harry interjected bitterly, the words dripping with bitter irony.

Was this all his existence amounted to? A pawn in some cosmic game, a mere instrument for the greater good?

Kali—no, they did not deserve that name, they were Death, only Death—attempted to justify their actions, to convince Harry that it was all part of a greater plan. But Harry felt his sanity unraveling. How could they expect him to accept it? How could they expect him to bear the weight of countless lifetimes, trapped in a hellish cycle of suffering, all in the name of some plan? The sheer absurdity of it all threatened to consume him.

His mind collapsed in on itself, and Harry fell to his knees. For the greater good? The greater good?!

OH, THE FUCKING IRONY!

Harry felt the giggles slip past his lips. Soon, the laughter turned hysterica as his life's bitter irony washed over him. His existence, his purpose—it had all been a cruel joke. His every breath, his every decision, had been dictated by the grand notion of the greater good. Oh, how preposterous it all seemed! The very thing he had tried to escape, to defy, had held him captive all along. He was a puppet, pulled by the strings of others - Dumbledore, Voldemort, Death, and now Fate! Fate, the puppeteer of his life, controlling his every move.

He was always something, never allowed to be just Harry. The Chosen One, the Boy Who Lived, the Master of Death—labels that suffocated his identity. And now, he was Fate's plaything, tossed about in their grand design. The weight of his own significance crushed him. He was just too fucking special .

Darkness closed in, stealing his vision, but Harry's laughter persisted, mingling with his ragged breaths. The lack of air was inconsequential compared to the suffocation he felt in his heart. The realization that he couldn't escape, couldn't even choose his own fate, pierced through his being. He couldn't die! However much he wanted to... Oh no, that's not allowed. All for the sake of the greater good. He was just too fucking special ! The fog was entering his mind, spreading. His vision was gone, but the laughter, the wheezing laughter, was still there, but... but the air was gone.

Harry couldn't stay. Summoning his last shreds of strength, Harry staggered to his feet, his mind a tumultuous whirlwind of memories and emotions too overwhelming to process. Leaving Kali behind, burdened by their own remorse, he ascended to the surface. Death had done what they thought was best for Harry, but now they realized that they had only caused him more pain.

A conversation that had taken minutes had irreparably unraveled Harry's very being, crumbling the foundation of his entire existence.

Hermione's voice pierced through the air, filled with anguish and betrayal. "You're a monster!"

"Why are you saying that, Hermione? I don't understand."

Petunia's blow landed on him, her words dripping with venom. "You're a freak!" 

"Shut up, you old hag."

Ron's voice erupted with raw emotion. "I will kill you, you traitor!" 

"Kill me?! What are you saying?!"

"Harry, I love you." Draco's whispered confession tugged at Harry's heart.

"I love you too, my dragon."

Snape's accusation pierced through the air like a knife. "You raised him like a pig for slaughter," 

"More like a sacrificial lamb."

"You've been so brave," His mother's loving words washed over him. 

"I haven't. I'm scared."

"Don't let the past haunt you, Harry," Luna's gentle voice offered solace.

"It won't stop haunting me, Luna. It won't let me go."

"It's quicker and easier than falling asleep," Sirius' comforting words carried a weight of longing.

"I wish it was that easy."

An unknown man's accusation lashed out from the stands. "You're the next Dark Lord! We should throw you in Azkaban!" 

"If I wanted to be a Dark Lord, you'd all be dead already."

Xenophilius' voice quivered with grief. "Luna is gone, Harry. There was an accident," 

"What? No, it can't... No, I just saw her, she's fine. Nothing has happened to her!"

"Life isn't easy, Harry, but neither is death," Draco's tender touch brought comfort as he cried.

"Death sounds much easier than life. I want to join you."

Ron screamed in his face. "He was DARK, he'd turned you Dark. He deserved it!" 

"He didn't do ANYTHING! I've always been DARK, you fucking idiot! He did nothing to deserve it. I did nothing!"

The auror's cruel laughter pierced his soul. "He died screaming for you, you know. He was calling for you! Hahah.” 

"Shut up, shut up, or I will fucking kill you again!"

Hermione's furious accusation resounded in the air. "You should have died with him!" 

"I wish I'd never left our garden. I wanted to go with him!"

"They were animals! I slaughtered them like the beasts they were!" His own voice echoed through the darkness, filled with torment.

"Harry, you can't hang onto the past like this. Let it go. Let it go, it's not healthy," Luna's pleading voice reached his ears.

"I can't, I can't. It holds me tight. It comforts me in the dark. I can't let you go, I can't let him go."

"They were innocent," Dumbledore's portrait lied.

"No, they weren't innocent!" The voice in his mind and his own echoed in unison, denying the claim.

"No one in this life is innocent either. They shouldn't have a chance to hurt us again," His own voice reverberated through his tormented mind, echoing with bitterness and anguish.

"No, that's not true. It can't be true," he vehemently shouted back, his words laced with desperation.

"They hurt us! They don't deserve to be here anymore!" the voice retorted, its tone dripping with venom.

"They didn't hurt us! They have done nothing. You twisted the Dark into an excuse for a life of violence. All those innocent people... in this life, they have done us no harm," Harry desperately pleaded, his words filled with a mix of sorrow and frustration.

"There is no such thing. They have committed their own sins, I can assure you. They are spreading their lies throughout the community, seeking to control and suppress, their beliefs resting on the backs of the oppressed. None of their hands were clean. They were not innocent. They are not innocent!" the voice hissed, its words seething with malice.

Control, control, stay in control, he repeated in his mind, a mantra to ward off the darkness threatening to consume him.

"These people, they are innocent, they have never hurt us!" Harry cried out, his voice cracking with vulnerability.

"They hurt us by simply existing!" the voice countered, its accusation piercing through his thoughts.

"You need to get rid of them. Take them out before the taint spreads," the voice whispered, its words insidious and tempting.

Anger. For a long time, anger had been his constant companion, fueling his actions. It was a twisted solace, better than facing the overwhelming grief, heartache, and guilt that lurked beneath the surface. But feeding the anger was exhausting, like trying to satiate an insatiable monster. The monster protected him, but at what cost?

His resolve crumbled like fragile sandcastles. Why was he protecting them? They never protected him. He owed them nothing.

Maybe they were better off dead.

Death is a mercy . The thought whispered in his mind, a chilling melody that threatened to consume his sanity.

He strode forward, his purpose propelling him through the world without conscious awareness of his surroundings. His steps were quick, determined, driven by an urgent need to reach a destination he couldn't clearly define.

Now was the time.

Now he had to find them all.

Eliminate them.

Erase their existence.

The sound of his own footsteps reverberated loudly in his ears, amplified by the chaos that seemed to crackle in the air around him. Shattering noises echoed, but he paid them no mind.

A gasp reached his ears, a voice calling out his name from a distance.

"Harry!"

"Harry, wait!" The voice grew closer, filled with desperation and breathlessness.

"Harry, you foolish idiot, stop right there!"

Some invisible force compelled his body to halt, but his mind screamed that he must continue.

Now.

A hand landed on his shoulder, attempting to anchor him, but he resisted. He tried to shake it off, but it clung stubbornly, and he reached up to grip it tightly in return.

Something held him back, restrained him from moving forward again.

"Harry, what's wrong? Where are you going?" The voice now sounded distant, fading away.

His feet resumed their motion, but a lingering resistance persisted. The hand still grasped his shoulder, its touch a tether to the present.

"Harry, please look at me. What happened?" Concern laced the voice.

His lips moved, but the words, if there were any, were lost in the void.

He needed to...

"Harry, you can't... you have to stay. Stay here with me."

Stay.

Stay?

Why should he stay? He had a purpose to fulfill.

"Harry, please, look at me." The voice pleaded, filled with a mix of desperation and love.

His head turned, guided by an unseen force, yet his eyes remained vacant.

A gentle hand caressed his cheek, jolting him from his current state.

What was happening?

Where was he?

"Harry?"

He blinked. Draco?

"I'm sorry, Harry.”

And in an instant, the world descended into darkness.

Chapter Text

That morning, Harry woke up feeling as if he were teetering on the brink of life and death, enveloped in utter wretchedness. Any fleeting hope of relief was instantly shattered as his bleary eyes landed on the figure standing beside his bed - Draco.

Draco's bloodshot eyes brimmed with unspoken agony, and the downturned corners of his mouth mirrored the weight of unbearable pain he carried. And inexplicably, Harry found himself transported back to that fateful night in the astronomy tower, where Draco's fear and despair had intertwined with his own inability to act. It was as if the present moment fused with haunting echoes of the past, rendering Harry immobile, a captive observer to a horrifying spectacle. In his mind, he screamed, commanding himself to move, to escape the suffocating stillness. But his limbs remained unyielding, shackled by an invisible force, while unspeakable torment unfolded before his eyes. Time stood still, ensnaring him in a harrowing reminiscence - a time of helplessness, powerlessness, and paralyzing fear. Desperation had consumed him then, the yearning to fulfill the role of the revered Boy Who Lived, to be their savior. The bitter surge of bile rose in his throat, threatening to spill forth, but he swallowed it down, refusing to succumb to weakness.

No longer confined by the shackles of past helplessness, Harry recognised the immensity of his own power. He was the harbinger of unparalleled strength, no longer paralysed or frozen. He could move, and move he did. With a deliberate gesture, he raised his arms, silently asking Draco for solace, for a shared embrace that transcended words. And without a hint of hesitation, Draco threw himself into the waiting sanctuary of Harry's arms, their impact stealing their breath away. In that fierce embrace, Harry clung to him with a fervor that grounded them amidst the tempest of their internal turmoil. In Draco's trembling form, he felt the profound depth of fear, a fear he himself had unknowingly instilled. A sigh, laden with poignant admission, escaped Harry's lips. He wasn't the savior, nor the celebrated Boy Who Lived. But he could still be a protector - a guardian for those whose presence breathed purpose into his existence.

Draco had apparently stunned him, panicked and fearful that Harry was about to embark on a murderous rampage based on something he had said - a memory Harry couldn't recall. Fortunately, his body hadn't reacted as violently as it usually did when faced with a wand. He had simply allowed Draco's stunner to hit him, knowing deep down that resorting to violence was not the answer. After their heartfelt embrace Draco had yelled at him, shook him and demanded that he promise never to scare him like that again. Draco hadn't pressed for an explanation, but Harry could sense his burning curiosity. Yet, Harry still hadn't found the words to share what had caused his previous state, and days had slipped by in silence.

