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Chapter Text

Like many a child born before and after him, Harry Potter was conceived into the world as a vessel of innocence. Pure, untainted and unsullied, his heart, mind and soul sang of happiness, cheer and joy. He would laugh at the littlest things, from his father getting pranked, to his godfather Sirius chasing Remus around the house for accidentally upsetting tea on his favourite shirt. He would fall asleep with a little smile whenever his mother sang lullabies to him in his crib, and squeal in delight as he flew about the living room strapped on a toy broom, his mother hammering Sirius for getting such a dangerous birthday gift for a one year old baby.

A life of goodness awaited this young boy with his cheering smile and luminous emerald irises.

Until it was all cruelly snatched away from him.

Exactly three months after his first birthday, on Halloween night, Harry’s parents were murdered by a power-hungry, immortality-thirsting psychopath bent on domination over those who opposed his rule and whose blood was inferior to those who worshipped him. His mother tried to save Harry, but was no match for the monster that ended her life with two hated-filled words. Nothing stood between baby Harry and the psychopath, and nothing stopped the deadly-green of Avada Kedavra from racing towards the boy amidst cruel laughter.

Except it did.

The spell bounced off Harry’s forehead, splitting the skin in the form of a lightning bolt, shooting back towards the monster before it could react. His parents’ murderer was blown apart, the force of the explosion so strong that it took the roof down. The wraith fled into the night, leaving behind a piece of itself embedded in Harry’s wound. 

He would be found an hour later, crying loudly. Taken from the ruins of his home by a giant of a man and long-bearded wizard with too many middle names and plans scheming in his crafty brain, Harry was flown across England to Little Whinging, Surrey, where his mother’s sister lived. Unceremoniously dumped on the doorstep of Number Four, Privet Drive, hell came for Harry the moment the front door opened.

Harry never smiled.

He was never allowed to anyway…

...because freaks like him were never supposed to smile.

When he smiled, freakish things happened. And when freakish things happened, he was beaten black and blue, by hand or any sort of weapon his relatives could get their fingers on, and then thrown into the cupboard under the stairs where he was deprived of food for days.

Harry learnt quickly. He was a smart boy, but was never allowed to show it. Any sign of intelligence over the whale of his cousin was rewarded with more beatings, horrid names and starvation. 

But then these freakish things started happening even when he wasn’t smiling. Moreover, they were happening because Harry wanted or wished for them to happen.

It started during a particularly brutal round of “Harry-Hunting”, a horrendous game invented by his cousin and his friends. Little Harry was being kicked and stomped on by the four larger boys, each of them laughing and jeering at their whimpering victim, his skin scratched, bruised and cut from their blows.

“I think the little freak learnt his lesson, don’tcha think?” the whale sneered, “Let’s go eat lunch!”

His friends all whooped in assent, each kicking Harry one last time before walking away with their leader.

“Stay down, freak!” Dennis Timsen spat, before lumbering after his friends.

Harry trembled. His scrawny body burned with agonising pain. He couldn’t move, but his mind roared with unheard whispers like a hurricane making landfall.

Amidst the tumultuous mess of incoherent thoughts, one in particular came into stark view.

‘I want Dennis Timsen hurt.’

Then, came the sound of metal breaking, followed by a low groan and whistling. A loud crash reverberated through the playground. The screams followed.

Harry was too much in pain to see what was going on. He was only picked up by a custodian as the adults in the kindergarten herded the children away from the gruesome sight that traumatised their innocent eyes and memories.

He would find out, later on, that Dennis Timsen had his head crushed when a lamppost outside of the playground collapsed onto him. Blunt force trauma did the child in, his brains and skull fragments splattered in a metre radius from where his body twitched for several moments before going deathly-still. 

Everyone was sent home, his cousin silent from the trauma of seeing his friend die behind him. Harry would be left alone for the remainder of the day and the week after, as his relatives were too distraught by the closed-casket funeral to attempt any sort of abuse on the young boy.

Of course, when the grief passed, the beatings and horrid names resumed. Eager to forget the horrific death of a sweet boy taken far too early, Harry’s relatives returned their energy in abusing Harry, sometimes seemingly for no reason other than just crossing paths in the house.

His cousin was the worst. Somehow, the whale believed that Harry was the reason for Dennis’ death. “Harry-Hunting” would escalate into merciless torture. Harry was beaten and kicked until he lost consciousness, only found by the same custodian who took him to the nurse to be patched up each and every time Harry failed to get away from his cousin.

Even unconscious, Harry’s mind was never at rest. The hurricane of voices grew stronger with each beating and hurtful name. The strain, for the second time, reached the breaking point of no return. Exactly one week after Dennis was buried, a second victim would be taken.

Harry’s class had arts and crafts after lunch. It was meant to be a lesson where children could let loose on their creativity and imagination, letting whatever their hearts wanted to create come into fruition. 

For any child, this was supposed to be a time of fun and happiness. Poor Harry, on the other hand, was never allowed such frivolous joy.

He was never allowed any of the good coloured paper, colour pencils or stationary. All the children, especially his cousin and his friends, would push him out of the way in their race for the best materials. Harry was always left with the scraps, and he was taunted for that, even though he was never given a chance by the cruel others.

No matter, nothing would change. He’d just have to make do.

“Look at the freak! Trying to make something out of nothing!”

Laughter followed from half the class, the other choosing to ignore the taunts. The teacher paid no attention.

“You’ll never be anything!” Piers Polkiss jeered, “A worthless freak!”

Harry said nothing, his fingers crushing the scraps of paper as more laughs followed. Again, the teacher ignored what was happening. The voices in his head roared and screamed, molding together in a mass of noise. Harry’s emerald irises flashed ominously, unseen by the taunting peers.

‘I want Piers Polkiss hurt.’

Several things happened at once.

Two tables away from Harry, one of the few boys who hadn’t partook in his torment was showing off a pair of sharp, menacing scissors he had nicked from the teacher’s stationery holder to three awe-struck girls. He was spinning it around on one finger, putting on an impromptu show for his audience. But in the midst of his performance, the scissors suddenly flew out of his hands. Someone called for Piers, and the boy turned around…

...the scissors embedded itself to the hilt in Piers’ forehead, right in between the eyes.

Silence befell the room.

“P-Piers?” the whale choked.

Blood began spurting from the wound. Piers’ body went slack, and crumpled to the floor like a sack of potatoes. More blood splattered, staining the white-tiled floor a sickly, crimson colour.

Someone screamed. Bedlam followed.

Harry sat there, unmoving, with widened eyes. The teacher was panicking next to Piers’ corpse, his cousin was frozen, his classmates screaming and wailing at the horrific sight. Somewhere along the line, the principal was notified, and paramedics came to take Piers’ body away, hiding it under a white sheet so as to not scar the children any longer. The kindergarten was closed, and parents called to pick up their children. 

Not a single person left without tears in their eyes. Except for Harry.

To his good luck, his relatives left him alone that night as they tried to comfort the whale, allowing him to run through the harrowing events of earlier in complete privacy.

‘Piers is dead, because I wanted it to happen. So is Dennis…’

Sitting up in his cot, Harry stared down at his hands.

‘I caused it. I caused them to die.’

He remembered all the beatings he received for making freakish things happen to his relatives, or the time where he turned a teacher’s wig blue, and that incident where he somehow teleported to the school roof while trying to escape his cousin. 

He’d caused those incidents.

He had power.

He had power to eliminate those who hurt him.

His irises flashed a dangerous gleam.

Too long had his relatives taken advantage of him. It was soon time for them to face the blade of the Reaper.

Piers’ death had taken a greater toll on Harry’s whale of a cousin, the emerald-irised boy noted. Not surprising though, that fat oaf and Piers have known each other ever since they could crawl, and their friendship was much closer than that with Dennis.

Plus, witnessing the deaths of two friends had left the whale paralysed with grief. It had gotten so bad that he stopped eating completely, no matter how many times his parents tried to console him with his favourite foods and desserts. Harry was initially forced to make all this food for his cousin, but ultimately stopped when the whale refused to eat anything and everything went to waste.

Eventually, Harry was left alone, his relatives too busy with their son to order him about beyond the usual. This left plenty of time for the emerald-eyed boy to experiment with his new powers. 

Under the cover of darkness, Harry first tried to unlock the cupboard door. He wasn’t entirely sure how lock mechanisms worked, but after a few tries and a substantial amount of will-power, the lock was undone, and the door opened.

Each and every night, Harry escaped from his cupboard to practice. Starting with small items like paper clips and pins, Harry progressed to larger and heavier objects such as chairs and books. By the fifth night, Harry had mastered using his power to move objects efficiently. A month would pass, and Harry was able to make any object act upon his will, like a puppet master pulling the strings of a marionette. Even better, he found that he could produce little wisps of fire on his fingertips after accidentally burning himself at the stove. These flames were extremely hot, and they burnt through most materials in seconds. Extremely useful if he wanted to destroy any evidence of his activities. As a safety precaution, he practiced conjuring water should any fire go out of control.

Then came the next obstacle. His relatives have left him mostly alone due to their grief from Piers’ untimely end. But Harry knew it was only a matter of time before they returned to their normal, cruel selves. Harry didn’t want to stay any moment longer on Privet Drive than necessary. 

It was time to plan his escape, and his revenge.

At the first signs of his relatives returning to normality, Harry prepared himself. The time had come.

Waiting for nightfall to descend upon Privet Drive, Harry undid the lock on the cupboard, and crawled out into the silent house. He quietly slipped into the kitchen, and from the holding block and the drawers, pulled over several knives of various sizes and a cleaver he’d use to debone meat. His lips twitched as each blade shimmered under the moonlight. They would not be so clean once he was done.

Leaving the kitchen with his weapons following behind, Harry slowly climbed each step up the stairs to the second floor. He was extra careful, several steps creaked and groaned noisily when stepped on too hard, and even though his relatives were deep-sleepers, he didn’t want to take the chance of waking them up.

Clearing the stairs, Harry took a moment to decide on his first victims. His cousin? Or his aunt and uncle?

He chose the adults. They were the reason he was starved, beaten black and blue, and for his cousin growing up to who he was now, after all.

Tiptoeing to the master bedroom, Harry slipped inside with his relatives none the wiser. The walrus’ snores were obnoxiously loud, and for a brief moment, Harry wondered how his horse of an aunt was able to sleep through the din. Perhaps she was used to it, or she wore ear plugs every night.

Quietly closing the door, Harry took his position at the end of the bed, and sent two pulses of his power towards the sleeping adults. The pulses delivered something akin to a sharp electric shock, and woke both the walrus and horse up in an instant.

Bolting up with a gasp, both adults looked around in confusion. It didn’t take them long to see their little freak of a nephew, face partially lit by the moonlight, staring at them ominously from the foot of the bed.

The walrus turned a violent shade of puce.

“Freak! What are you doing here?!”

He made to get out of bed to give the boy a piece of his mind and fist. But Harry wasn’t allowing such harm to befall him.

“Stay down, you monsters. You don’t get to move.”

Walrus and horse found themselves forced back onto the mattress by a powerful, unseen force. They struggled.

“Stop this freakishness right now, you little-!”

Harry mimed zipping his lips.

No more intelligible words were ever made again as the adults’ lips were physically sealed shut. Muffled sounds of outrage filled their mouths as they continued to struggle against the force holding them down. 

Harry took vindictive pride at seeing his once relatives stripped of whatever power they had, reduced to mere puppets for his pleasure. He was in control now, and he determined their final fate.

“Look above, dear uncle and aunt.”

Harry’s power forced the walrus and horse to look up against their will. All colour drained from their faces as the knives took their positions directly above them. Their muffled screams of terror almost made Harry smile in bliss. Almost.

“Hell has a special place for you two. Goodbye.”

Harry made a pulling motion with his hands. The knives hurtled down towards the helpless victims. Harry closed his eyes in silent rapture, the muffled screams music to ears as the blades pistoned in and out of his relatives’ bodies, splattering blood across the room and staining the mattress and sheets a ruby crimson. The entire ordeal lasted ten minutes before their souls were removed from their brutalised corpses. Harry could almost hear their screams as karma came for them with vengeance, pulling them down into the fiery brimstones of Hell where eternal damnation and punishment awaited..

Harry let the knives drop to the floor. Stepping over the pooling blood, he examined the earthly remains of his relatives. He was content, and satisfied. But he was still not done. 

Only the cleaver remained in the air, having not taken part in the massacre. Harry set to work hacking the remains into smaller pieces. Once done, he released several balls of fire that ignited the bloody chunks of flesh and bone in a small conflagration, lighting up the bedroom with a soft, orange glow.

Leaving the fire to cremate the evidence, Harry slipped out the bedroom with the cleaver floating behind. His next target was right across the hall.

Just like his father, his whale of a cousin slept deeply and noisily. It served Harry well. The oaf had not even heard his parents’ murder, blissfully unaware that the Reaper was coming for him next.

Harry stared down at his cousin. He wanted to deliver the same fate to the whale as he had done to his parents. But still, the whale was only a child. He was raised to torment Harry, not knowing any better. Perhaps, Harry thought, he could spare a little mercy.

The emerald-irised boy raised the cleaver high with his power, and swung it down hard. The whale immediately woke up when the blade came into contact with his skin. It would take half a minute for the whale to die, the cleaver making five swings before severing his head from the rest of the body.

Harry tossed the bloody cleaver aside, and released more balls of fire to destroy the evidence. He switched between bedrooms to check on each cremation, until he was satisfied that any earthly remains were properly disposed of and nothing was discernible about the ash and inorganic bone fragments left behind. He extinguished the fires before they could spread.

The clock struck one in the morning, chimes echoing throughout the silent house. The realisation came to Harry like a soft cloud. He was free. He was finally free. The shackles had been thrown off, nothing held him back anymore.

He allowed one tiny giggle. He did not laugh or dance in euphoria. It would only alert the neighbours that something had happened.

Straightening himself up, Harry nodded to himself. It was time to escape.

Harry pocketed the deceased walrus’ wallet in a winter coat that belonged to his late cousin. He had spent the last hour tearing apart the house for all the physical money his relatives had hidden “in case of emergencies”. Now, he had several thousand quid safely stowed away, more than enough for a few weeks until he could find a more permanent living arrangement.

Zipping up the winter coat, Harry stared back into the house that had been Hell for him for the past four years. A part of him wished to splash kerosene across the entire house and set it aflame, a morbid cleansing of the filthy place where evil had resided. But that would only draw attention from the rest of the town and possibly alert the more discerning individuals that he was somehow involved. No thanks to his deceased relatives, the entire town saw him with disdain and contempt. If he sent Number 4 up in flames, they would immediately suspect him.

No, best let them bask in their delusions for a while longer. Hopefully, by the time anyone suspected anything, he would have long vanished, untraceable to anyone who cared.

Opening the door, a blast of cold wind wafted through his raven locks. It was mid-November, and winter was almost upon the land. Harry had to admit his dead cousin’s size aided him in this particular moment, though conjuring a few flames wouldn’t hurt too.

Without a further word, Harry departed from Number 4, and quietly left behind Privet Drive towards the main road. Unfortunately, since it was still so early in the morning, neither the bus or train services to London were operating. Harry would be forced to travel by foot.

It didn’t matter though, Harry was just happy to get away from Privet Drive, even if he had to walk all the way to London on his own. A small price to pay for freedom.

As Little Whinging slept, blissfully unaware of the horrific murders at Number 4 Privet Drive that would topple their beloved normalcy upon investigation, Harry Potter disappeared into the darkness, never to be seen or heard from for the next six years.

To Be Continued.

Chapter Text

Albus Dumbledore felt quite good about himself.

Tonight was a calm, peaceful night. Nothing out of the ordinary or potentially disastrous has befallen his school, so Dumbledore allowed himself to relax, and contemplate about recent events.

The school year had started off without a hitch. Hogwarts welcomed its new first-years and returning students back within its walls, and classes have begun with little fanfare. While there was that incident involving muggleborn Gryffindor student Ben Copper getting trapped by cursed ice in one of the corridors, the matter was quickly resolved when Professors McGonagall and Snape rescued the poor boy. Soon after, Madam Pomfrey had given Mr. Copper the clean bill of health, allowing him to be discharged and return to his studies with his friends Rowan Khanna and Luka Tatsugami.

Dumbledore had a mild interest in young Luka, whose infamous brother Jacob had opened the Cursed Vaults some years before and was expelled. But tonight, his main thoughts centred on another boy living many miles south under the mercy of his relatives.

The old wizard chuckled to himself, earning a curious glance from Fawkes. Harry Potter was right where he needed to be, under the vicious torment of his magic-hating relatives. He couldn’t afford for the Boy-Who-Lived to know about his fame or heritage. The last thing Dumbledore wanted was a proud, arrogant toerag with a big head to arrive at Hogwarts demanding people bow down to him for killing off their greatest tormentor as a baby.

Dumbledore wanted Harry to be subservient, pliant, and starved of affection and love. Before leaving the baby on Privet Drive four years prior, he had cast a permanent spell on Harry’s relatives that amplified their prejudices and hatred of all things magic, ensuring the horrendous abuse and torment to keep Harry under wraps. Dumbledore wanted Harry to return to the magical world in awe and ignorance. Then, he will present himself as a kindly grandfather-figure to young Harry, who in his need for validation and kindness, will run straight towards him as the first adult to ever show care for his well-being.

Harry would be molded and groomed to be the ultimate weapon for the Light side. Dumbledore knew, unlike the rest of the magical populace, that Voldemort was not completely killed off that fateful Halloween. Dumbledore knew that Voldemort made horcruxes, the foulest act of black magic ever devised, to keep himself tethered to the mortal world. He knew that Harry himself was a horcrux, albeit unwittingly. But even he had a plan for that. When Harry finally manages to kill the Dark Lord, he, Dumbledore, will in turn slay Harry, claiming that the Boy-Who-Lived was being corrupted by the horcrux and needed a merciful end.

When all was said and done, he will be proclaimed as the saviour of the magical world. He will become the undisputed, immortal leader, and lead the country towards his planned vision for the future. The Greater Good will become the shining reality, all thanks to his clever schemes and manipulations.

Dumbledore chuckled. Things were looking up. Everything was going according to plan.

Finishing off his glass of brandy, the headmaster yawned softly. Perhaps it was time for him to turn in.

Getting up from his desk, Dumbledore waved a hand, extinguishing all the candles in his office. He retired to his quarters, humming a tune as he went. 

Two hours later, Harry Potter would disappear from Little Whinging. Exactly one hour after that, one of the many contraptions dotted around the office, which had been keyed to the Blood Wards surrounding Number 4 Privet Drive, started ringing, signalling the collapse of the wards. Dumbledore would sleep through the alarm, blissfully unaware that his schemes were beginning to fall apart.

----------------------------

Up in the north tower of Hogwarts, the sleeping quarters of Sybill Trelawney was quiet and smelled of essential oils. 

Her peaceful sleep, however, abruptly ended when her eyelids snapped open. Her irises were glassy and unfocused, as she rose up from her bed at the waist like a muggle vampire. Her monotonous voice filled the room in an ominous tone that would have sent shivers down the spines of anyone who would have heard.

“Balance has been broken,

Opposing sides battle for dominance.

But a futile fight it be,

For one cannot survive without the other.

Each side fight for spoils,

Not worth the blood spilt.

When one side wins, secrecy will fall,

Dooming us all to fire and fury.

Only one has the key,

To save us from such a fate.

He is the equal marked by the Lord of the Dark,

Slowly growing in the shadows of night

He will awaken the five elements,

To rid the Lords of the Light and Dark

With two loves,

He will restore peace.

Balance has been broken,

And only he, can save us all.”

Almost as if a switch had been flicked off, Trelawney fell back onto her bed as if powered down. She would return to Morpheus’ call, none the wiser of the fate-altering prophecy she had just uttered.

Six years would pass. A lot has happened in Hogwarts by the time the summer of 1991 rolled in. Luka Tatsugami went through all kinds of adventures and challenges upon his graduation that year. Tragically, his best friend Rowan was murdered the year before, taking a killing curse that was meant for Ben Copper. The memorial service had been a terrible experience for everyone involved, and while Luka may have graduated, Rowan’s death continued to haunt him even as he departed from Hogwarts for the last time.

But for Dumbledore, he had no such storm clouds hanging over his head.

As was tradition, the headmaster spent a little bit of time overseeing the penning of all Hogwarts letters being sent out to the incoming batch of first-years. Everything was standardised, the defining feature being each student’s name and address written across each envelope. 

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled in excitement. The next step in his plan was about to take off. Harry Potter was coming to Hogwarts, ready to be shaped into the ultimate weapon against Voldemort.

The enchanted quill wrote the boy’s name, and began the address.

Right away, something was inherently wrong.

The quill did not write “Number 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey”. Instead, it wrote an unknown address in Peckham, London.

Dumbledore blinked. He tested the quill for any malfunction, and found none. Picking the envelope up, the old headmaster stroked his beard in deep thought. If the quill was working properly, why was the address different?

After thinking for several moments, Dumbledore had a brainwave, and visibly relaxed. Surely, young Harry was taken along with his relatives to their London home, spending a few days in the capital for a vacation. Dumbledore nodded to himself, everything was still in order.

A hooting noise came from an open skylight. Dumbledore smiled as one of the school owls swooped into his office, and landed on his desk with a flutter of wings. The headmaster handed the bird of prey the envelope, and watched serenely as it took off into the air, through the skylight once again, and disappeared from sight.

For all of his grandeur as the most powerful wizard in existence, Dumbledore sorely lacked in his knowledge of the Muggle world, especially about the district of Peckham in south London.

In his mind, Dumbledore had envisioned Harry staying in a well-off townhouse in an up-scale borough of the capital. If he had bothered to check, Peckham was actually one of London’s poorer, dilapidated districts where poverty and crime were endemic. All sorts of criminal activity took place daily, from muggings, murder, arson, as well as gang, drug and gun violence. The Hogwarts owl flew into an environment that was gray and bleak. Abandoned buildings and houses stood empty and boarded up. Teenagers who should have been in school loitered around in their respective groups and gangs, smoking and taking drugs in shadowed corners or out in the open, some looking for trouble while others guarded their territories. And rubbish littered the streets, waiting for clean-up crews to make their long-overdue appearance. Not even the summer sun could make the dreary environment even marginally brighter.

Instinctually, the owl knew that it was in a dangerous area. It had been spooked multiple times by gunfire, and fled quickly whenever scuffles or fights broke out on the street below.

Finally, the owl approached its destination. It was a row of low-rise, two-storeyed buildings. The ground floor was once shops and perhaps eateries, but all that remained open was a tiny convenience store that had seen better times and was about to go out of business. The second floor was supposed to be apartment units, but most were boarded up and used as shelter by gangs or squatters.

Except for one.

The owl landed on the surprisingly clean window ledge. Putting the letter down, it tapped its beak against the curtained window. For a few seconds, nothing happened, so it tapped again with a bit more force. Hearing noises coming from inside the room, the owl picked up the letter and waited to be let in. The curtains were drawn, and the figure inside opened the window. The owl swooped into the room, which appeared to be a cross between a bedroom and office. Landing on a messily-organised desk, it dropped the letter from its beak, and gave a loud hoot.

“It finally arrived…”

The owl watched with muted curiosity as the figure went over to the desk, sat down, and picked up the letter. Breaking the seal, he pulled the papers out, and skimmed through them for several moments. Without a further word, the figure took a piece of paper from a tray and wrote a short reply. Putting his fountain pen down, he sealed his letter in a clean envelope and offered it to the owl.

“Here, take this back to the manipulative bastard.”

The owl merely hooted, grabbing the letter with its beak. Flapping its wings, it flew around the room once, before shooting out of the open window into the sky. The figure remained seated long after the owl had left, idly feeling a gold-chain pendant with a tear-drop emerald ensconced with golden filigree.

“Jacob...looks like it's my turn soon.”

Herbology professor Pomona Sprout couldn’t be more surprised at her current task. While she was giving the greenhouses a good look-over before the new school-year, she had been summoned to Dumbledore’s office. It came, undoubtedly, as a great shock when the headmaster tasked her with meeting Harry Potter , of all people, and escorting the young lad to Diagon Alley to collect his school supplies.

Out of curiosity, Sprout asked Dumbledore why she was chosen. The old headmaster explained that McGonagall and Ravenclaw head of house, Filius Flitwick, had their own charges to introduce to the magical world. He himself, alas, had important business with the Ministry today, and Rubeus Hagrid was unfortunately currently incapacitated in the Hospital Wing after accidentally burning himself the day before. It didn’t need to be said about why Severus Snape wasn’t chosen. The legendary feud between the potions master and his long-dead adversary had been taking place even when Sprout was teaching them as students.

Given Harry’s location in a slip of parchment, Dumbledore instructed Sprout to be gentle and understanding with the Potter lad. Having lived with Muggles all his life, Harry would have no knowledge of magic, his heritage or his status. It would certainly be a great shock to the lad, as Dumbledore reasoned, so he needed to be eased in slowly, something the old wizard believed Sprout was good at.

Slightly dazed from the turn of events, Sprout used Dumbledore’s fireplace to floo to the Leaky Cauldron in London. From there, she took the train from Charing Cross station towards Peckham.

As she arrived at her destination, Sprout had the belief that young Harry Potter lived in a perfectly-ordinary London suburb with identical terraced houses and manicured lawns. When she stepped out into the open, the dreary bleakness took the wind out of her breath.

She did not expect the derelict environment of boarded-up, empty homes and buildings, the teenage hooligans roaming the dirty streets looking for trouble, nor the widespread squalor and crime. For a moment, Sprout thought that someone had cast a Confundus on her. Surely the Boy-Who-Lived wasn’t actually living amidst poverty and lawlessness, right?

But the truth spoke for itself. Sprout eventually arrived at the same row of low-rise buildings where the owl had come to with Harry’s Hogwarts letter, passing no less than five scuffles between teenage gang members or drunken disorderlies under a strong Notice-Me-Not charm. 

Cancelling the charm, Sprout crossed the street towards the end of the row. She noticed that in front of the door leading up a staircase where Harry Potter was supposedly staying, was a teenage boy in a frayed, sleeveless hoodie and ripped sweatpants. He was resting on a blood-stained bat with nails hammered into the top, a lit cigarette in his free hand.

Sprout grimaced. She didn’t really want to approach the Muggle hooligan, but the choice was taken out of her hands when the teen spotted her.

“The fuck are you looking at, old hag?” he growled with narrowed eyes.

Taken aback by the insult, Sprout steeled herself. She had a task to fulfill.

“Young child, may I know if Harry Potter lives here?”

The teen immediately took on a defensive stance, “What business do you have with the Boss?”

Sprout blinked, she had not expected the title, “Harry wrote to us in response to his acceptance letter to our further education school in Scotland. I was tasked to meet him today.”

An uncomfortable moment passed. The hooligan looked no less suspicious, but gestured towards the door, “Follow me.”

Sprout quickly hurried after the teen. She was brought up to a messy apartment unit that had seen better years. Several similarly-dressed young teens dotted about what was once the living room, doing what Sprout could only imagine. They all stared at her with suspicious curiosity as her guide led her towards a door.

He knocked loudly.

“Yes?”

“Yo Boss! Some old bitch from Scotland is here to see you! Something about further education there?”

Sprout bristled from the insult, but wisely held her tongue.

“Send her in.”

The teen gave one last look at Sprout, jerked his head towards the door, before turning on his heel and leaving the apartment to resume his post as guard. Sprout had a lot of questions, but pushed them out of mind to focus on her task. She opened the door and let herself in. 

Sprout took in the room she had entered. It was quite messy, but in an organised manner. There was a bed close to the door and side table with a lamp. A folding screen separated the bed from the rest of the room. Sprout quietly peeked past the screen, at first noticing an office space with cabinets, a bookshelf that ran across a wall from the screen to the window, and a desk that was cluttered with papers, a pen holder and trays. She then realised the person she had come to see was gazing out the window, back turned towards her.

She did a double-take.

Sprout had expected Harry to be an average 11-year-old boy, short in height and perhaps still growing out of any baby fat that lingered from childhood. Instead, she was graced by what looked like a 16-year-old who could rival any Quidditch beater or keeper in terms of body size and muscle mass. He had long, straight, waist-length black hair tied loosely in a ponytail, and he was dressed in a plain white dress-shirt and black slacks held up by suspenders.

“A-Are you…?”

The teen-like boy turned around, revealing his face for Sprout to see. He had a strong jawline, straight nose and his skin was an almond tone. Though perhaps the greatest feature was his eyes. Vibrant emeralds that sparkled with an icy cold hardness. It unnerved Sprout just to return the gaze.

“Yes, Professor Pomona Sprout, head of Hufflepuff house and professor of Herbology, I am Harry Potter.”

The boy (young man? Sprout didn’t know which to choose) moved away from the window and approached her. She hid the involuntary shiver from the cold and emotionless, baritone voice Harry spoke with, looking up somewhat just to meet his gaze.

“I believe you’re here to take me to Diagon Alley.”

To Be Continued.

Chapter Text

“I believe you’re here to take me to Diagon Alley.”

Sprout was speechless, and the silence dragged for a few moments.

“Well? Are you?” came the unimpressed reply and look.

