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Not Part of the Job Description
Harry startled awake. He wasn’t sure what had woken him up, but he immediately realised that he felt different. Sitting up, he realised that his surroundings were blurred, and he frowned. Had his eye potions failed? He reached out to his bedside table to find his emergency pair of glasses, only to pat worn floor boards instead of the table.
And then he realised. He wasn’t in his bed. He wasn’t in his bedroom. He was on the floor of a rusty… oh, fuck that.
“Accio glasses,” he muttered, holding his hand out.
They flew into his hand and he thanked Merlin for small mercies. Sliding them onto his face, he looked around the cabin in horror. He knew this place. He’d been here, ten years ago, when he was eleven.
Looking down at his body, he realised that he was eleven.
Double fuck that. Harry was livid.
“What in the actual—”
BOOM!
“Where’s the cannon?”
Harry rolled his eyes. “Fucking idiot,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head.
He watched as Hagrid broke down the door and then spoke briefly to his Aunt and Uncle. His uncle holding a gun he absolutely didn’t know how to use muttered under his breath as Hagrid turned his gaze on Harry.
“Yer a wizard, Harry.”
Harry stared at him and then nodded his head. “I know.”
Before Hagrid could reply, the scene froze, and a tutting sound could be heard behind Harry. “You’re not even going to play along for a few hours, Harry?”
“I knew you were behind this, you arsehole,” Harry muttered, looking over his shoulder at the swooping figure of death, complete with scythe for funsies. “Why am I here?”
“You were complaining you were bored,” Death replied, shrugging lightly. “I thought I could liven things up for you a bit.”
“You… Death, what the fuck? Is this what I get for being your master? This wasn’t part of the job description. None of this was part of the job description!”
“I can take you back,” Death offered, with a heavy sigh. “I thought it might be fun. Most of the time, I just have to watch people ascend to heaven—or you know, go downwards if they’ve been an asshole—and I thought this might provide us both with some entertainment.”
Harry tilted his head. “You can take me back at any time?”
Death nodded.
“And if I break the timeline, you can fix it?”
Death nodded again. “Do try not to let the cat out of the bag too early though, Harry. Though, why people are putting cats in bags, I’ve never quite worked out, but—”
“Stay on topic, Death.”
“Right, right. Anyway, break as much as you want, but try not to clue anyone in to the time travel. Fate is letting us have our fun, but she’ll be pissy if that gets out, you know?”
“No, actually, I have no idea what’s going on,” Harry replied. “You know this is weird, right? It’s not natural? You’re not supposed to just whammy people back ten years into their childhood bodies for shits and giggles?”
“I wouldn’t do it to just anyone!” Death replied, offended at the implication. “Just you. And I told you, I can take you back. Any time you want.”
“Uh huh. If I change things for the better, can I keep them that way?”
Death hummed. “Maybe? Probably? I’ll have to check, but probably, since this is a time pocket and we can just create a new—”
“Please don’t hurt me with the science of the thing,” Harry muttered. “I don’t need to know the how. Just the ‘if it’s possible’ will do.”
“I’ll find out and let you know,” Death promised. “I should go. But… if you die, I’ll put you back in your old body, so don’t worry.”
Harry nodded, and, feeling a little perplexed, watched Death fade from view.
Time started again before Harry could think anything through, and he turned back to look at Harry, beaming. “I knew you must! James and Lily’s son wouldn’t not know!”
“I mean. If I hadn’t had to heal myself from their beatings,” he said, nodding his head at his Aunt and Uncle, “then I wouldn’t know. But whenever they hurt me, I healed really quickly, so I knew there had to be… something.”
Harry heard a dark chuckle, and immediately realised he was the only one who could hear it.
“Sneaky,” Death muttered. “I like it.”
“They… beat you?” Hagrid asked slowly, turning burning eyes on the Dursleys, who both had the sense to stumble backwards, away from the half giant.
“Uh huh. I always hoped that someone would come and take me away but… nobody ever did,” Harry replied, and honestly, that wasn’t a lie. He might be older and beyond needing a hero, but right now, he needed to not have to live with his relatives.
He might strangle Vernon with his own mustache.
Hagrid swung his umbrella, and Harry found himself staring at three cockroaches—fully formed cockroaches, nonetheless—where they’d been standing. Apparently, Hagrid needed more rage to actually perform the magic he wanted to do. Huh.
Harry was about to gather them up and put them in a container to be fixed at a later date when Hagrid stamped on them.
“I… did you just…”
“Appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone at Hogwarts about that,” Hagrid muttered, his cheeks flushing slightly. “Strictly speaking, I’m not supposed to do magic.”
“I… and the… are they dead?”