In the following days, a delicate dance of unspoken understanding and shared vulnerability began to unfold between Harry and Draco. Their interactions became a tapestry of unspoken truths, of gentle gestures and lingering glances that held the weight of unspoken conversations. They navigated the uncharted territories of their own emotions, offering solace and strength in equal measure.

Harry found solace in Draco's presence, a refuge from the storm that raged within him. Draco's unwavering support and the tenderness of his touch provided a respite from the consuming darkness that threatened to engulf Harry's mind. But as the weeks wore on, it became apparent that even the comfort of Draco's company was not enough to ward off the relentless truth that Kali had unveiled.

He hadn't spoken to Kali or Tom since the day Kali had unveiled the truth about his past lives. Consumed by a relentless stream of thoughts, the revelation lingered in his mind, haunting every waking moment. Why hadn't Kali told him before? And why was he condemned to relive his life repeatedly? What could possibly be the grand plan of fate?

As he pondered the meaning of his existence, Harry's thoughts swirled like a storm, searching for answers in the depths of his consciousness. The revelation had shattered the fragile foundation of his understanding, leaving him adrift in a sea of confusion. He grappled with the weight of Kali's previous silence, questioning their motives and the consequences of their actions.

Why didn't Kali tell me the truth earlier? Harry's voice echoed in the solitude of his thoughts, his brow furrowed in frustration. What purpose does it serve to keep me in the dark, subjected to this endless cycle?

A profound emptiness settled in Harry's chest as he wrestled with the magnitude of his existence. Memories of his past lives eluded him, yet their weight bore down upon him like an unseen burden. The ache of loss, heartbreak, and the relentless cycle of suffering had shaped him into someone unrecognizable.

"What purpose does it all serve?" Harry's voice trembled, his words a desperate plea to an indifferent universe. "Why am I condemned to this existence, forever caught in the web of fate? What have I done to deserve this?"

His mind spun with fragments of the past, memories that refused to surface. The unknown haunted him, an unsolved riddle that tugged at his thoughts. Did the threads of his lifes intertwine with a greater tapestry? Or was he merely a pawn, a vessel to fulfill an inscrutable purpose?

In the depths of introspection, Harry yearned for clarity, for a glimpse into the intricate machinations of destiny. He longed to understand the reasons behind his suffering, to find solace in the notion of purpose. But as he delved deeper, doubts gnawed at the edges of his thoughts, threatening to unravel the fragile thread of hope.

"What is the plan, fate?" Harry's voice resonated with a mix of defiance and resignation. "What greater purpose could justify these endless cycles of pain and torment?"

Was he destined to be a mere puppet, manipulated by unseen forces? Or did he possess the power to forge his own path, to break free from the shackles of predetermined fate? Who was he to fight against the gods?

The weight of his questions bore down upon him, pressing against his weary spirit. His days had blended into a haze of purposelessness and self-pity. He felt adrift, lacking any sense of direction. Yet, in the depths of his turmoil, a flicker of determination ignited within Harry. He would not be defined by the circumstances imposed upon him. He would seek his own truths, forge his own destiny, and confront the mysteries that plagued his being. Besides, if his life was ultimately meaningless, bound to be restarted and redefined, then nothing he did here would matter. He was free to do as he pleased without consequence. Currently, what pleased him was the prospect of encountering a certain Dark Lord.

He had attempted to reach out to Tom, but Tom had been avoiding him, and Harry couldn't blame him. He had been too pushy, too demanding. While Harry hadn't forgiven Tom for his past behavior, he still longed for his presence. He missed their conversations, their discussions, even their bickering. Without them, he felt an overwhelming sense of loneliness, realizing how much he had come to cherish his time with Tom.

Harry spent most of his time locked in his room, lost in contemplation. The nagging feeling persisted that everything he had done, everything he had endured, had amounted to nothing. He felt like a mere pawn in a grand scheme he couldn't begin to grasp.

The days had melded together, and though he wasn't certain of the exact date, he knew that the Yule break was approaching. Kali - Death had been trying to reach him incessantly, but they had given him space during the first week, perhaps hoping that Harry would eventually come around. Yet, he hadn't. It was all too overwhelming.

He didn't want to talk to Kali, but he yearned to see Tom again. However, Tom remained elusive, somehow out of his reach. Every night, Harry tried to grasp Tom's consciousness, but it slipped through his fingers. Tom was intentionally avoiding him. The pain of it was unbearable.

Harry missed him. He felt utterly alone. Abandoned.

But you couldn't think your way out of loneliness.

He had Draco, but it wasn’t his Draco. 

One evening, it might have been Friday, as Harry lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, he heard a knock on his door. He groaned and rolled over, hoping that whoever it was would go away. But the knocking continued.

He had put up wards around the dorm room, which perhaps was rude since none of his roommates would be able to enter.

With a lazy wave of his hand, the wards dropped, and his roommates stepped in. He watched as Draco, Blaise, and Theo walked in.

"Hey, Harry," Draco said, taking a seat on Harry's bed. Blaise sat down beside him, while Theo took the desk chair. "How's it going?"

Harry shrugged. He didn't really feel like talking, but he knew he should probably say something to help ease his friends' concern, and it might even help him if he shared some of his worries.

"Not great, to be honest," he admitted, feeling a lump form in his throat. "I just feel like... like everything I do is pointless."

Draco looked at him with concern. "What do you mean?" he asked gently.

"I don't know," Harry said, shrugging again. "I just... I feel like I'm not making any progress. Like no matter how hard I try, I'm always going to fall short."

Blaise rolled his eyes. "That's ridiculous," he said, his tone light. "You're Harry Potter, for Merlin's sake. You've defeated Voldemort, like, twice. You're a bloody legend."

Harry couldn't help but smile at Blaise's words. It was true; they just didn't know that he had killed him once as well. Not that he wanted to anymore. 

Theo spoke up, trying to distract Harry from his thoughts. "Hey, did you finish that essay for Professor Snape?" he asked.

Harry shook his head. "No, I've been too... busy," he said, trailing off. He didn't want to talk about his problems anymore.

"Hey, did you hear about the new prank Fred and George pulled on Professor Malfoy?" Blaise asked, a mischievous gleam in his eye.

Draco groaned loudly and let the back of his head hit the wall. "What did they do now? My father is very easily irritated, you know. He might take it out on the class if they continue."

Blaise only laughed at Draco's misery and proceeded to tell the story of how Fred and George charmed all the objects in Lucius' office to fly away from him whenever he reached for them.

Harry shook his head, feeling a surge of relief with the change in topic. As his friends bantered and laughed, he felt a warm sense of normalcy wash over him. For a brief moment, he could set aside his burdens and simply embrace the carefree spirit of being a teenager.

Amidst their animated conversation, Harry realised how fortunate he was to have friends like them. Imperfect but fiercely loyal, their kind hearts never failed to support him, even when he struggled to ask for help.

As the night wore on, a newfound lightness filled Harry's chest. His problems hadn't vanished, but the presence of these caring individuals reminded him that he wasn't alone in his journey.

"Hey Harry, are you coming to Hogsmeade tomorrow? It's your last chance before the Yule holiday," Theo asked, while the others nodded along.

Hogsmeade had slipped from Harry's mind, but the thought of finding gifts brought a heavy sigh and a reluctant groan. Despite his reservations, Harry resolved to join them. 

After a while, Draco stood up. "We should probably get going," he said, looking at his watch. "It's almost time for dinner."

Blaise and Theo stood up as well, glancing at Harry, but he shook his head, not really feeling up to being around so many people.

"We will bring back some food for you," Theo told Harry.

As their departing figures disappeared from sight, they cast one final smile towards Harry, leaving him with a profound sense of gratitude for their unwavering presence in his life.

As he sank back onto his bed, a wave of relief washed over Harry, enveloping him in a comforting embrace. Though uncertainties loomed ahead, the knowledge that he was surrounded by people who genuinely cared provided solace in that moment. Their support served as a pillar of strength, reminding him that he was never alone.

Yet, within the growing stillness, his thoughts began to stir, clamoring for attention. His heart yearned for a meeting with Tom, a long-awaited rendezvous they had discussed in anticipation of the upcoming Yule break. If a face-to-face encounter seemed unlikely, Harry contemplated alternative means of reaching out, perhaps through a letter.

Alright, he'd try that. At least then he'd be doing something to ease his anxiety. Now the question was, what to write in the letter?

Perhaps it was time to seek out Luna. Oh, now he felt terrible for not speaking to her for a while. He had been too stuck in his own mind to think of anyone else, but Luna was... Luna. His Luna. His darling Luna who was always kind and understanding, who was always there for him. He wanted to curse himself; he had been an awful friend lately.

It was dinner time, so Luna was most likely in the Great Hall, and he didn't feel like going there, so he'd head over to the Thestrals with whom Luna spends most of her evenings. Harry hadn't really sought out the reason for her obsession with them, but he knew they were important to her. She'd visit them every day, feeding them, petting them, keeping them company. Was it because they didn't expect anything from her or didn't hold any preformed prejudice against her? Maybe they just made her feel safe.

As he got dressed in something more appropriate than pajamas, Harry let his thoughts focus on his precious friend Luna. Oh, he should definitely invite her over during Yule break; he was sure it would be fun having both her and Draco around. Their personalities were complete opposites, but somehow they never seemed to clash. And Draco wouldn't mind if he took some liberties in inviting her over to his manor, and Lucius would be too scared to argue.

Shopping was an exhausting task, especially when someone kept bothering him through their connection for hours. Not the best way to win him over, by being annoying. He responded by sending bursts of magic to push Death away from the connection, but they seemed oblivious to the hint.

The persistent disturbance gave him a headache, but he managed to finish his shopping and now had a letter in his pocket as he made his way to Lucius' office. He hoped Tom would read it and not just burn it upon receiving it.

Luckily, he had agreed to meet Theo in the library for a study session before school let out for Yule. It would be a welcome distraction from worrying about trivial matters. Theo was bound to have questions about the homework, leading to a lengthy discussion of theory and probably a debate that would leave them both utterly puzzled.

