Chapter Text
Harry made his way into the Great Hall for breakfast, Neville at his side, as always. They sat down in their usual spot and Harry placed a few Treacle Tarts on his plate.
Everyone was staring at him. Harry could feel it, he could hear their whispers, feel their eyes on his back. If he hadn’t been so used to it, he would’ve left the hall immediately.
He could hear something being snatched from one of the older Gryffindors. Papers. The Daily Prophet.
Harry also caught the sound of someone approaching him and Nevillle. He turned his head and looked up at Viktor, who had the stolen Prophet in his hands. He gave it to Harry.
Harry accepted the Prophet and looked at the front page. Neville peeked over his shoulder and went pale.
‘Harry Potter: Bent! Scandal or Predictable?
You are reading right, dear readers! Harry Potter, everyone’s favorite dark lord defeater and now Triwizard Champion, bent? Indeed he is!
We’ve spoken with someone who is very close to Harry Potter, and they confirm the rumors!
And I hear you ask, why is it a scandal? ‘Many wizards and witches are into their own gender, Rita.’ I am aware of that, my dearest readers, but the scandal is that Mr. (Harry) Potter, invited Miss Fleur Delacour to the Yule Ball at Hogwarts, and only after she had accepted, did he reveal his sexuality! That, everyone, is a big scandal.
Miss (Fleur) Delacour did not react much to said revelation, but nonetheless, it was a very disgusting move of everyone’s favorite Boy-Who-Lived.
But do not worry, dear readers, it does not seem like he’s going to prey on his fellow lush and fit co-Champions, Mr. Viktor Krum and Mr. Cedric Diggory, as Mr. (Harry) Potter does not seem to fancy anyone at the moment.
Rita Skeeter.
Head of the Daily Prophet Press Department.
December 20th.’
Harry stared at the paper, after he had read it. He didn’t react much, as he had expected this. He had let Skeeter publish that article, after all. He looked back at Viktor and handed him back The Daily Prophet. He was done reading.
Neville patted Harry’s shoulder in an attempt to—what Harry asssumed—comfort him.
“Watch out girls! Potter might steal your boyfriends!” Draco yelled out in an act to be funny. The Slytherin table cracked up with laughter, occasional comments to rile Harry up were also heard from the Slytherin table.
Viktor gave the snakes a glare which shut them up almost immediately. He then glanced back at Harry. “If you need anything, come to me.” He said. Nothing more, nothing less, but it was enough to get the message across.
Mess with Harry, you mess with the king of Durmstrang.
Harry smiled up at him. “Thank you, Viktor. I’ll remember it.”
Viktor gave Harry a departing nod as he turned and walked over to the Durmstrang table to eat.
Everyone was still looking at Harry. Harry ignored it for the most part. Fred and George sat down opposite Harry and Neville. They smiled at Harry. “Hey Harrikins! Is The Prophet telling the truth?” George asked.
“It is,” Harry hesitated, “I’m bent.” Harry responded a bit dryly. Fred and George grinned.
“Well, Harrikins, Forge and I are proud to say that we’ve known all along!” Fred announced proudly and George nodded.
Neville blinked a few times. “Excuse me?” He asked.
“Yeah,” George paused, “Harrikins has always given off Gay vibes.” Fred showed his agreement with George by nodding almost aggressively.
Harry let out a tired groan. “I often forget that you’re borderline geniuses.” He muttered.
Harry always makes sure not to forget that Fred and George are borderline geniuses. He is well aware and—now—hates it to his core. They know too much for their own good.
“Awhhh Harrikins,” Fred started, and put a hand on his heart.
“You flatter us too much.” George ended the sentence with a smile on his lips.
Neville looked dumbfounded. “The twins are geniuses?” He asked.
Harry nodded slightly, “yeah, they are.” He glanced at the grinning twins and then back at Neville. “No matter how much it doesn’t seem like it.” Harry added.
Fred leaned on George as they silently terrorized the confused and—now—slightly scared Neville with simple looks. No words were exchanged, only the staring of the twins filled the awkwardly empty space.
Poor Neville had always been scared of practically nothing, Harry felt bad for him.
Though, he’d grow up to be a fine man, so Harry could live with it for now.
But if he catches anyone pick on, push or insult Neville?
Well, they wouldn’t live to see their future, and the only future they’d have, would be in Harry’s past timeline, which is well beyond destroyed now.
But that’s beside the point.
That timeline has nothing to do with this one.
Neville had pushed aside his fear and confusion, and was now conversing with Fred and George about plants, he was pouring his heart out with which plants were his favorites.
The twins were pretending to care, but Harry thought that it was at least better than teasing him about it like others do.