That shook the Herbology professor out of her stupor. Realising that Harry was waiting, she quickly responded, “Oh, y-yes, indeed Mr. Potter. I am going to take you to Diagon Alley to get your school supplies.”

Harry grunted, moving past the professor and headed towards the door. He stopped with his hand just shy of the doorknob, realising that Sprout hadn’t moved from her spot.

“Are you coming, Professor?”

Sprout realised she wasn’t paying attention to the situation, “Y-Yes, Mr. Potter, I’m coming.”

Harry didn’t respond. He opened the door and left the room, Sprout hurrying after him. As she caught up, Harry had turned to face the other Muggle hooligans in the living room. 

“Listen up.”

Sprout was amazed to see all the teenagers turn towards Harry with apt attention.

“I’ll be gone for a few hours. Continue whatever you are doing or want to do. But no matter what, do not enter my room . Am I clear?”

“Yes, Boss!” came the chorus of affirmative voices. 

Satisfied, Harry made his way towards the staircase, an amazed Sprout close behind. Halfway down, he stopped, turning back towards the Herbology professor.

“Is something the matter, Mr. Potter?”

Harry took one look at her brown robes and pointy hat. He snapped his fingers. Sprout gasped as her robes transformed into a plain white, frilly blouse and a knee-length skirt with floral patterns. Her hat disappeared with a quiet pop.

“How you went around looking like you did and not get stared at, I haven’t the slightest idea,” Harry remarked, before continuing down the stairs.

Sprout was once again frozen, not expecting a display of wandless transfiguration from what was supposed to be an 11-year-old boy. It took Harry almost walking out of the doorway for her to come to her senses and quickly follow her charge out the door.

The walk to the Tube station was silent...oppressively silent to be exact. Harry did not utter a single word, only looking straight ahead. Sprout, in more normal circumstances, would have tried to start up a conversation to break the iciness in the air. However, the Herbology professor found herself unsure of what to even say to the ice-cold young man walking beside her. No doubt, she had a growing pile of questions that she wanted to ask. Why was Harry living in such a lawless place instead of with his Muggle relatives like Dumbledore had constantly reassured? Why does Harry look like a teenager instead of an eleven-year-old boy? How is he so muscular? How was he able to enact control over those Muggle hooligans and make them submit to his authority? Where did he learn wandless magic? And like any other curious person, she wanted answers. Yet, she could not bring herself to even begin asking. Her tongue refused to cooperate, and perhaps, instinctually, rightfully so.

Harry exuded an aura that was dangerously powerful. Even though he spoke in polite tones, there was a sharp layer of no-nonsense and suspicious wariness hidden just under the surface. Sprout instinctively knew that one wrong word was all that was needed for Harry to lash out against her. She may be a competent witch, but Harry could easily take her down if he decided that she was a threat. A physical confrontation was the last thing Sprout wanted to get into with Harry. Her sense of duty to see her task through pushed down any sort of curiosity she had for the enigma that was the Boy-Who-Lived, as was her firm belief in respecting others’ privacy. Unless Harry engaged her in conversation, she would not push the envelope. She would merely be his chaperone in today’s agenda, nothing more unless Harry allowed it.

So that was what she did. On the subway back to Charing Cross station, Sprout sat in silence next to her charge on the train. Though Harry surprised the professor by giving up his seat for an elderly woman who hobbled precariously onto the carriage with a walking stick halfway through the journey.

“Your grandson is such a gracious young man!” the kindly old woman gushed to Sprout, not knowing any better, “Youngsters nowadays are so selfish!”

Despite the awkward position she was unwittingly put into, Sprout just smiled genially and agreed along with the woman. Harry simply ignored the conversation until the train pulled up at Charing Cross.

When Harry and Sprout emerged into the open world, the change in environment was evident. Gone was the gray dreariness of poverty and crime. The busyness and places-to-be of vibrant central London was the name of the game. The pair blended into the crowds until they reached what at first appeared to be a derelict, abandoned storefront. As they got closer, however, the front morphed into the exterior of the gateway into the magical world - The Leaky Cauldron.

Harry opened the door for Sprout, letting her through first. Closing the door behind him, Harry cancelled the transfiguration on the professor’s clothes, returning them to her robes and hat. 

Just like any other day, the somewhat dingy pub was filled to the brim with customers, wizards and witches from all walks of life gathering inside for a bite to eat and perhaps some salacious gossip to spread from the Daily Prophet. 

Tom, the landlord and barman of the pub, noticed the pair’s presence as they headed for the back door.

“Professor Sprout! Good to see you! The usual?”

“Not today, Tom,” the professor smiled, “I’m taking a charge of mine to Diagon Alley to get his supplies.”

“Ah, muggleborn, I see!” Tom nodded, “Who is the lovely chap?”

“Actually,” Sprout corrected, “he is-”

The back door swinging shut cut her off.

“Hm, not one for conversation, the lad?” Tom raised an eyebrow.

“You are right about that, Tom,” Sprout nodded, “Oh well, I better catch up to him.”

“I won’t keep you any longer, Professor,” the barman smiled, before attending to a witch who wanted to place an order.

Sprout hurried to the door and stepped out into the back courtyard. Harry was leaning against the adjacent wall. 

“I refuse to let myself be overrun by a mob who raise me on a pedestal for something I cannot even recall,” Harry said curtly.

“I...understand, Mr. Potter,” Sprout nodded after a moment, “But surely you would have liked to say hello to Tom at least? He is a very pleasant man.”

Harry just gave her a look, before shaking his head. Moving away from the wall, he reached for the stone brick three up and two across.

“Let me be absolutely clear, Professor, this is merely a formality. If Dumbledore wants to hear something from you, he’ll get it.”

He tapped the brick three times, ignoring the confused look gracing the professor’s face at the ireful venom he’d used to speak the headmaster’s name. It shifted and began to spin. The other bricks surrounding it followed the same motion, until the wall opened up.

Just like the Leaky Cauldron, Diagon Alley was bustling with life. Hundreds of magical folk walked up and down the cobbled streets, dressed in all manner of robes, hats and cloaks. Like their Muggle counterparts, they had places to be, things to buy, and people to meet. Owls darted through the air carrying mail or packages, and children ran all over the place or stopped to peer into shop windows at the latest sales and products. All in all, it was just another regular day for magical Britain.

Harry strode through the crowds, skillfully weaving in, out and between people. Sprout had a rather hard time keeping up with her charge, his movements reminding her of Japanese Muggle spies, called “neen-jas” if she remembered correctly.

At the other end of the alley, stood the towering marble building of Gringotts, the magical bank run by the goblins. Stopping at the base of the steps, Harry waited for Sprout to catch up. Together, they joined the steady stream of folks entering the bank. To Sprout’s surprise and curiosity, Harry stopped in front of the goblin sentries guarding the entrance to the bank. Harry pressed a clenched fist over his heart, and bowed deeply to the sentries. Amplifying the professor’s surprise, the sentries returned the salute, and bowed in acknowledgement. 

Sprout had believed the sentries would be surprised that a wizard was bowing to them, given the often tense relationship between magical folk and the goblins. But the entire gesture appeared second-nature, almost normal for Harry.

Partly due to her Hufflepuff nature and strong moral of respect for others, Sprout followed her charge’s lead, and saluted to the sentries. This time, the goblins were visibly stunned by her actions, though they quickly regained composure and nodded to her in response.

Sprout quickly entered the bank, joining Harry’s side in the queue. The bank was extremely busy that afternoon, and it was quite the wait for their turn to speak with the teller. Harry, like before, made no move to strike a conversation with Sprout. He maintained an impassive face the entire time, occasionally scowling whenever he saw a wizard or witch treat a teller rudely, bossing them about like house-elves.

Finally, after twenty minutes, it was their turn.

“Teller Sharptooth, may your wealth continuously flow, and you bathe in the blood of your enemies.”

“Ah, young Harry, good to see you again. May your strength prevail, and your foes cower before you,” Sharptooth grinned, “How may I help you today?”

“I’m here to collect my Hogwarts supply funds pouch from my vault,” Harry replied, “I trust that everything should be in order?”

“I can assure you, young Harry, that everything is in good hands,” Sharptooth nodded, “I will call for a representative to take you and Professor Sprout down to your vault.”

“Many thanks to you, good teller,” Harry bowed again.

Not a minute later, another goblin approached the pair and led them towards the elevators. They descended from the grand opulence of Gringotts down to the caves that ran through an extensive network underground. They boarded one of the many carts waiting, and off they went.

One hair-raising cart-coaster ride later (for Sprout at least, Harry remained stonily impassive while occasionally telling the goblin to go faster, who was more than happy to oblige), the cart slowed to a stop before a torch-lit landing. Sprout stumbled out of the cart and had to steady herself against the cave wall, curbing the nausea from erupting her breakfast. Once she was okay, she quickly joined Harry and the goblin.

“You know what to do, young Harry,” said the goblin, handing him an elaborately carved and jewelled dagger.

Harry took it, and without so much as a blink, dragged the blade over the palm of his hand, breaking the skin and drawing blood. Sprout watched in curiosity as Harry returned the dagger to the goblin, and approached the big metal doors at the other end of the short passageway. There was an imprint on the hand-wheel, which Harry firmly pressed his bleeding palm into.

“Good sir,” Sprout turned to the goblin, “I thought Gringotts vaults use keys to open?”

“In most cases, yes,” the goblin nodded, “but for the Potter family, a normal vault simply won’t do.”

The hand-wheel glowed, and then came a great rumble. The passageway shook, as the wheel started turning on its own. Harry pulled his palm back, the wound magically-healed. The doors began to open with each revolution of the hand-wheel.

“The Potter family has always been one of Gringotts’ most valued partners,” the goblin explained, “It simply wouldn’t be in young Harry’s interests, or Gringotts’ for that matter, to have the Potter vault not secured with the most up-to-date wards which prevent anyone who doesn’t have Potter blood and DNA from accessing the vault.”

As the inside of the vault came into view, Sprout bit back a gasp of awe.

It was no secret that the Potters were among the wealthiest families in the magical world. But to see the vast expanse of their wealth with her own two eyes was breathtaking to say the least.

The vault seemed to stretch back for miles, piled high with mounds of galleons, sickles and knuts. Countless treasure chests filled with precious stones, jewellery, artefacts and heirlooms were scattered amidst the mounds. Suits of armour lined the furthest wall at the other end of the vault, and paintings of various ancestors and relatives lined the other walls and dotted amongst the mounds. Bookcases of varying sizes also dotted the vault, holding precious grimoires and ancient tomes that guarded secrets and knowledge privy to the family.

A path cut through the mounds of coins, going forth from a semicircle that stood before the doors. Right in the middle of the semicircle, looking decidedly out of place with the rest of the vault’s contents, was an average-sized silk pouch dyed a royal purple, tied tight with a golden tassel.

Harry entered the vault, and picked up the pouch.

“All is good.”

The goblin nodded. Harry stepped out of the vault, and the doors automatically slid shut with another great rumble.

“Another successful transaction, I must say, young Harry.”

“Thank you for your time, good sir.”

“The pleasure is mine and Gringotts alone, young Harry. Come, I’ll show you and your professor back to the ground floor.”

“Lead the way.”

The journey back to the surface was noticeably slower, at Sprout’s request. Returning to the main bank floor, Harry thanked the goblin one last time, before he and Sprout departed from Gringotts. Back in the main hubbub of Diagon Alley, Harry turned to his chaperone.

“I suppose school robes should be next?”

“Yes, Mr. Potter, we can do that.”

Madam Malkin was a squat, kindly witch who has been tailoring the robes of Hogwarts students as far as she could remember. They were her main clientele, aside from the occasional adult wizard or witch who rang up her little shop for orders. This year was no exception. Once August came, she had been fitting robes for all manner of students, from excitable first-years (especially Muggleborns) to returning students who needed an extra set for the school year.

When the bell over the front door tinkled, Malkin bustled out towards the front to greet her newest customer, believing that a new first-year had arrived.

“Good afternoon! Hogwa-”

Her words died as she froze. Instead of a short, excitable child bounding in, she was faced with a powerfully-built young man who towered over her, cold and aloof emerald irises boring deep into her soul.

“Hogwarts robes please, Madam Malkin. I’m a first-year.”

Malkin’s mouth fell open.

“I was shocked myself,” Sprout added as she came into view, “But he isn’t lying.”

It took several moments for the proprietor to find her voice, “R-Right. This way, young man. I-I’m sure we can find something to work for you.”

Harry followed Malkin to an adjacent room, Sprout following close behind. He climbed up onto a stool, and raised his hands. Malkin took down his measurements with a slightly-quivering hand, before rolling up the magical tape measure.

“I’ll have to make some alterations, but I should be able to get your robes done as soon as possible. You’re free to browse the shop in the meantime.”

Harry nodded, stepping off the stool and heading over to one of the nearby racks to inspect what was on offer. Malkin quickly retreated from the room, looking slightly dazed. As Harry checked out a plain black robe, Sprout approached him.

“Mr. Potter, there is something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

“What is it?” Harry did not look away from the robe.

“I would like to say that I am a good reader of people’s tone. When you mentioned Dumbledore earlier, you spat his name with clear venom and disdain. If you don’t mind me asking, why would you treat the headmaster as if he is some horrendous criminal?”

Harry let go of the robe, letting it drape back into place among its peers. He slowly turned to his chaperone, who to her credit, hid the flinch she experienced. His impassive expression did not falter, but his cold irises now looked decidedly-stormy.

“Dumbledore is hiding behind a façade, Professor Sprout.”

“What do you mean?”

“Dumbledore projects a kind, grandfatherly appearance to those around him. It is nothing but a smokescreen to hide the power-hungry, manipulative bastard that is actually his true self. The thing about most magical folk is that they are never able to see beyond the outer layer. They just accept the person at face-value, without even considering that something darker lies beneath the surface.”

Sprout wasn’t sure if she liked where the conversation was going, but pressed on regardless, “Please enlighten me, Mr. Potter, of your reasons. I find it hard to believe that such a great man like Dumbledore would-”

“Only because he has done an extremely thorough job hiding his true nature,” Harry interrupted. Before he continued, he waved a hand around them, shrouding him and Sprout under a powerful Muffliato and Notice-Me-Not charm. “He has many literal skeletons hiding in his cupboard, Professor. In fact, I would say he is no better than Voldemort or his Death Eaters.”

Sprout visibly flinched at the infamous name, “B-But how could you make that comparison?”

At that moment, Harry heard the front bell tinkle again, signalling that another customer had arrived. Madam Malkin went to greet them with her trademark offer, before guiding them into the room where he and Sprout remained hidden. 

“I’ll make an example, do you recognise the young boy and the woman who just entered?”

Sprout turned her gaze where Harry was gesturing. A pale young boy with slicked-back platinum-blond hair and sharp features was being fitted by Malkin. A dignified woman with two-toned blond and dark hair stood to the side, watching the entire proceeding with a neutral mask.

“That is Draconis “Draco” Malfoy, and his mother, Narcissa Malfoy née Black. I want you to pay attention to whom Narcissa is married to, Professor. Lucius Malfoy was a high-ranking Death Eater who held a position in Voldemort’s inner circle during the First Wizarding War. He is a cruel, heartless monster who took sick pleasure in torturing Muggles and other offending magicals for the fun of it. When his master was vanquished, he was brought to trial for his crimes. However, he, like so many other powerful Death Eaters, claimed to be under the Imperius curse and bribed the Council of Magical Law to let him off. Ever since then, Lucius had built up his power base through his wealth, and now serves as the top advisor to the current Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge. Lucius hides the skeletons in his cupboard by making a big show of donating large amounts of money to St. Mungo’s and other post-war charitable organisations. This sounds like gracious philanthropy on his part, until you realise that the Malfoys have a foot-hold in both St. Mungo’s and all the charities they’ve donated to. No one knows about this because they can’t be bothered to do proper research. But this does not go unnoticed by the goblins.”

Harry turned to Sprout, “You’re asking, how does Dumbledore equate to bigoted Death Eaters and Voldemort? Despite claiming his love for Muggles and Muggleborns, Dumbledore is no saint. Like many purebloods, he believes that magical folk should rule over the Muggles and treat them nothing more than cattle for slaughter. Muggleborns are no better, their blood tainted and therefore should be barred from the magical world.”

Thank Merlin for the Muffliato spell, for Sprout’s gasp would have been easily heard throughout the room.

“This stemmed from his brief relationship with Gellert Grindelwald, the dark lord who shared his beliefs and terrorised magical Europe around the time of the Second World War. It was only when Grindelwald’s power threatened to overshadow his did Dumbledore decide to settle the score for total domination. It should be noted that Grindelwald’s destruction was spilling over into the Muggle world at the time, threatening to destroy the Statute of Secrecy as we know it. When Dumbledore finally defeated Grindelwald, magical Europe heralded him as the second coming of Merlin. As he was now a hero in the eyes of the public, Dumbledore was forced to put on a progressive, open front to keep himself in everyone’s good graces. But he never dropped that bigoted belief. He just hides it away from scrutiny and uses his power to subtly influence people through the years. Do you know why he never took the position of Minister despite many people vouching for him? He has more power being the headmaster of the only magical school in Britain, where young, impressionable children come for their education than in the Ministry in London. He can subtly influence their mindsets as they pass through the castle. His bigotry is then spread far and wide upon these students’ graduation. He would have no such power as Minister of Magic, so he is perfectly content with where he is, cultivating hatred to solidify his power.”

Poor Sprout looked ready to faint from such bombshell revelations. 

“I don’t expect you to believe me, Professor,” Harry continued, “No doubt, if I had told you all this without context, you would have your wand pointed in my face for spewing such blasphemy. But this is the clever work of Dumbledore, building up an impenetrable shield made up of loyal followers who would do his bidding for him, directly or indirectly. I can’t expect any agreement, but all I ask is that you should at least think about it.”

The professor eventually found her tongue, “I-If this is all true...how do you know about this?”

Harry took a moment to respond, “I’ll tell you when I am reasonably assured that you can be trusted.”

Meanwhile, Draco and his mother had just finished business with Malkin and had left the shop. Harry cancelled the spells around him and Sprout, bringing them back into view as the proprietor returned.

“Ah, there you are. Your robes are ready for you.”

“Thank you for your troubles.”

“No need to worry, dear,” Malkin smiled, albeit a bit shakily, “I’m just doing my job.”

Several sets of Hogwarts robes, shirts, slacks, vests, scarves and ties were already wrapped in brown paper on the counter-top awaiting payment. Harry fished out his pouch and gave Malkin the desired amount - five galleons and ten sickles. Wandlessly shrinking the package into his pocket, Harry and Sprout left the shop, leaving behind a proprietor who briefly wondered if she had hallucinated the entire transaction.

Harry went to get a trunk next. 

“I need a trunk that has internal rooms with bookshelves inside them,” he told the shop-owner, who spent the next few moments staring at him in disbelief. One cold scowl later, and the man quickly went to check his inventory.

“Mr. Potter, why do you need such a big trunk?” asked Sprout, “First-years don’t require that many books.”

“I’m not just bringing textbooks, Professor,” Harry replied, “I’m acquiring extra materials from Diagon as well as some of my own books back home. The trunk is just contingency should I need more over time.”

Sprout had no answer to that, though she inwardly believed that Harry was definitely en-route to becoming a Ravenclaw, never mind the fact that the Potters have always been Gryffindors throughout history.

The owner eventually returned with a trunk that he said contained five expansive rooms with a library’s worth of empty bookshelves included, and two extra rooms for whatever use he planned to do. Harry went inside to verify the claims, and once he was satisfied, paid the expected price of 100 galleons. He left with a disbelieving Sprout and a dazed shop owner deciding he needed a pint.

Flourish and Blotts was next where Harry bought his school books and a copy of just about every non-fiction and educational book available. The final tally was 60 galleons and 17 sickles. The apothecary Slugs and Jiggers saw Harry leaving with high-grade potions equipment and a sizable sample of just about every ingredient on sale. Stationary was given a miss, as Harry declared that Muggle stationary was superior, followed by a quick trip through all the other book stores in Diagon for any publications not found in Flourish and Blotts. 

By the time they left Wizz Hard Books, Harry’s total tab had climbed to over 350 galleons spent. 

“Every student is allowed a pet at Hogwarts,” said Sprout, after getting over the shock, “Normally, these are owls but we also permit cats, toads…”

Harry pushed down the urge to ask about toads, “...but I’m not getting any.”

“What?”

“Too conventional,” Harry replied, “I know of somewhere else.”

Instead of Eeylops Owl Emporium, Harry took Sprout to Magical Menagerie, which proved to be an experience in itself. The moment Harry stepped into the shop…

...all bedlam broke loose.

Sprout had to cover her ears as the animals panicked at Harry’s presence. The free-roaming cats knocked over cages and other items off of shelves in their mad rush for safety. The birds squawked loudly and either flew away from Harry or tried to make themselves small and unnoticeable. The rats and Puffskeins shrank into themselves in their cages, hoping that Harry wouldn’t see them, and the one single puppy sitting by the counter whimpered loudly and backed away from Harry. Interestingly, a tank of snakes all reared up to get a better look at Harry.

The poor shopkeeper rushed around delivering calming charms to all the animals, as Harry stood there, nonchalant of all the chaos his mere presence had caused. Sprout was still frozen in disbelief, even when the noise subsided.

“H-How may I help you?”

Harry didn’t respond, instead eyeing around the shop with a discerning look. After a few moments of scanning, his gaze homed on one of the few residents that hadn’t lost their shit upon his arrival.

It was a snowy-white gyrfalcon, snoozing in its cage at the far end of the shop. It was abnormally large, about the length of a large eagle. Harry could only imagine the sheer wingspan it sported given its size. It’s wings were speckled with black in a smooth gradient, it’s body was incredibly muscular, and its beak was tinted blue.

After a few moments, the majestic bird-of-prey seemed to wake from its nap. As it opened its eyes, it immediately noticed Harry staring right back at it.

A beat of silence, and the gyrfalcon screeched loudly.

Harry watched stonily as the large bird started throwing itself at its cage, as if trying to break out of it. The shopkeeper immediately rushed over in an attempt to calm it down. 

“Release her.”

The shopkeeper and Sprout turned to Harry as if he was crazy. 

“Did I stutter?” Harry scowled, eyes flashing dangerously, “I said release her!”

The shopkeeper swallowed, and quickly obliged. Climbing onto a step-stool, she took the cage down from its hook and placed it on the counter. Unlocking the lid and removing it, she barely had time to step back as the gyrfalcon launched itself out. Immediately, all the rats and Puffskeins shrank away to avoid being spotted by the bird. But the gyrfalcon paid potential prey no mind, flying once around the shop and landing on Harry’s shoulder with a flutter of its massive wings.

Then came an unexpected development.

The gyrfalcon’s chest began to glow an icy-blue colour. From its heart, out shot a beam of icy-blue light that swirled around Harry before shooting into his heart. Both young man and bird glowed for five seconds, before it faded away.

“I...I…” the shopkeeper was at a loss for words. Sprout was speechless in confusion.

“Huh, looks like you have bonded with me,” Harry remarked to the gyrfalcon, “Are you really sure you want to be my familiar?”

The large bird trilled in assent, nuzzling his head. That was all the answer he needed.

Harry turned to the shopkeeper, pulling out his pouch. He fished out ten galleons and tossed the coins onto the counter.

“Thank you.”

Without so much as a further word, Harry turned on his heel and headed for the door, gyrfalcon still perched on his shoulder. Sprout remained frozen for a moment more, before unfreezing and hurrying after her charge out the door, leaving behind a catatonic shopkeeper and more than wary animals slowly emerging to check if the threat to their lives had finally gone.

“Your irises remind me of ice after a blizzard,” Harry spoke softly to his familiar, “Peace after rage and turmoil. Beauty after destruction and chaos. A goddess both benevolent and malevolent. How does the name Eira sound to you?”

The gyrfalcon trilled happily.

“Eira it will be.”

There was only one last stop in the agenda before the day was done. It was a crucial milestone for any new Hogwarts student to accomplish.

Harry, Eira and Sprout approached Ollivander’s, the premier wand shop in Great Britain.

“This is only a customary formality,” said Harry, “In all honesty, I have no need for a wand.”

Sprout merely nodded.

The bell tinkled as they entered the shop. It was dusty, and smelled of aged wood. Harry noted that the inside looked rather shabby, as if upkeep had been forgotten for years. It was also quite cramped too, much of the available space occupied by towering shelves that rose up to the ceiling, stacked to brim with countless wands in narrow boxes. Some were newly inscribed, others had their labels peeling off with age.

At first, the shop seemed empty. Then came the squeaking of a door opening somewhere at the back of the shop. An eccentric-looking man with wild, grayish-white hair emerged.

“Ah, Mr. Potter. I’ve been expecting you.”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Ollivander. I’m here for a wand,” said Harry.

“Straight to the point,” the old man nodded, “just like Jacob before you. I still remember his wand - ten inches, maple wood and dragon heartstring core. A pity it was snapped. I predicted that he would do many great things with it.”

It took a moment for Sprout to make the connection - Jacob Tatsugami, Hufflepuff, expelled for opening the Cursed Vaults. Piquing her curiosity further was Ollivander’s implication that Harry had known Jacob before. Whether or not that was true was Harry’s own tale to tell.

“Your ability to remember every wand you’ve made and sold is not one to sniff at,” said Harry.

“My humble heart smiles at your praise, Mr. Potter,” Ollivander grinned, “Come, let us find you a wand. Stretch out your dominant arm, please.”

Harry did as instructed. The wand-maker summoned a tape measure and muttered the length of the appendage. Vanishing the tape measure, Ollivander ambled over to a shelf, and began scanning the contents. Harry was beginning to space out when Ollivander returned with five boxes.

“Let us begin,” the old man said, producing a wand, “Eleven inches, redwood and a core made from the tail feather of a thunderbird.”

Harry took the wand. It seemed to screech, before bursting into flames. Harry stared impassively as it crumbled to ashes instantly.

“My...looks like the wand preferred to end its existence rather than become yours,” Ollivander remarked, “No matter, why don’t you try this one - twelve inches, maple wood and dragon heartstring core. Similar to Jacob’s wand, only longer and more rigid.”

The moment Harry took it, it drooped like a wilted flower.

“Looks like the mentee will not be following the mentor,” Ollivander took the wand back, put aside, and produced another, “Nine inches, birch, troll’s whisker.”

He made to give it to Harry, only to immediately retract.

“No, not compatible. I can already feel it.”

Ollivander tossed it to the floor.

“How about this one? Thirteen inches, cedar, dittany stalk.”

That one collapsed into a glob of shapeless slime in Harry’s hand.

Wand after wand followed, only to be rejected in increasingly ridiculous ways. Some leapt away from Harry, refused to be handed over or dove back into their boxes upon eye-contact. One wand exploded in Harry’s hand, another dove straight through the shop window, while a third screamed, flew over to a shelf, set it (and all the other wands on it) on fire before throwing itself into the conflagration. Other wands took out their disagreement on the human occupants. Sprout had horse blood, pigs’ excrement, human urine, bits of glass and other foul substances shot at her from various wands. Harry dodged a multitude of wands trying to attack him, and Ollivander himself was hit over the head by many a wand.

Despite the increasing number of failures, Ollivander was unperturbed. In fact, he was becoming increasingly excited that Harry was such a difficult customer. An hour later, after going through literally the entire stock of wands, Ollivander was visibly trembling with exhilaration. 

“Curious, simply curious, Mr. Potter! Never in my life have I ever run out of wands for a customer. Simply unthinkable...but dear me, the possibilities! A new challenge awaits!”

Harry remained impassive as the wand-maker grabbed his arm. Eira screeched, flying off his shoulder and landing on the counter.

“Come, Mr. Potter! We must make haste!”

As he was dragged away, Harry turned back to Sprout, “Go do some shopping or something. I’m not sure how long this is going to take.”

Harry was taken to the back room of the shop, which resembled a workshop of some sort. Admittedly, it was much more cramped than the shop itself, but he made no comment.

“What is happening, Mr. Ollivander?”

“My shop has no wand for you. One will have to be made!”

The old wizard pushed random objects off a desk with excited glee. Harry watched as he began lining what looked like cuboids of metal across the cleared surface.

“Come, Mr. Potter. Have a feel of these materials. Metals are virtually impossible to make into wands, but that will not stop me!”

Harry hovered a hand over the cuboids, but after going through each one, shook his head. He felt no connection with the inert materials, not even a smidgen of warmth.

“Hmm, so metals have no effect on a unique, powerful individual like yourself. No matter, we will simply advance on to the rarest of possibilities!”

Ollivander quickly retrieved the cuboids and stored them away. To Harry’s silent curiosity, the old wizard shuffled around the room, pulling three keys from various hidden spots. He then pulled out a wooden box with three keyholes. Unlocking each one, the wand-maker opened the box, and pulled out a leather pouch and a smaller, narrower box.

“I’ll show you what is in the box later, Mr. Potter. First, let us determine which of these suit your magic best.”

Ollivander opened the pouch and poured the contents onto the desk.

Harry’s eyes widened slightly.

“These are precious stones.”

“Exactly, Mr. Potter. You must understand, no wand-maker even thinks of using gemstones to make a wand. Far too expensive, and the only advantage they have over regular wood is in strength and durability. But, Mr. Potter, you must also know that your power is far too great for mere wood to sustain. Only a gemstone has even the chance to channel your magic. Go on, have a feel.”