Tom,

Hey, how are you doing? Listen, I have some good news and some bad news. The good news is that I'm staying with Draco at Malfoy Manor during the Yule break. The bad news is that I won't be able to see your annoying face unless you come to visit me.

But let's be real, you were already planning on coming to see me, right? I mean, we both know that we can't get rid of each other. Our last meeting was a bit of a blur, I was too drunk to remember most of it. I hope I didn't embarrass myself or say anything too strange. Did I? Well I’m sure you’ve heard weirder things, you are pretty old aren’t you? 

Anyway, I was hoping we could meet up again soon. I miss your murderous tendencies and your sharp wit. And I believe we have some business to conduct. 

Harry

It was difficult to discern whether Tom was scolding or grinning due to his peculiar facial expression. The little brat was something else. 

Harry and Draco walked out of Hogwarts together, surrounded by a crowd of other students. It was a crisp winter day, with a light dusting of snow on the ground. Harry had his cloak pulled tightly around him, and Draco had his hands buried in his pockets.

"So, you're really coming to my house for Yule?" Draco asked, looking at Harry with a mixture of excitement and scepticism.

"Yeah, I can't wait," Harry replied, grinning. "It'll be nice to have a break from Hogwarts and all the drama."

Draco nodded, a small smile on his face. "It'll be good to have you there," he said before looking away.

As they approached the carriages that would take them to the Hogwarts Express, a figure stepped out from the crowd and blocked their path. It was Dumbledore because, of course, it was him, his long white hair and beard blowing in the wind.

"Ah, Harry," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling. "I was hoping to catch you before you left."

Harry felt a sense of annoyance wash over him, knowing Dumbledore's tendency to meddle in his affairs and his current interest in where he spends his Yule break. He hadn't brought it up again after their last meeting, and Harry had hoped that the old man had let it go. Hope is for fools. "What is it, Headmaster?" Harry asked, trying to keep his tone neutral, aware of the students around them.

Dumbledore's expression grew serious. "I'm afraid I must ask you to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas, Harry. I don't think it's a good idea for you to spend your time with the Malfoys. Your safety is still not guaranteed, and there have been new threats against you."

Harry felt a flash of anger at Dumbledore's words. He didn't appreciate being told what to do, but he knew that arguing with Dumbledore wouldn't get him anywhere. Last time had certainly proved that. For now, it was easier to just play along. "Alright, Professor," Harry said, forcing a smile. "I understand your concern."

If Dumbledore noticed his sudden change in attitude, he didn't acknowledge it.

Draco looked at Harry with concern etched on his face. "What's going on, Harry? Are you coming with me or not?"

Harry turned to Draco and put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Go on without me, Draco," he said. The old man was waving goodbye to some Gryffindors and wasn't looking at them, so Harry whispered his next words in Draco's ear as they hugged goodbye. "I'll meet you at the manor later. It's no big deal."

Draco hesitated for a moment, then nodded and climbed onto one of the carriages. Harry watched him go, feeling a sense of sadness wash over him. He wanted to spend his time with his dragon, not a senile goat. The headmaster was getting in his way and delaying his peaceful break from annoying professors and obnoxious teenagers.

As Dumbledore continued to lecture Harry, the young wizard could feel his irritation growing. He was tired of being told what to do and how to live his life, especially by someone who only pretended to have all the answers.

"Listen, Albus," Harry said, cutting off Dumbledore's speech. "I don't need you to tell me who to be friends with or how to live my life. I'm perfectly capable of making my own decisions."

Dumbledore looked at Harry, his eyes twinkling with a mixture of amusement and pity.

"Of course, Harry," he said. "I apologize if I've given you that impression. I only want what's best for you."

Harry snorted. "Sure you do."

Dumbledore's expression didn't change, but Harry could tell that he was offended by his bluntness. What exactly did he expect Harry to do? Just go along with whatever the man said? Was he delusional or just plain stupid? Didn't he recall how their last meeting went, or any of their meetings this year? Gods, this man—how he gained so much respect and admiration was a mystery to Harry.

"Harry, I understand that you have some reservations about me, but I hope that you know I have always been on your side," Dumbledore said.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yeah, sure. That's why you kept so many secrets from me and put me in danger all those times."

Dumbledore sighed. "I realize that my actions may have caused you pain, Harry, but I assure you that everything I did was to protect you and defeat Voldemort."

Beware that when you fight monsters, you do not become a monster yourself, Harry thought as he looked at Dumbledore. Only a true idealist could willingly commit so many atrocities. Only a true idealist would willingly sacrifice a child for his cause. It's all for an ideal of freedom that Dumbledore believes to be absolute. When faced with monsters of your own creation, how could one not become a monster themselves if they wish to overcome them?

Harry didn't want to argue with Dumbledore anymore. He knew that the headmaster had his own agenda, and it didn't align with his own. He just wanted to get away from him and join Draco at the manor. Without another word, Harry called for his invisibility cloak and slipped away from Dumbledore's sight, his mind already planning out the next steps.

As Dumbledore continued to walk back to the castle, he noticed that Harry was no longer responding to him. He turned around, expecting to see Harry trailing behind him, but to his surprise, the young wizard was nowhere to be found.

Dumbledore stormed back to his office, his face flushed with anger and frustration. How could that boy slip away from me again? He thought to himself. It was as if Harry had no respect for him or his authority.

Once in his office, he sat down heavily in his chair and took a deep breath to calm himself. He knew he couldn't let his emotions get the better of him. He had to think logically and come up with a plan to get Harry back.

Dumbledore grabbed his wand and cast a spell to activate the fireplace. He threw in a handful of Floo powder and called out, "The Burrow!"

The flames turned green, and he saw Molly Weasley's face in the flames. "Dumbledore, what is it?" Molly asked, looking concerned.

"We need to hold an emergency Order meeting tonight," Dumbledore said, his voice grave.

"What's happened?" Molly asked, her eyes widening.

"Harry has gone to spend Christmas with the Malfoys, and I fear for his safety," Dumbledore said. "We must act quickly to bring him back to Hogwarts."

Molly's face darkened. "Those Death Eaters," she muttered under her breath. "I'll send out the owls right away."

"Thank you, Molly," Dumbledore said. "We cannot let Harry be swayed by their beliefs. We must show him the right path, even if it means taking drastic measures."

Molly nodded, looking determined. "We'll do whatever it takes," she said. Dumbledore nodded in agreement before ending the call.

After the call ended, Dumbledore sat back in his chair and rubbed his temples. He knew that breaking into Malfoy Manor and kidnapping Harry was a risky plan, but he felt like he had no other choice. Harry needed to see the right way, and he couldn't do that if he was spending time with the Malfoys.

Dumbledore thought about how he had failed Harry in so many ways. He had allowed the boy to be raised by abusive relatives, he had put him in danger year after year, and now he was letting him spend time with Death Eaters. He knew he had to keep the boy alive, even if it meant using force.

As he sat in his office, lost in thought, he was unaware of the chaos and fear he was causing in the hearts of those who loved Harry. The Order members were worried and anxious about the urgent meeting, and Draco was wondering why he had suddenly disappeared. Harry himself was on his way to Malfoy Manor, oblivious to the danger that was brewing.

Dumbledore's determination to get Harry back was unwavering, and he knew that he would do whatever it took to make sure the boy was on the right path.

That evening, the Order of the Phoenix gathered in a dimly-lit kitchen of the Burrow. They sat around the large kitchen table, while Dumbledore stood at the head of the table.

"Thank you for coming," Dumbledore began, but before he could continue, he was interrupted.

Remus Lupin spoke up, looking around the room searchingly. "Albus, where is Sirius? Why isn't he here?"

Dumbledore's eyes flickered to Remus, and for a moment, there was a flicker of something in his expression. "Sirius is away on a mission," he said smoothly. "He is keeping an eye on a potential Death Eater recruit. It's important work."

Remus could hear Albus's heartbeat, thanks to it being near the full moon, and he was surprised to notice it speeding up, indicating that Albus was lying. He knew Dumbledore was lying, but he didn't want to call him out on it in front of everyone. Instead, he nodded, hoping his expression conveyed his doubts.

"We have a situation," Dumbledore continued, looking around the room at the gathered members. "Harry has gone to the Malfoy Manor for the Christmas holidays."

The room erupted in confusion and concern. "Why would he do that?" Asked Kingsley.

"I have reasons to believe that he is not safe there," Dumbledore replied, his voice calm and measured. "He needs our help to get him out of there."

"But why would he go to the Malfoys of all places?" questioned Remus Lupin, his brow furrowed in concern. "What if they've coerced him into staying there?"

Dumbledore waved his hand dismissively. "I assure you that he went there of his own free will. As they were leaving, I tried to stop him, but somehow Harry slipped away. I had talked to him previously about how his safety was being threatened, but Harry didn't seem to realize the potential danger of the situation."

The members looked skeptical, but Dumbledore continued to speak with conviction. "We need to act quickly to bring him back to Hogwarts. I propose we break into the Malfoy Manor and retrieve Harry, using whatever means necessary."

Molly spoke up, her voice laced with worry. "But Albus, isn't that a bit extreme? We can't just barge into someone's home like that. What if we get caught?"

"We will not get caught," Dumbledore replied firmly. "We have the element of surprise on our side, and we are doing this for Harry's own good."

Arthur, who had been quiet until now, spoke up. "But Albus, why did Harry go to the Malfoys in the first place? It doesn't make any sense."

Dumbledore hesitated for a moment before replying. "Harry has his reasons, reasons that I cannot divulge at this moment. All I can say is that he needs our help now more than ever, and it is up to us to provide it."

There were murmurs of agreement, but the doubt and worry still lingered in the air. Shacklebolt spoke up once more. "But if Harry is truly in danger, shouldn't we contact the Ministry?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "No, we cannot involve the Ministry. It will only cause more trouble for Harry in the long run. We must handle this matter within the Order."

The meeting continued, with Dumbledore trying to quell any objections or worries that the members had. Remus was still bothered by Dumbledore's explanation about Sirius, but he knew better than to press the matter for now. As the meeting came to a close, Dumbledore reminded everyone of the urgency of the situation and that they must act quickly to bring Harry back to safety.

They needed time to prepare, but in a few days, Harry would be back safely.