Hagrid nodded slowly. “Yeh.”
Harry tilted his head, and then slowly, he smiled. “Cool.”
…
As he was drifting off to sleep in the bedroom his aunt and uncle had claimed—the bed wasn’t much better than the floor, but at least there was a worn quilt to ward off the cold—he considered how Hagrid was going to get away with murder.
His last thought, before the sandman claimed him, was that Dumbledore would probably cover it up. He wouldn’t want Hagrid to wind up in Azkaban, and really, what’s the death of a few Muggles when it came to the ‘Greater Good’.
The morning after, Harry followed Hagrid out to the boat and didn’t talk while he read his newspaper. It was less that he was worried, this time, and more than he didn’t really have anything to say. It wasn’t like Hagrid was going to tell him anything he didn’t know.
The trip to Diagon Alley was uneventful, and as they walked to the bank, Harry considered if he wanted to meet Draco Malfoy or not. On the wand hand, it would be fun to verbally spar with the little twerp, on the other hand, he was eleven, and while Harry was stuck in a child's body, he was very much an adult, and that was just a bit weird.
Should he really be picking on children?
Harry got his money—and snagged his vault key from Hagrid—and Hagrid got the stone, and off they went shopping. In a change from the first time, Harry aimed straight for Ollivander’s to get his wand—he really didn’t like being without it—and he tiredly took part in the nonsense until eventually, Ollivander gave him his phoenix and holly wand. It warmed in his hand, but perhaps not as much as it did the first time.
But then, he was already the owner of another wand now, wasn’t he?
He frowned to himself as they left the wand shop and walked up Diagon Alley to get books. He picked up the ones on his list, already dreading the first year essays he was going to be forced to rewrite, and then picked up a few extra books to save his sanity from boredom.
Making sure that nobody was watching, he lightened his bags and then headed off to Madam Malkin’s. As last time, Hagrid slipped away for a ‘pick-me-up’ and Harry entered alone. Draco was being fitted, and Harry glanced his way when he took his own space.
Merlin, he looked young.
Before Draco could start being an obnoxious little snot, Harry casually brushed his hair out of his face to display his scar. He heard the intake of breath and inwardly smirked.
“I’m Draco.”
Harry nodded at him. “Harry.”
“I know.”
Harry inclined his head but didn’t say anything else. He wasn’t going to pretend to be clueless, it would give him a migraine. He’d just be mysteriously well aware of everything and people could just suck it up.
“Everyone has been wondering if you would show up this year. Half the people I know think you died and Dumbledore hushed it all up.”
Harry blinked. That was new. And also hilarious, given his late night considerations about Hagrid.
“Why would he do that?” Harry asked.
“Well, to keep the idea of you alive, I guess?” Draco offered, a little uncertainly. “But either way, I can’t wait to tell them all you’re alive. Everyone is going to want to be friends with you when we get to Hogwarts.”
Harry wrinkled his nose. “I don’t need a bunch of sycophants hanging around me, thanks.”
Draco stared at him for a long moment, and then tilted his head. “Do you know what house you’re going into?”
Harry shrugged. “Wherever I get put, I suppose.”
“Who are you here with?” Draco asked then, his tone curious.
“Hagrid. He’s the gamekeeper at Hogwarts. Dumbledore sent him to take me shopping.”
“Oh. I’m here with my mum and dad, you should meet them. Father is looking for my books right now, and my mother is looking at wands.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Well, why should I meet them? But also, why is she looking at wands? Does she need a new one? It’s not like she can pick yours for you, is it?”
Draco flushed lightly. “They’ll want to meet you,” he said, ignoring the latter questions.
“I’m busy today,” Harry said, as Madam Malkin finished his robes. “But I guess I’ll see you at Hogwarts.”
The absolute last thing he needed was to deal with Lucius Malfoy. One look at his smarmy face and Harry would curse him just for existing. Cowardly fucker.
That probably wasn’t a good omen for his longevity in this experiment, was it?
Harry was done with his robes before Hagrid returned, so he made his way back down the Alley to pick up Hedwig, and then grabbed his potions supplies. By the time he found the half giant, Hagrid was huffing and puffing and looking extremely panicked.
“Where did you go?” he demanded, when he saw Harry. “I thought I’d lost yeh!”
Harry apologised and then said, “I’m done shopping, but… where am I supposed to go now? You stomped on the Dursleys.”
Hagrid looked nonplussed for a minute, and then he said, “Can you, uh, go home on your own?”
Harry thought about pointing out that he was eleven, and that he probably shouldn’t be living in the house alone, but then he decided against it. He didn’t know how long he would get away with living at Privet Drive on his own, but it would be fun to find out.