There were at least a dozen perfectly-cut gemstones on the desk. Harry recognised a few - a ruby, sapphire, amethyst, etc. Just like with the metal cuboids, he hovered a hand over each gemstone for about five seconds each. Unlike the metals, Harry felt at least a tendril of warmth connecting with his magic from the gemstones. Some were more noticeable than others, and after a brief assessment, he made his choice.

“The emerald and diamond came off really strongly, Mr. Ollivander.”

“I’m not surprised, Mr. Potter,” the old man nodded, keeping away the rest of the gemstones, “An emerald, a link to your mother - ten and three quarter inches, willow and unicorn hair core, I remember - and a diamond, the strongest of the gemstones. Excellent choice.”

Ollivander then picked up the mysterious box from earlier.

“Your wand’s core must be made of something truly unique and special, nothing the typical resources can even begin to provide. What I have here has been with my family for generations, and I truly believe it is the perfect fit for the core.”

He opened the box, and Harry peered inside.

“Is it a phoenix feather?”

“It may look like it, Mr. Potter, but really, no one knows.”

While it may have bore some resemblance to a phoenix’s feather, this particular sample of plume did not bear the colours of red, orange and yellow. Instead, it was a gradient of extremely dark blue gradually lightening up the shades two-thirds of the way into white at the tip. Instead of the fluid shape of a regular phoenix’s feather, it was sharp and rigidly-straight, almost like a deadly blade that could slay a man with one swing.

“How did your family get it?”

“A most peculiar tale, I can safely say, Mr. Potter,” Ollivander recalled, looking distant in thought, “This feather came into my family’s possession after my ancestor, Helogardus, found it whilst scavenging for thestral hairs in the middle of a blizzard. Helogardus had more than a few...eccentric twists to the mind, I’d say. Suddenly, the blizzard seemed to get stronger, forcing him to the ground. Amidst the howling winds, he heard a deafening roar of an avian, like a hawk, but much more powerful. There was a great flapping of wings, and the tinkling of crystal. Another roar, and then came a great blast of cold that literally froze everything for miles around. It was only an overpowered warming charm that protected my ancestor from certain death. And just that like that, the blizzard subsided. When he could see again, Helogardus saw this very feather in the middle of a giant snowflake made of ice. It has been with my family since that day, passed down through the centuries. No one beyond my family, myself and you, have ever laid eyes on it.”

Harry stared at the feather, “Why are you parting with it then?”

Ollivander’s far-away eyes shimmering slightly, “I have seen many a wand go on to do great things. Good and bad, but great nonetheless. I do not have the sight of aura, but I can sense the individual’s power that channels into the wand they wield. You are one such individual, Mr. Potter, and whether your power leads us to prosperity or ruin, I cannot foresee. But what I can say, that with this feather as your wand’s core, the path to greatness opens before you.”

Honestly, Harry was intrigued. The feather was truly a mystifying sight, and like a siren’s song, it seemed to be pulling him towards it. Something so frigidly cold and icily haunting, wrapping around his magic like a flurry of snow in a moonless night. Harry unconsciously reached out for the feather, his fingertips brushing against the barbs.

That was when the world shattered.

Ollivander, the workshop, and the feather all disappeared. Harry quickly found himself in a black void of nothingness. Immediately, his defense mechanisms kicked into gear. It was quiet, far too deathly quiet. Nothing discerned what from what, and Harry could feel his heart pumping ever faster as panic threatened to envelop him.

Harry grounded himself forcibly. His training prohibited fear from coming near him. Fear led to irrationality, which in turn led to poor judgement at the beginning of a spiral towards an untimely demise. He needed to stay calm, and think of a solution.

That was when the silence was broken by a loud, echoing roar.

It sounded like a hawk, powerful yet haunting and poignant at the same time. Harry’s heart involuntarily shuddered.

Then, out from the darkness, came a pair of icy-blue light. They were almond-shaped and sharp at the edges. The blue was striking, so alive yet so dead at the same time. Plumes of ethereal mist blossomed from the glowing light.

‘Are those...eyes?’

Another piercing roar shook the void. Out of nowhere, millions of snowflakes in swirling flurries raced around Harry, shooting towards the eyes. The frozen water seemed to form the outlines of an avian, starting with a head with striking plumage, a powerful body, fierce talons, wings of an astronomical span, and ending with a tail made of a flowing brush of sharp feathers, accentuated by four long feathers that ended in the shape of diamonds.

Harry breathed sharply. The image of the avian seemed to overshadow the void, vast and imposing, but also beautiful and powerful.

It stared back at him in silence, save for the flapping of its massive wings. Harry wasn’t sure what was going to happen next, but for some inexplicable reason, he felt drawn towards the avian. He didn’t know why, but all he wanted to do was get closer, and form a connection with it.

But his legs refused to move, and his body was frozen.

For once in his life, he didn’t know what to do.

Suddenly, the avian roared again. It unfurled its wings to full span. The snowflakes making up its form shimmered like a screen, before growing increasingly brighter, vibrating wildly. The darkness was forced into a retreat as the lights beamed in all directions. Harry shielded his eyes as the brightness turned blinding, and the void seemed to be shaking as if an earthquake was rolling in.

Then came a great explosion of power, and everything was blown to smithereens.

“Mr. Potter! Mr. Potter!”

Harry’s eyes snapped open with a gasp. 

The void was gone, as was the avian. He was back in the workshop, sitting down on a chair.

“Mr. Potter, can you hear me?” Ollivander asked worriedly.

“W-What happened?”

“You touched the feather, and you went stock-still,” the wand-maker explained with a tinge of relief, “I had you sit down, then you started convulsing wildly.”

Harry was silent, standing up from the chair a bit shakily.

“That...was so weird.”

“You had me worried, Mr. Potter. I thought that you had gone catatonic.”

Harry glanced down at the feather, now sitting on the desk.

“I...don’t think you’ll believe me if I told you what happened.”

Ollivander made a noise of acknowledgement, “That feather is a real mystery. To be honest, we may never truly comprehend what you’ve experienced. However, it goes without saying that I stand by my offer of making this feather into the core of your wand.”

Harry considered his choices, his thoughts plagued by the mysterious avian in the void. If he wanted to be honest with himself, a small part of his heart wanted to see it again.

“What will it be, Mr. Potter.”

…

…

…

“If you insist, Mr. Ollivander.”

The wand-maker smiled, “Wonderful. I’ll start work on your wand right away. Give me about two weeks, and I will contact you via owl.”

“Alright,” Harry nodded, “is there anything else?”

Ollivander was about to shake his head, but then a thought occurred to him. It was simple in mere words, but to put them into reality was far from simple, not to mention illegal all the way to next Sunday and back. So many things could go horribly wrong if he messed it up even in the slightest ways. He could easily reduce his shop (and a good portion of Diagon Alley) to smouldering smithereens if he wasn’t careful. On the other hand, he was already doing the impossible for Harry’s wand. And he was too exhilarated to submit to his conscience.

“Mr. Potter, if I may impose a little, can I ask a favour from you?”

“Depends. What is it?”

“May I have a tiny phial of your blood?”

Harry’s expression did not change, but Ollivander could see the lad’s cold eyes harden.

“And what, pray tell, are you planning to use it for?”

“Nothing nefarious, I can swear on that, Mr. Potter. I figured I could use your blood to make your wand a little more...personal, if I may say.”

The hardness dropped, but Harry remained wary. Still, he had a brief idea what Ollivander was planning to do.

“You want to add my blood to the feather core of my wand, don’t you?”

The wand-maker nodded in assent, “Superior perception, Mr. Potter, Jacob would be most proud. I know full-well the consequences of blood magic in the wrong hands for the wrong purposes, or the slightest misstep in a delicate process. But I am willing to risk laying waste to the surrounding area to turn your wand into something that becomes a part of you. Nothing, no wizard or magic itself, will be able to take your wand away. No one else will be able to use it. Only you can.”

Harry stayed silent, slowly processing the man’s words. When he put it that way, it didn’t sound like a bad idea. He might already be at great lengths at wandless and nonverbal magic, but he saw nothing wrong with a wand that responded only to his command and power. Having no one else be able to take or use it was a solid in his mind, having studied about many a wizard or witch who met grisly ends when their wand was taken from them.

Then again, they didn’t have wandless or nonverbal magic to back them up, so perhaps not the best comparison. But there was nothing wrong with a contingency plan, he thought.

“Alright,” Harry eventually agreed.

Ollivander nodded, “Excellent. Now let me just get a few things…”

The wand-maker went over to his desk, and pulled open a drawer. He ruffled through the contents, before returning with an ordinary knife and a small phial about an inch long.

“I’m sure you know what to do, Mr. Potter.”

Harry took the offered knife, and with no reaction whatsoever, dragged the sharp blade over his middle finger, breaking the skin and making a shallow cut. As the blood began to leak out, he placed his finger over the phial, letting the crimson fluid flow slowly into it. It took several minutes, but the phial was eventually filled to the brim with his blood. Pulling his finger away, Harry wrapped his hand around the cut, and with a silent Episkey , healed it.

Ollivander sealed the phial, “Thank you so much for your cooperation, Mr. Potter. I promise you I won’t let you down.”

“I should hope not,” Harry replied, tone hard, “Not often do I put my trust in others, and I expect it to be honoured.”

“You have my word, Mr. Potter. Now let me see you off.”

Ollivander guided the lad back to the shop. At the same time, Sprout came in through the front door. Eira spotted her owner as she groomed herself, letting out a loud trill before flying over to his shoulder.

“Oh! Mr. Potter, how did it go?

“It went well, Professor.”

“I have everything set to make Mr. Potter’s wand by the end of the coming fortnight, Professor,” said Ollivander.

“Make? You mean from scratch?” Sprout was surprised.

“Indeed,” the wand-maker nodded, “Harry has proven to be a unique customer, and a formidable challenge awaits me. But I fear no challenge, I will tackle this one with passion and enthusiasm.” He turned to Harry, “As I promised, I will contact you via owl to let you know that your wand is ready.”

“Thank you for your troubles.”

“Oh, the pleasure is all mine, Mr. Potter,” Ollivander grinned, “Do take care.”

Harry nodded, and joined Sprout by the door. Stepping out into the bustling street, he turned to his chaperone, “I suppose this concludes our business today?”

“That is correct,” Sprout replied, after getting over her surprise.

“In that case, I guess we’ll go our separate ways until September first.”

Sprout nodded, “Do you want me to escort you back home, Mr. Potter?”

“There’s no need, Professor, but thank you for the offer,” Harry replied, “Oh, but before we go, may I request a favour from you?”

“What is it?”

“Do not tell Dumbledore anything I told you in Madam Malkin’s shop,” said Harry, “It will only tip him off that I know more than he wants me to know. No doubt, he has been planning his schemes long before I will step into Hogwarts. He will do anything in his power to control my life once I enter through the castle doors, and I’m not going to give him any sort of leverage. Also, if he asks about me, say something generic. Don’t tell him what exactly happened today. Can I trust you with this?”

On the one hand, Sprout wanted to believe that the bombshells Harry dropped while getting his robes were simply not true. On the other though, Harry was clearly a powerful individual, how would lying benefit him? And if she were honest with herself, her world-view had shifted from the day’s events, and it has given her a lot to think about.

Eventually, she nodded silently.

“I will see you when school starts. Take care with the Floo.”

Without a further word, Harry turned on his heel and left for the Leaky Cauldron. Sprout would spend five minutes unmoving from her spot, thinking back to the events of the day. Deciding that a busy street wasn’t the best place to contemplate, she picked up the pace and returned to the Leaky Cauldron. The privacy of her quarters sounded much better to rethink one’s opinions about a certain headmaster with too many middle names.

To Be Continued.

Chapter Text

As expected, two weeks after his trip to Diagon Alley with Professor Sprout, Harry heard the sound of firm tapping against his window as he filed away his notes on the activities of rival gangs in the Peckham area.

Stowing away the file, he got up and opened the window, letting a barn owl fly into his room. Eira watched curiously from the bedpost. Settling down on his desk, the owl hooted, gesturing towards the letter it dropped on the writing pad. Harry sat back down, opening a drawer and pulled out a bag of owl treats. Plucking out a few pieces, he let the owl snack on its reward as he broke open the wax seal on the envelope. Pulling the letter out, he began to read.

Mr. Potter

Your wand is ready for your perusal. I have closed the shop today to ensure complete privacy when you receive your wand. Knock on the door three times - two short and one long - to let the wards know who you are. I’ll then let you in.

I hope to see you soon,

Garrick Ollivander

Harry nodded. Putting the letter down, he pulled out a blank piece of paper and wrote a short reply.

Mr. Ollivander,

Good to see that you are a man who keeps his promises. I will arrive in the coming hour.

Harry Potter.

Sealing the letter in an envelope, Harry passed it to the owl.

“Off you go.”

The owl hooted, taking the letter in its beak. The bird unfurled its wings and flew out of the room through the open window. Eira trilled curiosity. Harry turned to his pet, “Get ready, Eira. We’re going out.”

----------------------------

“I hope you’re okay with apparition, Eira.”

The gyrfalcon made a clicking noise.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’.”

A short trill.

Harry focused his concentration on the courtyard behind the Leaky Cauldron. He spun on his heel, and disappeared with a soft crack . Two seconds later, he appeared in the courtyard. Eira looked a little shaken, but she managed to compose herself after ruffling her feathers back into place. Harry entered the busy street with no one any the wiser. 

It didn’t take long for Harry to return to Ollivander’s shop. As expected, the door was locked, with a sign reading “Gone for lunch” posted on the glass window. 

Harry raised a hand, knocked three times loudly - two short, and one long as the letter stated - and waited. After a few moments, there was an audible ‘click’ as the lock was undone, and the door opened slightly. Harry entered with Eira still on his shoulder. The door closed behind him, and the lock fell back into place.

“Mr. Potter, impeccable timing.”

Ollivander emerged from the shelves, a wooden box in hand.

“As promised. Fourteen inches long, made of emerald and diamond, with the core of a feather from an unknown mystical avian and your blood. Come forward, Mr. Potter.”

He placed the box on the counter and opened it. Harry came over to have a look.

To say that the wand was beautiful and a masterpiece of creation would be a severe understatement. The body of the wand was a mix of sparkling diamond on the top half, smoothly morphing into a shimmering emerald down the bottom half. At the bottom end of the wand, an emerald cut into an octagonal sphere was fused to the body which flared a little to accommodate it. Wrapped around the emerald and running up the length of the wand was a filigree vine made of diamond with tiny leaves, and the fact that the leaves themselves had veins carved into them further impressed Harry. At the top end of the wand, the vine wound into a cone, holding a cut diamond in the shape of a crystal one might find in a cave.

Harry’s respect for Ollivander increased ten-fold. 

“Mr. Ollivander, it is no joke when I say that you are the greatest wand-maker to ever live?”

“Your praise fills my old heart with joy,” the wand-maker grinned, “But I believe you should withhold such praise until you test your wand. You see, Mr. Potter, the last recorded account of someone wielding a wand made from precious stones was Sir Lamorak of the Knights of the Round Table, and even that account has been disputed by many. So go ahead, Mr. Potter, take your wand.”

Harry eyed the wand, his hand reaching out for it. He felt a distinct coolness as his fingers ghosted over the wand, like the sensation of frozen vapour rising from ice. When his fingers closed around the wand, the cold seemed to intensify, as if he had stuck his hand deep into a freezer. He picked the wand up, and stared at it. For a moment, nothing happened.

Until it began to glow an icy-blue light.

Harry released the breath he had been holding. Ollivander was extremely pleased.

“Oh wondrous joy, Mr. Potter, your magic has become in-tuned with the wand. A rounding success, if I may say - ”

Ollivander’s gushing was interrupted by the wand glowing brighter. The temperature in the shop suddenly plummeted. Breaths became visible and the windows froze over in a thin layer of ice. Wind from an unknown origin began to blow through the shop, sending light objects flying all over the place. Then, the diamond shimmered brightly. Out of nowhere, a flurry of snowflakes burst from the diamond, swirling around the shop. Harry was completely stock-still, watching as more snowflakes surged from his wand at an increasingly-faster rate up towards that of a blizzard. The wind grew stronger and louder by the second, to the point that heavier objects that weren’t nailed down were now flying across the room and the howling became almost deafening. The shelves were groaning under the intense pressure of the wind, and the accumulating snow was increasing the load they were forced to carry.

Eira screeched in panic, hopping off from Harry’s shoulder and flying about the room in an attempt to escape the snow. Forced to take refuge behind his counter, Ollivander tried to call out, “M-Mr. Potter!”

But Harry remained frozen, seemingly deaf to the wand-maker. The echoes of wood splintering, mixed with the howls of the wind as metal crashed and glass smashed. All around him, the shop was thoroughly ravaged.

His thoughts ran at a thousand miles per hour, much to his chagrin. Having one's thoughts go astray was something that he was trained to avoid. But try as he might, just like the wind and snow howling and swirling around him, his thoughts had gone completely berserk, not helped by the fact that seeds of uncertainty that were threatening to take root from the chaos happening around him.

No. He couldn’t let fear and panic consume him alive. He had to fight it, before it destroyed everything that he had built up for himself.

But with the howling wind and the shop falling to pieces around him, it was hard to concentrate. And the effort was further hampered by something calling out to him. Not Ollivander, the surrounding noise having done a good job blotting him out. No, it was a voice that was unearthly, no distinction between gender, and it seemed to be coming from the snowflakes that were swirling around the ruined shop.

Don’t fight it…

Harry grimaced. What was that?

Embrace it…

The voice seemed to be getting louder.

I will never hurt you, Harry…

Harry couldn’t exactly discern much about the voice, but he felt a strange soothingness from it, like a mother comforting her child.

Let your magic accept me, Harry…

The thoughts of a mother sparked a memory long buried in the recesses of Harry’s mind. It was that of a baby zipping about the room on a toy broom, knocking over objects and furniture. The father was both overjoyed, while trying to stop his wife from murdering his best friend for giving their son the toy broom in the first place.

The woman was close to breaking out of her husband’s hold when she saw the look of absolute glee her son had as he zipped around. Even she had to give a small smile out of resignation, her son’s happiness outshining any desire to murder the child’s godfather for the gift.

Harry immediately recognised her.

“Mum…?”

The memory came to an end, but the woman remained. Amidst the howling wind and snow, she physically manifested in a burst of light. Ollivander was speechless. Harry’s heart skipped a beat.

“Is it really you?”

Lily Potter smiled sadly, tears trickling from her eyes, “My dearest baby, how I missed you so.”

Harry was too entranced to notice his own tears streaking down his cheeks.

“You’ve grown so much. I am so proud of you, sweetheart. Your father is too.”

The lad felt his breath hitch.

“Harry, don’t be afraid. Embrace the power.”

Stifling back a sob, Harry closed his eyes. When he opened them again, his irises were shrouded by a glow of icy-blue. His ponytail became undone, his hair rising with his magic.

“I accept.”

Lily’s smile grew slightly wider. Her image began to shimmer away as the snowflakes shrouded around her. At the same time, Harry was lifted off the ground, rising a few feet into the air. From the swirling drops of frozen water, a new image appeared, taking Ollivander’s breath away.

“Merlin’s beard…!”

It was a massive avian, the exact same one Harry saw in the void two weeks prior. This time, it was more than just an outline. There was a translucent quality to the avian, but definition of its feathers and powerful muscles was still visible. Eira was visibly shaken by the avian, cowering under its presence. Ollivander was too frozen to move.

The avian flapped its wings languidly as it eyed the levitating boy. A song filled the ruined shop, one that told of cold, frigidness, the extinction of life and the emptiness of death. But at the same time, it sang of the beauty of ice and snow under sunlight, of cold wind, and the magnificence of the Aurora Borealis that danced in the night sky. Contrasting and contradicting, but no less poignant and soulful.

Ollivander was so moved by the song that he failed to see several snowflakes break away from the avian and embed themselves into Harry’s wand at each end of the vine filigree. The avian roared loudly, shaking the shop and sending trembles down his old bones. It unfurled its wings to full span, and it’s form began to sparkle and shine. It then seemed to burst into an orb of icy-blue light. It shot straight into Harry, and for the briefest of seconds, wings appeared to sprout out from the lad’s back as the shop shook with an outburst of energy akin to a small explosion.

And just like that, the wind began to slow, and the burst of snowflakes stopped. What snow that still remained in the air was now falling to the floor in gentle cascades. Harry himself slowly descended back to the ground, his hair falling back down his shoulders and body.

Ollivander slowly crept towards Harry with great trepidation, “Mr. Potter, a-are you alright?”

Harry didn’t respond, but the icy-blue glow that shrouded his eyes faded away. The old wand-maker bit back a gasp.

“Sorry...what did you say?”

“A-Are you alright?”

Harry looked down at his hands, one still holding his wand, “I...can’t completely say yes. But...it feels like something has changed.”

Ollivander nodded, “You certainly look like it, Mr. Potter.”

“What do you mean?”

The wand-maker conjured a mirror, “See it for yourself.”

Harry took it, and peered at his reflection. His eyes widened in surprise.

The emerald irises were once desaturated and cold. Now, they appeared to be glowing, and they were evenly split between emerald-green and icy-blue like the yin-yang symbol. Additionally, his long black hair now had a snow-white streak running down the length, as were several strands of his fringe.

“I...how?”

“I too have no concrete answers, Mr. Potter. However, I can guess that it had to do with that enormous avian that shot right into you.”

“You saw it too?”

“Oh absolutely, Mr. Potter. In fact, it caused quite a bit of devastation to my little shop, as you can see.”

Harry looked around, grimacing at the wrecked remnants of the shop. Shelves were nothing more than splintered wood, lanterns were strewn around, and wands littered the floor. 

“Fuck...my apologies, Mr. Ollivander. Let me cover the costs of repair.”

Ollivander shook his head, “No need to trouble yourself, Mr. Potter. All of this can easily be repaired. And besides, it’s been far too long since I last cleaned the shop. You did me an immense favour by giving me a head-start. I thank you for that. Also, perhaps more importantly, your wand is in good working order.”

Harry nodded, gazing down at it.

“Also, Mr. Potter, this is something you should know. Unlike all of the wands I have previously made, your wand does not have the required Ministry trace in it. Also, since it is made up of precious stones instead of wood, spells like priori incantato will be impossible to cast. And, as you are connected to your wand by blood, your wand cannot be summoned by others, nor can expelliarmus work against you. It is your lifelong partner, so treat it well.”

“I will, swear on my heart,” said Harry, “How much do I owe you for the wand?”

“Every wand carries the same price - seven galleons.”

“Surely this masterpiece warrants a bigger sum?” Harry raised an eyebrow.

Ollivander remained steadfast, “As I said, seven galleons. That is the only price I will accept. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Harry understood that there was no point haggling with the man, “Very well.” He fished out seven gold coins and gave them to Ollivander.

“Thank you, Mr. Potter. As a parting gift, I took the liberty of purchasing a wand holster for you,” Ollivander snapped his fingers and the holster appeared in his hands, “We wouldn’t want you to spell your buttocks off by accident now, do we?”

“I thank you for your foresight and generosity, Mr. Ollivander,” Harry nodded, taking the holster and wrapping it around his waist. Once secured, he slipped his new wand into the holder.

“Oh the pleasure is all mine, Mr. Potter,” the wand-maker smiled, “It has been most fruitful doing business with you.”

“Likewise, Mr. Ollivander. I’ll take my leave now.”

“Take care.”

Harry whistled, and Eira returned to his shoulder. With a parting nod, he stepped back into the busy street outside. Envisioning his room in his head, Harry spun on his heel and apparated away with a crack. Watching him disappear, Ollivander turned back to his ruined shop.

He’ll have to change the sign at the door to ‘Closed All Day, Be Back Tomorrow’. This was going to take the rest of the day to sort out.

To Be Continued.

Chapter Text

The first of September dawned upon the dreary streets and buildings of Peckham with no fanfare.

Inside his room, Harry was making final checks to ensure that everything was packed inside his trunk - books, robes, Muggle stationary, the lot. Eira was conspicuously absent, already halfway up the British Isles in the direction towards the Scottish Highlands.

Nodding to himself, Harry closed his trunk. Casting a feather-weight charm and shrinking spell on it, he slipped his trunk into his pocket. Harry left his room, turning off the light as he went. Heading for the living room, he cleared his throat sharply, getting the attention of the Muggle hooligans gathered in the room.

“Everyone, listen up. I’m about to depart to my new school. I won’t be coming back until Christmas, but even in my absence, I expect everyone to remember the rules I laid down. I do not wish to have to resort to whatever I have to do if I find out that any one of you has broken them, but I will not hesitate to do so if you force my hand. Am I clear?”

“Yes, Boss!”

“Good, then I’ll see you in December.”

Harry turned on his heel and headed into the bathroom, leaving the teens to resume whatever they were doing. Staring at his reflection in the mirror, Harry gave his appearance a look-over. He had his long hair pulled back and tied up in a top-knot ponytail, leaving his forehead exposed. Harry never had to worry about other magical people recognising him, that Merlin-damned scar hadn’t been a problem for the past four years.

Well, it couldn’t be a problem if it wasn’t there anymore, could it?

Threading his fingers down the cascading locks, he eyed the stripe of blond hair contrasting to his natural black. Even a week in, he was still unused to seeing the break in his natural hair colour. But he had to admit that it did look good on him, as with his eyes now half icy-blue.

If anything, his appearance was a stark contrast to what the magical public perceived the Boy-Who-Lived to look like. It would serve him well until he was ready to present himself.

Nodding to himself, Harry stepped out of the bathroom and beelined back into his room, locking the door behind him. He released a breath, feeling the emerald pendant tucked under his shirt.

‘Jacob, wish me luck. I’m going to need it.’

Harry closed his eyes, and pictured the outside of King’s Cross in his mind. Spinning on his heel, he apparated with a crack .  

Three seconds later, he popped back into existence in an alley in London. Brushing down his shirt and pants, Harry emerged into the daylight. Kings Cross station was just across the road. Harry joined the flow of human traffic headed for the station, blending in with the crowds. Entering the station proper, he surveyed the busy main entrance hall a bit.

One of the things he never understood about the journey to Hogwarts was why proper meals were not served on board. Yes, he heard of the snack-cart, but that was far from enough. It was a long train-ride up to Scotland, usually taking the better part of the day to cover. While parents could easily pack lunch for their kids (if they even did so in the magical world), shouldn’t Hogwarts cover that?

But then again, he wasn’t a sweet-tooth, so there’s that to consider.

Harry spent a few minutes looking around for an eatery to buy his lunch from. Spotting a Japanese restaurant, he went inside and emerged with two large bento boxes, each meant to be shared between two people. 

Taking the escalators down to the muggle platforms, Harry searched for Platform Nine. Weaving through the throngs of people moving and rushing about, he turned his attention to the wide stone colonnade separating Platforms Nine and Ten. He made no move, his eyes closed. The memory of Jacob bringing him here when he was six played in his mind. He remembered running through the barrier hand-in-hand with Jacob, and looking around in repressed awe at the magical platform and the magnificent locomotive that was the Hogwarts Express. He also remembered Jacob telling him that he’ll be boarding that train in several years, which brought him back to the present day, standing in front of the gateway between magic and Muggle, carrying two bento boxes.

Harry opened his eyes, and made sure that no one was watching him. Taking a running start, the world disappeared into brief darkness, and the slightly unpleasant sensation of being squeezed through a bottleneck. A few seconds later, light returned, and Harry emerged into Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.

It was the same as when he visited five years ago. Architecture-wise, the platform was built similar to its muggle counterparts. The difference lay with the magnificent red and black locomotive that was the Hogwarts Express, steam billowing out and spreading across the platform like fog. Everywhere Harry looked, life was abuzz with parents hugging and bidding their children farewell, people boarding the long line of carriages behind the steam engine, others just hanging around talking to one another or doing their own solitary business. Overhead, owls flew around, and Harry spotted many a cat wandering the platform.

Harry glanced at the clock hanging from the wall - another hour to go before the Express was to depart for Hogwarts. No reason to not board the train now, better be early than late.

He weaved through the crowd, beelining towards the second carriage behind the engine. As he was climbing the steps to board the carriage, Harry heard laughter from somewhere on the platform. Normally, he would have just dismissed it as background noise on the bustling platform, but it was the tone of the laughter that made him pause, and frown.

It wasn’t of joking or happiness. It was mocking and derisive.

He turned back. Not too far from him, was a deep mocha-skinned girl no more his age with long, untamed bushy hair. She was dragging her obviously-heavy trunk towards the first carriage with great difficulty. She paused before the steps, her eyes filled with worry and unshed tears over how she was going to lug her trunk up into the carriage. From Harry’s observation, she was Muggleborn, only just exposed to magic and having no real experience with it. Behind her standing against the wall, were three girls in Slytherin robes, upper-years they appeared. They were the ones who were laughing and pointing at the struggling girl, watching with contempt and disdain.

Harry’s frown grew darker. This would not do.

He cast a wandless feather-weight charm on the dark-skinned girl’s trunk, causing her to almost stumble forward when the dead weight suddenly gave way to lightness. Turning away from the confused girl, Harry cast three unseen incendios towards the Slytherins.