Meanwhile, Harry had just arrived at the Malfoy Manor, having used the shadows to walk directly into the dining room where the three Malfoys were currently having dinner. Well, "enjoying" might be too strong a word. Draco looked pissed, while Narcissa and Lucius appeared to be troubled. Harry could only assume his absence was what was causing the downturned mood.

Harry made his invisibility cloak turn into a normal cloak while still remaining hidden in the shadows.

“Did someone die while I was away, Draco?” He couldn’t keep the amusement out of his voice if he tried.

The three startled and looked around the room, searching for the person the voice belonged to.

Harry decided this was the right moment to make himself known and stepped out of the shadows with a mean smirk on his face, very much channeling his inner Tom Riddle stepping out of the shadows in the Chamber of Secrets (the dramatic prat). “Or did you just miss me?” He asked as Draco's eyes snapped to his form.

Abruptly, Draco stood, the chair he had been sitting in scraping on the floor as it was pushed back. “Harry, what the hell happened?!” Draco frantically asked as he neared.

“There was no need to worry, dear. Nothing happened, only an old man who didn’t know his place,” Harry replied as he glanced past Draco and observed the older Malfoys.

They were looking at him with suspicion and something akin to fear. Harry felt his smirk grow wider as he met Lucius' obviously nervous gaze. Before he could go full-on insane killer smile, he turned back to Draco.

Who was standing in front of him with crossed arms and a frown marring his pretty face. “Why did you go with him?”

Harry tilted his head in consideration. “It was the most efficient way to get rid of him, to play along. Giving him the slip was child’s play, he didn’t even notice when I disappeared. And now he knows he can’t stop me from disappearing when I want to.” Harry smiled as Draco uncrossed his arms. “Besides, it is fun humiliating him.”

Draco huffed out a breath, but Harry could see his lips twitch.

“Now then, how about a proper introduction, hmm, Draco?”

Chapter Text

The first days passed quickly at Malfoy Manor. If he wasn't following Draco around as the boy showed him the secrets of Malfoy Manor, or they weren't playing impromptu games of Quidditch and Seeker games, he was hidden away in the corner of their vast library, trying to absorb as much information as possible. Most of the books he was currently enjoying had been confiscated by the ministry, banned, or lost during the war. Harry planned to take full advantage of having access to such knowledge.

He had been here for two days, and still, there was no sight of Tom. He had been certain Tom had been residing here, but now there was no trace of his presence. Had he fled once he received Harry's letter disclosing that he'd be spending the holidays here? Or had he never resided here as he did in the last world? Perhaps this was just his headquarters for meetings and such; maybe he didn't want anyone to know where he actually lived.

Harry scoffed at his own thoughts. There was no point in grumbling over it. Tom was avoiding him still, and he needed to give the man time to...process? Why was he avoiding Harry again?

Never mind. He had better things to do, like collect Luna and bring her here. As he arrived at Luna's lovely home, he could see the smoke coming out of the chimney at the Burrows. They must be home for the holidays as well.

With a knock on the door, Harry waited. A few minutes passed, while Harry could sense magical signatures inside the house, it appeared they wouldn't acknowledge his presence at the door. He was surprised when the door was thrown open and a man with a bewildered expression looked around. It was Luna's father, but right now, he was mostly unrecognizable. His hair was standing straight up, and his cheeks were covered in soot.

"Good morning, Mr. Lovegood. I'm Harry Potter, a friend of Luna's. Might she be at home?" Harry politely inquired but was met with a blank stare.

For a moment, all Mr. Lovegood did was blink repeatedly. Harry was becoming a little concerned. Finally, with a whole-body shake, Mr. Lovegood seemed to gather himself. "Oh, hello, young man. My apologies, you caught me at a bad time. My darling Luna, you ask? Yes, she is around here somewhere, I believe. Do come in," Luna's father replied, with a still slightly out-of-it look on his face.

Harry hesitated for a moment before stepping inside as Mr. Lovegood waved him in. The creaking door opened to reveal a mysterious interior. What dangerous secrets could be lurking within these walls?

"Tea?" Mr. Lovegood called from the kitchen, his voice trailing off.

"No, thank you, sir. I'm quite alright," Harry replied politely wanting to show respect, despite his reservations.

Luna had confided in him about her father's neglect after her mother's death. It had stirred a mix of emotions within Harry. Luna's father had been loving and caring when he was around, but as the years went by, the time he spent with her had decreased significantly, and he spent most of his time away doing research or searching for elusive creatures. He would leave Luna alone for weeks. She had been left to fend for herself, barely managing.

It was neglect. Harry didn't think Luna nor her father realised anything was wrong with their relationship, but Harry saw it. After having worked on his own childhood trauma, it had become easy to spot it with others.

However, he refrained from bringing it up, knowing how much Luna cherished her relationship with her father. Luna had never expressed any negative thoughts towards her father so why upset her unnecessarily. They used to have quite deep conversations about both of their messed up childhoods when they'd both been in their 30s. But currently, Luna was a child and he wouldn't leave a child alone in such a situation. He'd take her with him, even if he had to use less than ideal tactics to do so.

As Harry stood lost in his thoughts, the sound of light footsteps on the stairs snapped him back to reality. He turned, and there she was - Luna descending the stairs like a vision. Her blue summer dress adorned with fuzzy rainbow patches danced with every step, and a matching rainbow headband added a whimsical touch. Harry couldn't help but admire her beauty.

"Oh, Harry, you're early! I thought you'd come later to pick me up," Luna's ethereal voice greeted him.

Harry walked towards her, engulfing her in a warm embrace. "You knew I was coming?" He wasn't surprised, per se, but she'd been getting a lot more specific in her visions lately.

"Of course, the sparkling moon frogs whispered it to me. They said you'd arrive to take me with you. I've already informed Daddy that I'll be spending Yule with you. It's nice having friends to spend time with during the holidays." Luna replied with a soft look in her eyes.

A mixture of relief and affection washed over Harry. He leaned his head forward so their foreheads were against each other. "Of course, my darling moon, you'll always be my friend, and you'll always be welcome to spend time with me. I care for you deeply, Luna." Harry quietly said.

Luna's gentle smile radiated warmth. "And I care about you too, Harry. Shall we embark on our adventure? A certain dragon eagerly awaits our arrival." She giggled with excitement.

Harry's smile grew wider, his heart lightened. "Will your father be alright alone?" he inquired.

Luna hummed, her eyes filled with reassurance. "He had plans to search for Blibbering Humdingers during Yule. They thrive when the magic is at its strongest. So, he'll be fine. No need to worry."

Harry took a step back, his gaze lingering on Luna's face. He searched for any signs of sadness or resignation, but instead, he found amusement and fondness. Taking a deep breath, he resolved, "Alright, let's embark on our journey."

As Luna disappeared into the kitchen, Harry summoned her packed bags and skillfully shrunk them to fit into his pocket.

Luna reappeared a minute later, and to Harry's surprise, two snakes were elegantly wrapped around her neck - his snakes. Selene's piercing hiss filled the room as she locked eyes with him.

"You stupid human master, you forgot ussss!" Selene's anger laced her words.

Nyx joined in, venom dripping from her words. "You left us at the big nest with the rotten goat! Mean human!"

Guilt flooding his veins. He rushed forward, longing to embrace his slithering companions, but they recoiled, hissing menacingly. His shoulders slumped in remorse. "I'm so sorry, my darlings. The old man delayed my departure, and when I finally escaped, I couldn't find you. I used a tracking spell, but you must have left the grounds by then," he pleaded, his voice laced with desperation. "Please forgive me, my darlings."

The snakes exchanged a glance, their beady eyes filled with calculated judgment. Finally, they nodded their heads in unison. "Fine, but we demand 10 mice as compensation," Nyx hissed.

"Each," Selene added, her tone firm.

Relief washed over Harry like a cool breeze. Thank Merlin his snakes were easily appeased. "Of course, it's the least I can do," he agreed, eager to make amends.

During their hissing conversation, Luna had observed silently, unable to comprehend their words but sensing the resolution in the air. With a beaming smile, she chimed in, "Alright, off to Malfoy Manor we go! It's sure to be a joyous Yule." A distant look crossed her eyes, signaling another one of her enchanting visions.

Harry could only hope that whatever Luna saw wasn't too dire. With a mix of trepidation and excitement, he clasped Luna's hand.

Draco and Luna were hitting it off splendidly, discovering their shared passion for potions and spell creation. It seemed that Draco had picked up his skill from Severus, while Luna had found inspiration in her mother's journals. As they delved into a lively conversation about the substitution of pixie blood (a forbidden ingredient but oh-so-valuable in complex potions) with Ptolemy and Silverweed, Harry found himself reclining in a plush armchair, enjoying the exchange.

Upon their return, Narcissa greeted Luna with a warm smile, luckily avoiding any encounter with Lucius, who was out attending to business. They quickly located Draco, who had been fiddling with a snitch in the family gathering room. Now settled comfortably with a steaming cup of tea, Harry savored a rare moment of relaxation, his tensions melting away.

Suddenly, Luna's voice jolted Harry out of his blissful reverie. "Harry, do you plan on meeting him?" she asked out of the blue, catching him off guard.

Draco's curiosity gleamed in his eyes as he turned to Harry. "Who?"

You-know-who, Harry silently thought, but he bit his tongue to spare Draco from unnecessary fear. "Just someone I recently reconnected with, Tom. He's been avoiding me," Harry replied, his words careful and measured.

Draco remained unaware of the true identity behind the name ‘Tom,’ oblivious to the connection between Tom and Voldemort. Harry didn't intend to reveal the truth until he was certain that Tom posed no threat to Draco.

Harry let out a deep breath, his sigh echoing the weight on his mind. "I do plan on meeting him. I have some gifts to give him, after all."

Draco arched an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by Harry's response. Luna, on the other hand, maintained her serene composure, unwavering in her demeanor. Harry admired her for that, her ability to stay composed in any situation.

"Is it safe?" Luna finally broke the silence, her voice gentle yet filled with concern.

Harry shrugged, uncertain. "I'm not entirely sure. But I'll be taking precautions."

Leaning forward in his chair, Draco couldn't contain his curiosity. "Precautions? What kind?"