…
It turned out that the busybodies at Privet Drive couldn’t even let Harry get four days alone before the police came knocking. Harry, playing on his innocent eleven year old demeanor, spun a tale of being left alone in London, finding his way home, and them just not coming back.
As far as the police were concerned, Vernon and Petunia were not persons of interest in a child abandonment case, and the gossip in Surrey was rife.
Harry was shuttled off to a temporary foster home—his magical belongings hiding in the bottom of the bag he packed and hidden from view with a simple hiding charm—only to then be liberated a few days later by a worried looking Molly and Arthur Weasley.
The Headmaster was written all over the situation, but Harry went along to the Burrow happily enough and got introduced to the Weasleys a little earlier than expected.
He spent a lot of time for the remainder of the summer with the twins, though Ron clung to him whenever he could. It wasn’t that Harry didn’t want to be friends with Ron, but he’d much rather be friends with grown Ron.
Grown Ron had turned into an exceptionally good friend. Young Ron had been a pain in the ass, and Harry didn’t really have the energy to deal with his temper tantrums over Harry’s wealth and fame. Besides, Harry wanted to subtly push the twins towards Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes again, because it was honestly the best investment he’d ever made.
While he’d done it because they were his friends and he believed in them, it had actually been exceptionally lucrative. The twins had given him a twenty percent stake in the business without him asking, and his Gringotts vault had definitely seen a very healthy return on the original thousand galleons he’d given them.
He would be happy to give them the money again.
Though, maybe without the Triwizard Tournament. Besides, the thought of being in this body for four years was almost more torture than he could think about, so it was unlikely that he would last that long.
Either way, it was a more entertaining end to the summer than he’d had the first time around, and Harry wondered if Dumbledore had plans to just leave Harry with the Weasley’s for the rest of his summers.
If, or when, he did leave back to his own body, at least he’d done this Harry that favour.
…
“Can we give Voldemort the stone?”
Death blinked at him. “You want him to come back to life early?”
“I’m bored,” Harry admitted. “It might make things more interesting.”
Death snorted, and then sneezed violently, and Harry laughed so hard he almost fell off his bed. He was in the Gryffindor Dorm with the curtains drawn—and spelled so nobody would realise that he wasn’t alone—so it was probably a good thing that he didn’t.
“You’ve already changed some things,” Death pointed out. “Dumbledore and Snape are utterly baffled by you, and your other teachers think you’re the next Merlin. You could have at least toned down your magical ability, Harry.”
“I could have, but that sounds like so much work, and I’m not here for that.”
“The troll is coming next week,” Death pointed out. “That was your first near death experience at Hogwarts. That’ll break up the monotony, no?”
“You think I’m trying to fight the troll again?”
“You’re not?”
“Wasn’t planning on it. I’ll make sure Hermione is at the feast, and if she isn’t, I’ll go and drag her ass to the Great Hall myself. Then there will be no need to go fight the troll. It took me fucking ages to get my wand clean after that, you know?”
“Well, you did stick it up the troll’s nose. I’m not sure that’s the intended use for wands.”
Harry hit Death with a pillow.
…
Dumbledore didn’t give him the cloak at Christmas, and Harry was livid. That cloak was his by both birthright and because he was the goddamn master of death. He was getting ready to break into the Headmaster’s office to try and find it when Death appeared, the Common Room and its inhabitants freezing as he did.
“He can’t give it to you because he doesn’t have it,” Death said, rolling his eyes.
“Then who does?” Harry asked.
“You do, dumbass. They’re in your vault at Gringotts. All of the Hallows are. There can’t be two sets of them in any world, Harry, they’re too powerful.”
“So you just stole Dumbledore’s wand, too?”
“He got another one,” Death replied, shrugging. “So anyway, probably don’t break into his office to look for it.”
“You could have told me about this over the summer so I could go and get them,” Harry grumbled.
Death rolled his eyes. “You know how to get out of the school, Harry.”
“Huh. I do, don’t I?”
“You do what?” Hermione asked, and Harry realised that Death had left and unfroze the room without warning. Asshole.
“I.. nothing, I was just thinking out loud, that’s all.”
…
Getting to Gringotts without his Invisibility Cloak was not the easiest thing he’d ever done. Also not the hardest, so at least there was that. He entered his vault and found the three Hallows waiting for him. Death had even taken the stone out of the Horcrux’ed ring.
That was thoughtful.
Pleased that he had them back on his person, Harry Apparated back to Hogsmeade and made his way back into the castle. He really had to steal the Marauder’s Map back from the twins. Not so much for the secret passages—he knew where they all were—but because it would tell him when Snape or Filch were being lurking lurkers.
Maybe he could even just make a copy of the map and leave the copy with them. There was no reason why they couldn’t both have a map.