Unseen spell-casting was one of Harry’s inventions under his training with Jacob. It was especially useful in duelling, since Harry could fire multiple spells at once, some hidden. Then while his opponent was distracted deflecting the visible spells, the unseen ones could land hits before they could react.

The invisible balls of fire hit the Slytherins’ robes and hair, igniting with an audible whoosh .

Screams quickly brought all activity on the platform to a halt as the girls flailed about in terror, the fire consuming their hair and robes like a hungry beast. In their panic, they completely forgot how to use their wands to put out the flames. A porter had to do the job for them, but his aguamenti spell came out too strong, not only forcefully extinguishing the fires but also blasting the three girls into the wall behind them. 

Worried crowds began to form around the three girls. Their soaked robes were falling to pieces and what little remained of their hair nothing more than smouldering, dripping wisps. A truly pitiful, if ridiculous look, Harry remarked, made worse when the girls burst into tears.

Rolling his eyes at their wails, Harry glanced at the horrified bushy-haired girl, before climbing up into the carriage.

Closing the door behind him, Harry traversed down the corridor for an empty compartment to claim as his own. He had no desire to interact with anyone during the journey, nor did he want to be in the same confinement with a stranger who he didn’t trust to not try anything funny with him. The problem was, it seemed that every compartment in the second carriage was taken. Harry could see students in groups gathered in the compartments, some pairs, trios, while other compartments revealed only one occupant inside.

Harry sighed. Next carriage it was.

He tried his luck again. At first, it appeared that the third carriage had all compartments occupied too. Then, he hit the jackpot. At the end of the carriage, was an empty compartment.

Perfect.

Harry slid the door open, stepped inside, and closed the door behind him. Putting the bento boxes down on the plush upholstered seats, he cast a locking charm on the door, followed by transfiguring a few sheets of paper from his trunk into curtains that he hung and closed over the windows facing the corridor and the one overlooking the platform.

Once done, Harry slipped back into his trunk to choose a book to read. There was still an hour before the Express left, and then there’s the journey, after all.

The sound of the train’s whistling across the platform was loud enough to interrupt Harry’s reading on the different properties and usage of Ashwinder Eggs, a key ingredient in the creation of Felix Felicis . It was an interesting read if one were to overlook the boring theory and technical jargon, but Harry had no intention of skipping potentially important information. A lot of wizarding texts and recipes on potion-making had a plethora of errors and steps, that after some investigating and research, were found to be redundant or had the potential to be improved. Growing up, Harry made it a hobby to find whatever potions texts he could get his hands on, and make alterations to the recipes based on his knowledge of potion-making and any discoveries he had made so far.

Putting his book down, Harry peeked out of the window through the curtain. The people on the platform - mainly parents or legal guardians - were waving goodbye, some with handkerchiefs. Several had tears in their eyes, but others were treating the occasion as if it was something routine and nothing to really cry over.

Harry leaned back into his seat and continued reading. The chugging of pistons pushed the train forwards out of the station. Muggle London zipped past as the train picked up speed. Within an hour, the Express had left London for the long trek up to Scotland.

For the next hour after, Harry was undisturbed. He finished the two bento boxes when he started to get peckish, vanishing the trash before returning to his book. A few minutes later, came the sound of wheels being pushed down the corridor. It stopped right outside his compartment, followed by knocking. Harry put down his book, wandlessly undid the lock and opened the door.

“Yes?”

“Good afternoon, dear!” a kindly old woman smiled, “Anything off the trolley for you?”

Harry eyed the three-tiered trolley with a critical look. It was stacked high with just about every confection and sweet the magical world had to offer. Sure, there were a few items that resembled proper food (like the pumpkin pasties that he didn’t quite like, far too sweet for his taste), but they were barely seen over the mounds of sugary toothache-inducing monstrosities that were sure to give him diabetes simply for looking at them for too long. Furthermore, he had just finished enough food for four people. There wasn’t going to be much space in his stomach for anything more until dinner time when he arrived at Hogwarts.

“No thank you,” Harry shook his head politely, “I’ve just eaten.”

“No worries, dear,” the woman nodded, pushing the cart away from the compartment. 

Once she was gone, Harry slid the door shut, locked it, and returned to his reading.

He got half an hour in and was just getting to the dangers of using dittany stalks in the wrong potions when someone started knocking on the compartment door again. Harry tried to ignore the incessant noise, which only grew louder and more insistent the longer he left it. Stifling a groan, Harry transfigured his clothes into Ravenclaw robes, before unlocking the door and opening it.

“Yes?”

At the doorway, stood a lanky redhead with freckles spanning his face. He was dressed in second-hand robes, had a bit of dirt on his nose, and a rat was perched on his shoulders. He looked a bit disappointed seeing Harry inside.

“Is it true? Harry Potter is on the train?”

Harry did not hesitate, “No.” He wandlessly closed the door on the redhead’s face, locking it right after.

He heard the muffled “Stupid prat” behind the door, and footsteps stalking away. Harry rolled his eyes, and went back to his reading.

One hour later (including a brief moment to peek outside the window to view the scenery - lush fields and animals abound), someone came knocking again. Hoping it was not the redhead from earlier, Harry unlocked the door for the third time and opened it.

“Yes?”

It was the same dark-skinned, bushy-haired girl whom he helped back at the platform.

“Excuse me, but did you happen to see a toad wandering around? It belongs to a boy named Neville Longbottom.”

At the back of his mind, Harry thought that the name Longbottom sounded a bit familiar. Outwardly, he shook his head to the girl’s question, “No, I haven’t seen it. Sorry.”

“I see. Thanks anyway,” the girl was about to close the door when she suddenly remembered something, “Oh by the way, is it true that Harry Potter is on the train with us? I heard others speculating around the compartments.”

“Even if he was, I don’t care,” said Harry simply.

“But how could you not? He defeated You-Know-Who!”

“I’m not denying that,” Harry replied, a tinge of steel filtering into his voice, “But if Potter wants his privacy, you should have the decency to respect that.”

The girl looked a bit affronted at that, but that was quickly replaced with curiosity when she eyed the book Harry was reading. 

“What are you reading?”

Harry bit back an irritated sigh, “I’m trying to get some studying done.”

“Really? What are you studying?” she asked as she slipped into the compartment, closed the door behind her, and sat down opposite from him.

Harry’s patience was beginning to wear thin, “Potions, for sixth year.”

“Really? I like reading ahead too. I mean, I had to. I’m the first in my family to have magic, you see. You couldn’t imagine the surprise when I got my Hogwarts letter and Professor McGonagall visiting and showing us magic for the first time! She transfigured one of the living room chairs into a pig and back again! Suddenly, everything made much more sense, why I was different and the weird things that kept happening to me! But I also realised that I was way behind on magical education, so I read through all my textbooks beforehand. Hopefully, I should be on par with-”

Harry’s patience dried up. He did not want to listen to the ramblings of a potential know-it-all and teacher’s pet. But short of lashing out at her like some asshole prick, he cleared his throat and gave her a pointed look, “Weren’t you supposed to help your friend find his toad?”

The girl stopped, “Oh right! I completely forgot! Please excuse me!”

She quickly rushed out, not even bothering to close the door behind her. Harry released a long sigh, wandlessly closing the door and locking it. Hopefully, he could get some peace.

Though in hindsight, he probably should have realised that that would be next to impossible. He could hear excited gossip coming from the corridor outside periodically. And more often than not, his name was the primary topic. Sometimes, he would see the silhouettes of peepers trying to peer through the curtained windows. And things came to a head half an hour later when someone pounded against the compartment door as if trying to break in.

Harry would have ignored the incessant noise, but the door was already shaking from the strength of the pounding. Not wanting to be held liable for damage to school property, he wandlessly opened the door just as the pounding resumed, causing whoever it was that was banging their fist against the door to stumble into the compartment.

He was unimpressed by the sight. The boy was no older than him (probably), and he looked extremely brutish and oafish. And if Harry had to guess, the boy lacked basic intelligence to go with the troll-like look. Come to think of it, maybe he was descended from a troll?

“How may I help you?”

From outside, a unpleasantly-familiar voice said, “Crabbe, pick yourself up this instant.”

Harry inwardly groaned. He didn’t want to deal with the bastard, but looks like he had no choice in this.

The boy, Crabbe, slowly pulled himself up, just as a shorter boy with slicked-back platinum-blond hair and sharp features stepped inside the compartment, followed by another brutish oaf which made Harry wonder if he and Crabbe were brothers.

His attention though, was on the blonde, or rather, Draco Malfoy. Harry had to repress the look of contempt that was threatening to break his neutral mask.

“They are saying that Harry Potter is on the train,” the Malfoy scion drawled, “Are you him?”

Harry deadpanned him, “Does it look like I am Harry Potter to you? I’m a sixth-year Ravenclaw.”

Malfoy scrutinised him. He had become suspicious when he and his goons chanced upon a compartment that somehow had curtains obscuring the windows while others didn’t. But at the same time, while the black hair and emerald irises seemed like dead giveaways, the white stripe running down the long hair, lack of spectacles and scar and the blue halves of his irises seemed to refute the notion. Plus, the person before him spoke in a baritone voice, and was far too muscular and tall for an eleven-year-old.

Add that he was in Ravenclaw robes and holding a rather thick book on potions ingredients made the blonde believe his suspicions were wrong. 

“My apologies. Crabbe, Goyle, we’re going.”

Both oafish lumps grunted, furthering Harry’s belief that they were related and had troll blood in their ancestry. Once the trio had gone, Harry sighed in relief. He wanted nothing to do with the Malfoy scion, not buying into that pureblood nonsense and blatant bigotry the spoiled heir was practically oozing from his body language.

He had also reached his limit with people barging into his personal space. So once the door slid closed, Harry locked it and wandlessly cast a Muffliato on the door and adjacent windows, blocking out any sound coming from the corridor.

Once done, Harry went back to his reading.

“The Express will be approaching Hogsmeade Station in fifteen minutes ,” an automated voice crackled from a speaker overhead, “All students, please leave your trunks and other belongings on the train and prepare for disembarkation. Thank you.”

Harry conjured a bookmark and slipped it between the pages where he had been reading halfway before the announcement interrupted. Closing the book, Harry stepped back down into his trunk to stow it away. Stepping into the clothing compartment, he cancelled the transfiguration of the Ravenclaw robes. He pulled a plain black Hogwarts robe and tie (they’ll change into his house colours once he had been sorted) and put them on. Smoothing down his robes in front of a mirror, Harry turned on his heel and stepped back up into the carriage to wait for the train to arrive at the station.

Peering out through the window, he noted that the last vestiges of sunlight was already disappearing behind the horizon. Night had almost taken over, and he could barely see anything other than the stars twinkling in the backdrop of silhouettes that resembled trees.

Harry could feel the train already slowing as it reached its destination. The chugging of the pistons became more drawn out before stopping entirely, followed by one long whistle as built-up steam was released from the engine. Harry cancelled the Muffliato on the door, allowing the chatter of students to permeate the compartment. Harry waited until the voices started to thin out a bit before exiting his compartment and joining his schoolmates in alighting from the train.

The sudden onset of dropping early-autumn temperatures would have made most students shiver and either huddle in groups to maintain body heat or utilise warming charms to stave off the cold. For Harry though, he felt nothing as he stepped onto the platform.

Hogsmeade Station held no candle to the grandeur of Kings Cross and Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. In fact, it seemed to literally hold only a few candles in metal lanterns that were failing to keep away the darkness descending upon the world. It was so dim that Harry could hear squeals, shouts and verbal curses from people accidentally tripping others, bumping into strangers, or stepping on each others’ robes. For Harry though, this was just a similar crowd situation like in Diagon Alley. He just artfully weaved his way through his fellow schoolmates.

Harry noted that most of the students were headed for the carriages pulled by thestrals (and yes, he could see the deathly creatures). But he knew that wasn’t where he was supposed to go.

“Firs’ years! Firs’ years! All firs’ years to me!”

Harry spotted a towering giant of a man with so much hair on his head and beard that it almost concealed his face, holding a lantern high up. Recognising him as Rubeus Hagrid, gamekeeper of Hogwarts, Keeper of the Keys and the one who dumped him on his relatives’ doorstep ten years prior, Harry cast a modified disillusionment charm over himself, which made his presence unremarkable. He slipped to the back of the group of first years surrounding the man, where he was apparently the last to do so. Hagrid seemed to be looking for someone (Harry didn’t need to guess who that person was), and for a moment, a stricken expression broke his professional mask, before it was gone.

“Ev’ryone here? Follow me then. All firs’ years follow me, and mind the ground!”

Hagrid led the group of students down a very steep and muddy slope, made worse by what little light the lantern produced. Harry had no problems maintaining his step, but his fellow first-years were not so fortunate. Again, squeals and curses echoed as students slipped and stumbled on the uneven ground.

‘Has no one ever thought about making proper steps or installing railings?’ Harry wondered to himself, seeing a young boy fall on his bum.

Eventually, the ground evened out as the group approached the edges of a large body of water, small waves flowing and receding against a number of small boats sitting idly, waiting to be boarded. Harry couldn’t see anything beyond a few feet from the water’s edge, thanks to a blanket of dense mist that shrouded the beyond like a veil.

“No mor’ th’n four to a boat!”

Harry waited for the rest of the first years to take their places on the boats, before sliding into the last empty boat available.

Hagrid got into his own boat in front of the pack. He then commanded, “Forwards!”

There was a slight rumble as the boats, on their own accord, pushed off from the ground into the water with rippling splashes. Harry relaxed in his seat, silently enjoying the crisp, moist air as the boats entered the veil of mist. For several moments, all that could be seen was condensed water vapour. But as the mist began to clear, a truly magnificent sight appeared before the awed first-years.

Against the backdrop of the starry night sky, Hogwarts Castle loomed large, tall and proud over the mountain it was constructed on. The castle had countless turrets and towers, windows alight from lanterns or candlelight. If the Muggles could see the castle, it would be described as something right out of a medieval fairy tale.

Unlike the rest of the first-years, who were ‘oohing’ and ‘ahhing’ over the castle’s splendour, Harry was unimpressed. Sure, Hogwarts was imposing with its scale and all, but it was ultimately just a plain stone castle. He remembered visiting the beautifully-constructed architecture of the Château de Beauxbatons in southern France where the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic was housed with Jacob when he was eight. The sprawling gardens, fountains, marble columns, luxurious fittings and crystal chandeliers told Harry stories of sophistication, life and grandness. Hogwarts in comparison was just dead and dreary.

Harry sighed, turning away his attention from the approaching castle to the lake. Leaning slightly over, he let his fingers dip into the cool water, the moving boat leaving a small trail of ripples behind his submerged fingers.

He had to admit, it was quite relaxing.

Harry jolted, the soothing feeling suddenly broken when something smooth wrapped around his fingers. He peered into the water. It was a large tentacle, connected to a massive cephalopod-like creature that was swimming in pace with the boats. The coos of delight from the other first-years became screams of terror when they noticed what was following them just below the surface.

Harry relaxed, it was just the Giant Squid.

Ignoring the screams and Hagrid shouting for them to remain calm, Harry ran his thumb over the smooth tentacle, waiting for the squid to respond in turn. It replied by wrapping its tentacle around his hand and squeezing affectionately, clearly happy that here was a human that wasn’t terrified by its massive size. Another tentacle emerged from the water, inciting more screams. Harry didn’t even blink as the tentacle cupped his cheek, the suction gently pulling at the skin. He suppressed a grin when the tentacle pulled away, reaching further up to play with his hair, not really caring that he was getting wet from the squid’s affection. 

Even as water splashed down his head and soaked his robes, Harry allowed a tiny smirk when the squid booped his nose with its tentacle. Then, it pulled away. The boats were nearing the castle, and it had to return to the lake. The squid waved to Harry, who returned the gesture with a parting wave of his own. The tentacles disappeared into the water as the squid swam off.

Leaning back into the boat, Harry wordlessly casted a heating spell over himself to dry off, when Hagrid at the front suddenly commanded them to duck. The boats were entering a tunnel with long vines hanging over the entrance. Harry copied his fellow first-years in ducking low, but since he was taller than pretty much all of them, he still felt the vines brush over him as his boat entered the tunnel last. At least they weren’t wet.

The boats pulled up against a small wooden dock whose supports were covered in barnacles, and everyone disembarked. The first years were then made to wait on the dock while Hagrid climbed up a short flight of stone steps and pounded against the large wooden door at the top.

The door opened, and at the doorway stood a stern-looking witch with graying hair tied into a tight bun, dressed primly in dark-green tartan robes and wearing a crooked pointy hat that reminded those who were aware of muggle culture of stereotypical witch hats.

“The firs’ years are here, Professor McGonagall, but I don’ see ‘im amongst ‘em!”

McGonagall, to her credit, maintained her stern demeanour even as Hagrid looked ready to break down into tears.

“Calm yourself, Hagrid. Did you do a headcount?”

Hagrid sniffled, “Y-Yes, Professor. I made sure th’ number matched up an’ all…”

McGonagall gave the gamekeeper a pointed look. It took a moment, but realisation eventually dawned on Hagrid’s face. The would-be tears stopped, and the towering man seemed much more relaxed.

“Everything will be cleared up during the Sorting,” said the Scottish witch, “You’re free to join the feast now, Hagrid.”

Allowing a happier Hagrid to enter first, she turned to the waiting first-years, “Everyone, follow me.”

McGonagall turned around and walked into the Entrance Hall with poised dignity. The group of students quickly followed after her, only stopping before her and a large set of double doors.

She turned to face them, and spoke imperiously, “Good evening to you all, first-years, and welcome to the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I am Professor Minerva McGonagall. In a short moment we will be entering the Great Hall where you will be sorted into your respective houses. In Hogwarts, we have four houses, namely Gryffindor, Slytherin, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. As students, your house will be your family. Your triumphs here will earn you house-points, and any transgressions will cost you points. The house at the end of the school year with the most points wins the House Cup. Now, wait here, the Sorting ceremony will begin shortly.”

With that, McGonagall slipped back into the Great Hall. The moment the doors closed, conversation resumed between the first-years.

Harry maintained his disillusionment charm and stayed silent. It was also at that moment that Malfoy decided to speak and poison the atmosphere.

“Did you see that pathetic oaf? He looked ready to cry because his golden “Boy-Who-Lived” isn’t at Hogwarts! I don’t understand the frenzy, Harry Potter wasn’t even on the Express! And I think I know why,” eyes were turned towards the blonde ponce, “It’s simple really, and I should have realised this earlier. Harry Potter is dead! I mean, how can a one-year-old baby destroy the Dark Lord?”

Harry pushed down the urge to publicly refute Malfoy’s claims. He figured, let the idiot dig himself into his grave. He’ll push all the soil back into the grave when it is his turn to be sorted. For now though, he’ll not draw attention to himself.

“You’re a liar, Malfoy!” a honey-blond girl Harry recognised as Susan Bones declared hotly, “Just like your Death-Eater father!”

Malfoy sneered, “Well then, where in Merlin’s most holy name is Potter then? No one has seen him since he supposedly vanquished the Dark Lord. Even the Minister has no clue where he is. I should know, since he comes over for visits all the time.”

The dirt-on-nose redheaded boy who came to Harry’s compartment retaliated, “Dumbledore knows where Harry Potter is! And of course he won’t tell anyone his location! It’s to keep him safe from slimy snakes like you and the scum you call your family!”

Harry braced himself for a full-blown argument to take place when several first-years started screaming and pointing towards the ceiling. Looking up, he was just in time to see a whole parade of ghosts fly above them before phasing through the wall into the Great Hall. If he wanted to be honest, ghosts never really intrigued him that much. They were just a continuation of the people they were after death who didn’t want to move on to their next life just yet. And he wasn’t one to poke his head into other people’s business unless the need required.

As the last ghost disappeared, McGonagall reappeared, forcing everyone’s attention back on her.

“Everyone, form two lines, and follow me. We will begin the Sorting ceremony.”

There was a bit of a scramble to form the ordered lines, Harry shifted backwards to put himself at the end of the line, next to a stoic dark-skinned boy with a shaved head. Satisfied, McGonagall pushed the doors open, and led the two lines of first-years into the Great Hall.

Harry’s expression remained completely blank, an outlier amidst the looks of awe from the other first-years as they marvelled at the immense hall, the thousands of floating candles and the enchanted ceiling made to reflect the night sky outside. He quietly observed the older students sitting in their respective house tables, watching them all with either curiosity or nonchalance. Harry turned away from the stares, looking straight ahead at the head table. He barely stopped the scowl when his eyes flitted over Dumbledore, instead focusing his attention towards the pointy wizard’s hat on a stool right in front of the table.

Having heard from Jacob about the Sorting years ago, Harry was the only first-year who didn’t express surprise when a face formed itself on the hat’s creases and folds, and it began to sing it’s traditional song which Harry couldn’t be bothered to listen to. After the hat had finished and the assembled students finished their polite applause, McGonagall produced a scroll from thin air.

“Abbott, Hannah!”

‘We’re going by alphabetical order of family name…’ Harry remarked to himself, as the pigtailed blonde went up and sat down on the stool. The hat was placed on her head, and within three seconds, came “HUFFLEPUFF!”.

The list continued. Susan Bones went to Hufflepuff. Crabbe and Goyle went to Slytherin. The dark-skinned, bushy-haired girl whom he had helped and spoke to earlier on the train (whose name was Hermione Granger) sat on the stool for a minute or so before she was sorted into Gryffindor. Neville Longbottom, whom Harry believed is of Hispanic descent, was eventually sorted into Gryffindor too, but after five minutes in the stool looking absolutely terrified. The pudgy boy was so desperate to get up that he almost took the hat with him, if not for McGonagall’s quick reflexes. After that little hiccup, the sorting continued. The hat had not even touched Malfoy’s head when it sorted the scion to Slytherin. As the names moved on to the ‘P’s, Harry watched as two Indian twins, Parvati and Padma Patil, went their separate ways to Gryffindor and Ravenclaw respectively.

Finally, McGonagall called out, “Potter, Harry!”

Whatever conversation happening at that moment died as his name was announced. The entire hall was staring at the remaining first-years, some craning their necks or standing up on the benches to get their first glimpse of the Boy-Who-Lived. Up on the staff table, Dumbledore was watching the unfolding scene with a small grin, his eyes twinkling madly behind his half-moon spectacles.

Harry released a breath. This was it. The moment where everything led up to. It was his turn now.

He cancelled the disillusionment charm, and stepped forward. There was a noticeable shift in the atmosphere, one primarily of surprise and confusion.

“Is that really him?”

“He’s so tall! How is he taller than the others?!”

“How...how is he so muscular?”

“There’s no scar…”

“Is he really only eleven?”

Up at the head table, all the staff were staring at Harry in bewilderment. They too had not expected such a well-built young man to step forward towards the stool. Dumbledore, especially, was concerned. Something was not right here.

Harry sat down. A few seconds passed, and no Hat was placed over his head.

“Professor McGonagall, do you mind?”

The Scottish witch was snapped out of her stupor by Harry’s baritone voice. Composing herself, she quickly placed the Sorting Hat over his head. Harry wrinkled his nose slightly, the hat smelled of dust, as if it hadn’t been cleaned for years.

“I’ll have you know, Mr. Potter, that the smell is just from age, not a lack of hygiene!”

‘It is good to finally meet you in person, Aldrich’, Harry thought.

The Hat went silent.

“H...How did you know...? Only-”

‘Only the Founders and the headmaster know your true name? Surely Godric’s descendant should also know as well, right?’ 

“G-Godric’s descendant?! Y-You don’t mean…”

‘Have a look into me, Aldrich’, Harry continued, ‘See for yourself.’

The Hat was silent for a few moments.

“Goodness me. Oh goodness me! Sweet Merlin’s beard! Mr. Potter, you’re Godric’s heir!”

‘Yes, that I am.’

“I-I can’t believe it! After many centuries, the blood of a Founder returns to Hogwarts! Heir Potter, may I have the honour of being the first to welcome you?"

‘Yes Aldrich, thank you, but please pull yourself together. Aren’t you going to sort me too?’

“Right, right, yes, Heir Potter, right away,” the Hat quickly composed itself, “Right...where to put you…”

Three minutes would passed in bated silence. The students began whispering to one another in confusion. Why was the Boy-Who-Lived taking so long to be sorted? Shouldn’t he be in Gryffindor by now?

“I find myself in a conundrum, Heir Potter.”

‘What do you mean?’

“By right, being the heir of Gryffindor should automatically place you in the house of the brave. But curiously, you have great spades of cunning and ruthlessness too. Slytherin would be another choice, but then, you have a desire for knowledge that goes beyond the simple love for learning. Ravenclaw fits, but you want to acquire knowledge not only to protect yourself and others, but to shake the foundations of everything that can be taught. And you have a strong sense of loyalty and justice too. Helga’s house also fits your mould. But you are only loyal to yourself, and your justice often leads to violence and destruction when forced that way.”

‘It’s your choice, Aldrich.’

The Hat was silent for another moment, “I remember something that dear old Helga said when she and the others were building this very school.”

‘What is it?’

“Godric desired the brave and noble. Salazar favoured cunning and ambition. Rowena wanted intelligence, wit and a desire to learn. But Helga stood out. She favoured not a single trait, she said that she will take them all.”

‘I honestly can’t be bothered about where you place me, Aldrich.’

The Hat nodded, “Very well, Harry Potter, heir of Gryffindor and twice-prophesied one. May your endeavours succeed, and your adversaries cower before you. Better be HUFFLEPUFF!”

To Be Continued.

Chapter Text

“Very well, Harry Potter, heir of Gryffindor and twice-prophesied one. May your endeavours succeed. Better be HUFFLEPUFF!”

You could have heard a pin drop.

The Great Hall had gone as silent as a graveyard. Many were checking their ears, believing that they had heard wrongly. Or were considering consulting a mind-healer, for surely they must be hallucinating, right?

Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, the slayer of Voldemort, saviour of magical Britain, and last of the Potters - a family who had always graced the halls of Hogwarts under the banner of the lion in red and gold; had just been sorted into Hufflepuff. A house that many believed had no real standing in Hogwarts, where the weak and inconsequential were cast aside to be forgotten. Many believed that there must be some mistake. A great person like Harry Potter would never be associated with lowly badgers…

...right?

From her seat at the head table, Pomona Sprout was completely stunned. She had expected the Potter lad to go to either Gryffindor or Ravenclaw. But for him to be sorted into her own House...surely there must be some sort of prank going on? Did someone cast a Confundus on the Hat? Her sentiment was shared amongst her colleagues, and virtually every student watching the momumental occasion happening before them.

For his part, Harry was nonchalant about the stares he was getting from every occupant in the Great Hall. The Hat seemed to find a strange sort of relish from the blanket of shock.

“I must say, never in my entire existence has my declaration caused complete speechlessness.”

Harry hummed non-committedly.

“I would be off with you, normally. But there is something you must be given first.”

Harry was going to ask what it was when he felt something hit his head from inside the hat. Reaching his hand into the magical relic, his fingers closed around what seemed like a handle made of metal. Standing up from the stool, and using his other hand to lift the hat off his head a bit, Harry pulled whatever he was holding out of the Hat.

There was a sharp glint of light, and the sound of metal ringing sharply. Gasps echoed throughout the hall as Harry brandished an extremely deadly, beautiful sword made of pure silver. The handle was elegantly carved and imbued with large rubies that glistened like pools of fresh blood under the candlelight. Just below the hilt, the name Godric Gryffindor was carved.

Now, the Hat spoke openly, “Your bloodline allows you your birthright. Wear it with pride, Heir Potter. Hogwarts recognises you as the Heir of Gryffindor this wonderful night, and she celebrates your glorious return to her ancient walls!”

A thunderous clang of a bell being struck rang across the Great Hall, startling everyone (sans Harry) and rattling everything that wasn’t nailed down, followed by a volley of smaller bells tolling in a harmony of celebration.

“Honour your ancestor’s memory, Heir Potter, by donning the scabbard worn by Godric himself when he was alive!”

Shimmering lights appeared from thin air, coalescing over the stool. A scabbard, as new as the day it was made over a thousand years prior, infused with rubies cut into four-sided diamonds of varying sizes running in a pattern along the shoulder-strap. The scabbard lifted off the stool, and flew towards Harry. It wrapped itself around his body, allowing him to sheath the sword across his back. At the same time, the magic of Hogwarts shimmered yellow into his black school robes and tie, the crest of Hufflepuff swirling into appearance on his left chest.

“Take care, great and good Heir! The horizon may seem clear at the moment, but the weather can change as suddenly as life. Be careful, and do good for your brethren.”

Harry nodded, “I promise, good Aldrich.” He placed the Hat back on the stool, and trooped down towards the Hufflepuff table. He took a seat next to Susan Bones and Hannah Abbott, and only then did he realise that everyone in the hall was still staring at him.

“What?”

It was one thing for the Boy-Who-Lived to be sorted into Hufflepuff, but another thing entirely for said saviour to be a living descendant of Godric Gryffindor - a family line thought to be extinct for generations - was also his heir, and was not sorted into the House of Brave Lions. Harry’s single deadpan word was all it took to ignite the explosion.