Harry pondered for a moment, glancing at Luna, seeking guidance in her wise eyes. But she simply smiled and shook her head, as if advising him to figure it out on his own.

Just as Harry was on the verge of responding, a faint touch against his occlumency shield disrupted his thoughts. Death. With a determined push, he forcefully expelled the intrusive presence, unwilling to engage with it. No, he didn't want to entertain conversations with Death.

Shaking off the lingering unease, Harry refocused his attention on the ongoing discussion, determined to keep his mind in the present.

"The last encounter was a bit awkward, but no need to worry. I'll have my wand with me," Harry reassured, a flicker of mischief dancing in his eyes. "And I might have some handy blackmail, just in case."

Draco nodded. "Well, if you need any backup, count me in. I'm happy to lend a hand."

Luna chimed in with a warm smile, echoing Draco's sentiment. "And so am I."

A wave of gratitude washed over Harry, appreciating their unwavering support. Despite their complicated history, he was grateful to have Draco and Luna standing by his side. It brought him solace knowing that he didn't have to face challenges alone, that Draco was willing to help without fully understanding the situation.

"Thank you," Harry murmured, his voice barely audible. He avoided their gaze, his heart pounding in his chest. His attention shifted to the window, but Luna seemed to sense his unease.

"The weather is simply delightful, don't you think? Let's take a leisurely stroll in the garden. Who knows, we might stumble upon a Crumple-Horned Snorkack. They do have a fondness for the fragrance of roses," Luna suggested, her voice a gentle invitation.

As they wandered through the enchanting garden, Harry couldn't help but find his thoughts drifting back to Tom, despite his reservations about allowing him to dominate his mind during this precious time with his friends. Tom was undeniably captivating, how could Harry not be consumed by thoughts of him?

It started innocently enough, a passing curiosity about the enigmatic dark wizard who had wrought so much pain and suffering. But now, it was growing within him, a relentless obsession with Tom Riddle, better known as Voldemort.

Harry couldn't escape thoughts of him - the raw power he possessed, his magnetic charisma, and his unwavering determination. Despite knowing the depths of his monstrosity, the cold-blooded murders he had committed, Harry found himself drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

The more Harry delved into the depths of Voldemort's complexities, the more he realized the darkness that lay within him. He was a monster, a ruthless killer who would stop at nothing to achieve his ambitions. And yet, Harry couldn't shake the pull he felt towards him, an irresistible force that defied reason.

Haunted by the memory of past wounds, Harry trembled at the thought of getting too close to Tom again, recalling the scorching pain he endured when he pushed the boundaries. He feared the speed at which his subconscious had embraced Tom, how a mere flicker of interest had transformed into an all-consuming obsession. This felt entirely different from his journey of falling in love with Draco... Wait, did he just - no, he couldn't have - what the hell? Did he genuinely compare his feelings for Tom to those he experienced when falling in love?

No. Absolutely not. He forcefully banished that thought to the depths of his mind, vowing never to entertain it again. He couldn't afford to entertain such dangerous notions. Was he out of his mind? It was sheer madness. No, there was no way...

Desperate for a distraction, Harry contemplated diverting his attention to honing his metamorphosis skills. Perhaps it was finally time to focus on mastering that ability.

Weeks had passed since Tom last saw Harry. Initially, it had been bearable for a day or two, but then an odd, gnawing sensation took root in his chest, compelling him to unconsciously rub at it. He couldn't pinpoint what was wrong, only that something felt amiss, and it was undeniably connected to Harry.

Days turned into an obsessive search through countless books on curses and illnesses, as if desperately seeking a magical explanation for his condition. Deep down, he knew it wasn't anything magical; it was simply him. However, he needed to be certain. Perhaps someone had cursed him, an improbable but not impossible scenario. It seemed more plausible than the other laughable theory he entertained. Laughable indeed.

The notion that he could be affected by something as trivial as longing felt inconceivable. Why would he ever experience such a sensation?

Yet, after another torturous week, he couldn't deny it any longer. The unpleasant sensation had only intensified with each passing day, devouring him from the inside out until there was nothing left but Harry. He reluctantly reached the worst possible conclusion - it was true. The realisation crashed upon him like an unstoppable wave, leaving him helpless in its wake.

Harry, the infuriating, ridiculous, arrogant, and yet utterly captivating boy. His eyes shone so brightly that it felt like staring directly into the sun. His laughter, soft and melodic, left an echo in your ears, a lingering enchantment even when you closed your eyes. His heart, so breathtaking and radiant, could leave you breathless in its absence. It matched his own ruthless nature, a perfect complement. It was all about Harry.

Tom found himself with an empty heart, yearning for Harry's touch and affection. How he missed him. Merlin, he missed him dearly. The longing parched his throat and sent shivers through his body. Something was undeniably wrong with him, no other explanation sufficed for the torrent of thoughts and sensations that consumed him. Yet, weeks had passed, and Tom reluctantly acknowledged that he had no idea how to resolve this on his own. With great hesitation and reluctance, he summoned the only one among his followers who possessed a semblance of sanity and empathy - Narcissa.

A gentle knock broke the silence, making Tom's neck hairs stand on end. "Come in, Narcissa."

The door creaked open, and Narcissa entered, her graceful demeanor intact. "My Lord," she greeted him with a small bow of her head.

Tom gestured to the chair in front of him. "Sit."

Narcissa gracefully took a seat, her piercing blue eyes curiously scanning Tom's face. "You summoned me, my Lord. How can I be of service?"

"Before we delve into anything, I require an oath from you - an oath of silence," Tom stated firmly, though both of them knew it was more of a demand.

"Of course, my Lord," Narcissa replied, bowing her head in a gentle nod.

Once the oath was sworn, Tom took a deep breath, attempting to steel himself for what he was about to do. He detested feeling vulnerable, loathed the idea of admitting to anyone, especially one of his followers, that he harbored emotions for someone. It felt like a weakness, and Lord Voldemort did not tolerate weaknesses. However, Tom Riddle knew he had his own vulnerabilities.

But as the seconds ticked by, he realised he could no longer keep his feelings bottled up. He needed to confide in someone, anyone, about what was transpiring within him. And he had a sneaking suspicion that Narcissa, with her composed demeanor and clear thinking, was the best person for the task.

"Narcissa," Tom began, his voice low and steady. "I need your… advice about something." Narcissa raised an eyebrow but remained silent.

"I have been...occupied with a matter that troubles me," Tom admitted, his tone laced with disdain for his own vulnerability.

Narcissa's expression remained impassive as she inclined her head, silently encouraging him to continue.

"There is an individual who has somehow managed to captivate my attention," Tom confessed, his voice dripping with disdain at his own weakness. 

Narcissa's eyes widened in surprise, but she maintained her stoic composure.

"And I don't know what to do about it." Tom confessed, the words feeling foreign and uncomfortable on his tongue.

Narcissa's eyes narrowed slightly, observing his guarded demeanor. "And what is it that you wish to discuss regarding this individual?"

Tom paused, his gaze hardened with determination. He couldn't afford to show any cracks in his façade. "I need advice on how to rid myself of these unwanted...affections."

Narcissa hesitated, her gaze softening slightly. "May I speak freely, my Lord?"

Tom nodded, realising that silence only exposed his vulnerability, swiftly correcting his behavior. "You may."

Narcissa's expression softened even further. "What do you mean by 'affections'?"

Tom hesitated, unsure of how to articulate it. He couldn't simply say that he had developed feelings for Harry, that thoughts of Harry consumed his every waking moment and that he yearned for his presence. He couldn't admit to feeling... happy, whenever they were together. It was too much to reveal all at once.

"I mean...we've been talking and it’s become a pleasant pastime," Tom finally managed to say, his voice unusually soft. "And I... I haven’t felt this way before. It's confusing." He scolded himself internally for stuttering like a fool.

Narcissa nodded in understanding. "I see. And am I allowed to ask questions about this... person?"

"Yes," Tom affirmed.

Narcissa nodded slowly, her gaze thoughtful. "Thank you, my lord. How does this person make you feel?"

Tom's throat constricted, and he swallowed with a profound effort. "Contentment envelops me when they are near. Their presence infuses life with a renewed sense of fascination and intrigue. I yearn to be in their company constantly, to immerse myself in their presence. But this... this is not proper. Such emotions should not consume me in this manner."

Narcissa pressed her lips together, contemplating his words. "My Lord, what I have to say may upset you..."

"Go ahead," Tom replied, annoyed at the whole situation.

Narcissa regarded him with a patient smile. "My Lord, love and affection are not sentiments that come naturally to you. It seems this individual has awakened something within you that you find unsettling."

Tom snorted involuntarily, unsettled by his own reaction, feeling defensive. "That's impossible. I don't have such feelings."

Narcissa maintained her calm composure. "My Lord, even the strongest of us can feel vulnerable at times. It's perfectly normal to have emotions, even if you don't yet understand them."

Scowling, Tom felt irritation rising within him. "I don't need your psychoanalysis, Narcissa. I just need a solution."

Leaning forward in her seat, Narcissa's tone remained gentle yet firm. "My Lord, denying or suppressing these feelings may only serve to strengthen them. Perhaps it is time to confront this individual and gain clarity on the matter. You may find that the resolution lies in facing your vulnerability head-on."

Tom considered her words, feeling a surprising willingness to listen. Why was he allowing her to speak so freely?

"What if they feel the same? Would you not want to know?" she continued.

The thought of Harry reciprocating his feelings caused Tom's heart to skip a beat. It felt ludicrous, impossible. Yet, he couldn't deny the warmth that spread through his chest at the mere notion.

Scoffing, Tom mustered up a bit of bravado. "I am incapable of such weakness. These feelings will pass, and I will regain my focus."

Narcissa held his gaze for a moment. "My Lord, there is always a risk when it comes to matters of the heart. But if you don't take that risk, you'll never know what might have been. If you lack the courage to find out, the uncertainty will eat away at you."

Tom looked up at her, his mind racing with all the potential outcomes. Could he really do this? 

Narcissa's gaze remained unwavering, her voice calm and firm. "My Lord, denying the existence of your emotions will not make them disappear. It takes strength to acknowledge and understand the complexities of one's own heart."

Tom's nostrils flared in frustration. How had he allowed himself to become entangled in this absurdity? "Enough, Narcissa. I will deal with this on my own terms. Your counsel is no longer required."