The rest of the Christmas Holidays were fun. Harry nearly wet himself laughing when the twins threw snowballs at Voldemort—not that they knew that was what they were doing—and Harry spent most evenings considering what would happen if Voldemort was to come back early.
More people would probably die.
But… Harry wouldn’t be bored?
It was a tossup.
…
“There’s a shadow around you.”
Harry tilted his head. The smooth Philosopher’s Stone was in his hand, and he was running his thumb over it absently, but the curious look Voldemort was giving him had given him pause.
“A shadow?”
“Yes. It’s… I’ve never seen anything like it before.”
“Well, I am unique,” Harry replied. “I’m the first person who’s allergic to the Killing Curse, after all.”
“Perhaps… Perhaps that is what it is. You asked Quirrell to allow you to speak with me. What do you want?”
Harry pulled the Philosopher’s Stone from his pocket and held it up. “You want this, right?”
Harry didn’t think he’d ever seen Voldemort look so surprised. “How did you—”
“I’m a sneaky little shit,” Harry interrupted, shrugging. “But I have it now. And I was thinking that I might give it to you, but I’m not sure if you deserve it. Are you going to be entertaining?”
“Entertaining?”
“Well, more entertaining than a parrot, at least?”
“Give me the stone, boy, and I’ll make all of your dreams come true.”
“Well that’s a lie,” Harry said, shaking his head. “It’s like you’re not even trying. I had a dream about eating a burrito on a beach the other night, you can’t make that come true.”
“I could bring your parents back,” Voldemort offered, his eyes gleaming greedily.
“No you can’t,” Harry replied. “Necromancy is literally zero fun, and I don’t want zombie parents, that’s creepy as shit. It’s been like, ten years, dude, they’ll basically be skeletons at this point.”
“Then what do you want?”
“To be entertained,” Harry said simply. He put the stone down on the nearby desk. “So make sure I’m entertained.”
He walked out of the office smiling slightly to himself. If he was gonna fuck up the future, he might as well do it properly.
…
Dumbledore called Harry to his office a few days before the end of the school year.
“I rather thought that I would meet you before now, Mr Potter,” Dumbledore said, when Harry took a seat in front of his desk.
He paid little attention to the Headmaster, instead smiling at Fawkes, who chirruped at him from his perch.
“Ah, this is Fawkes, he’s a—”
“Phoenix,” Harry finished for him, as Fawkes flew over to perch on Harry’s knee. “Hi,” he murmured to the phoenix, gently stroking his feathers. “He’s beautiful, sir.”
Dumbledore smiled brightly as Fawkes let out a cheerful tune and then settled down on Harry so that he could continue petting him.
“He likes you,” Dumbledore said. “Phoenixes are a fantastic judge of character, Harry. That he’s taken to you so soon is a sign of your goodness, and your potential.”
Harry just smiled slightly and then tilted his head. “You asked to see me, sir?”
“I did. We need to discuss your living situation during the summer months, given the… unfortunateness that happened with the Dursley family.”
“Okay.”
“I’d like you to continue staying with the Weasleys, Harry. They’re happy to have you, and I know you are friends with the children. Is that a good placement for you?”
Harry nodded, and then asked, “Do I have no family left, sir?”
Dumbledore sighed sadly and shook his head. “I’m afraid not, dear boy.”
Harry sighed. “The Weasleys are nice.”
“That’s settled then. You’ll go with them from the train station, Harry. Have a good summer.”
“Yes, sir.”
As he left the office, Harry considered the idea of living in the utter madness of the Weasley house every year. It seemed a little… grim, to be honest.
But, speaking of grim, he did have a family. He had a godfather.
Maybe he should do something about that.
…
Child,
You are a chaos goblin, but I must offer my appreciation for your help in my acquiring a body of my own. Since you requested that I entertain you, I send my first offering. Priceless books, gathered over years of searching. Read them, you may learn something.
Also, while I can’t give you a beach given your current location, I’ve enclosed some snacks. Dreaming of a food often means craving it, so I sent enough to satisfy your cravings.
Harry snorted, and opened the top parcel inside the bigger one. Inside was a bunch of still warm burritos. Nice.
Biting into one of them, he took a look at the stack of books beneath the food parcel.
Harry had never heard of any of the titles on the spines, but when he read the title of the top book—Cursed Shadows and Secret Hexes—he smiled.
How interesting.
He packed them into his trunk and then reread the note, before he packed that, too. Chaos Goblin was diabolical, but he kind of liked it. He wondered what Voldemort’s new body looked like.
Was he going for the whole Snake-face thing again?
Pulling out some fresh parchment, he wrote a single line.
Do you have a nose?