The hall boomed with noise. Students were on their feet, shouting and pointing. The Hufflepuff table had risen in celebration, cheering that the Boy-Who-Lived was now one of their own, basking in the realisation that their house now had something worth talking about - that they were not some easily forgotten cast-offs, but proper Hogwarts students. The dirt-on-nose redhead was staring at Harry, spluttering incoherently in a mix of shock and betrayal. His twin brothers at the Gryffindor table kept repeating, “We...didn’t get Potter?” to anyone who was listening and not adding to the ruckus, while Hermione was confused and hurt. Meanwhile, at the Slytherin table, Draco was on the verge of erupting like a volcano. He had let his arrogance get the better of him. He brayed like a stupid donkey in an attempt to establish himself as the alpha male, only to get humiliated in front of his peers when Potter revealed himself, having fooled everyone (including him) with his silence.

But while he had been metaphorically slapped in the face, it didn’t mean that Draco was down for the count. He could still achieve the goal his father had set him to do when he arrived at Hogwarts - to befriend the Boy-Who-Lived and convert him towards the Dark and the purity of blood, but only if he played his cards right. So as the rest of the Great Hall descended into bedlam, the scion began plotting his approach to the Boy-Who-Lived.

At the same time, someone else was plotting in response to Harry Potter’s unexpected sorting. Albus ‘too-many-fucking-pointless-middle-names’ Dumbledore was horrified that his weapon had not gone to Gryffindor as he had planned. This was the latest in a series of worrying developments since Harry made himself known to the school. He needed to get to the bottom of things quickly, but first he needed Harry to be in the right house for him to carry out his plans.

Dumbledore raised his wand and fired an exploding charm into the air. The blast silenced all noise as eyes turned towards him.

“Everyone, calm down, there’s no need to panic and make a huge fuss. There has clearly been a mistake with young Harry’s sorting, and as headmaster, I intend to correct that at once.”

Dumbledore was sure that he could resolve the matter quickly. What he didn’t expect was for Harry to step onto the Hufflepuff table and storm up front.

“You dare attempt to subvert Aldrich’s authority, you motherfucking son of a bitch?!” his baritone voice boomed as he drew the Sword of Gryffindor at Dumbledore with a sharp ringing of metal.

A wave of gasps swept the hall. The staff were immediately on their feet, wands drawn.

“Mr. Potter! Put down that sword immediately!” McGonagall demanded.

“With all due respect, Professor McGonagall, you have no right to get involved,” Harry coldly rebuffed, “This is between me, Aldrich and the headmaster!”

“Heir Potter speaks the truth!” the Hat spoke again, “Minerva McGonagall, you are to step back unless Hogwarts decides to throw you out for unlawful interference.” It then spun on the headmaster, “Albus Dumbledore! I am appalled with your behaviour! What gave you the right to try and undermine my power?! You should be thoroughly ashamed of yourself!”

Dumbledore was visibly taken-aback by the rebuke, his shock quickly turning into outrage at being talked back to, “I am the headmaster, and I demand-”

“Only at the discretion of Hogwarts!” the Hat declared, followed by another loud clang of a bell. Hogwarts had agreed. “Magic does not bow to you, Albus Dumbledore, unlike the people of this world! So unless you have truly gone senile and your oh-so-wise memory has begun to disintegrate, I will only repeat this once for you. You have no right or say over how I sort the students, and any attempt at trying to circumvent my authority will see you locked out of your office and quite possibly forced to leave Hogwarts entirely! She has put up with you merely because you are a powerful wizard. But the moment she finds about you endangering her or any of the students in any way, or exploiting your role as headmaster for your own means, you will be booted out of her walls before you can say all your middle names at once!”

The bells clanged again for the third time, declaring the castle’s affirmation of the Hat’s warning. The magical relic gave Dumbledore one last glare, before turning back to face the school, “My decision still stands, Heir Potter will remain in Hufflepuff where he belongs!”

Relief was tangible over the badgers. For a brief second, they were worried that the sole means of boosting their reputation was about to be taken away from them. Only for Harry to not only threaten the headmaster with a deadly weapon, the Boy-Who-Lived also got away with it with no visible repercussions. 

The Hat further cemented the last belief, “Hogwarts will also nullify any sort of punishment given to Heir Potter by any staff or prefect for this incident. Heir Potter has the legal right to draw his sword on any malicious intent to his safety or others! Any attempts to subvert this notion will see the culprit permanently removed from the castle!”

And for the fourth time that evening, the bells of Hogwarts tolled in assent. Harry sheathed his sword away, and gave a firm nod to the Hat. Turning away from the head table, he stepped down and went to sit at the far end of the Hufflepuff table, putting some distance between himself and his housemates.

Nobody moved or said a word for several moments. Many were stunned that the Boy-Who-Lived now wielded more power than the headmaster himself, a man now thoroughly humiliated and shamed in front of the entire school. A good number were in awe of how majestic Harry Potter had looked, staring down his adversary with a deadly blade like a valiant warrior, and more than a few had the seeds of desire planted into their minds. Many would follow Draco’s scheming, plotting to grab a piece of the tantalising pie that was the Boy-Who-Lived.

“We will continue with the Sorting!” the Hat declared, breaking the silence.

McGonagall eventually composed herself enough to carry on with the list of names. But it was clear that the atmosphere was muted. Nothing would ever compare to the moment where Harry Potter stood down the entire staff with nothing but a sword and the Sorting Hat.

Once the last student, Blaise Zabini, had been sorted into Slytherin, the Scottish witch quickly joined her colleagues at the head table. Dumbledore, still stunned by the transpiring of events, simply waved his hand for the food to appear. 

Harry eyed the options before him with some disdain. Many of the foods served were cooked in truly unhealthy ways. The roast chicken practically oozed and dripped with oil and fat, as were many of the meat dishes available. He allowed himself a pork pie or two, but mostly filled his plate with bread and vegetables.

As he ate, his meal was often interrupted by other Hufflepuffs attempting to talk to him. Like on the Express, his patience gradually wore down as he ignored his housemates. It finally snapped when a sixth-year girl tried to chat him up with flirtatious fluttering of her eyelashes.

“Miss, I would most appreciate it if you respected my personal space and leave me alone. Otherwise, my knife will find itself with a new home within the next few seconds.”

Seeing the blade poised directly at her, the girl quickly made herself scarce, allowing him to continue eating in relative isolation. 

Just as he finished his sixth helping, all the food vanished from the table, replaced with all kinds of sugary desserts. Harry almost felt sick just from looking at the confections, so he discretely turned towards the head table to distract himself from the diabetes-inducing monstrosities.

Dumbledore and McGonagall were having a hushed, but extremely heated conversation. Sprout and Ravenclaw head-of-house Filius Flitwick were having their own sedate conversation as they ate. There were two outliers who had Harry’s focus. Greasy-haired dungeon bat, illegitimate son of a bastard house-elf and Slytherin head-of-house Severus Snape was glaring at his direction with unbridled contempt and hatred, so no surprises there. What was odd was that the turbaned professor sitting next to Snape was also glancing at him in between bites. Harry immediately filed this away for future reference, there was something innately wrong with the professor, and he needed to be vigilantly watched.

Harry turned away from the head table and helped himself to a goblet of water. Just as he put it down, all the desserts, plates, cutlery and goblets vanished. Dumbledore had once again stood up, preparing to address the school.

“Now that we are all fed and watered, we can proceed with the announcements. Our new first-years should be notified that the forest surrounding the school is absolutely forbidden to enter by any student. The rest of you should already know this by now. Secondly, Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has so kindly reminded that the list of banned items can be found pinned to his door, which by now, should have been expanded thanks to certain troublemakers,” Dumbledore glanced briefly to the redheaded twins in Gryffindor, “Thirdly, Quidditch tryouts begin next week, and any interested students should approach Madam Hooch for further instruction, though I should also mention that tryouts are only available for second-years and older. And finally, this year the right side of the third-floor corridor is barred to everyone. Anyone who chooses to ignore this warning will find themselves staring Death in the face and leaving this world in a truly painful manner.”

Already, Harry could see red flags over this warning. He filed that bit of information away for future reference.

“Right, that is all from me. Off to bed with you all, and sleep well.”

Harry rolled his eyes. Leave it to Dumbledore to say something so fleeting when he just talked about a painful death only seconds before. 

The staff stood up from the seats and moved out of the Great Hall by the side entrances. Prefects from all four houses began herding their new first-year charges together to lead them towards their respective common rooms and dormitories for the night. Harry got up from his seat and joined his fellow first-years in front of two fifth-year prefects, who introduced themselves as Gabriel Truman and Elena Cognare. After doing a quick headcount to ensure everyone was accounted for (their eyes lingered over Harry), the two prefects led the new students out of the Great Hall towards a corridor. But before they could get far, Harry heard someone call out to him.

“Heir Potter! Heir Potter!”

The entourage stopped. Harry inwardly grimaced. It was Malfoy and his goons.

“Yes?”

“I have to commend you, Heir Potter, for concealing yourself until your sorting. Truly Slytherin of you, if I must say so myself,” the bastard praised, though Harry knew right away it was far from genuine, “I am Draconis Lucius Malfoy, though most call me Draco. Even though you are in Hufflepuff, which is strange since normally all Potters go to Gryffindor, and I in Slytherin, I can foresee us becoming the best of friends. I can show you a lot of things, like how some people are much better than others. You don’t want to make friends with the wrong sort of people, now do we?”

Draco offered his hand out. Harry glanced at the proposed handshake, but his mind was already made up.  

He discreetly clenched his fist, letting his magic shoot out and grab the Malfoy scion by the collar of his robes. To the shock of his fellow Hufflepuffs, and others who just happened to be watching the scene, Draco was lifted a few feet off the ground, and quite violently thrown backwards over Crabbe and Goyle. The scion hit his head on the adjacent wall, and slid down to the floor, unconscious.

Several students screamed. Crabbe and Goyle quickly rushed to their fallen master. Harry regarded them with contempt, “When he wakes, tell the illegitimate son of a syphilitic harlot to keep his filthy hands away from me. I refuse to associate myself with the debauched offspring of bigoted, inbred terrorists who are nothing but cocksuckers to the psychopathic murderer that is Voldemort.”

Gasps echoed throughout the corridor. 

“Also, tell him that if he dares accost me again, he will face my blade without hesitation. This is his only warning.”

Without a further word, Harry turned on his heel and returned to the Hufflepuff entourage, “Can we move on, please?”

Visibly shaken by the whole incident, Gabriel and Elena quickly obliged. They herded the first-years away, many of whom were giving Harry looks of admiration and fear, all of which the Boy-Who-Lived ignored.

Down a flight of marble stairs and passing through corridors and hallways (some hidden behind tapestries and others requiring a second look to locate them), followed by another flight of stairs (this one made of stone), the prefects and first-years passed a large still-life portrait of fruit, before coming to a stop in front of a stack of barrels. At the back of his mind, Harry knew they had just passed the kitchens, before his attention turned to the prefects.

“Now, unlike the rest of the houses here in Hogwarts,” Elena told the first-years, “our common room doesn’t require the use of passwords or the correct answer to riddles in order to enter. Too much trouble remembering different words or phrases all the time.”

“What we do as Puffs is a little more unique,” Gabriel added, before turning to the barrels, “In order to enter the common room, you first need to find the right barrel, which is two from the bottom, middle of the second row.” He laid his hand on the specific barrel. The first-years nodded. “To open the doorway, you must tap the barrel in the rhythm of ‘Helga Hufflepuff’, like so.” He tapped the barrel five times, after which it opened.

“Um...what happens if you get it wrong? Or if you tap the wrong barrel by mistake?” Hannah spoke up.

“It will do you good to memorise which is the correct barrel and the correct rhythm,” Elena replied, “You don’t want to be doused in vinegar and barred entry now, would you?”

A look at his fellow first-years made it clear that they didn’t want such a fate to befall them.

Gabriel knelt down, and started to crawl through the open barrel, “Anyway, follow me everyone. Time to show you the common room.”

He crawled through the opening, disappearing from sight. Elena followed him, and one by one, the first-years followed her through the opening. Harry went in last. The tunnel appeared to be made of stone, but it was soft to the touch, like foam.

‘At least they had the foresight on this,’ Harry thought to himself, ‘Saves us the trouble of scraped palms and knees.’

The sounds of awe from his fellow first-years reached his ears before he had even entered the room proper. When he did so, he could understand why, though he didn’t see the need to be amazed as well.

The Hufflepuff common room was large and circular, with a high, domed ceiling with a glass sky-light at the centre. Directly below the sky-light, was a tall tree with hanging branches thick with foliage in a stone planter. There were other plants and flowers dotted the room, some in pots or vases, others hanging in bowls from the walls or from the ceiling. Just below the domed ceiling, circular windows were cut from the walls, with yellow curtains drawn around them. Across the room from the students, there was a fireplace with a roaring flame, a large portrait of Helga Hufflepuff and her cup hanging over it. In front of the fireplace were three overstuffed sofas dyed yellow and black, surrounding a polished wooden coffee table. Around the room, upholstered chairs and tables of the same kind of honey-coloured wood dotted the place, as were a few mahogany bookshelves. Everything was lit by candlelight, hung from metal chandeliers around the room, and from the moonlight and stars shining through from the windows.

Even if Harry wasn’t impressed as his fellow first-years, he had to admit the room had a very homely feel to it.

Gabriel then addressed the first-years with a speech about house traditions, symbolism, defining characteristics and famous past students like Newt Scamander, the entirety of which Harry couldn’t really be bothered to listen to. The prefects then dismissed the lot, but Harry had something to say.

“Everyone, listen up.”

All eyes turned to Harry.

“Let me make this clear once and for all. Just because I am in the same house as you all, that doesn’t mean you get to ingratiate yourselves to my favour. I will abide with house loyalty, and give help where it is needed, but that is all I am going to do. In simple terms, I want to be left alone. You respect my privacy, I will respect yours. Approach me for no good reason, and one warning is all that you will get before you face my blade. I sincerely hope that I don’t have to resort to threats of violence, but if you push my hand, you will get it. Am I clear?”

Normally, no first-year would ever get away with such declarations. But given that Harry towered over his fellows in height and muscle, the scary sword sheathed to his back, the fact that he stood down the entire Hogwarts staff and came out victorious and took out the scion of one of the most powerful magical families in the country without even touching him, none of the first-years (and anyone else in the room, for that matter) saw it within their interests to get on the bad side of the Boy-Who-Lived. They quickly nodded in agreement, some shrinking back from the cold, piercing gaze Harry graced them.

“Very well. I’m going to bed. Truman, where are the dorms for the boys?”

Gabriel pointed to a door on the left side of the room. Anyone who looked closely could see the prefect’s finger trembling slightly.

“Thank you.”

Turning on his heel, Harry headed for the door, and left the room. Down a set of winding stairs led to a corridor with wooden doors on both sides. Harry spotted his room (pointed out by a copper name-plate on the door with ‘POTTER’ emblazoned on it), and slipped inside.

To put things simply, it was basic. Four walls, a four-poster bed with patchwork quilts, draped with translucent yellow curtains; a dresser, an armchair, and a full-length mirror. A single circular window was charmed to view the world outside of the castle, despite the fact that the dormitories were underground. A single metal lantern burned overhead. And his trunk was sitting by the foot of the bed.

Harry opened his trunk, and stepped inside it. After a few minutes, he returned with several tagged cookbooks filled with recipes from the different immigrant communities living in Britain - Chinese, Indian, Japanese, Middle-Eastern, Korean, etc.

“Hogwarts, can you send a house-elf to my room?”

A slight rumble was the response. Then a popping sound.

“Oh great and good heir! It be Tiffy’s honour to serve your every need!”

Harry eyed the posturing house-elf, dressed in a pillow-case, with neutral professionalism. He knelt down, making the elf tremble in glee.

“So your name is Tiffy, then?”

“It is be, great and good heir!”

“Alright then, Tiffy. I need you to hear me out,” said Harry, and the elf nodded excitedly, “The food you and your comrades cooked for the Welcoming Feast was satisfactory. However, most of them were too unhealthy for me to consume. Here in these books, I have annotated several healthier meals and recipes in these books that I would like for you and your comrades to cook for me only . Can I trust that you can do it?”

Harry passed the cookbooks to Tiffy, who after leafing through for a few moments, nodded vigorously.

“Tiffy and friends can do as great and good heir says! Wes be preparing a special breakfast for you tomorrow!”

“Thank you, Tiffy. And send my regards to your comrades.”

The elf literally jumped with joy, “Oh happy day! Happy day! Great and good heir be thanking lowly Tiffy! Oh fellow elves will be so jealous! Happy day! Happy day!!!”

With a ‘pop’, Tiffy disappeared from the room, taking the cookbooks with him.

Sighing to himself, Harry stood up and brushed his robes. Undoing the scabbard and placing his sword on the dresser alongside his wand holster, he went back into his trunk to grab his toiletries. It had been a long day, and he was growing tired. The faster he could get to sleep, the better.

Meanwhile, up in the Headmaster’s office, an impromptu staff meeting prevented a certain manipulative bastard and four heads-of-houses from turning in for the night.

McGonagall, as it is, was tearing Dumbledore a new one.

“Albus, let it be absolutely clear that I do not appreciate being made a fool of in front of the entire school! Have you gone completely senile?! What part of the Hat’s authority being final and binding have you so blatantly forgotten or ignored?!”

The headmaster raised his hands placatingly, “I was merely shocked that young Harry was placed in Hufflepuff. I sincerely thought that the Hat made a mistake, especially since it has become clear that Harry is the Heir of Gryffindor. Naturally, I believed he should be in the house where his ancestor presided.”

“So you thought yourself higher than a magical artefact and that your word is law?” asked Sprout incredulously, not appreciating what Dumbledore was saying.

“And what about the sword?” Snape scowled, “We all saw how easily the brat draws it when something doesn’t go his way. Surely you’re not going to let Potter walk around the school with that deadly blade among the populace, headmaster?”

Sprout tightened her grip on her wand. Flitwick shot back, “For your information, Severus, Heir Potter is legally allowed to carry his birthright on his person in accordance with the Old Laws. And I will watch your tongue around the lad if I were you. Heir Potter is also legally allowed to challenge you to an honour duel should you besmirch his name in his presence.”

Snape sneered, “Potter is only a first-year. What harm can the brat do?”

Sprout was tempted to say many things, given the wandless magic she had seen Harry perform during their trip to Diagon Alley. But she was irritated with the potions master at the moment, and a vindictive part of her kept her mouth shut. Let the greasy bastard dig his own grave. Harry would come along and throw the dirt back in given the chance.

She believed that in a duel between Harry and Snape, Harry would emerge victorious.

Dumbledore quickly intervened before things could get ugly, “Regardless, what can we expect from young Harry, barring any prejudices?”

McGonagall spoke first, “We will treat him just like every first year. Just because he may be the Boy-Who-Lived and the Heir of Gryffindor doesn’t mean he is worthy of any special privileges or treatment. Academic-wise, it’s too early to tell, but I have a strong suspicion Mr. Potter will maintain at least above-average grades. Though what also concerns me is the apparent backing Mr. Potter has from Hogwarts. I wouldn’t be surprised if he abuses that power to have his way at the expense of others.”

Dumbledore nodded, “I’m sure young Harry will see reason and practice discretion. As you said, Minerva, we will treat him just like any regular Hogwarts student. He will understand that he will get nowhere if he tries to force his hand. Now, do we have any other concerns that need to be addressed?”

The old bastard hoped there wasn’t. Troubling developments were afoot, and he needed to get to Privet Drive as soon as possible. Luckily, none of the heads-of-houses had anything more to say, and the meeting was adjourned. Once all four had left his office, Dumbledore made preparations for his trip to Little Whinging. He had to speak with the boy’s relatives.

Little did he know the immense shock he would receive when he showed up at Number 4.

To Be Continued.

Chapter Text

Something wasn’t right.

There was wind howling, even though his room was supposed to be underground. There was no way for moving air to make its way into his room in normal circumstances. Second of all, this wasn’t some autumn breeze, it was more akin to something that one would experience in the dead of winter just before a blizzard hit.

Harry forced his eyes open.

It became immediately clear that he was not in his room. Instead of a stone ceiling, he saw the inky black of a cloudless night sky with millions of twinkling stars dotting the darkness. What appeared to be snow was falling from the heavens onto him.

He sat up, barely registering the snow falling off his untied hair. He looked around.

For miles around, was an undulating blanket of snow. Hibernating, leafless trees stood in clumps across the white landscape alongside their evergreen conifer brethren, their branches covered in more snow. This didn’t look out of place in the Siberian tundra in the middle of a long winter. 

Strangely, despite the obvious freezing temperature, Harry felt no cold, not even a chill, coursing through his body. Even the snow under his exposed skin didn’t feel cold. 

Pushing himself up, Harry’s thoughts were interrupted when he felt the snow slide down a certain part of anatomy of his lower body. He looked down, and raised an eyebrow.

Why was he stark naked? He was sure he went to sleep with a fresh pair of boxers.

…

…

Modesty aside though, he had more pressing concerns to handle. Where in Merlin’s most holy name was he?

He took a step forward. The snow was rather deep, going halfway up his calves. Walking was going to be difficult, but at this point, that was all he could think of doing. He had no idea where he was, and there was no sign of civilisation for as far as the eye could see. And even though he was somehow unaffected by what should be below zero temperatures, there were other ways he could meet his end in such an environment - starvation, possible animal or creature attack if any were roaming around, among other things.

And so, it was one step after the other. Harry trudged aimlessly, no way of knowing which direction he was headed towards. He had also lost track of time by this stage, easily minutes to hours could have passed and he would be none the wiser. The surroundings have not changed in any significant way - just snow for miles, and the occasional clump of trees.

Harry sighed. He was truly lost.

Coming to a stop between two large mounds of snow, he wondered if his situation could get any weirder.

Harry…

Harry started. What the-

Harry…

Harry stilled. His name was being called. From where and what, he didn’t know. He tried to think, could it be the wind? It was still blowing around him after all…

Harry…

Oh who was he kidding? Whatever was calling him, it was definitely not the wind. And no, he wasn’t going mad and hearing things, thank you very much. The voice was definitely real. But it was far from human, too ethereal and haunting to match any person he might have known.

“Who are you?”

Harry…

“Show yourself!”

At first, nothing happened. Then the wind began to pick up speed, kicking up the snow from the ground and air. Harry almost lost his footing as the wind slammed into him, whipping his hair about. The rapidly-falling snow seemed to swirl around like a hurricane, blotting out the trees from the land until all Harry could see was just a spinning screen of white.

Then, came a powerful avian-like roar.

The whirling snow seemed to coalesce together, growing larger and larger and brighter with each passing moment. There was a blinding flash, forcing Harry to shield his eyes and look away, followed by an almighty rumble and the tinkling of crystal.

When the light faded, Harry slowly opened his eyes. He drew in a sharp breath.

It was the same massive avian that appeared to him both times at Ollivander’s shop. 

Harry could only briefly remember the avian’s image. Now, it seemed to take on such a complete physical form that it almost felt sinful just looking at it.

Against the backdrop of an Aurora Borealis waving through the night sky, the majestic avian flew proud. Harry could see the multitude of colours - a spectrum of blue hues, whites and blacks - that formed the different schemes on its feathers and body. In between its tail feathers, crystals were imbued into the plumage, and on the four long, trailing diamond-ended feathers. The crest of feathers running from its head down the neck looked like icy-blue flames, flickering in the wind.

The avian regarded Harry with cool calmness. It would be several seconds before the lad could find his voice.

“Who...who are you?”

It continued to gaze at him.

Soon, Harry...soon. The truth will be revealed in due time. Your world awaits, it is time to wake.

The huge creature unfurled its wings, and released an almighty roar. The entire world shook. It’s body suddenly burst with light, enveloping everything with blinding brightness.

…

Harry shot up with a gasp, his Tempus charm going off in his ears.

It took a moment for him to regain his bearings. No longer was he in the winter tundra with the avian. He was back in his room in the Hufflepuff dormitory. It was still relatively dark from the charmed window, the setting moonlight casting a dim glow over the room.

Harry cancelled the charm, returning the room to silence. He sat in his bed, deep in thought. 

Instinctively, he knew that whatever he saw and witnessed in the winter tundra was no dream. It was too real, as if he had stepped into an alternate dimension or a pocket reality. And that enormous avian...it further solidified that his experience really did happen. He would have to deny that the previous two experiences back in Ollivander’s shop actually happened if he wanted to delude himself into thinking that the third time was only a mere fantasy.

But yet, at the same time, the elephant in the room remained unresolved. What was that avian creature? Why didn’t it tell him what it was right away? What did it symbolise? Harry knew that it was somehow connected to the power he absorbed back when he got his wand, but in what sense? What did that power entail? How did he go about using it? Did he even know what it was?

He had many questions, but no answers. Still, that didn’t stop Harry from getting out of bed. He had been training his whole life, now was no reason to stop. Jacob would have his arse if he was still around.

As he left his room to do his morning routine, Harry failed to see that part of his mattress was covered in ice.

“Ah, Heir Potter, good morning to you. And I must say, you’re up early.”

Harry had just stepped into the empty common room when the Hufflepuff house ghost, the Fat Friar, suddenly appeared before him from thin air.

“Good morning, Good Friar, indeed I am,” the lad nodded politely, “Is there a problem?”

“Not at all, Heir Potter,” the ghost chuckled, “I just happened to sense some activity, and wanted to greet the early-risers. A simple ‘good morning’ can lift the spirits of any individual for the rest of the day, you know?”

Harry nodded, “I can understand that.”

“Now, where are you off to?” the Friar asked, eyeing Harry’s attire - a leather tunic tied at the waist by a belt, what looked like a legskin swimsuit, metal-tipped boots with straps, and the scabbard holding the famous sword strapped across his torso. The lad also had a leather bag slung over his shoulder.

“To the Great Lake,” Harry replied simply.

“Well, don’t let me stop you, Heir Potter,” the Friar smiled, sweeping to the side, “Off you go, and let me just say that it is a true honour to have you here in Hufflepuff.”

Harry nodded, before making his way towards the barrel door.

In the silence of the early morning, many of the portraits were awoken from their slumber from Harry’s footsteps as he traversed through the hallways. Those who saw him quickly woke up their fellow portraits, excited to see the Heir of Gryffindor gracing their presence. Many bowed or curtsied. Some offered directions to where he was going, or to warn him of any danger, particularly a malicious, prank-loving poltergeist. Harry acknowledged their help, but politely turned them down. He had no trouble finding his way to the surface and the Entrance Hall, but thanked them nonetheless.

The grounds of Hogwarts were still relatively dark when Harry slipped out of the castle, even though the moon was more than halfway down the horizon by then. The autumn breeze was blowing across the fields and the Great Lake, setting temperatures into a cold chill that would have sent the average person wrapping a few layers of clothing tightly around them and hurrying for the warmer indoors. But again, Harry felt nothing except for the wind blowing past his exposed skin and through his hair, the loose ponytail lifting up and fluttering in waves. It was quite a nice feeling, if he wanted to be honest.

Arriving at the edge of the lake, Harry slipped his bag to the ground, casting a notice-me-not charm over it. He was quite certain nothing was going to come and steal it, but best be on the safe side. 

He did a full-body stretch to warm up his muscles, and off he went on a fast jog along the banks of the lake. 

It would be three whole rounds around the lake before Harry came to a stop, his skin shining with a slight shimmer of sweat and muscles glowing with heat from the exertion. By then, the moon was long gone, and the first vestiges of sunlight began to saturate the darkness. He pulled a large water bottle from his bag, and took large swigs to rehydrate himself. Keeping it away, Harry then undid his scabbard, stripped off his tunic, and kicked off his boots. Ruffling through his bag, he fished out a black swimming cap and a pair of tinted goggles. It took a bit of effort to get all his hair into the cap, but Harry had practiced for a long time, so it was ultimately doable. 

Snapping the goggles around his head and eyes, Harry made sure to strap his wand holster around his waist as an extra safety precaution. He stretched his body again, and stepped into the calm waters of the lake.

At this time of the year, the temperature of the lake was beginning to match the surrounding air temperature in coolness. For most people, swimming in a water body the size of the Great Lake in progressively colder temperatures would be inadvisable and the person doing so probably labelled ‘insane’. On the other hand, Harry wasn’t like most people.

Visibility was a bit cloudy thanks to the silt kicked up when Harry started swimming out into the lake. His view quickly cleared once he had swum away from the shallows and into deeper water.

He had to admit that swimming in a natural body of water was somewhat different than doing so in a pool, as he had done for the past several years. Still, there was a strange sense of freedom that couldn’t be achieved by swimming up and down the predetermined length of a man-made pool.  

Perhaps it was the much larger size of the lake, or the freedom to use magic against any water creatures trying to be funny with him, and the fact that he was alone. Harry did prefer solitude to the company of most people, after all. When he didn’t have to be mindful of others, he could truly focus on himself and what he had to do.

In this case, maintaining his strenuous exercise routine.

He had planned to swim the entire length of the lake eight times, twice for each different swimming stroke, preferably before sunrise and breakfast.

Best get on with it then.

Susan Bones usually considered herself an early-riser, having gotten used to waking up early in the morning to have breakfast with her aunt Amelia before she had to go to work at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement at the Ministry. Yet this normal routine had a sad edge to it. Her aunt was her only family left, after her parents and the rest of her extended family were either killed or had gone missing during the last wizarding war.