Narcissa bowed her head respectfully, retreating from the room as Tom turned his attention back to the desk before him.

As he stood there, the weight of uncertainty crushed him. His grand plan of seduction had evaporated like smoke, leaving him at a loss for what to do next. He recognized his own limitations, and the mere idea of maintaining the facade churned his stomach and made his palms sweat with anxiety. It was frustrating - his emotions had never interfered with his schemes before. If only he could rid himself of them or manipulate them at will.

But why did he even want to? Why was it so important to suppress his desires?

Despite the risks, despite the pain it might bring, Tom couldn't deny that the possibility of being with Harry was worth it. The mere thought of giving up on him, of letting go completely, was unbearable. The connection he felt with Harry was something he had never experienced before, something he couldn't easily dismiss.

But he also knew that it wouldn't be easy. There were barriers between them, walls that seemed insurmountable. The past they shared, the darkness that Tom carried within him, all stood as formidable obstacles. And there was no guarantee that Harry would even reciprocate his feelings. The uncertainty gnawed at him, stirring up a whirlwind of emotions.

In the midst of his turmoil, a voice of reason echoed in his mind - Narcissa's words of encouragement. Taking a leap of faith was the only way to know for sure. If he didn't gather the courage to confront his feelings, he would forever be left wondering "what if."

Tom clenched his fists, determination flickering in his eyes. He couldn't let fear dictate his actions. It was time to face his desires head-on, to confront Harry and find out if there was a chance for them, no matter how small. It was a dangerous game, but it was a game he was willing to play. He stood up from his desk, the weight of his decision heavy on his shoulders.

Dear Harry,

I hope this letter finds you well, though I must say, I am concerned for your safety. I understand that you are currently residing in Malfoy Manor, and I cannot stress enough how dangerous that is for you.

As you know, the Malfoys have been involved with the Dark Arts for years, and with Voldemort's return, they have become even more dangerous. I fear that you may be in grave danger if you remain there much longer.

Therefore, I implore you to leave the manor at once. If you refuse to leave willingly, I must warn you that the Order will have no choice but to take action. I understand that this may sound drastic, but your safety must come first. We cannot risk your life by allowing you to remain in the clutches of the Death Eaters.

If we believe you to be in imminent danger we will not hesitate to inform the ministry of what kind of activities you are engaged in and we will be forced to provide them with memories partaking to Sirius location. 

Please, Harry, do not make us resort to such extreme measures. Leave the manor and come to safety. We are here for you and will do everything in our power to protect you.

Sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore

Harry couldn't suppress a chuckle at the audacity of the letter before him. Did they truly think they could breach the ancient wards encircling Malfoy Manor? It seemed utterly preposterous.

His mind drifted to the conversations he had with the master, contemplating the absurdity of mankind. How strange it was that despite our intellect, creativity, and countless achievements, we often find ourselves engaged in actions that defy logic and reason. We build elaborate societies and marvel at our own technological advancements, yet simultaneously succumb to self-destructive behaviors that harm not only ourselves but also those around us. We tirelessly seek happiness and fulfillment, yet a lingering sense of emptiness persists. In our relentless pursuit of knowledge and understanding, we are plagued by the ever-present fog of uncertainty.

Perhaps the pinnacle of our absurdity lies in our penchant for self-sabotage. Fully aware of the risks, we persist in consuming unhealthy foods, lighting cigarettes, and embracing recklessness. We cling steadfastly to outdated beliefs and biased notions, willfully disregarding the overwhelming evidence that beckons for our attention. We wage wars and perpetrate acts of violence, despite knowing deep down that peace and compassion are the true foundations of contentment.

But Harry shook off his musings, he had his own missive to send.

Chapter Text

Albus Dumbledore: The Dark Secrets of a  Manipulative Mentor

By Rita Skeeter

Dear readers, brace yourselves for yet another exposé brought to you by the intrepid and relentless Rita Skeeter. Today, I uncover the sordid truth about our esteemed headmaster, Albus Dumbledore. Behind his façade of wisdom and righteousness lies a sinister secret that will leave you stunned.

Multiple sources have revealed a shocking revelation: Dumbledore, the self-proclaimed champion of the light, has spent over two decades grooming young students to join him in his pursuit of what he deems "the greater good." And do you know where this term comes from, my dear readers? None other than Dumbledore's former lover, the infamous dark wizard Grindelwald. Talk about a shady connection! (More about Dumbledore and Grindelwald’s love life on page 16.)

But that's not all. It appears that Dumbledore has a penchant for favoritism, handpicking a select few to receive special treatment. How is it fair for a headmaster to play favorites, you ask? Well, my dear readers, it seems Dumbledore's prejudice extends even to innocent children. Just three years ago, when the Chamber of Secrets was thought to be reopened, the headmaster shamelessly allowed blame to fall on innocent students solely because they were sorted into Slytherin.

Can you believe it? Not only did Dumbledore withhold crucial information about the danger lurking within the school from parents, but he also silenced any discussion about the chamber. Innocent children were condemned to detention if they so much as breathed a word about it. Frightened and defenseless, these children faced imminent peril, while the headmaster turned a blind eye. It breaks my heart to think of the suffering they endured. (More about the Chamber of Secrets incident on page 4.)

And let's not forget, dear readers, that even after the truth about the chamber was revealed, Dumbledore did nothing to ensure the safety of the students. Instead, he left it up to the children themselves to take matters into their own hands and rescue a girl who had been abducted and dragged into the depths of Slytherin’s chamber.

The incidents surrounding Albus Dumbledore and his reign at Hogwarts are but glimpses into the dark underbelly of his leadership. It's high time we question his motives and hold him accountable for the appalling acts that have occurred under his watch. The students of Hogwarts deserve better than a headmaster who manipulates, favors, and abandons them in their times of need.

As Harry emerged from the library, clutching the weighty tome beneath his arm, he couldn't help but feel a mix of curiosity and excitement. The night had been long, but it was worth every minute he had spent delving into the pages of the book. The differences between this world and his original one were striking and had the potential to reshape his understanding of the wizarding community.

One of the most significant discrepancies he noticed was Voldemort's approach during the last wizarding war. In his world, Voldemort had unleashed a reign of terror, resorting to brutal violence and manipulation to achieve his goals. The casualties were numerous, and the scars of the war ran deep. However, in this world, Voldemort had taken a surprisingly peaceful and political route. In 1980, just a year before his disappearance, Voldemort's approach had drastically changed.

The books he’d read detailed how Voldemort had utilised diplomacy and negotiation, focusing on political manoeuvring rather than outright violence. He had formed alliances, gained support from influential figures, and cunningly worked his way through the Ministry of Magic. This approach resulted in fewer casualties compared to Harry's original world. While there were still conflicts and clashes, they were not as widespread or devastating.

The aftermath of the war also differed greatly. In the original world, dark magic had become synonymous with evil, and there was a deep-rooted fear and hatred toward it. The Ministry of Magic had banned numerous books, twisted information, and covered up any references to dark magic that didn't fit their narrative. But, in this world, the perception of dark magic was different. It was not as condemned or vilified by society. The books on the subject were not as heavily restricted, and there was a broader understanding of its complexities and potential uses.

People in this world didn't seem to dwell on the war as much. They didn't hold grudges or constantly worry about its resurgence. The wounds of the past were still there, but they seemed to have healed differently. The wizarding community had moved forward, focusing more on rebuilding and unity rather than perpetuating a cycle of fear and animosity.

Harry had spent the past nights catching up on the details of the last wizarding war, but he hadn't found the time yet to delve into the more recent events and how it differed from his own world. Nevertheless, the relief of having something to occupy his mind washed over him as he turned the corner, his thoughts still swirling with the stark differences he had discovered.

His momentary peace was abruptly shattered when he came face to face with Narcissa Malfoy. Startled, Harry quickly halted his steps, narrowly avoiding a collision with her. His emerald eyes locked with her steely gaze, and he couldn't help but notice a subtle shift in her demeanor.

"Hello, Mr Potter," she said, her voice slightly hesitant.

"Hello, Mrs. Malfoy," Harry replied in a neutral tone.

Narcissa smiled faintly. "How are you finding the library?" she asked, making small talk.

"Ah, it’s quite ample," Harry replied.

"I hope it's proving useful for you," she said, Narcissa seemed preoccupied, her eyes momentarily darting away from Harry's. It was clear that something troubled her. Sensing her unease, Harry decided to address the matter directly.

"Mrs. Malfoy, is everything all right?" he asked, feeling a sense of concern, she was important to his dragon after all.

Caught off guard, Narcissa hesitated for a moment before offering a feeble reassurance. "Yes, everything is fine," she replied, though her words lacked conviction.

He didn’t want to push further, Harry respected her desire for privacy. "Well, if there's anything I can do to help, please don't hesitate to ask," Harry offered sincerely, his kind eyes meeting hers.

Narcissa nodded, a flicker of gratitude igniting within her gaze. "Thank you, Mr. Potter. I appreciate it," she said, a trace of vulnerability seeping into her words. "How about we take a break in the sunroom? I believe a cup of tea is in order."

Harry found himself pleasantly surprised by her suggestion, he realising that perhaps Narcissa had something else on her mind. Eager to accompany her, he extended his arm, an unspoken acceptance.

They strolled together in comfortable silence until they arrived at the sunroom. Sunlight poured through the expansive windows, casting a radiant glow upon the room. A magnificent crystal chandelier sparkled above them, enhancing the elegant ambiance. Surrounding them, lush green plants created a serene atmosphere.

Settling at a small table tucked away in a cozy corner, they were soon attended to by a diligent house elf, who graciously served their tea.

As they sipped their tea and talked about unimportant things such as school, Harry noticed a shift in the air. The tension radiated from Narcissa seemed to dissipate gradually and her body slowly relaxed. Their discussion revolved around trivial matters, yet the genuine connection they forged made the conversation meaningful and having shown his genuine emotions seemed to put her at ease.

With their tea cups emptied and the conversation winding down, Harry realised this was the perfect opportunity to try out the plan he’d impulsively come up with some time ago. 