He sat on his bed and pulled out his evening vial. Harry observed the slightly pastel green potion for a moment before leaning his head back and downing it in one go.
It tasted like cinnamon laced with the slightest hint of lemon. Junior had mixed it up, Harry assumed. Voldemort was too small to brew potions right now, and Wormtail, well, he was simply too disgusting to have in a potions lab, Harry assumed.
He felt eyes on him once again, like always. He glanced up and his eyes met Seamus’ who was staring at Harry awkwardly.
Neville paid no mind as he changed into his pajamas, but Seamus and Dean looked almost wary. “Harry, can you maybe look away?”
Harry’s body tensed up as he stared at the two boys he’s known for almost eight years now. “Excuse me?” Neville turned to look at them in confusion.
“What’s happening?” Neville asked.
“We just don’t feel that comfortable with Harry watching us change, that’s all…” Dean muttered, though he seemed withdrawn as if he didn't want to be there at that moment.
Harry assumed he looked as shocked as he felt right now, because Neville looked truly angry. “I’m sorry what? First you reject him and treat him like shit, because you assume that he put his name in the goblet and now you don’t feel comfortable around him, since he’s gay? What kind of friends are you?” Neville bit at them. They stepped back in surprise.
“I…” Seamus stuttered.
“No! You’ve got to respect your friend more! He hasn’t looked at any of us since we met each other four years ago, tell me why that would change now when Skeeter has exposed him being gay! He may be attracted to men, but he only sees us as friends.” Neville finished. Harry gave Neville a slight nod of gratefulness as Seamus and Dean went back to their beds.
Though the two best friends grabbed their pajamas and went into the bathroom to change instead. What Neville had just said didn't really help, but Harry appreciated it anyway.
He greatly appreciated it.
Harry changed into his own pajamas and laid down on his bed.
“Goodnight, Neville.”
Neville smiled at him. “Goodnight, Harry.”
Harry let his head hit the pillow and soon after, he slept.
“Wotcher, Harry!” Harry turned his head to see Tonks come his way. He smiled as he shrugged.
“Not much,” he paused, “where’s Teddy?” Harry asked, and Tonks was now holding little Teddy up. Teddy cooed as she handed him to Harry. Harry accepted him and held Teddy tight. “How’s everything going?”
“It’s going quite alright. Remus is still being Remus, but we make it work.” Tonks grinned at Harry, who grinned back.
“Well, Remus has always just been Remus, hasn’t he?”
“He has, yeah.”
As if on cue, Remus apparated to Tonks’ side and smiled at Harry. “Hey Harry.”
“Hey Remus. How have you been doing?”
“Very well, actually. Thank you, Harry.”
“That’s amazing to hear.”
“Hey Harry?”
“Yeah?”
Harry looked up at Remus and Tonks. Remus took a step forward.
“How does it feel to be the cause of our deaths?”
Harry’s whole body went rigid. “What…?”
“Do you stay up at night thinking about us, or do you sleep like a baby, knowing you’re the reason our baby is an orphan?” Tonks asked.
Harry felt Teddy disappear from his arms, and he stepped back to create distance between him and the two departed adults in front of him.
He looked away for one moment, Tonks and Remus were gone.
“I…” Harry shrieked and jumped forward, when he stepped on something fleshy. He looked down, and his eyes filled with horror at the sight of Cedric. He was just laying there, eyes blown open and skin pale. Harry let out a scream and stumbled over his own feet.
He fell to his hands and knees, not daring to look back at his dead role model. He felt relief fill his body when a hand reached down to help him up. He grabbed the hand and pulled himself onto his feet again.
He looked up at the person and saw Sirius. Harry smiled. “Sirius!” Harry pulled his godfather into a hug. “I missed you so much…!”
Sirius returned the hug and pressed his lips against Harry’s ear. “Do you forgive yourself for letting me die?”
Harry felt dread fill his gut again. He slowly pulled away from the hug, and stared up at Sirius. His godfather’s eyes were the color of his last name. Black. His eyes did not have any other shade of color than black in them. Harry’s breath caught in his throat at the horrifying sight.
Harry had seen many things during the war, but that was ultimately the most terrifying thing he had ever seen.
“It…it wasn’t my fault…!” Harry exclaimed in desperation as he pulled away from his godfather.
Harry stepped back once he had freed himself. He needed to get as far away from that as possible-
…
Harry yelled out as he fell.
It felt like eternity.
He eventually stopped screaming, and simply braced himself for impact.
It never came.
Then he felt like thunder had thrummed through his body.
Harry gasped and slammed his eyes open. He glanced around at his surroundings.