Susan tried to reconcile with that haunting fact by looking forward to what the new day had to offer. Now that she was in Hogwarts, there were things to look forward towards, even more so because the Boy-Who-Lived was a Puff like her.

True, she had been unnerved by his proclamation the night before, but Susan saw a tiny part of herself within the towering hunk of a housemate (she blushed a tiny bit at that), a lonely soul without a family to properly love him. Sure, she had her aunt and best friend Hannah, but Harry Potter had no social ties to call his own. And while she respected the privacy of others, she hoped that one day, perhaps with a bit of effort on her own part, Harry would open himself up, and allowed her to be his friend...then maybe something more.

Susan flushed, and smacked her cheeks repeatedly.

Okay...she was thinking far too much now. They were only eleven for Merlin’s sake!

And besides, her family never followed the Old Ways strictly...though that could also be why most of them were targeted in the last war…

She sighed. She was letting her thoughts run amok again.  

Best get ready for breakfast and the first day of lessons.

The strawberry-blonde was just putting on her new Hufflepuff uniform when someone knocked on her door.

“Susan? Are you ready?”

“Almost Hannah!” she called back, “Just doing up my tie!”

Susan quickly finished sorting herself up. Grabbing her school bag from her bed, she hurried for the door.

“Took you long enough,” Hannah quipped jokingly.

“You just do things insanely fast,” Susan shot back.

“And isn’t that supposed to be a good thing?”

“Not when it causes you to trip over yourself.”

It was nice to have Hannah as a friend. Her aunt couldn’t be there all the time due to work from the DMLE, so things occasionally got a bit lonely. Luckily, Hannah and her parents always accommodated her during those times her aunt had to be away. And besides, the stories Hannah’s muggle father would tell them about the muggle world up till now had always fascinated her.

Like how the Muggles didn’t use torches or candles as their main source of light at night, instead using something called electricity that produces light from an unknown source. Or how they don’t use brooms or the Floo Network to move about, utilising some kind of transportation that uses the power of horses on a number of wheels.  

But that was neither here nor there. Susan was beginning to feel peckish, and the wonderful smells of freshly-cooked breakfast beckoned.

Though something would break that sirenic call.

Susan and Hannah were close to the Great Hall when the sound of splashing caught her attention. It just so happened that they were passing a window.

“Susan? What’s wrong?”

“I thought I heard something.”

Susan went over to the window and peeked outside. The view overlooking the Great Lake, and she saw something moving through the water.

At first, she couldn’t quite see what it was, thanks to the sunlight reflecting off the undulating water, and because it was swimming just below the surface. Squinting her eyes, Susan watched as the subject of her attention broke the surface with a loud splash. She made out a head, part of a torso, and two arms spreading outwards with unexpected ferocity, before the figure disappeared back into the water with another splash. 

“Susan?” Hannah joined her friend by the window.

“There’s something swimming in the lake.”

“The Giant Squid?”

“No, it’s human, I’m sure of it,” Susan insisted, “Oh! Look! There it is again!”

She pointed towards the lake, Hannah following her finger. The figure had just broken through the surface again, surging forwards with its arms lashing outwards with slicing strength.

“Who would be swimming in the Great Lake, of all places?” Hannah asked incredulously, “Isn’t it really cold and filled with dangerous creatures?”

“Well they certainly don’t think so,” Susan replied, “That, or they are-”

The strawberry-blonde’s voice died by what she saw next. The figure had just reached the shallows of the lake. With a deluge of water falling off its body, it stood up to full height.  

Her mouth went as dry as a desert.

Hannah’s jaw dropped.

The figure, clearly male, was sculpted like a marble statue of a god. His muscles rippled with every movement, the swimsuit stretched over his powerful legs, leaving much to the sinful imagination. Water droplets rolled down the almond-coloured skin, glistening under the morning sun.

It was a sight the two girls couldn’t tear away from.

“He’s hot…” Susan croaked.

“Understatement of the century,” Hannah replied.

The two girls swallowed appreciatively as the man bent down to grab something from a bag.

“Who do you think he is?” asked Susan.

“No clue,” Hannah shook her head, “He’s clearly a beater or a keeper. Are you familiar with the Quidditch teams?”

“Not particularly…”

“Is everything alright there?”

The two Hufflepuffs jumped at the unexpected voice. A Ravenclaw prefect had approached with a questioning look.

“Oh...we’re just…um…” Susan was at a loss for words, unable to properly explain that they were ogling a fine hunk just seconds before. Hannah wasn’t any better, her face tinged red with embarrassment.

“Something interesting out there?” the prefect wondered, stepping up to the window to see for himself. 

A few seconds passed, and the prefect whistled, “Merlin damn! I’d tap that sexy arse any day!”

Both Susan and Hannah blushed at such crude insinuation.

“Any idea who that delicious hunk is?” the prefect asked the pair, eyes slightly glazed over, “If he’s good with studies, I wouldn’t mind taking him up as a study partner.”

Once again, both first-years were at a loss for words. Even though they were only eleven, neither girl believed that proposition was anything innocent.

“Jason! Just what are you doing?”

Another Ravenclaw student, female this time, stomped up to the trio.

“For Merlin’s sakes, sis, I’m not doing anything!”

“Oh? Then what? Caught these two firsties misbehaving?”

“Not like that! I’m just asking them if they knew that gorgeous hunk swimming down at the lake.”

“What hunk?”

Jason peered out of the window to check again, “See for yourself!”

He grabbed his presumed sister and dragged her over to the window. After a few moments, she too whistled appreciatively.

“Damn! That is a fine-as-fuck specimen down there! But...hang on…”

The girl’s eyes widened, “Isn’t that Harry Potter?!”

As it happened, the man down by the lake had pulled off his swimming cap, letting his hair loose. The distinctive white stripe was plain for anyone to see.

There were some morning stragglers heading down for breakfast when Jason’s sister screeched the Boy-Who-Lived’s name. Immediately, there was a rush as students crowded around the two Ravenclaws to catch a glimpse of Harry Potter. Hannah had dragged Susan away from the incoming wave, stopping her from getting crushed.

“Well...I suppose that’s the end of that,” Hannah muttered.

“Yeah, let’s go,” Susan nodded.

But before they could get far, Jason spoke again.

“Alright people, move it! I need to get down there to speak to him!”

He was suddenly grabbed by the back of his robes by his sister.

“Oh hell no! Not on your life! I’m going down there to chat with him!”

“Bitch back the fuck up! I saw him first!” Jason screeched.

“He may not even like guys! I stand a better chance with him!” his sister retorted.

“Over my dead body!”

The crowd immediately parted as the two siblings threw themselves at each other, falling to the floor in a mess of limbs and robes as they wrestled each other to submission. A few other scuffles broke out amongst the crowd when other contenders declared their goal of getting to the Boy-Who-Lived first. Within seconds, the situation had escalated into a great hullabaloo full of punching, kicking, scratching and clawing with a cacophony of screams, shouts and yelps.

Hannah grabbed Susan’s hand, “Let’s get outta of here!”

The strawberry-blonde was quick to oblige, fleeing the scene of the violence for the safety of the Great Hall with her best friend. 

The free-for-all would continue for another five minutes, as more students came running to watch the spectacle. Some were egging the fighters on, while others merely looked on with curiosity. It all came to an end when a concerned student came back with a frantic Flitwick at their heels.

“What in Merlin’s name is going on here?!”

Like a switch flicked off, all the fighting ceased. Bruised and scraped, both Jason and his sister paled at the sight of their head-of-house storming up to them, eyes flashing thunderously.

“Professor...I-”

“Pick yourselves up this instant!” Flitwick demanded, “And that goes for all of you on the floor!”

Slowly, the fighters struggled to their feet.

“Now, tell me, what is going on here?” the diminutive professor crossed his arms over his chest, expecting an answer.

“They were fighting over Harry Potter, Professor!” said one of the onlookers.

“Fighting...over Potter?”

“They were fighting over who gets to talk to him, Professor,” came another witness.

Flitwick processed the information, before pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing, “Heir Potter is as normal a student as each and every one of you. What is the point of fighting over who gets to talk to him? He isn’t Merlin, for heaven’s sakes!”

Another onlooker came forward, “Professor, they were all enchanted by Harry Potter’s impressive physique. Jealousy and intrigue boiled over.”

Flitwick blinked, before sighing once again, “Heir Potter is not an object to be gawked at. And I don’t think he will appreciate being eyed like a piece of meat. Right, fifteen points will be taken from each of you who were fighting. Mr. and Ms. Torgins, see me after breakfast,” he gave a pointed glare to Jason and his sister, “we will need to have another discussion about your sibling rivalry.”

The charms professor turned to the rest of the crowd, “Everyone else, move along.”

The crowd slowly dispersed, but conversation about the Boy-Who-Lived continued long after the hallway was cleared. Once they got to the Great Hall, Harry Potter-mania would spread like wildfire amongst the students.

To Be Continued.

Chapter Text

Harry knew he was in for a rough morning.

As he passed a group of third-year girls who stopped, stared, and made flirtatious winks at him, he counted backwards from ten to one. This was the latest in a series of unsubtle gestures made in his wake, and even though he had expected it long before he had even stepped into Hogwarts, it was grating on his nerves and wearing down his patience.

At the back of his mind, Harry knew it wouldn’t be long before someone accosted him at an attempt to chat him up. His height and muscle size kept many of the younger students from getting too close, but the same was definitely not true for the upper-years. 

He mentally prepared himself as he stepped into the Great Hall.

“POTTER!”

Minutely surprised, Harry merely raised an eyebrow as greasy bastard Snape stormed from the head table up towards him, robes billowing in a weak attempt to look intimidating.

“Professor, how may I help you?”

“I will see you expelled from Hogwarts for your attack on Mr. Malfoy!”

“What attack?” Harry tilted his head for extra effect.

“Don’t play innocent with me, you little shit!” Snape snarled, “Mr. Malfoy was sent to the Hospital Wing last night with a concussion! Messrs. Crabbe and Goyle claimed that you threw Mr. Malfoy back into a wall!”

“Really?” Harry hummed, “Did they perhaps see me pick up Malfoy physically and throw him into the wall?”

“That is not important!” Snape spat, spittle flying, “The point is that you caused Mr. Malfoy to hit his head against the wall!”

“Oh, so now you’re blindly accusing me of assault when you have no proof that I actually did it?” Harry retorted coldly, “Merlin, Professor, just how petty and immature are you? Just because you still haven’t pulled your head out of your flabby arse over your feud with my long-dead father doesn’t mean that you get to accuse his offspring of a charge that you have no evidence to back up with!”

A round of shocked and amazed gasps echoed across the hall. 

Puce in the face, Snape went apoplectic with rage, “You insolent little-”

His wand was out in a flash. But Harry was quicker with his sword.

A ring of metal, and the top third of Snape’s wand went flying, landing into a platter of scrambled eggs at the Hufflepuff table. Another swing of the blade, and the potions master staggered back, dropping his now useless-wand as his hands went to his slashed cheek. Several onlookers screamed, and the staff were on their feet, wands drawn.

Harry’s irises glowed with barely-repressed, ice-cold fury as he aimed his sword at the greasy man, “Give me one good reason, Severus Tobias Snape, to not cut you to pieces where you stand!”

“Harry Potter!” Dumbledore bellowed, “Put down that sword this instant!”

“Shut the fuck up, you senile bastard child of a harlot!” Harry’s voice boomed, inciting gasps, “Don’t make me go over there and slice your wrinkled head off! This matter lies between me and this pitiful excuse of a man that is your precious Death Eater cocksucker!” More gasps. “You are not to interfere, otherwise I will see you as an accomplice and deal with you accordingly!”

At that same moment, a golden barrier shimmered into existence between the staff and house tables. Dumbledore immediately fired a breaking hex, only to see it fizzle out upon contact with the barrier. Hogwarts was intervening, and there was nothing he could do.

“You really have some nerve, Snape, drawing your wand on a student and heir to the Most Ancient and Noble House of Gryffindor out of anger,” Harry snarled, “By right, I can have you executed where you stand, and there is nothing anyone can do about it.”

Hidden behind his mask of outrage, the potions master felt a flicker of fear race through his nerves. The blade was just inches from his throat.

“However, even though my honour has been sullied, I am not in the mood for murder this morning. I haven’t had my breakfast yet and my stomach is already constricting with gastric fluids. I will let you off with a warning, Snape. Draw your wand on me for no good reason again and your head will be rolling on the floor before you can say ‘potions’.”

Harry sheathed away his sword, nose crinkling, “And for Merlin’s sake, go and change your pants before you stink up the entire Great Hall.”

True enough, the acrid smell of urine wafted from between the potions master’s legs. Those sitting close enough reeled away from the horrid stench, some losing their appetite while a more queasy Ravenclaw turned around and vomited next to the Slytherin table. 

Snape quickly got up, clutching his crotch, and fled the hall. The puddle of urine was quickly wiped up by the castle’s magic, allowing Harry unsullied passage to the Hufflepuff table. The barrier separating the staff from the students disappeared. Taking his place at the end of the table (those sitting around there quickly moved away), the regular plate, cutlery and goblet vanished. A second later, a traditional Japanese breakfast set appeared before him, alongside a cup of steaming hot black tea. Harry was about to tuck in when Dumbledore spoke again.

“Mr. Potter, I want you in my office immediately!”

Harry didn’t even deign to turn around, “You have no legal basis to do so, Headmaster. Snape is the one at fault for drawing his wand on me. I think he should be the one you are supposed to speak to. On a different note, I sincerely hope that the other professors are not like him, because Beauxbatons sounds rather lovely at this time of the year if that is the case.”

He was generalising, he knew. But his point was made, further backed up when the Gryffindor house ghost, Nearly-Headless-Nick swept before the headmaster.

“Heir Potter is correct, and Hogwarts supports his due action. She also says that any punishment meted out to Heir Potter will be nullified on the basis of righteous action and self-defense.”

Leaving a stunned staff behind, the ghost appeared before Harry.

“Jolly good show, Heir Potter! I simply must applaud you on a splendid performance!”

“Thank you, Sir. Nicholas.”

The ghost unlatched his head in respectful acknowledgement, reconnected it and hovered away, leaving Harry to continue his breakfast in peace. 

However, such peace was interrupted by the Weasley twins jumping up on their seats.

“Three cheers to Harry Potter, the vanquisher of Snape! Hip hip-”

“HOORAY!” most of the hall cheered along, with notable exception from Slytherin, to the consternation of Harry and the staff.

“HIP HIP-”

“Fred and George Weasley!” McGonagall thundered after regaining her composure, “Twenty points from Gryffindor each and detention for the whole week for disrespecting a professor! Anyone else who cheers again will join them in detention too!”

But the twins were unrepentant, “Totally worth it.” They fist-bumped each other, before sitting back down again.

Harry sighed, and went back to his breakfast. Unfortunately, it didn’t take long for his biggest headache to come true.

“Oh Harry! You were so amazing, staring down Snape like that! Can I feel your sword?” a witch from Ravenclaw had come over and made flirtatious advances towards him.

Harry didn’t even bother to turn around, “Touch my birthright without my express permission and both your hands will be sliced clean from your wrists. And did I ask you to come over and invade my personal space? No? Then please leave me alone unless you want Hogwarts to kick you out of the Great Hall.”

The witch did not expect the caustically-cold response, nor the physical push from Harry’s magic. Near tears, Marietta Edgecombe fled back to the Ravenclaw table, where she would be simultaneously teased over her failed advances and comforted by her best friend, Cho Chang, while also chiding her for being so impulsive. 

As it was, many of the students had watched the attempt at ingratiation. Some of the more-determined students were unfazed by Marietta’s failure, while a good number saw this as a lesson to not approach the Boy-Who-Lived unless they were approached by him first. One of them was Susan, who was visibly disappointed that Harry’s walls seemed to only reinforce themselves.

Hannah noticed her down-turned look, “Cheer up, Susan. I’m sure he’ll warm up eventually.”

Susan really wanted to believe her friend’s encouragement, but given how Harry was literally the living embodiment of an ice king, she wasn’t getting her hopes up.

The rest of breakfast passed relatively smoothly. Timetables were given out (though Harry didn’t miss the uncertain look from Sprout as she went down the table), allowing Harry to see how his schedule was like for the coming week.

Today, he had Herbology, History of Magic, and Defense Against the Dark Arts.

If Jacob’s words still held true, Herbology was going to be the only productive lesson of the day. 

And he was right.

The lesson in the greenhouse was purely theory today. Professor Sprout introduced the class to magical and non-magical plants, going through a brief summary of each plant that would be covered in the coming months. 

Harry already knew everything that was taught during the lesson. But he paid attention regardless, occasionally glancing at Hermione Granger. 

The bushy-haired girl raised her hand at every opportunity, and won Gryffindor a steady rate of points throughout the lesson, possibly hoping to regain those lost by the Weasley twins. Of course, Sprout did call on others aside from Hermione after a while, and Harry earned his house some points too. But Hermione’s behaviour was an interesting case study on the side.

He was almost certain that Hermione didn’t mean it, but the way she presented herself was the very definition of ‘know-it-all’ and ‘teacher’s pet’. And just like with Muggle fiction, people didn’t like know-it-alls or teacher’s pets. Just a quick glance around his fellow first-years exposed a lot of irritation and jealousy, primarily from the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws, directed at Hermione. Whether the dark-skinned girl was either oblivious or ignored it completely wasn’t entirely clear, though Harry suspected the former was the case. 

Finally, the lesson ended with Sprout issuing homework - a three-foot long essay on what they had learnt. Harry equated three feet to three pages of A4 paper, and went on his way.

History of Magic was a complete waste of time. Professor Cuthbert Binns, a literal ghost, droned on and on about Goblin rebellions in such a flat, monotonous tone that he sent all but one student to sleep by the time class ended. It was Harry who remained awake, keeping himself busy with a history tome and earplugs jammed into his ears to block out the drivel. He only took them out to write down the homework, and was long gone by the time his classmates returned to the land of the living.

After lunch where Harry downed four large bowls of ramen, it was time for Defense Against the Dark Arts. Just like History of Magic before it, it was a waste of time. Quirinus Quirrell spoke with such a bad stutter that it made whatever teaching he was doing almost incomprehensible. Exacerbating the already-difficult situation was that the man had the courage of a mouse. The youngest Weasley son let out a loud burp just as Quirrell was passing his desk, startling him so badly he actually leapt a full foot into the air.

It might have been funny for the rest of the class, but Harry wasn’t laughing. This was a core subject in the Hogwarts curriculum, and they had a teacher who was afraid of his own shadow?

Harry hoped the fabled curse on the teacher’s position would do away with the man soon.

Once the class had been dismissed, Harry bolted out of the room and was lost to his classmates in seconds. He sprinted down the staircases down into the basement of the castle straight into the Hufflepuff common room. Cutting through, he slipped into his dorm room without anyone noticing him.

Slipping his bag off and his sword off, Harry quickly cast a series of privacy and silencing charms and a locking spell on the door. 

Before he could carry on with his day, he had an important appointment to keep.

He remembered, during his Sorting, that Aldrich called him the Twice-Prophesied One. Now, Harry already knew of the prophecy that has fucked with his life ever since Sybill Trelawney spewed it all those years ago, courtesy of the goblins. But according to Aldrich...there was a second prophecy?

Harry needed to see it for himself.

“Tiffy!”

Came a ‘pop’, “Great and good heir be calling for Tiffy?”

“Yes, Tiffy, I need your help,” Harry knelt down to the elf’s height, ignoring the squeals of delight, “I heard that house-elves can travel long distances easily. Can you help me get to the Ministry?”

“Great and good heir be correct,” Tiffy nodded vigorously, “And it be an honour for lowly Tiffy to escort Great and good heir to the Ministry!”

“Let me set some glamours first, then we’ll go.”

Harry went over to the mirror, and started changing his appearance to make it as unremarkable as possible. His long hair turned dark brown and short, his irises turning a dark gray. As an added feature, he added a smattering of freckles across his face. Finally, he transfigured his Hufflepuff school robes into a set jet-black robes with a golden filigree pattern along the edges.

He grabbed his bag, and turned back to Tiffy, “I’m ready.”

The elf stretched out a knobbly hand, “Take Tiffy’s hand, Great Heir. We be at Ministry in seconds.”

Harry took the offered hand, and Tiffy snapped his fingers. Their bodies shimmered, and faded away in a gentle swirling of smoke.

The atrium of the Ministry of Magic was just as busy as the cobbled streets of Diagon Alley. Employees and visitors either mingled together in groups throughout the large atrium, or were moving about to attend to whatever business they had to do that day, queuing up for a ride in the elevators or making their entrance and exits through the ceramic fireplaces connected to the Floo Network. Owls flew overhead, carrying letters or packages to their destined recipients.

In such busy chaos, no one noticed a tall-for-his-age brunette and a house-elf shimmer into existence near the elevators.

Tiffy snapped his fingers again, “Tiffy be casting an invisibility spell over both of us. Wizards will not notice Great Heir or Tiffy.”

Harry nodded. Unseen by the queuing wizards and witches, the pair snuck into the first elevator that was headed downwards. The atrium disappeared, and when the doors opened again, the brightness and liveliness of the centrepiece of the British Ministry was replaced by eerie dimness and silence.

They had arrived at the most secretive and unknown level of the Ministry - the Department of Mysteries.

Harry showed no emotion as he stepped into the black-tiled hallway, lit at the barest minimum with torches crackling with blue-white flames. Thank Merlin that his eyesight was good, navigating the department to his destination would have been a nightmare if his sense of sight was anything less than perfect.

Reaching the end of the hallway, Harry pushed the door open, leading to a circular room that was also dimly-lit. The floor appeared to undulate like the waves of an ocean on a calm day. Around the room were twelve handleless doors that were virtually identical, no discerning details telling each door apart from the other.

For most wizards or witches, this would have been the end of the line. Whenever one door opened, the walls would have rotated, confusing the average trespasser and, to an extreme, leaving them trapped inside until they died. But Harry was better than that, for he had a cheat code.

“Tiffy, can you use your magic to scope out the right door?”

“Tiffy can do that, Great Heir.”

The house-elf closed his eyes, and raised his free hand. He muttered an incantation softly. The doors began to glow, one of them turning green after a few moments and stayed that colour, while the rest faded away.

“That door over there, Great Heir.”

“Thanks, Tiffy.”

The elf squealed a bit, before pulling Harry towards the glowing door directly in front of them. Opening it, they entered a corridor that was completely dark, where nothing could be seen more than a few centimetres ahead. However, once the door closed behind them, a series of torches along the walls lit up one after the other, lighting up the corridor slightly with the same bluish-white flames along the corridor from the elevator. Harry and Tiffy made their way through the corridor, arriving at a set of large, ornate wooden doors with metal handles. Harry grabbed the handles, and pulled the doors open.

What greeted the lad and elf was a room that was mind-blowingly surreal to the average wizard, and perhaps the average muggle. It was so expansive that the ends were impossible to scope out, with a vaulted ceiling so high it could barely be seen by the light produced by the same bluish-white flames flickering on candle brackets. These brackets were attached to towering metal shelves containing hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of glass orbs the size of bowling balls. From the light of the candles, the orbs glowed a deathly shade of light blue. 

Harry nodded to himself. They have come to the right place, known as the Hall of Prophecies.

They stepped inside, letting the doors swing shut with a loud clang that echoed throughout the hall. Tiffy shivered, it was very cold inside, but Harry was immune to the low temperatures. Each shelf was labelled with a number, starting with ‘1’ on the left and ‘2’ to the right, ‘3’ and ‘4’ in the next row, and so on into the darkness.

Realistically, it would take Harry forever to find the one he sought.

“Tiffy, are you able to find the right shelf?”

“Tiffy can be doing so, Great Heir,” the elf nodded, “But Great Heir must combine his magic with Tiffy’s to determine where eerie prophecies be held.”

“How do I do that?”

“Great Heir need not do anything, just keep holding Tiffy’s hand. Tiffy will do the rest.”

The elf raised their joined hands and muttered an incantation. Their locked hands glowed an intertwined white and icy blue, a beam of light bearing the two colours shooting forwards into the darkness. A few moments later, there was a ‘ping’ sound. The glow around their hands faded, but the beam of light remained.

“We be follow the light, Great Heir.”

“Right.”

They walked further into the hall, passing the shelves as they ascended in number. Several minutes later, and they finally reached a change in the direction of the light. The beam made a left at row number 97, cutting through about halfway, before rising up and ending at two glass orbs about five shelves up.

Harry and Tiffy both gazed up.

“Great Heir must take over now. Tiffy cannot remove prophecies.”

Harry raised his hands, and channelled his magic up towards the orbs. Both shuddered, sliding off the shelf into the air. Slowly, he pulled the orbs down to his open palms, before gently setting them down on the floor. 

Both orbs had a tag tied to their stands. The first was labelled, S.P.T to A.P.W.B.D - Dark Lord and (?) Harry Potter , while the second, S.P.T to (?) - Dark Lord, A.P.W.B.D and Harry Potter.

It was the second one that Harry was here for.

He picked up the orb from its stand with both hands, and willed his magic into it. It glowed, and from its smooth spherical surface, a miasma of smoke billowed up and hovered a few feet above. From the smoke, Trelawney’s face appeared.

“Balance has been broken,

Opposing sides battle for dominance.

But a futile fight it be,

For one cannot survive without the other.

Each side fight for spoils,

Not worth the blood spilt.

When one side wins, secrecy will fall,

Dooming us all to fire and fury.

Only one has the key,

To save us from such a fate.

He is the equal marked by the Lord of the Dark,

Slowly growing in the shadows of night

He will awaken the five elements,

To rid the Lords of the Light and Dark

With two loves,

He will restore peace.

Balance has been broken,

And only he, can save us all.”

The face of Trelawney faded back into the smoke, which dissipated away, the last echoes of the haunting voice fading into the eerie silence. Harry lowered his hands to his lap, and just sat there, unmoving, face so blank that Tiffy was beginning to grow worried.

“Is Great Heir...in need of assistance?”

Harry turned to Tiffy robotically, “I need a moment.”

The elf nodded, taking a few steps back.

Harry continued sitting there in silence, as still as a statue. Merlin only knows how long passed before the signs of life returned to the boy. He placed the orb back onto its stand. Picking the first untouched orb up, he levitated it back into its previous place on the shelf. The second orb went into his bag.

“Let’s go. We’re done here.”

Harry took Tiffy’s offered hand, and they backtracked towards the doors, through the corridor, across the circular room (again using Tiffy’s magic to find the right door) through the entrance corridor and back into the elevator. Tiffy cast an invisibility spell on them both just as the doors closed. Leaving the darkness and silence behind, they rose up into bright lights and noise of the Ministry atrium.

When the doors opened, Harry and Tiffy slipped out before the surge of people swept into the elevator. Cutting through the atrium, they stopped near the Floo fireplaces.

“Take us back to my room, Tiffy.”

“As you say, Great Heir.”

With the spell still in effect, no one was any wiser that the Boy-Who-Lived was among them, quietly spirited away by a dedicated house-elf.

“Tiffy, before you go, I need to ask you something.”

“What it be, Great Heir?”

Harry cancelled the glamours, returning to his original appearance, “I have to continue my physical and weapons training. Is there a room in Hogwarts I can use?”

Tiffy had an answer straight away, “Hoggywarts be having such a room, Great Heir. We lowly elveses call it the ‘Come-and-Go Room’. It be provides whatever you be needing.”

“How do I get to it?”

“It be on the seventh floor, left corridor, behind the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy trying to teach trolls how to dance ballet,” Tiffy revealed, “To access Come-and-Go room, Great Heir must walked past tapestry three times, thinking of what he needs room to provide.”

Harry nodded, “Perfect, thank you so much Tiffy, you can go now.”

The house-elf cheered, “Joy of joys! Happy day! Great and good Heir be thanking lowly Tiffy! Happy day to all!”

Tiffy disappeared with a ‘pop’, leaving Harry alone in his room. Sighing to himself, Harry went into his trunk to write a letter. Someone else needed to be informed of the second prophecy.

“I demand that bastard Potter be expelled!” Snape screamed, face quickly turning the same shade of puce as it had been in the Great Hall.

Dumbledore buried his weary face into his hands, suddenly feeling all of his years at once. It had been an extremely rough day for him. As soon as breakfast had ended, Dumbledore travelled to Little Whinging to speak to Harry’s relatives. He needed answers to the many questions plaguing his mind, and the Dursleys were the obvious go-to source.

One couldn’t imagine his surprise when it was not Petunia Dursley who answered the door, but an unrelated, unremarkable Muggle woman with short brown hair cut in a bob, named Lisa. 

When she asked who he was, Dumbledore smoothly lied that he was an old acquaintance of the Dursleys who had been out of the country for some years. When he asked what happened to the former residents of Number 4, Privet Drive, Lisa dropped one of the biggest bombshells ever to rock the headmaster’s perfectly-planned world.

The Dursleys had disappeared.