"Oh, there is something I've been meaning to tell you," Harry began, subtly allowing his magic to surface. He knew the power of a well-placed rumour, especially when it contained part of the truth and the potential for supporting evidence. Leaning in slightly, he continued, his voice carrying a hint of mischief. "I heard the most interesting rumor that Dumbledore lost his wand, and for months now he’s refused to use magic in public. Rumor has it he lost it in a duel and is pretending to still have it. Quite dishonorable, don't you think?"

Wands held a sacred place in the world of wizardry, particularly among purebloods. The loss of a wand was not merely an inconvenience - it was a source of deep embarrassment and humiliation among the esteemed purebloods. Harry knew the significance that a wand held to someone like Narcissa, and he employed his magic to enhance his words, ensuring she wouldn't easily forget them.

As the words left Harry's lips, he observed Narcissa closely, her eyes widening slightly at the revelation. He had her full attention now, his carefully crafted gossip taking hold. He knew that she would be unable to resist spreading the rumor, ensuring its swift dissemination throughout the wizarding community.

Narcissa, though surprised, quickly regained her composure. A mixture of intrigue and curiosity danced in her eyes. "Is that so, Mr. Potter?" she inquired, her voice tinged with a newfound interest. "Losing a wand in a duel would indeed be quite an embarrassment, especially for someone who proclaims to be one of our most magically powerful."

Harry nodded, maintaining a composed demeanour. "Yes, I haven’t seen him use his wand since before summer and neither has Draco. I thought you might find it... enlightening," he replied, his words trailing off.

A sense of understanding washed over Narcissa as she looked at Harry, a glimmer of appreciation in her eyes. "Thank you for sharing that with me, Mr. Potter. It's always interesting to keep up with the latest news," she said, her voice laced with a mix of intrigue and amusement.

As she rose from her seat, Harry couldn't help but wonder what truly lay behind Narcissa's enigmatic demeanor. He knew there was something significant she was keeping from him, and he resolved to keep a closer eye on her. Determined to uncover the truth and offer his help if needed, he watched her depart, her elegant figure disappearing through the sunlit room.

A thin sheet of snow had settled on the grounds leaving the people hiding away inside the warm manor left tranquil and peaceful. But Harry wasn’t feeling particularly peaceful currently. Two days from now the prestigious Malfoy Yule Ball would take place and Harry wasn’t looking forward to it. He hadn’t prepared an outfit so he’d have to go shopping and he still hadn’t met with Tom. Tom who’d he most likely run into at the ball. 

With a huff Harry rose to his feet and sent the books in front of him away with a flick of his hand. He hadn’t seen Draco and Luna since breakfast and it was now nearing lunch. While Harry preferred to spend his free time reading and pondering, Draco and Luna needed to do something more active to remain stimulated so they were currently in the forest connected to the estate, harvesting some mushrooms for a potion they were developing. 

Harry planned to join them but as he left the building he felt it. Him. 

He was here. 

Tom was here. 

Harry’s breath stuttered and he almost tripped as he felt his magic. He was near and Harry needed to find him. He felt compelled to hunt him down and force him to talk. 

With determined steps Harry follows the trail of Tom's magic. With every step closer he felt nerves travel through his arms and his stomach flutter in anticipation. 

As Harry ventured deeper into the grounds, the familiar scent of the forest mingled with the faint trace of Tom's magic, guiding him forward. His heart raced with a mix of apprehension and longing. He couldn't deny that he missed Tom, but pride and past wounds made it difficult for him to openly admit it.

The anticipation built within Harry, he couldn't shake the realisation that this would be their first meeting in person, free from the ethereal realm of dreams that had woven their minds together in the past. This potential meeting felt more real, more vulnerable, and held the potential for a depth of connection beyond what their shared dreams had allowed.

As he turned a corner, there, in a small clearing, stood Tom, his tall figure bathed in dappled sunlight. Tom's expression remained carefully composed, his eyes revealing nothing of the emotions that might lie beneath the surface. A mask of indifference adorned his face, mirroring the one Harry wore.

But he was so beautiful. 

Their eyes met, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. The air crackled with unspoken words and unresolved emotions. Neither of them knew how to act now that their feelings had evolved, tangled and complex. The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken apologies and untold desires.

Breaking the stillness, Harry cleared his throat, the sound almost overbearingly loud in the quiet clearing. "Tom," he said, his voice steady, though his heart hammered within his chest. "It's been a while." Why was Tom hiding away in a clearing on the Malfoy estate anyway?

Tom's lips twitched imperceptibly, a hint of something soft flashing across his eyes before he masked it once more. "Indeed," he replied coolly, his tone betraying no hint of his own inner turmoil. "You've been keeping yourself occupied, I assume?"

Harry's breath caught in his throat, the voice he’d so often heard in his dreams sounded even more attractive in reality. Harry tried to contain his shiver. "Yes, I've been...busy," he replied, having to stop his mouth from blurting out how he had missed Tom.

Tom inclined his head slightly, his gaze lingering on Harry for a moment before shifting away. "I've heard you’ve been doing well," he admitted, his voice low and guarded.

Harry's grip on his emotions tightened. This was not the reunion he had imagined, but it was a start. "And what about you, Tom? What have you been up to?"

Tom's mask slipped momentarily, a flicker of vulnerability passing over his features before he composed himself. "I've been...occupied as well," he replied cryptically, his voice tinged with an unfamiliar softness.

Their conversation hung in the air, a web of unspoken words and unfinished sentiments. The tension between them felt palpable, a delicate dance of emotions that neither of them dared to fully acknowledge. They were uncertain of how to navigate this uncharted territory, their past still haunting them while a glimmer of hope lingered within their hearts.

In that moment, as they stood there, surrounded by the quiet whispers of nature, Harry noticed how his own desires were reflected back at him in Tom’s eyes and it made his heart flutter.

And as the sunlight danced upon their faces, Harry took a tentative step toward Tom, both of their internal walls slowly crumbled as Harry neared. Harry wanted to be closer, so much closer but Tom’s guarded expression halted him in his path. Tom didn’t move away from him however, so Harry mustered the courage to break the silence once more. 

He took a deep breath, his voice betraying a mixture of vulnerability and determination. "You know, Tom," Harry began, his words careful and deliberate, "I happened to stumble upon something during the summer. Something I think you might find intriguing." He paused, allowing the weight of his words to settle in.

Tom's curiosity flickered behind his impassive facade, a flicker that did not escape Harry's notice. "What is it?" Tom asked, his voice laced with a controlled curiosity.

Harry's lips curled into a small smile, his eyes shining with a glimmer of hope. "It's a Yule gift, for you. I'd like to give it to you," he replied, purposefully leaving the details vague, a playful edge creeping into his voice.

A moment of uncertainty passed between them, as if Tom were contemplating the hidden meaning behind Harry's words. Finally, he spoke, his voice tinged with a hint of intrigue. “I suppose we should met up again then? I’m afraid I have somewhere I’m needed now.” A question spoke like a demand, it made Harry’s fingers twitch in familiarity. 

Harry's small smile widened, relief mingling with anticipation. “Yes, I’d like that. How about tomorrow? Met me here again and I shall indulge your curiosity and show you where I spent part of my summer.” 

Tom's eyes flickered with a mixture of hesitation and curiosity, his resolve momentarily wavering. "Very well," he acquiesced, his voice low but tinged with a newfound warmth. "Tomorrow evening.” 

The weight of their unspoken feelings hung in the air, the promise of a future encounter shimmering like a distant star. With that agreement, a glimmer of hope ignited within Harry, fueling his determination to bridge the gap that had formed between them.

Harry wanted to step closer, the few meters that separated them felt like an endless field and Harry wanted to run across it and fly into the awaiting arms at the end. But Harry held himself back from making such bold gestures. As they prepared to part ways, Harry couldn't help but add, "And Tom, don't forget to bring a gift of your own. It's only fair, isn't it?"

Tom's lips quirked, a flicker of amusement dancing in his eyes. "Indeed, Harry," he replied, a rare hint of playfulness gracing his tone. "I shall come prepared." He turned on the spot, ready to leave before he froze in thought. “Oh, I was promised a duel, and I will collect.” And with that Tom disappeared. 

For the remainder of the day Harry’s thoughts were clouded by anticipation and excitement. 

His mind lingered on the upcoming meeting with Tom, their second encounter in person rather than in the realm of dreams. The thought filled him with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. In their shared dreams, they had explored a realm of possibilities, free from the constraints of reality. But after facing each other in the physical world, their connection felt more vulnerable and profoundly meaningful.

The dreams had been ethereal, a dance of emotions in a realm where consequences held no weight. Yet, standing in that clearing, Harry couldn't help but realise that their meeting had been different. It carried with it a weight of reality and authenticity that their dream encounters had lacked.

In those dreams, they had been swept away by the currents of their shared desires, hidden behind the safety of fantasy. But in their physical meeting the vulnerability in Tom's eyes mirrored his own. There had been a tenderness that could not be replicated within the confines of their dreamscape. It was as if their beings had yearned for this genuine connection, one that transcended the boundaries of their dreamscape.

The anticipation of their second physical meeting heightened the emotions swirling within Harry's chest. The touch of Tom's skin, the sound of his voice, the way their eyes locked in a silent understanding - these were experiences he had longed for, yet never dared to hope would become a reality.

As Harry reflected on their past dream encounters, he understood that their future meeting held the potential to weave a tapestry of emotions that far surpassed their dream interactions. It was a chance to explore a tangible connection, to navigate the complexities of their evolving feelings in the tangible world they shared.

The vulnerability of their forthcoming meeting filled Harry with a mix of excitement and a touch of nervousness. It was as if they were shedding the protective layers of their dream personas, exposing their raw selves to the other's scrutiny. And in that rawness, Harry sensed the possibility of something beautiful - a genuine bond.

The day had passed slowly, but finally, night had come. Since Harry lost his soul, he didn't need to sleep as much as a regular person. His body didn't require it, but his mind craved the silence that sleep provided. So, once in a while, he would give in to the call and allow himself to rest. Sometimes, he was granted a peaceful, dreamless sleep, but not always. He had experienced far too many traumatic moments for his mind not to bring them up when he was vulnerable. Unfortunately, tonight was shaping up to be a difficult night for him.