Where the hell was he?
Harry could make out the furniture of the room he was previously laying—now sitting—on a velvet green loveseat, the walls were painted black, there was a black bricked fireplace, and what Harry assumed to be a door to either another room or the loo.
The door looked highly intimidating, as it was black with a silver handle and silver painted outlines on every line that would be standing out. Harry assumed the owners had painted it that way to make it look better.
The whole room screamed Sacred Twenty-Eight Pureblood household.
At least it was better than whatever nightmare he just experienced.
Harry got up from the loveseat and walked around the room. For some reason, he felt calmer here.
He glanced at the door—once again—and made a move for it.
It took five long strides to reach the door. Once Harry was in front of it, he reached for the door handle.
Harry felt like he had just gotten the entirety of Hogwarts dropped right on his chest as he woke up with a gasp.
It took him a few moments to calm himself. Once he had calmed down, he looked back at his dream.
A disgusting feeling slithered around him like snakes. He couldn’t suppress the uncomfortable shiver, that went through his body.
He had seen Cedric, and spoken to Remus, Tonks and Sirius. They all blamed him for their deaths.
It wasn’t his fault. How could he have known that the cup was a portkey? How could he have known that Sirius would stumble into the veil and die? How could he have known that Remus and Tonks were at the wrong place in the castle? None of it was his fault.
He didn’t know.
It wasn’t his fault.
It wasn’t–
"Harry?" Neville muttered, “Are you awake?”
Harry sat up in his bed and looked over at Neville, who was looking back at him.
“I am now, what’s up?” Harry asked as Neville got out of his bed.
“You were whimpering in your sleep again. Is there something you want to get off your chest? I’d happily listen.” Neville smiled at Harry, he smiled back, though it was more sad than anything else. He couldn’t tell Neville. It would ruin everything.
Neville could never forgive him, if Harry told him that he’s an ally of Voldemort’s now and that he’s not going to help the light side win the future war.
The dark side had tortured his parents, Harry understood if Neville would try to break their friendship off, Harry would do so himself, if the roles were reversed and Neville had travelled back. Harry felt so immensely conflicted.
He wanted to tell Neville everything, drop to his knees and beg for one of his only friends’ forgiveness.
But he couldn't tell him. Not now, maybe not ever. But Neville deserved to know. He deserved to know more than anyone.
Harry had decided with himself that if he ever ended up actively fighting for Voldemort publicly, he’d tell Neville as soon as his decision was made.
Harry treasured his true friendships more than anything else.
“Thank you, Neville. I’ll remember it.” Harry smiled back at his friend—no, best friend.
Neville left Harry alone to go take a bath, so Harry took the opportunity to whip out his potion vial and downed it in one go.
“What the bloody hell is that, Harry?” Harry tensed at the sound of Ron’s antagonizing voice. He let out a small annoyed breath and glanced at his former best friend.
“I didn’t know you were that bad at potions, Ron. This,” Harry held up the vial, “is a potion vial. You put your potion into that, once you’re done brewing it.”
Ron looked offended. “Of course I know what a potion vial is, but why in the bloody hell would you consume potions at this time of the morning?!” He exclaimed, earning groans of exhaustion from Seamus and Dean as the shrieking Weasley wouldn’t shut up.
“It’s immensely hard being in the tournament. This is a Calming Draught,” Harry paused before adding, “do you wish to see me pass out because of stress?”
Ron went quiet, he actually believed Harry when he said that.
It was almost funny.
Harry got out of bed and began to dress himself, as he took a bath yesterday before bed.
After he had dressed himself, he waited for Neville to be done, and once Neville was done and had clothes on as well, they went down to the Great Hall to eat.
Harry and Neville were getting ready for the ball. He wasn’t about to ruin Fleur’s night. He had practiced the dance with Neville, and he thought to himself that he got the hang of it.
At least, he hoped he did.
Also, he hoped his dancing wasn’t so awful, that her night would be over, the moment it started.
Harry would kill himself, if he ruined her night.
Or, if he could die, he would kill himself. The problem was that he couldn’t die.
“Excited, Neville?” Harry smirked at his friend, who smiled back shyly.
“Yeah… I am a bit nervous, though.” Neville confessed as he glanced away. Harry laughed as he wrapped his arm around Neville’s shoulder.
“Don’t be! You’ll be an amazing date for Ginny.” Harry reassured him, a bright grin still plastered on his lips.
Neville, the stark opposite to Harry, only got embarrassed and more nervous at that.
“Are… are you alright?” Neville asked Harry, he gave his best friend a curt nod.
“I’m perfectly fine. Where did that come from?”