Lisa explained that one of Dudley’s teachers had noticed his absence from school and called the house. When no one picked up, she went down to investigate. She found the house completely deserted and abandoned. The teacher went upstairs to continue her search, only to find charred beds in the bedrooms, with what appeared to be bone fragments scattered amongst the ashes. The police were notified, and Number 4 became a crime scene. Last Lisa heard, the bone fragments were taken to a forensics lab to determine if they belonged to the Dursleys, but since the bones had lost any organic matter within them, they couldn’t be proven to be that of the former residents. The case has been left open since, with many gossiping about whether the Dursleys had run away or were murdered.

It was a stunned and frantic Dumbledore who left Little Whinging behind. His thoughts began to race. Harry Potter had obviously lived and trained under someone for the past six years. Who it was exactly Dumbledore didn’t know, but what was abundantly clear was that Harry mustn’t remain with that person for a second longer. Already his plans for his weapon were falling apart, he needed to do damage control and see if he could salvage his plans before they crumbled for good.

First things first, Harry needed to be placed in a proper magical family that had strong ties to himself and the Light. The Weasleys were the best choice, and as Harry’s magical guardian, he could easily have his weapon placed with the Weasleys as quickly as possible.

So it was off to Gringotts for Dumbledore to enact his power as Harry’s magical guardian.

Only for everything to fall apart when the goblins very pointedly told him that not only was he not Harry Potter’s magical guardian, rather someone else that they would not disclose even under duress from the headmaster, but also declared that they had done a thorough audit of his financial activities involving the Potter family vault and found multiple discrepancies that built up to a sizeable amount. Not only was Dumbledore ordered to pay back everything that he stole, Gringotts had declared him persona non grata and ordered him to clear his vault within the next twenty-four hours before the bank permanently sealed it. From that day onwards, Gringotts would have nothing to do with the Chief Warlock and Supreme Mugwump.

It was a stupefied Dumbledore who returned to Hogwarts a beaten man, only for his headache to continue with Snape barging into his office at the present moment, ranting about the debacle earlier in the day.

“Severus, my boy, as much as it pains me to say this, but you were the one to first accost Harry in the Great Hall. I really would not like to side with the boy, but had you not made such baseless accusations against him, he would not be forced to draw his sword on you.”

“That fucking brat goaded me into drawing my wand! He is nothing more than an arrogant toerag who thinks he owns the bloody castle just because he is an heir to Gryffindor!” Snape screeched.

Dumbledore sighed, “Severus, I think you need to calm down and think rationally. You are letting your feud with James Potter cloud your judgement. Think about what Lily would have said if she saw you like this.”

Snape rounded on his master, “Don’t you fucking dare bring Lily into this! She would have cheered that her darling son had knocked down his father’s adversary! She was brainwashed into loving that arrogant bastard! If only she wasn’t so petty and influenced by Potter, she wouldn’t have abandoned me!”

“Severus…” Dumbledore now had a warning edge in his calm voice.

The potions master sighed loudly, “We’re clearly not getting anywhere here. You know what, I’m done. I’m going back to my quarters for a pepper-up. But know this, Dumbledore! If you don’t rein in that brat soon, we may find ourselves booted out of this Merlin-forsaken castle since it rather listens to a first-year rather than the ones supposed to control it! I can only pray that you have contingency plans, otherwise we’d all be doomed when You-Know-Who returns!”

With that, Snape stormed out of the office, robes billowing behind him. As the door slammed shut, Dumbledore leaned back into his chair, groaning softly. 

Nothing seemed to be going his way, and he had no idea how to go forth with his weapon. He had to tread carefully, this morning’s breakfast was a clear preview of what would happen if he incurred Harry’s wrath. With Hogwarts backing the Heir, the metaphorical ropes tying his hands together became ever more tighter.

What was he supposed to do?

Watching his master from his perch, Fawkes gave a satisfied smirk.

Harry had just sent Eira off to Gringotts with an urgent letter to the Director and leader of the goblins, Ragnok, listing the second prophecy and instructions on how to proceed forward. Until Ragnok replied, he turned his focus on things he could control in the present.

Reaching the seventh floor with no trouble, Harry quickly found the tapestry he was looking for - a decidedly foolish wizard in period clothing trying to teach ugly, lumbering trolls in tutus the ballet. Taking a few paces backwards, Harry thought of what he needed the room to provide.

‘I need a room to train myself physically and practice duelling in magic and weapons…’

He repeated his thought as he paced up and down past the tapestry exactly three times. On the third time, the outline of the tapestry began to glow, followed by a soft clicking noise. Harry pushed the tapestry aside, revealing a wooden door that was certainly not there before. Pushing the handle, he opened the door and stepped inside.

Harry had to pause just to take in what he had just entered.

The room was vast in length, with a high, vaulted stone ceiling, like a Christian cathedral of old. Torches alight with a bright flame lined the walls along each column, and iron chandeliers lit with candles hung from the ceiling. Directly in front of Harry was a depressed square platform with five metal training mannequins on wheels at one end. Next to the platform at the other end of the room, were a series of modern gym equipment - machines, free weights, bars, treadmills, punching bags, etc. 

He had to admit, this was really impressive.

Harry quickly got down to business. He stripped off his robes, folding it neatly to the side. Warmed up after a full-body stretch, he stepped down into the platform. He took a starting stance in front of the five mannequins, which a moment after, came to life and started rolling towards him at considerable speed.

He started off with a Bombarda from his hand, blasting the first mannequin backwards across the platform. The others started firing faux spells at him. Harry dodged the lights (only meant to create a buzzing effect on the body to signify that he had been hit) with expert finesse - ducking, jumping, side-stepping, spinning and rolling in one fluid dance - and conjuring Protegos and other modified shields. Reflexes honed from years of training enabled Harry to rapidly fire back a series of spells, mostly neutral with a smattering of light disposition. All the spells hit the mannequins, which were designed to collapse into a pile of shapeless metal after five hits. Two mannequins crumpled, while the other three sustained noticeable damage. The ruined mannequins were vanished by the room, replaced by fresh ones that took over their fallen comrades.

Eventually, Harry started using spells that toed the line of the dark. These spells had more violent and explosive effects on the mannequins, usually taking only one hit or two for the metal faux enemies to collapse. In response, the room started producing more mannequins at a faster rate, testing Harry’s speed, reflexes and conjuring to avoid getting hit by the faux spells.

The room was soon glowing brightly with a rainbow of colours flashing and bursting in a well-rehearsed medley of coordination. This lasted for about an hour and a half, before Harry finally took down the last mannequin the room provided. He had taken only two hits from the faux spells themselves, and while he was covered in sweat and breathing hard, he was far from exhausted.

A wooden bench along with a stool holding a towel and a goblet of water appeared by the side. Harry sat down, wiped the sweat from his body, and drank several replenished goblets to hydrate himself. 

He rested for five minutes, before getting up and returning to the platform. The room provided six mannequins this time, half of which had wooden swords, the other half the same kind of mannequin which fired faux spells. Harry unsheathed his sword, and the two sides charged towards the other. Spells were fired, which Harry dodged. Again, quick reflexes enabled him to attack the firing mannequins.

The Sword of Gryffindor was very different from regular swords. Forged by the goblins with added enchantments imbued into the blade, it was so strong it could cut through most materials, including other metals. The mannequins stood no chance against the legendary weapon - a couple of swings and slashes reduced them to useless pieces of metal that were quickly vanished and replaced. Those with wooden swords fared a little better, but were ultimately overpowered as well. 

The entire exchange lasted a full hour. Again, Harry’s skill, speed and stamina meant that he only suffered two blows from the mannequins in the rare moments of blindsided distraction. A fresh towel and self-refilling goblet of water waited for him, which he took without hesitation.

Once he had rested for another five minutes, Harry checked the time - fifteen minutes to the start of dinner.

Now that wouldn’t do.

Standing up, Harry gripped his pendant, and stroked the teardrop emerald seven times left-wards with his thumb. The jewel shimmered, and the world began to move around him. Which to be precise, was backwards. He could see a mirror-image of himself walk back into the platform, battle the mannequins and depart from the room backwards. Eventually, the world slowed and stopped.

Harry cast a tempus charm - 11:17 am in the morning.

Stretching his body again, he headed for the gym equipment.

His workout always started with a five-kilometre run on the treadmill as warm-up. This was followed by five sets of twenty reps on all machines available, training every muscle group in his body. Also included were the same number of sets and reps for every free-weight and bars exercise in his plan, and fifteen minutes brutalising the punching bag. Finally, his cool-down involves another five-kilometre run on the treadmill.

By the time Harry finished, four hours later, he was drenched in sweat, his muscles burned with exertion, and feeling a tad bit hungry.

He checked the time again. By now, his past self and Tiffy should be just arriving back from the Ministry. He had a bit of time before his other self was to arrive. Best to get moving though.

Harry didn’t spot his other self on his way down back to the Hufflepuff common room. Which was just as well, encountering his copy would have been an awkward affair for the both of them. 

Thank Merlin, though, that the only side-effect was the awkwardness. Goblin-made time-travel devices were far superior, being more user-friendly and carried no restrictions in how far back a person could go, unlike the Ministry time-turners that could only go five hours back and had all kinds of rules dictating its usage. Furthermore, there was no worry of creating an alternate timeline using a device like Harry’s pendant.

Still, he took a different, somewhat longer route down to the basement just to be safe.

Arriving back at the common room with no incident, Harry slipped past his housemates into his dorm unseen. Picking out a fresh set of clothes and school robes, he went to take a much needed shower. 

Twenty minutes later, fresh from the hot water and smelling of pinecones, Harry once again departed from the common room for the Hogwarts library. He had about two hours before dinner, might as well use it for homework and studying.

Much like with the rest of the school, Harry was far from impressed with the library. Sure, it was arguably the largest collection of magical books and tomes in Britain, but from his experiences travelling the world with Jacob, this paled in comparison to other much grander libraries he had the privilege of visiting, especially those owned by the goblins. 

He remembered the goblin collections fondly, spending many hours reading rare and valuable texts and tomes saved from the majestic libraries of ancient Alexandria and Rome before they came to their ends at the hands of muggles from centuries gone by. By far, nothing would ever amount to that, and certainly not the Hogwarts library.

Still, at least it served its basic purpose.

Harry would ultimately spend much of the two hours scouring books relevant to the homework given and writing far more than what was expected of him. His Herbology essay spanned five pages, History of Magic took three pages, and Defence spanned four. Excessive, in hindsight, but he loved knowledge and writing, so sue him.

He let the magic in the library return the books back to their original places, packed his completed homework away, and left the library to return to his dorm to drop off his bag, then up to the Great Hall for dinner, praying to Merlin that no one would attempt to talk to him during his meal.

After several servings of a spread of Japanese dishes, Harry retreated to his dorm, thankfully undisturbed. He disappeared into his trunk for some light reading before bed. Despite just being eight in the evening, his early rise and strenuous activities throughout the day meant that he grew tired earlier than most people. By half past eight, he would have just enough energy left to finish his nighttime routine before he passed out.

Returning from the communal bathroom, he stripped off his clothes to his boxers, and promptly collapsed onto his bed, barely remembering to extinguish the candles.

As he slowly drifted off into slumber, Harry thought his first day of school went relatively well as it could. Tomorrow was another new day, and with it a whole new set of challenges.

He needed to be ready, and allowed himself to fall under into silent darkness.

To Be Continued.

Chapter Text

In hindsight, he should have expected this to happen.

It happened during his first night, and given what was said to him then, it was bound to happen the moment he fell asleep in his bed.

Then again, he could probably pin it to the busyness of the first day of schooling as the reason why he had completely forgotten what had transpired in the recesses of his mind. 

Either way, Harry woke up to howling winds, not in the comfort of his bed in the Hufflepuff dormitory, but half-buried in a small mound of snow in the desolate tundra as he had been the night before.

Oh, and he was starkers, again.

Pushing himself up and brushing the snow off his body, Harry took a look around. Nothing but snow and leafless trees as far as the eye could see. More snow was falling from the black sky above as a gentle flurry. The wind blew, but like before, Harry felt no cold.

This time though, he knew better than to just wander around aimlessly. 

“Hello? Where are you?”

At first, nothing.

“Show yourself!”

The second command seemed to be the cue. The snow fell harder, the wind picking up and growing louder. Bracing himself against the growing onslaught, Harry heard a loud avian-like roar amidst the wind. The snow began moving in mid-air away from the ground, coalescing into the outline of an enormous bird.

The world was suddenly blanketed by a bright flash and the soft tinkling of crystal. Lowering his hands, Harry came face-to-face with the avian creature that had appeared to him multiple times before. It’s glowing eyes stared back, expansive wings flapping languidly.

Harry…

“You told me last time,” the boy spoke after a moment, “that I had to wait to know who, or what, you are. Is it now the time? Or do I have to wait longer?”

The avian’s expression (if it had any) didn’t change.

I can’t tell you everything right now, Harry. But...I can at least tell you what I am.

Harry would take whatever he could get, “What are you then? You look like a phoenix made out of ice and crystal.”

The avian shook its head.

Not quite, Harry. I do not have a true form. I merely take the image of what your magic decides.

“So, you mean…?”

A nod from the avian.

That feather that forms part of your wand’s core and an important part of who you are, I take the form of what it used to belong to.

“Pardon my curiosity, but that means an ice phoenix exists.”

Used to exist, Harry. Ice phoenixes were extremely rare creatures, created only when a fire phoenix is reborn when the temperature of the world is at absolute zero. They are unable to resurrect themselves as creatures of ice, and the last one passed on a thousand years before you were born.

Harry nodded, “So then, what are you, exactly?”

The avian gave him a long look.

I am the physical manifestation of Mother Magic herself.

Harry’s eyes widened. On instinct, he went down on one knee, head bowed low.

Rise. You need not bow to me, Harry.

“How can I not?” Harry asked, still keeping his head down, “I am only a mere mortal, who carries not a candle to the greatness and power that you are.”

Do not sell yourself short, Harry. You are on equal status with me, for you are my champion in the mortal realm.

“Champion?”

Fate has chosen you as the saviour, to lead the crusade to correct the mistakes by the Light and Dark that are hurting me, pushing me closer to death. In their foolish quest for power, they are only opening themselves to fire and destruction by those who do not understand and are greedy. 

Slowly, Harry stood up, “What am I supposed to do then?”

For now, you must continue your training and lessons, Harry. Your magic and strength are already extremely powerful, but they need to become stronger. You will need everything in your arsenal to stand your ground against our enemies. Along the way, I will aid you. Every night, when Morpheus comes to claim you, you will arrive here. I will wait for you, and teach you everything I can to further grow the power bestowed upon you. 

And finally, as fate has dictated, you will awaken the five elements that make up this world. Five champions of these elements will be chosen, and together, you will right the wrongs and restore balance to the world.

“Can’t we start now?” Harry asked, “You are dying. We need to do something before it’s too late.”

Alas, Harry, the new day has already beckoned. It is time for you to wake up. Do not worry, my champion, I will still be here when you return when night falls again. Go, Harry, face the challenges of the new day!

The avian roared, and light began shining from its body. Unfurling its wings, the light grew brighter and brighter as the tundra began to shake. Harry lost his footing, arms flying to his eyes to protect them from the blinding supernova as it consumed everything in sight.

…

…

Harry sat up with a gasp, his tempus alarm blaring throughout his room.

After a few moments, subconsciously, he cancelled the alarm, his mind more focused on his thoughts. He was still perturbed by what had just transpired in his dream.

He was Mother Magic’s champion, prophesied to restore the balance ensuring her continued existence. But what was he supposed to do? How was he supposed to correct the mistakes made by the Light and Dark? What sort of resistance and drawbacks will he have to face in order to restore the balance? And also, how was he going to wake the five elements? Was there some sort of obscure magic he had to delve into?

Harry sighed. He knew logically that as curious as he was, he couldn’t go back to sleep and try to force his way back into the tundra to see Mother Magic again. It doesn’t work that way. He could only learn the next step when night fell and natural sleep took him there, as she said. 

Releasing a breath, Harry pushed the quilt aside and got up from bed. Stretching his joints open, Harry moved to get ready for his run and swim at the Great Lake when something caught his eye. 

On his mattress, partially-covered by the quilt, was a hard, crystalline sheen spread almost across the width where his upper back previously laid.

Harry approached his bed, and touched the substance. It was cold, like ice.

The question was, how did ice get on his bed?

Harry sunk into his thoughts for a moment. Ice...frozen water, like the snow in the tundra. It was quickly clear that it had something to do with his dreams and the image of the ice phoenix that was the incarnation of Mother Magic. What it really meant was unclear at the moment, but Harry was sure that everything would be revealed in due time.

It was admittedly strange, how willingly trusting he was being here. Jacob and the goblins always taught him to be cautious and discerning with something as fragile as trust. But Harry knew the defining difference here. Mother Magic was not blemished by human behaviour, completely unlike those in positions of power. Magic is impartial, it cannot lie or tell half-truths, hiding behind platitudes. It was not human, and therefore she carried no flaws from humanity itself.

No doubt, someone like Harry would rather trust the supernatural power that fuelled his world, than the despicable examples of human filth that are destroying this power as he stood alive.

Remembering her words in his head, Harry went to get ready for the day.

His morning exercise went pretty smoothly, though Harry was certain he was being gawked at from every window in Hogwarts facing the Great Lake, so no big surprise there. He was again stared at as he walked through the corridors, where one foolhardy Gryffindor upper-year tried to approach him. One dark look was more than enough to send her running off with her tail in between her legs. 

It was a Vietnamese breakfast today, and as Harry finished his third helping, the mail came flying in with a chorus of hoots. Setting down his coffee, Harry raised an arm. Those sitting close enough stared in disbelief as the large eagle-sized gyrfalcon that was Eira landed on his arm with a flapping of powerful wings. Clamped in her beak was a wax-sealed letter, addressed to him from Ragnok. Harry took the letter, as a plate of raw, still-bloody slices of rabbit meat appeared from the kitchens. Eira tore into her meal, and Harry put the letter away and started on his fourth serving.

The first-years had only two lessons today, though both took up double slots each. First was Transfiguration, which was right after breakfast, and after lunch, Charms. 

Finishing up the last of his coffee, Harry quickly left the Great Hall to get to the classroom undisturbed. 

That was not to be.

Someone suddenly grabbed his arm.

“Harry, mate! I’m Ron Weasley! You were so cool yesterday, facing down Snape and coming out victorious! You should hang out with your true kin, us Gryffindors! You’re the heir to our house, after all!”

Harry tore his arm away, “Please refrain from touching me, you obnoxious brown-nose.”

He turned away, only to have his arm grabbed again.

“Oh c’mon! We aren’t a bad bunch like those slimy snakes or those loser Puffs. Us Gryffindors will show you the right way here. Like, what Quidditch team do you support?”

Obviously, Ron didn’t get it, and Harry’s temper went through the roof.

Grabbing the offending appendage, Harry threw the redhead over his shoulder and slammed him onto the floor. Not even giving Ron a chance to scream in pain, Harry roughly yanked him up, put him into an arm-hold, and forced him against the wall.

“Listen carefully, you fucking peabrain, I am not here to associate myself with gold-diggers like you. And, I think it will do you a world of good to keep your bloody hands to yourself and learn some decency or social skills. It might actually save you from being hexed so hard your limp dick will cease to function.”

“L-Let me g-go!”

Harry didn’t say anything, only twisting Ron’s arm further at an unnatural angle, worsening the redhead’s agony. It came dangerously close to fracturing and dislocation when someone unwittingly saved Ron from a debilitating injury.

“W-What is going on here?!”

Harry let go of Ron’s arm, allowing the redhead to break free. Watching the entire scene unfold with confused horror, were a group of first-years, a mix of all Hogwarts houses. At the front was Hermione Granger, clutching her books to her chest.

“Just resolving a miscommunication,” Harry dusted himself off.

“He tried to break my arm!” Ron screeched.

“You invaded my personal space and demeaned my house. You had it coming, Weasley.”

“I’ll tell Professor McGonagall!”

“Go ahead,” Harry retorted, “See whether she’ll take your side when it became clear that you were harassing another student who didn’t want anything to do with your attempts at ingratiating themselves.” He turned to the other first-years, “Consider this your only warning. Disrespect my boundaries and I will retaliate. As much as I hate to hurt children my age, I will not stop myself if you force my hand.”

Without a further word, Harry dashed off down the corridor for the first-year Transfiguration classroom. Finding it with the guidance of a portrait, he slipped inside and took a place in the second row. Harry glanced at the tabby cat sitting on the professor’s desk at the front. It had watched him come in, but now its gaze was back towards the door.

The feline had golden-orange fur, with flecks of a lighter colour rimming around it’s light gray eyes. Harry scrutinised the cat a little closer. Strangely, it seemed that the flecks of lighter fur kind of looked like spectacles. 

Harry knew of only three professors at Hogwarts that wore spectacles - Flitwick, Dumbledore, and McGonagall. By process of elimination, Harry was left with the strict, no-nonsense head of Gryffindor house.

But how in Merlin’s name…?

The door opening snapped Harry out of his musings. The chatter of voices signalled that the other first-years were arriving. They all took their seats, noticeably avoiding Harry as a remembrance to the warning he gave to them earlier. Hermione, naturally, took her seat at the front row of the class.

From the bits of the conversation he picked up, Harry heard that Peeves had accosted the first-years not long after he had left, pelting them with ink pots and only just barely managing to get away.

At the back of his mind, Harry considered finding ways to get the bloody poltergeist exorcised from Hogwarts.

A few minutes later, the first bell rang throughout the room. On cue, much of the chatter went silent as the students expected Professor McGonagall to appear to begin the lesson. Minutes ticked by, but no sign of the tall, intimidating woman ever showed.

Seven minutes into the start of class, the door suddenly banged open. All the students, except for Harry, turned around, thinking it was McGonagall finally showing up. As it turned out, it was only Ron Weasley, his robes soaked with drying ink stains, breathless from seemingly running all the way to the classroom.

The redhead glanced about the room, before sighing in relief, “Thank Merlin Professor McGonagall is late…”

Harry immediately kept his eye on the cat, his instincts telling him that something was about to happen. 

He was right.

The cat suddenly leapt from the desk. In mid-air, it grew and morphed into the intimidating, stern Professor of Transfiguration everyone was familiar with. Students gasped, and even Harry had to admit it was an interesting sight to see. Ron froze at the sight, posture becoming nervous like a deer in the headlights as McGonagall strode towards him with the most unimpressed look she was famous for.

“I will have you know, Mr Weasley,” she admonished icily, “that I do not lower myself to such a substandard behaviour of being late for class. You on the other hand, could do us all a favour by learning the good habit of keeping time early. Perhaps I should transfigure you into a pocket watch so that it will be easier for you?”

“It was that bloody Peeves!” Ron cried, “He attacked me with- ”

“Five points from Gryffindor for your language, Mr. Weasley,” McGonagall scolded, “I can perhaps understand it was due to Peeves’ malicious antics for your current state, but if you had managed your time properly and asked anyone - an older student or in this scenario, myself - to help you clean up, you wouldn’t have been late and consequently wasted everyone’s time.”

Seeing that the youngest Weasley son looked properly cowed (at least externally), McGonagall took out her wand and cast several Scourgify charms, removing the ink stains.

“Go to your seat, and make sure such an occurrence never happens again.”

Ron begrudgingly went to take a seat that was as far as possible from Harry. McGonagall strode up to the front of the classroom, and fixed a steady gaze over the students.

“Now that everyone is here, we can finally begin. Welcome to your first lesson in Transfiguration. I am Professor McGonagall. Before we proceed with today’s lesson, let me make something extremely clear for this class.” She gave the students a severe look, “Transfiguration is, only second to Potions, the most dangerous subject taught here in Hogwarts. You can accomplish many great things with Transfiguration, but mistakes can be costly and even irreversible in the most extreme of situations. Not only that, your life could very well be threatened if you were foolish enough to not take things seriously.”

On that note, McGonagall aimed her wand at the desk. An incantation and wand movement later, it morphed into a large pig. She repeated the movement and incantation, and the pig returned into a desk. Many of the students (especially Hermione) were amazed by the display. Harry on the other hand, was not, though he maintained a neutrally-attentive expression.

“As it is, you all will not be attempting such complex transfiguration at this current stage. No doubt, we would be faced with extremely dangerous situations, like one of you accidentally transfiguring your classmate’s head into a block of wood, if I permitted such reckless wand-waving and gibberish-spouting to take place.”

McGonagall swished her wand across the class. On each table, a matchstick appeared before each student.

“We will start off with something simple. By the end of today’s lesson, I would like to see a number of you be able to transfigure your matchsticks into needles. The wand movement is as such,” she demonstrated with her wand, “and you may begin.”

The room was quickly filled with the swishing of wands, alongside the increasing volume of frustrated noises when none of the first-years displayed any progress in turning their matchstick even a silver colour.

Except for Harry.

While his classmates were struggling, he picked up his matchstick, and snapped the fingers of his free hand. In an instant, the matchstick morphed into a silver needle. He set it back onto his desk, and waited for something to happen.

As it was, nothing would happen for the next few minutes, for McGonagall was too busy helping his classmates with their own transfigurations, and they in turn were too focused to notice that the Boy-Who-Lived had managed to accomplish the task first. Ignoring the rest of the activity around him, Harry began spontaneously shifting his matchstick into a needle and back again, just to amuse himself.

He was attempting to see how fast he could go between changes, when footsteps approached his desk.

“Mr. Potter, what on Earth are you-”

He turned to Professor McGonagall, his concentration broken. The rapid transfiguration ended with a needle in his palm. Harry regarded the wide-eyed look the older woman was giving him with a blank, neutral mask.

“H-How…?”

“Is something the matter, Professor McGonagall?” he asked politely.

By now, everyone’s eyes were on Harry and the professor. It was indeed a rare sight to see the otherwise stern McGonagall looking so flabbergasted, her prim and steadfast mask cracked.

“How did you do that?”

“Do what, Professor?”

McGonagall quickly steeled her shocked expression into her professional look, though one could still see the disbelief in her eyes if they looked close enough, “I might be getting on with age, Mr. Potter, but I assure you I can still see perfectly clearly. How was it that I could see you changing your matchstick into a needle and back again at increasing speed without following the incantation, or even without a wand?”

Harry wished this conversation could have been held without the rest of the class listening in, but he couldn’t have everything in life. He mentally sighed, before creaking open the door for the first time in years, “Practice, Professor McGonagall. I practiced for a long time. I may not have had a wand growing up, but I practiced long and hard enough to channel my magic wandlessly. At first, I followed the books, but over time, I developed my feel of magic enough for it to respond to my thoughts. Of course, I am limited by the size of the object. Like, I can’t transfigure this needle into a book, but for objects with similar sizes, it's easier to visualise a physical change from a matchstick to a needle. And to be frank, having so many incantations and wand-movements can confuse one’s magic. When you focus entirely on visualising a change and getting one’s magic to make it happen, the process becomes inherently easier.”

The shocked look was back on McGonagall’s face, as were on many of the first-years.

Harry tilted his head slightly, silently asking if that was a good enough explanation. Though from the way his professor was staring at him, and from the look in her eyes, he could tell her mind was spinning. He couldn’t really blame her though, he had pretty effectively kicked everything she had been taught on Transfiguration right off the Astronomy Tower. 

She tried to compose herself. What she had seen was tremendously astounding, but ever the pragmatist, she needed more proof that what she had witnessed was not a one-time fluke, or worse, some sort of prank.

McGonagall cleared her throat, “Mr. Potter, I would like to see you perform Transfiguration on a much larger object. If you are able to do so, I will see to it that you get a Transfiguration Mastery by the end of the year.”

Eyes widened at the professor’s proclamation. A mastery over any subject (let alone something as complex and dangerous as Transfiguration) was nothing to sniff at. Behind McGonagall’s back, many started whispering over the outcome of such a feat.

Harry, on the other hand, remained unfazed by the challenge. Putting his needle back onto his desk, he got up and strode over to the professor’s desk at the front. He stared at it for several moments, stretching out a hand and waved once in a circle.

Granted, the morphing was somewhat slower than when he transfigured the matchstick, but it still served its purpose. Everyone behind Harry watched with wide eyes and fallen jaws as the desk transformed into an adolescent tiger. Several students screamed when the large feline growled dangerously at them, forcing McGonagall to draw her wand to protect her charges.

Harry quickly intervened, doing the absolute crazy by grabbing the tiger and shielding it from view. He embraced the ferocious feline and ran his fingers through its fur soothingly, channelling his magic to calm it. After a few moments, the tiger relaxed, its growls softening into deep, rumbling purrs. Behind him, the students and McGonagall stared at the scene in disbelief, shocked that the Boy-Who-Lived hadn’t been mauled to pieces by the predatory feline. 

Eventually, Harry deemed the tiger calm enough to release. Standing back up, he stretched his hand out towards the feline. Thinking he wanted affection, the tiger nuzzled its head into the lad’s palm, purring softly. Harry quickly cancelled the transfiguration with the same hand movement, and the tiger morphed back into the desk it originated from.

McGonagall was completely floored by what she had just witnessed.

“A h-hundred and fifty points to Hufflepuff, Mr. Potter, for such an unprecedented display of powerful magic with astonishing control. As promised, I will see that you obtain a Mastery by year’s end.”