In the depths of the night, Harry found himself drifting into a dream, a haunting echo from his past. He stood alone in the desolate landscape of King's Cross Station, the air heavy with a sense of foreboding. The memory of his encounter with Dumbledore in limbo materialised before him, as vivid and painful as the day it had occurred. It was difficult telling that this was a dream, a memory playing out, his body moved on its own as the memory continued. 

As Harry surveyed the emptiness around him, he spotted a figure standing a short distance away. It was Dumbledore, his long silver hair flowing in an ethereal manner, his eyes twinkling with a mixture of wisdom and regret. The memories flooded back, raw and unyielding, reminding Harry of the anguish he had felt upon realising that he had died.

Anger surged within Harry's chest, mingling with a profound sense of betrayal. He clenched his fists, his voice trembling with a mix of resentment and pain. "You knew, didn't you?" he accused, his tone laced with bitterness. "You knew what I was getting into, what I had to face. And yet, you let me die!"

Dumbledore's gaze met Harry's, his expression somber and burdened. "Harry, my dear boy," he began, his voice filled with sorrow, "I did not wish for this outcome. But there were lessons you needed to learn, sacrifices that had to be made. It was a path you chose willingly."

Harry's anger flared, his voice rising with a bitter edge. "Chose? I never asked for this! I never asked to die and be trapped in this place, feeling nothing, alone and abandoned!" His words rang out in the empty station, filled with anguish and confusion.

Dumbledore's gaze softened, a flicker of remorse crossing his features. "I understand your anger, Harry. But you must realise that it was never my intention to betray or abandon you. I believed in your resilience and your ability to face the darkness."

A surge of numbness washed over Harry, mingling with the lingering anger. The weight of his sacrifice, the burden he had carried, felt crushing. "Resilience?" he scoffed, his voice hollow. "How can you speak of resilience when I was left with nothing but emptiness and confusion? I lost so much, Dumbledore, and for what?"

Dumbledore's voice quivered with remorse as he replied but Harry wasn’t listening anymore. He had to remember that his was a dream, a memory. It had no bearing on him, no consequence to him. Harry tried to pay little attention to the man’s rambling, he’d heard it all before after all. 

The memory played out as it had happened. Dumbledore trying to justify his actions, telling Harry about the horcrux and how he’d hoped Harry would survive and ultimately, how Harry had a choice in returning. 

Harry remembers the bitterness, the anger, the rage he’d felt as Dumbledore told him he had to go back. But he was too overwhelmed and numb to let his emotions shine though. He was done, he didn’t want to go back but he’d said nothing. Not like he would listen to Dumbledore anymore. He wouldn’t go back. 

Then why did I, in the end, go back? Harry thought to himself, he couldn’t recall why he’d decided to go back. 

As he walked towards the unmoving trains after Dumbledore had faded and disappeared, Harry’s body froze as the familiar feeling of death crept up his back. 

“Master.”

He turned slowly, unsurely, and there stood Death. The knowledge that this being was Death had settled in his mind without his input. He knew instinctively that he was facing Death. 

“Master.” The being uttered again, voice echoing around them in the empty station. 

“Death?” The question slipped out. 

“Yes.” The being answered leaving Harry crushed under the weight of that single word. 

“Master? The master of death? I’m the master of death?” Slowly the rage that had faded to background noise came back. ”I can’t die?” The question was a whispered plea to be wrong. 

“Yes, you are and no, you can’t.” Death answered emotionlessly, irritating Harry further for some reason.

He clenched his hands and breathed through his mouth. “Of course I fucking am. Of course I can’t just die like a normal person. Of course I have another title, another power. Of course I am just that special .” He spit out with a breathless quiver in his voice.

He spun on the spot, arms held up in disbelief. But should he really be? He always got more than he fucking asked for.

“Master, are you leaving?” They asked, Harry startled and reprimanded himself for turning his back on a god of all things.

Harry wasn’t sure he wanted to go back but he definitely couldn’t deal with this either. At least he had Hermione and Ron waiting for him in the world of the living. 

“Yes.” He decided.

“Then don’t forget yours, master.” Harry couldn’t tell what the being was thinking, their voice held no emotion in it and their face was obscured.

“Mine, what?” He was uncertain as to what Death was referring to.

The being tilted it’s head in confusion before replying in the same emotionless tone. “Your soul of course, master.” 

Harry frowned in confusion, his soul? The one under the bench, that wasn’t his? “You mean Voldemorts soul? Yea, I’m not taking that back with me.” He replied, could this god even understand snark?

If Harry could see their face he was certain they would look at him as if he was an idiot. It was just the feeling he was getting from the being as it only stared at him quietly for a minute. As they replied, Death lifted his hand and above it hovered a ball of light. “Your soul, master.” 

My soul? What is happening? Is this not a memory?

Memory Harry must have agreed with him. “My soul? Why isn’t my soul in my body?” For some reason he wasn’t really freaked out over the fact, he felt nothing as he looked at what was apparently his soul. 

“It leaves your body as you enter Limbo, as all humans do. You however, may have it back, master.” 

The frown hadn’t left his face and only deepened at the revelation. His gaze lingered in the light floating about Death’s hand and Harry didn’t feel a pull to take it back or an instinct that it was needed. No he only felt relief. Relief that he didn’t need to carry the heavy burden a soul brings. Relief that he didn’t feel as heavy and tired as he usually did. The thought of taking it back made his stomach drop and dread grip him. 

"No. I don't want it. You keep it." His response slipped out with more bravado than he truly possessed.

What!? He had left his very soul?

Time stood still as Death froze, the flickering soul held in its grasp. Minutes or hours passed in an eerie silence, both parties locked in an unspoken standoff. Just as Harry began to believe Death wouldn't accept his soul, a reply finally escaped its lips. "If that's what you want, master. I'll keep it safe." The words carried an unusual weight, a somber tone that sent a shiver down Harry's spine. Ignoring the subtle change, he clung to the relief that Death hadn't rejected him. After all, he was special, right? The Master of Death, the boy who defied demise.

"I guess I shall take my leave then," Harry mused, his mood too restless to engage in further conversation. The enigma of his newfound title could wait; he had no desire to dig deeper into the mysteries just yet. With a flicker of hope tainting his words, he added, "I'll see you around?"

"You will, master," Death responded evenly.

As Harry turned to depart, a strange sensation washed over him, burrowing into his mind and seizing control. The world dissolved into darkness, and in a sudden jolt, Harry found himself jolting upright in his bed within the guest bedroom at Malfoy Manor.

What the fuck just happened?

Was it a dream? A memory? It certainly didn't match Harry's recollection of events. The beginning, the meeting with Dumbledore in limbo aligned with the dream, but he had no memory of encountering Death there. And what was that mind-boggling finale? Did Death obliviate him?

Why in the name of Merlin's beard would Death do such a thing? Denying him that crucial memory would have explained so much. His lost emotions, wonky magic, the overall sense of everything being different. Harry's brain was tangled in a web of confusion. He couldn't make heads or tails of it.

Reluctance crept over him like a pesky Blast-Ended Skrewt. The idea of facing Death, of seeking answers from Kali, felt like venturing into the Forbidden Forest without a wand. But as the unanswered questions gnawed at him, Harry knew there was no other choice. He had to gather the courage, push aside the fear, and confront the enigmatic entity once again.

Chapter Text

The day after the weird dream/memory passed in a blur, much like many of Harry's days since Kali revealed the truth. He spent the day in the library, holding a book but unable to read it, preferring solitude to sort through his thoughts and prepare for his meeting with Kali. However, his solitude was short-lived as Luna unexpectedly appeared, finding him in a hidden corner of the vast library.

Upon seeing him, she sighed quietly. “Harry, there's no point in stewing in your own thoughts. Let us help you, let me help you,” she pleaded.

“Forgive me, my dear Luna, but I'm not exactly in a chatty mood today,” he replied, more sarcastic than intended. He had no doubt she somehow knew what he planned to do.

“My mother used to say, it's when you least want to talk that you need to the most,” Luna settled beside him on the floor. “What are you afraid of, Harry?”

Harry swallowed heavily. “The truth,” he replied simply. What more was there to say?

Luna gazed at Harry with unwavering compassion, her silver eyes filled with understanding. She knew better than anyone the weight of hidden truths and the fear they could invoke. Slowly, she reached out and placed a gentle hand on his arm.

“I understand, Harry. The truth can be terrifying, especially when it shakes the very foundation of everything you thought you knew,” Luna's voice was soft, soothing, like a comforting melody. “But sometimes, facing the truth is the only way to find peace within ourselves.”

Harry's gaze shifted from the book in his hands to Luna's face, searching for answers. He saw the genuine concern etched across her features, and he knew she was right. He had been avoiding the truth for far too long, and it was consuming him.

“I'm afraid of what it means for me,” Harry admitted, his voice tinged with vulnerability. “If everything I thought was true turns out to be a lie, who am I? What am I?”

Luna's hand tightened slightly, a silent reassurance. "You are still the same fierce and strong person you've always been, Harry. The truth doesn't define you; it simply shapes your path forward. And I believe that whatever you discover, you have the strength to face it."

Harry's shoulders sagged as the weight of his fears began to lift. The library's silence seemed less suffocating, and a glimmer of hope flickered within him. Luna's unwavering faith in him was a balm to his troubled heart.

"You're right, Luna," Harry whispered, his voice barely audible. "I can't keep running from the truth. It's time to face it, no matter how difficult or painful it may be."

A small smile graced Luna's lips, and she squeezed his arm gently. "You're not alone, Harry. We're in this together. Remember, even in the darkest of times, there's always a flicker of light waiting to guide us." Her lips twitch in amusement at her choice of words. 

Harry snorted at the saying but with Luna's support Harry felt a renewed sense of determination. The path ahead was uncertain, but he knew he had allies by his side who would help him unravel the mysteries that lay before him.

Taking a deep breath, Harry closed the book he had been holding all day. It was time to leave the safety of the library's hidden corner and step into the unknown.

“You know, there is something else my mother said,” Luna trailed off with a contemplative look on her face, so unlike her normal carefree one. 

“Oh?” Harry asked, always curious to learn more about the mother Luna rarely spoke of.

“A few hours before she died she told me I was going to change this world. I didn’t believe her but I think I might be meant to help you do it. I know you can.”

As Harry walked away, his mind didn’t linger on Kali however, but on the upcoming meeting with Tom, their second encounter in person rather than in the realm of dreams.