“A… ah… well… if I were you, I’d die of nerves before I’d even have plucked up the courage to ask Miss Delacour to the Yule Ball. But okay, I’m not as brave as you are.” Neville hesitantly answered, his gaze turned downwards.
Harry’s grin slowly disappeared and turned into a soft smile instead as he placed his hands on Neville’s arms. “Dearest Neville, I know you can be brave. I believe in you, and you’ve got to believe in yourself too. You’ve got to believe that if you set your mind to something, you can do it.”
Neville looked like someone who was about to cry as he shifted his gaze to look at Harry, who was a bit shorter than he was. “I… thank you… Harry… really…”
“It’s no problem, Neville. I’m just glad you listened to me.”
The two of them didn't say much else. They eventually left the dorm a bit earlier than Harry did in the last timeline, but he wanted to make Fleur’s night as amazing as possible. That meant he was to go down to Beauxbaton's carriage—which Harry was sure had an expansion charm—and meet Fleur, so he could escort her.
Harry and Neville parted ways when Neville met with Ginny, who was standing with her friends.
Harry walked down the dark path, he knew exactly where to walk, as he knew the paths at Hogwarts better than the space of his own trunk.
He eventually arrived down at Beauxbaton’s carriage and clasped his arms behind his back.
He waited for a few minutes, and then girls began piling out of the carriage. Harry stepped to the side and waited. He stood there and scanned everyone in an attempt to find Fleur. After another few moments, he spotted her. Harry smiled as he approached her.
“Miss Delacour,” he greeted.
Fleur glanced back at him and smiled back at the sight of her favorite—and only—gay friend. “Mister Potter,” she greeted back.
Harry almost grinned as she played along.
“May I escort you to the ball?” He asked, holding out his hand, taking her hand in his. He brought it up to his lips, and pressed a kiss to her soft hand.
“You may.”
Harry and Fleur made their way back into the castle and they stood outside the Great Hall, waiting for Viktor and Cedric to arrive.
“I surely hope you know how to dance, ‘Arry.” She chuckled. Harry gave her a slight nod.
“Well, I’ve practiced loads, so I hope I’ve gotten to your level.” Harry admitted. He wasn’t shy about the fact that he’d been practicing with Neville almost every night. After all, Ginny was Harry’s height, and Fleur was Neville’s height, so the two best friends had used one another for practice.
Fleur hummed in approval. “I’m glad I chose you, ‘Arry. You’re a good boy.” She smiled down at him, he smiled back.
“Harry! Fleur!” The two turned to see Cedric grinning at them with Cho Chang on his arm. They both glanced at one another and then back at the newcomers.
“Excited?” Harry asked, Cedric nodded with energy Harry admired.
“Bloody yeah! This is going to be the best night of our lives, right Cho?” Cedric looked at his date, who let herself smile and nod.
“Definitely.”
“Greetings.” They all turned their gazes to Viktor who had Hermione on his arm. She glanced at Harry, a slightly hesitant look in her eyes. Harry frowned at her.
“Good evening, Viktor, and you must be… ‘Ermione Granger, am I right?” Fleur assumed. Hermione looked at Fleur and nodded weakly.
“Yeah… I am…” she paused for a moment, before glancing back over at Harry. “Harry… can we talk—”
Harry caught sight of McGonagall and found his escape. “Professor. When are we going to enter the Great Hall?” Asked Harry, confusing his fellow champions, as he had made it very obvious that he wasn’t interested in Hermione and Cedric was even more taken aback.
She had almost hexed him after that one Quidditich match back in his sixth—and Harry’s third—year after all, because she was so angry that Harry had fallen off his broom and she had blamed Cedric for Harry doing exactly that.
They had been extremely close, also at the World Cup, he remembered, Harry had completely avoided the Weasley, but spoke at least a small bit to her.
Nobody commented on his treatment of Hermione, not even Hermione herself, and she's known to be self-righteous and always very quick to draw lines when disrespected.
“Ah, Mr. Potter, please line up. You’ll make your entrance in a few moments.” McGonagall answered, and they all did as advised and lined up. Harry and Fleur were first, then Cedric and Cho, and then Viktor and Hermione.
The champions waited until McGonagall gave them the ‘go’ sign, and then they entered the Great Hall.
People let out gasps and stared in shock at Hermione and Viktor.
Harry was glad he wasn’t in the spotlight for once.
The four champions and the two escorts made it to the middle. The music started, and Harry placed his hand around Fleur’s waist and began dancing like he and Neville had practiced.
Fleur moved like a swan, she took each step with fluid, natural elegance.
Harry led her around the dance floor. He twirled her around twice, and eventually, the opening song was over. People started getting onto the dance floor, and began dancing.
He could spot Neville when he really made an effort, but as his attention was mostly on Fleur, so he didn’t look around much.
The night was spent dancing and having fun. When the dancing had calmed down and people were getting refreshments, Harry downed the last vial of that potion Crouch Junior had given him. He was going to revive Voldemort the day after the Yule ball.
Harry and Fleur had been some of the first to leave the ball, as Fleur had something to do the early morning next day. Harry just smiled and complied, dropping her off down at Beauxbaton’s carriage.
He made his way up to the dorm with little trouble after that. He got in bed, casted the Muffilato and a distinct Notice-Me-Not charm, and went to sleep.
He was—once again—plagued by the same nightmare that night.
He did not sleep well.
“Let’s go.” Crouch Junior mumbled as the two of them once again, squeezed into the One-Eyed witch’s passage.
“Sooo… how’s the process going to go?” Harry asked, simply to fill the silence, as he was also quite curious on how the process would proceed this time. After all, it was quite the horror show back in the old timeline.
Crouch Junior shrugged lightly. “You saw it back in your old timeline, didn't you? You were there.”
Harry gave Crouch Junior a slight glare. He was there, but it couldn’t possibly play out like it did back then. Harry was a changed man, and he was very sure that the old ritual couldn’t work with his—now—willing blood. They definitely had to modify it somehow.
“Don’t shit me, Junior.” He grumbled in a low tone. Junior didn't say anything to him, and Harry didn't ask anything else.
They stopped when they were outside of Hogwarts’ wards. Harry grabbed onto Crouch Junior, and the man apparated them to Little Hangleton.
Harry let go as soon as they had reached their destination. He made his way up the crumbling stairs and walked over to sit beside Voldemort.
“Sup.”
Voldemort turned his gaze to look at Harry. “Hello Potter,” he looked over at Junior, “Barty, is everything ready?”
Crouch Junior looked down into the ground. Some kind of freaky submission play, Harry assumed.
“Yes my Lord, we are ready to proceed. I will need to get Potter in shape for the ritual, then we can bring your body back.”
Harry turned his head towards Junior. “Get me in shape?”
Junior looked back at Harry with indifference. “Yes, we need you ready for the ritual. We need to carve a few runes into your skin and such.” Crouch answered. Harry was absolutely befuddled.
“I’m sorry, what? That’s not getting me in shape, that’s just carving things into me. Two completely different things!” He glared at Junior.
“Tomato tomato, come with me Potter.” Junior walked out of the room Voldemort was in, and into another room. Harry begrudgingly followed.
Inside the room, Junior pulled out a sharp knife and a book from a nearby drawer. Harry sat down onto an old bed, which indicated that this was an old bedroom.
“Should I carve the runes or do you want to?” Crouch asked. Harry shrugged.
“I don’t care. Just get it over with.”
And Crouch did get it over with. He carved seven runes into Harry. Two on his chest, three on his back and one on each of his thighs and arms. Harry had no idea what they resembled and/or meant.
Crouch had left to get Voldemort and go outside. Harry was dreading going outside, since he was sitting clad in his boxers. He had blood trickling down from each rune. Harry couldn't see himself, but he was sure it looked stupid.
Harry eventually got up from the bed and walked outside to meet up with Crouch Junior and Voldemort. The two were standing—or rather Crouch was standing while holding Voldemort—beside a weirdly drawn chalk circle.
That chalk circle did not exist back in Harry’s old timeline.
“Where’s the cauldron?” He asked.
Voldemort glanced at Harry. “You’re giving blood willingly, thus changing the entire ritual by doing just that. We’ve made it so things can go much smoother this way.”
Harry blinked a few times before shrugging in indifference. “Where do you want me?”
Crouch pointed at a small circle inside the big circle. “Sit there. The runes on your body should power the circle when you’re in that position.”
Harry walked over to the smaller circle and sat down.
Crouch carried Voldemort into the center of the circle, and then stepped out. He began chanting. “O magna benedictio fidei, da nobis potestatem tuam, commoda de nobis eam hac vice,” the circle began to glow and Harry felt as light as a feather. The runes on his body began to glow.
“Dominus tenebrorum resurget, sed tantum si vis, dum nobis auxilium praebes, mundum formabimus.” Harry felt almost breathless as Voldemort’s small homunculus body began to levitate and morph into something else.
“Surge, domine mi, surge et terras rege ut destinatum est tibi!” Crouch yelled out, and the homunculus was wrapped in cocoon looking skin just like last time. Then, without warning, the cocoon burst, and out came a man. When he got onto the ground, he collapsed.
Bloody fucking hell…