The room broke out into excited whispers. Nowhere in known history has the stiff, no-nonsense professor given so many points in one setting. Their reactions beyond the shock were extremely varied - the Hufflepuffs were exuberant that they had gotten a huge leap in the House Cup race. Hermione was in a quandary herself, torn between bitter jealousy that someone her age had out-done her and sheer disbelief that the Transfiguration textbook was apparently wrong. She wasn’t the only one - Draco and Ron were both seething with barely-contained envy-fuelled rage, their egos completely bruised.

Having already been cowed by McGonagall’s admonishment earlier, Ron kept a struggling lid on his festering temper. Draco, on the other hand, had no such restraint, refusing to accept that someone was obviously better than him. 

Just as Harry was returning to his seat, the Malfoy heir took his newly-Transfigured needle and threw it at Harry’s eyes. Susan saw the needle leave his hand, shrieking, “Malfoy - !”

Everyone spun around. Harry merely stopped, and with a flick of his hand, caught the needle between his index and middle fingers.

“What’s going on here?” asked McGonagall, coming forward.

Draco immediately tried to hide himself, but Harry had already honed his ire on the scion, “Attacking the heir of a most ancient and noble house...do you really have no value for your life, Draconis Lucius Malfoy?”

Calmly placing the needle on his desk, Harry stalked forward like a panther sizing up its prey. Draco tried to hide behind his two goons, who were about to come to their master’s aid but one swish of Harry’s arm sent the two oafs flying into the opposite walls of the classroom. They hit the stone masonry hard, sliding down to the floor in a semi-conscious daze. The class gasped, some screamed.

“Hiding behind brawn...a true coward, Malfoy. You call yourself the scion of a respected house, but in fact you are nothing more than a common rat…”

There came the ringing of metal as Harry unsheathed his sword.

“Mr. Potter! Stop this right no-”

McGonagall was suddenly blocked by the same golden barrier that spread across the staff table in the Great Hall the day before. It spanned the entire length and height of the classroom, effectively neutralising the only viable protection that Draco could rely on. Once again, Hogwarts had come to aid the Heir of one of her founders.

“Y-You won’t get away with this!” the blonde scion stammered, wand out in a shaky, feeble attempt to protect himself, “When my father hears of -”

“What your pathetic excuse of a Voldemort cocksucker that is your father will hear is that his only son and heir has been dismembered into little pieces for attacking the Heir of Gryffindor, something he or his master will never be able to attain!” Harry swung his sword, slicing Draco’s wand clean in two. The scion stumbled back, but Harry was faster. Grabbing the blonde by his hair, Harry had the sword literally touching Draco’s neck.

“Like godfather, like godson, eh? Tell me one good reason why I should grant you mercy and not slaughter you where you stand?”

Draco was literally blubbering in frightened tears, and the smell of urine once again made its stench known. The sound of hurried shifting made Harry look towards the sound. Susan was inching away from the scene, looking absolutely sick from terror. It was an expression echoed by Hannah and virtually everyone in the room.

Harry made a soft noise of consideration, “I see that I am about to cross several boundaries. Perhaps the repercussions are not worth the blood spilt.”

Roughly tossing Draco across the table, Harry sheathed his sword back into the scabbard. He looked up, “Hogwarts, that’s enough. My honour has been satisfied.”

A loud clang of a bell, and the golden barrier collapsed.

“Consider this your only chance, Malfoy. Attack me again and your inbred parents will bury your remains in a bloody shroud.”

Harry turned on his heel and went to face a petrified McGonagall. He bowed respectfully, “Professor, I understand that I went too far in dealing retribution against the one who attempted bodily harm against me. Whatever reasonable punishment you deem fit for me, I will accept without a word.”

It took several moments for the signs of life to return to the Scottish witch, “W-We will discuss the matter after class, Mr. Potter.”

Harry nodded, and returned to his seat. Surprisingly, Draco seemed to regain some of his superiority (read: stupidity) back despite his close shave with death.

“Professor! Potter tried to kill me! He should be expell-”

Harry spun around, one hand on his sword’s handle. Draco immediately shrunk back.

“Mr. Malfoy, enough! I already said I will deal with this matter later! Five points from Slytherin, and if you open your mouth again you will find yourself in detention!” McGonagall scolded, wanting desperately to get the lesson back on track, “Mr. Potter, sit down.”

Harry did as he was told. McGonagall did her best to get through the rest of the class, but the students were far too distracted over the sudden escalation of events to really pay attention. The ending bell couldn’t come fast enough, and the students literally bolted out of the room, save for one.

Harry waited for the last person to leave, before going up to McGonagall expectantly, “So, what will it be, Professor?”

The Scottish witch sighed, rubbing her temple, “To be honest, Mr. Potter, I don’t know.”

“What do you mean?”

McGonagall gave him a weary look, “By all accounts, I should have expelled you for threatening to kill a fellow student. But Mr. Malfoy was clearly the instigator, even though your response to the attack was too much. And, deep in my heart, the last thing I want is to expel a Transfiguration prodigy before they could share their knowledge with the school. Also, there is the issue about the castle itself nullifying whatever punishment I mete out, since it so clearly supported you earlier.”

Harry glanced off to the side for a moment, before returning to his teacher, “Professor, I think Hogwarts will allow it if I am the one to suggest the punishment.”

McGonagall didn’t respond, but made a gesture for him to continue.

“I may be quick to anger, but that does not mean I am a heartless monster who cuts down people for the fun of it. Most of the time, I am able to make rational decisions, and I am aware when boundaries are crossed. If you are willing to consider, perhaps three days of detention?”

The Scottish witch considered the offer. Eventually, she spoke, “Very well, Mr. Potter, I accept. You will serve one day of detention under me, and the other two with your head-of-house.”

“Alright, I will take my leave then.”

McGonagall nodded, watching  Harry grabbing his bag and leaving the room without a further word. When the door closed, she sighed once more. Lunch was almost due, but perhaps she could sneak a shot of Ogden’s Finest before her meal.

Harry didn’t immediately head down to the Great Hall for lunch. Finding a quiet alcove away from prying eyes, he took out the letter Eira delivered in the morning and read it.

Dear Harry,

I thank you for sharing with me the contents of the second prophecy. As you can expect, I am surprised and a little concerned.

As for what to do next, for now I’d say that you continue your training and your education as per normal. Prophecies are fickle at best and until new developments arise, I think it is in everyone’s best interests that you do not act rashly on it. 

Nonetheless, you should remain vigilant of your surroundings and the people you interact with. I had a good laugh when you stood down Dumbledore and his Death Eater spy literally one after the other, but it only goes to show that there are people who will never leave you alone.

Stay firm, stay strong, and only let the right people you completely trust in. Always remember Jacob’s words.

I wish you all the best, and may your enemies drown in their blood.

Ragnok

Harry folded the letter back. He expected the Ragnok to send back such a reply, ever the pragmatist and strategist. And he agreed with the leader of the goblins, there was no point jumping to conclusions as the die-hard Gryffindor would do. It was only the second day of school, after all, it was still far too early to make any moves yet.

Slipping the envelope into his bag, Harry headed off to the Great Hall for lunch.

As expected, much of the attention in the Great Hall was centred on him. The story of his attempted murder on Malfoy had spread far and wide, garnering him many looks of admiration, fear, and hate, the last primarily from the Slytherin table and from Snape. Dumbledore was visibly radiating disappointment, but Harry wasn’t fazed as he had five servings of his lunch. 

Much to his relief, no one tried to talk to him when he left for Charms class. Even the youngest Weasley seemed to manage to dig up the barest minimum of brains to maintain a safe distance away from him. Like Transfiguration before, Harry was the first to arrive at the classroom, but he wasn’t the first occupant.

“Oh! You’re early, Heir Potter.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. At the other end of the room, sitting on a table with stacks of books crowded on it, was the diminutive Professor Flitwick with his recognisable centre-parted bowl haircut, spectacles and moustache. 

“It’s a habit of mine, Professor,” he replied as he closed the door behind him.

Flitwick grinned, “And an excellent habit to have, Heir Potter. Take three points for Hufflepuff.”

Harry nodded in thanks, “Professor, may I ask you a question?”

“Go right ahead.”

“You’re the only one in Hogwarts, besides the ghosts and the house-elves, to call me ‘Heir Potter’. Why is that?”

Flitwick made a noise of acknowledgement, “As you may know, I am half-goblin. One important thing about goblin culture is that we always treat respect with respect. And I respect you a lot, Heir Potter.”

Even Harry had to admit that he was surprised, “Why?”

Flitwick got up, “Despite the incidents so far where you have drawn your sword, and yes, I have heard about what happened during your Transfiguration lesson from Minerva,” he added as a side note, “but it was your responses that garner respect. What Snape did to you yesterday was uncalled for and unacceptable, and he very much deserved that slash to his cheek. Mr. Malfoy could have easily run afoul of you for attempting bodily harm against an heir of an ancient and noble house. Yet, I see restraint in your actions. You could have easily killed Snape and Mr. Malfoy where they stood, but you came away from the situation on the higher moral ground. Furthermore, you acknowledged that you overstepped boundaries, and were willing to set things straight. For that, Heir Potter, I respect you wholeheartedly.”

Harry, for that matter, didn’t smile. But his lips twitched ever so slightly.

“Now, if I may, Heir Potter, ask you a question of my own?”

“By all means,” Harry agreed quickly.

“Were you trained in weapons-handling? You carry your sword with confidence.”

Harry briefly considered whether to open another page of his history to a professor. But given what Flitwick has said so far, and the professor’s goblin heritage, he figured that it was fine to let the charms master in a little.

“Not without help, Professor. I trained for many years under the watchful eye of Master Strongblade.”

Flitwick choked, stumbling back against a pile of books and sending them toppling to the floor, “Y-You trained under Master Strongblade?!”

“He was one of my best teachers. Granted, he kicked my arse everytime we duelled, but I wouldn’t be where I am today without him.”

It took a moment for Flitwick to find his breath, “Amazing, Heir Potter, simply amazing…”

Harry suddenly remembered something, “Actually, Professor, there’s something else I need to consult you about.”

“Oh?”

“We are going to be introduced to simple charms, like the wand-lighting charm, am I correct?”

“Yes we are, Heir Potter, and take another three points for reading the course material ahead of time!”

Harry nodded, “Well...I think I best show you.”

He opened his palm, and a bright orb of light burst into existence over the skin. Flitwick was both astounded, and ecstatic. The diminutive professor clapped heartily.

“Outstanding, Heir Potter! Never in my years have I seen such advanced magic performed at such a young age! Take twenty points for Hufflepuff!”

Harry extinguished the orb, “There lies the problem, I am actually able to perform all the charms spells taught till at least sixth year. Without meaning any offense, there doesn’t seem to be any reason for me to take the first-year class.”

Flitwick rubbed his chin, “Quite true, Heir Potter. By right, there isn’t any reason for you to take the class given your skill level. But what do you think about this?”

“If I may, Professor, I would like to stay in the class, but be allowed to do my own self-study? That way the others won’t think I’m skiving off or that you are showing favouritism.”

Flitwick found the suggestion acceptable, “I can allow that, Heir Potter. Why don’t you grab a seat first, class is about to start anyway.”

Harry nodded, and took a place near the front. A few seconds later, the door opened, and in arrived a steady stream of first-years. Again, they maintained a wide berth from the Boy-Who-Lived. 

Flitwick greeted the class, and began the lesson proper. They went through a brief introduction of Charms and the theory portion of the Wand-Lighting charm. Once Flitwick was confident that the class had understood the theory, he had them practice lighting up their wands.

Harry noted that many were able to accomplish the charm on their first try. Though there were two notable exceptions.

Seamus Finnigan, first-year Gryffindor, had somehow managed to cause an explosion that lit up the already bright classroom. When the light cleared and everyone could see again, the Irish wizard was covered in soot, and the tip of his wand and eyebrows were smoking lightly. A few others snickered at his misfortune, while Flitwick advised him not to channel so much magic into his incantation next time. 

The other was Neville Longbottom. The pudgy first-year failed to light up his wand despite saying the incantation clearly, multiple times. Several Slytherins, particularly Draco and his goons, openly snickered at Neville’s failure while Flitwick wasn’t paying attention, and Harry would have to be blind to see the first traces of tears gathering the Longbottom scion’s eyes.

Harry pursed in deep thought. Something wasn’t right here. 

He had read a little about the Longbottom family before in his past research. Neville’s parents, Frank and Alice Longbottom, were powerful aurors who also had a part to play in the resistance against Voldemort during the last war. Furthermore, Alice was from Mexico, meaning that new blood had been added into the Longbottom line. Given the odds, Neville should have also been at least a decent wizard just like parents before him. Unless something happened?

At the moment, he had no answers, so he filed away the thought for future reference.

“Professor Flitwick!”

“Yes, Ms. Granger?”

“Why isn’t Harry performing the charm?”

Harry paused in his writing. Standing up, he looked at Hermione straight in the eye, opened his palm, and made a ball of light burst into life over his skin. He then extinguished the light, sat back down, and continued his self-study.

“I think that answers your question, Ms. Granger,” Flitwick replied with a hint of pride.

The bushy-haired girl stared with her mouth open. She turned away from Harry and never spoke of him again for the rest of the lesson.

Finally, the bell rang. The students packed up their things and trooped out of the classroom. They had the rest of the afternoon off. And for Harry, it was up to the Room of Requirement for his afternoon training. But first, he needed to settle something with the Charms master.

“Professor?”

“Yes, Heir Potter?”

“Can I trust that you will not tell anyone, particularly Dumbledore, that I was trained by the goblins? I don’t want to give that senile motherfucker any leverage against me.”

It was a testament to how much the diminutive professor respected the Boy-Who-Lived that the former nodded right away, “You have my word, Heir Potter. My lips are sealed unless you give me express permission to reveal your secret.”

“Thank you, Master Flitwick,” Harry bowed respectfully, before leaving the classroom without a further word.

That evening, once dinner had passed, Harry made his way to the empty classroom where he was to serve his first night of detention with McGonagall. The Transfiguration professor was already there when he stepped into the room.

“Good evening, Mr. Potter. I’m glad that even in such circumstances, you are still prompt with timing.”

“As I told Professor Flitwick, it is a habit of mine,” Harry replied, closing the door behind him, “What do you want me to do?”

McGonagall gave him a pointed look, “I want you to teach me your method of Transfiguration. It is inherently superior, and I wish to forward this knowledge to the rest of the school.”

“Professor...you do realise that I took years of practice to get to where I am?”

“I understand, Mr. Potter. However, with practice, there is always some form of theory. I wish to learn the theory behind your method, so that I can practice it by myself. In turn I can disseminate this theory to the students in class.”

Harry was silent for a moment, but nodded eventually. 

“Excellent, now if you could come to the table, Mr. Potter.”

Harry came forward. At the table, there was an assortment of items, all varying in size. There was a matchstick similar to the ones the first-years had practiced with during class, a large book, a water glass, and a quill, among other things.

“Pick any of the items, and explain how you would carry out your method of Transfiguration.”

Harry scanned the objects, before choosing the water glass.

“You first need to get a good feel of the object,” Harry instructed, “When you have a proper visualisation of the object in your mind, then you need to visualise the shape and form of the object that you want to transfigure the principal into. In this case, I’m going to transfigure the glass into a small vase.”

He closed his eyes, and concentrated. Channelling his magic into the glass, he moulded it to rearrange the glass into the expected vase. It took about five seconds or so, and McGonagall watched with rapt attention as the glass morphed into an ornate vase. Without opening his eyes, Harry reversed the transfiguration and returned the vase back into the glass.

“Why don’t you give it a try, Professor?”

Harry handed the glass to McGonagall, who spent a moment or so visualising a vase in her mind. She concentrated, but after a minute, nothing happened.

“Do you have trouble channelling your magic, Professor?”

“How do you do it, Mr. Potter? You made it seem rather easy.”

“I never used a wand my entire life, so my magic channels through my hands,” Harry explained, “Perhaps we can adapt a bit here. Use your wand, and channel your magic through it.”

McGonagall put the glass down, and took out her wand. Aiming it at the glass, while visualising the image of the vase in her mind, McGonagall pretended to say an incantation, but stopped herself at the last minute. Slowly, the glass began to change shape until it resembled that of a typical vase, but unlike Harry’s transfiguration, it retained the transparent, fragile material of the original object.

“Not bad,” Harry nodded, “Unfortunately, this is where my teaching ends. The rest is all down to continuous practice.”

A tiny part of McGonagall was disappointed that even with years of training under her belt, she couldn’t emulate what Harry had done. But a larger part was satisfied with her first attempt, and her inner Ravenclaw shook with excitement to master this inherently superior form of Transfiguration and then teach it to others.

That being said, she did have a few questions though.

“Mr. Potter, a small part of me is curious, so I hope that you don’t mind me asking, who taught you such advanced magic?”

Harry was silent, his face completely blank. For a few moments, McGonagall thought that the first-year hadn’t heard her, when she felt a sudden draft blow through the room. The temperature fell by several degrees, and the windows seemed to cloud over.

The Scottish witch couldn’t help but shiver, “M-Mr. Potter?”

“Someone very dear to me…” Harry spoke tonelessly, “His memory is mine to honour.”

He turned to look at her right in the eye, “I believe we’re done tonight.”

Let it be known that Harry spoke in polite tones, not with irritation or anger that would signify that he was upset with McGonagall. However, the Scottish witch was a perceptive individual, and it didn’t take much for her to realise that she had accidentally stepped on an emotional landmine. Which was part of the reason why she didn’t say anything when Harry turned on his heel and left the classroom without a further word. 

Now alone, McGonagall went through what happened. Obviously, something happened that made Harry react like that. Possibly a death, judging from the boy’s words. But still, nothing came to mind no matter how hard McGonagall. September 3rd raised no possible instances of the passing of an individual that she knew of. Beyond that, she had no answers.

Turning to the door where Harry had left minutes before, McGonagall made the decision to talk to Sprout before she retired for the night. Harry would serve his detention with his head-of-house for the next two days. Perhaps the Herbology professor could learn something from her charge? Understandably, Harry would be more inclined to trust his head-of-house rather than her over sensitive topics.

McGonagall quickly cleared away the items on the table. Hopefully she could catch Sprout before she left the greenhouses. She might not be Harry’s head-of-house, but the boy was still a Hogwarts student. As her role as deputy headmistress, the wellbeing of students was a top priority. And Merlin damn her if she didn’t do her job properly.

To Be Continued.

Chapter Text

“It’s the new night...will you tell me more?” asked Harry.

As expected, he was back in the dark tundra with the ice phoenix that was Mother Magic the moment he fell asleep. The previous encounter had left a lot of questions, and he hoped that more could be answered tonight.

However, it seemed that Mother Magic had other ideas.

Harry...you don’t need to be burdened right now.

“What?” Harry raised an eyebrow.

The 4th of September, is a day of remembrance for you, as you have always done for the past two years. It would be foolish and wrong for me to put weight on your shoulders during such a period of mourning.

Even though he didn’t show it, Harry’s heart felt like a thousand kilogrammes. The urge to cry was there, just as it had for every September 4th, two years running. The day his entire world collapsed, and was slowly rebuilt from the rubble. But for the sake of his memory, he would not break again. He broke once, and he would never let it happen again.

Harry slowly sunk to his knees, and closed his eyes in honour of his mentor. Mother Magic, for the first time, touched down onto the snow-covered ground, and approached her champion. She unfurled her wings, and wrapped them around him.

Be at peace, my champion. Honour Jacob’s memory, and emerge stronger than before. I will wait for you to return, when you are ready to face the next challenge.

It was complete darkness, surrounded by Mother Magic’s wings. It didn’t take long for Morpheus to entice him back into slumber.

When he woke, he was back in his dorm room. Almost robotically, he got up to prepare for the new day.

Harry maintained his default coldness throughout the day. As usual, most students maintained their wide berth away from him, though the morning was not without its quota of girls attempting to chat him up. Harry was not in the mood to even look at the girls, a few harsh words were enough for all to leave him alone, a few even reduced to tears in his frigid wake.

Breakfast was a quiet affair, though Harry’s mind was busy. The school day was occupied by two lessons - Potions and Astronomy. It was the former that occupied his thinking, primarily because of that greasy bastard sitting at the head table.

Snape, like many of the students, kept his distance from Harry ever since the incident two days prior where his life was almost mercilessly cut short. However, this time, Harry would be entering the bastard’s domain. The dungeons were where Snape exercised his power, and he knew with a great deal of certainty that this would give the bastard leverage. Hopefully, Snape would be too much of a Slytherin to get big-headed and think he could get another shot at him. Unlike what Flitwick said yesterday, Harry would exercise no such restraint if the need arose.

Finishing up his breakfast, Harry left the Great Hall and headed down to the dungeons. Once again, he was the first to reach the first-years’ potions classroom. As there were no clear denominations on which house was to sit where, Harry sat down at a table that was furthest away from the door. Setting his bag on the floor, he pulled out his shrunken potions kit, expanded it, and began setting it up for the lesson to come. If he remembered correctly, Snape would be making them brew the Cure for Boils potion. 

Harry was just getting his cauldron ready when the other students arrived. Hermione had long given up trying to figure out how Harry always reached class first, instead choosing a seat alongside her Gryffindor housemates. Susan and Hannah, alongside the rest of the Hufflepuffs, came in shortly after. The Ravenclaws and Slytherins came next, and Harry didn’t deign to respond to the piercing glower Malfoy sent to him from across the room.

Five minutes after that, the door slammed open again. All conversation went dead as the evil dungeon bat strode into the room, robes billowing with each step he took.

“There will be no foolish wand-waving or silly incantations in this class,” Snape’s cold voice echoed throughout the room, “As such, many of you will find it hard to believe that this is still magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through the human veins, bewitching the minds, ensnaring the senses... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even stopper death - if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

Harry minutely rolled his eyes at that, though he was the only one. It was clear that several others were nervously shifting under Snape’s dangerous aura, especially Neville Longbottom. Neville was quaking slightly in his shoes before the potions master, and it piqued Harry’s curiosity.

Snape then took the roll. When he got to Harry’s name, said lad noticed a barely-visible flinch, before he continued as if nothing had happened.

“Weasley! What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Hermione immediately raised her hand, even though she wasn’t called on.

“How am I supposed to know?” the redhead drawled back.

Snape sneered, “Five points from Gryffindor for your cheek, Weasley. Where would I find a bezoar?”

“Up your greasy arse no doubt,” Ron shot back spitefully, inciting gasps from the other students. Harry just shook his head exasperatedly.

“Fifteen points from Gryffindor and detention tonight!” Snape then turned to the Slytherin side of the room, “Malfoy, what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?”

“There is no difference, sir,” the spoiled brat replied smugly, “They are the same thing, specifically aconite.”

“At least not all hope is lost among the young. Ten points to Slytherin,” Snape turned towards the chalkboard, but noticed Hermione’s raised hand, “Ms. Granger, unless you have something important to say or refute, I suggest that you put your hand down so as to not look like an insufferable know-it-all.”

Her hand slowly lowered.

Snape flicked his wand, and a set of instructions appeared on the chalkboard, “Today we will be brewing a Cure for Boils potion. This is an elementary potion, which should be easy for the average wizard, but we’ll see if you lot can live up to the expectations and not cause disaster from incompetency. Begin.”

The students bee-lined for the supply cupboards, except for Harry, who began brewing right away. Snape eyed him warily, before moving his critical eye elsewhere.

Harry prepped the snake fangs. However, instead of grinding them to powder as the instructions said, he cut them into three pieces each first before grinding them. Then, instead of four measures, he added five to the cauldron before leaving the solution to brew. These changes to the instructions allowed for better infusion of the snake fangs and a more potent brew.

He was in the midst prepping the horned slugs - mainly slicing and dicing them, when he felt a presence loom behind him.

“Potter, just what in Merlin’s good name are you doing?”

“Preparing the horned slugs, Professor.”

Snape sneered, “What part about following simple instructions do you not understand? Five points from Hufflepuff, and redo your potion.”

The greasy bat moved to vanish Harry’s potion, but found his wand snatched out of his hand, snapped clean in two, and tossed to the side.

“And this comes from the person who modifies the instructions of potions brewing during his school days,” Harry glared, having no patience for the man’s bullshit today, “Isn’t that hypocrisy, Professor? Or is it that you simply can’t bear to have anyone steal your prized position as potions prodigy, hm?”

Momentarily stunned by the destruction of his second wand, Snape quickly went apoplectic with rage, “Fifty points from Hufflepuff! And detention for the rest of the month!”

The sudden clang of a bell interrupted any reaction. The room shook, trembling cauldrons and knocking over phials. Then, the imposing translucent figure of the Bloody Baron phased into the room, rounding on Snape with a thunderous look.

“Severus Snape! You have abused your power as a professor of this school with your pettiness and immaturity! Hogwarts will not stand for such injustice. Your punishment has been vetoed and all fifty points will be restored!”

A vein popped over Snape’s forehead, “What?! How dare you-”

“I am only the messenger, Snape,” the baron huffed with contempt, “You can try to protest the veto, but you will quickly find that any demands will be simply ignored. Go any further than that and you will find yourself kicked out of Hogwarts before you can even open your dirty mouth!”

Ignoring the trembling professor, the ghost turned to Harry, “Keep up the good work, Heir Potter. You will become a distinguished potions master someday.”

“Thank you, good baron.”

As the Baron bowed and floated away, Snape stormed over to a cabinet, threw the door open and snatched what appeared to be a Calming Draught out from the shelf. Uncorking the bottle, he swung the entire potion down his throat. Slamming the empty bottle onto the counter, he stood hunched over, taking deep breaths. He turned around, realising the entire class (sans Harry, who had simply gone back to brewing) was staring at him.

“What are you all looking at?!” Snape snarled, “Get back to brewing!”

Everyone was quick to busy themselves with their potions after that.

Harry checked the mix in his cauldron, nodding to himself. It was time to add the cut-up slugs. As he was doing so, his hand raised on instinct, just in time to catch a scorpion’s tail from falling into his cauldron. Keeping one eye on his potion, Harry glanced up to see who had almost sabotaged his brewing.

He was in time to see Draco hurriedly return to his cauldron. It was only a split-second, but more than enough to prove his guilt.

Keeping the tail in his hand, Harry discretely used his magic to send it flying back towards the blonde brat, just as Snape came around to inspect his godson’s potion. The single splash was the only indication that something had fallen into the mix, before all hell broke loose.

Draco’s cauldron erupted, splashing the tainted mixture all over him, Crabbe, Goyle and Snape. Neville jumped at the explosion and accidentally upset his own cauldron over himself. Everyone stared in morbid fascination as all five crumpled to the floor, screaming in agony as painful boils erupted over their exposed skin. A few had burst, releasing blood and foul-smelling pus over the floor.

Hufflepuff student Justin Finch-Fletchley raced out of the classroom to fetch the school healer, Madam Pomfrey. Cursing under his breath, Harry barely remembered to add the powdered porcupine quills into the mix. Stirring five times clockwise, and waving a hand over the cauldron, a rise of pink smoke indicated that the potion was ready.

Harry was just corking his phial of completed potion when Justin returned with Madam Pomfrey. The healer immediately levitated all five afflicted individuals into stretchers, dismissed the rest of the class, and led the victims out of the room. 

The remaining students milled about uncertainly for a minute, before slowly trickling out of the classroom after clearing their cauldrons and keeping away their equipment. Harry was already long gone, his completed phial on Snape’s desk.

“Longbottom.”

Neville flinched at the call of his name, just as he closed the door of the Hospital Wing behind him. Harry emerged from nearby, expression carefully blank. Neville visibly paled.

“W-What is i-it, Potter?”

Harry came to a stop before his fellow first-year, towering over him. Poor Neville thought that he was done for. He didn’t know what he had done to piss off the Boy-Who-Lived, but he was sure that his end was coming. Even if he could scream and get Pomfrey’s attention, it would probably be too late.

“I want to apologise to you.”

Neville stiffened, thinking that his hearing was playing tricks on him, “W-What?”

“I didn’t mean for you to get sent to the Hospital Wing. I had only intended to get back at Malfoy for attempting to sabotage my potion, not to cause collateral damage. I hope you can accept my apology for that.”

Neville was stunned. He had clearly not expected the untouchable and infallible Heir of Gryffindor to even talk, let alone apologise to him, the almost-squib son of two mentally-incapacitated aurors permanently warded at St. Mungo’s. There was the side-issue of Potter deliberately sabotaging Malfoy’s potion, but that hardly mattered given the current scene.

Neville then remembered that Harry was waiting for a reply, “I-It’s okay, Potter. It’s my o-own fault for getting startled and upsetting my cauldron over myself.”

Harry’s expression never changed. “We have an hour before lunch, care to go for a walk with me?”

Neville’s eyes widened slightly, “A w-walk?”

“I wish to speak with you, to understand you better.”

Again, Neville was stunned. From his observations, Harry never initiated conversation with anyone, not even with his own house-mates. Why was he, squib-Longbottom, so special? He didn’t even know Harry distantly. So why?

“You’re nervous around me.”

It was a stated fact, and one Neville wasn’t going to refute. It was true, after all.

A soft tendril of coolness swirled away from Harry towards Neville. To his surprise, the Longbottom scion found himself slowly relaxing. Harry then led him away from the Hospital Wing, and together, they strolled down the corridor.

“W-What is it that you wanted to talk about, Potter?”

“Call me Harry.”

Neville blinked, “Pardon?”

“There will be no formality between us, call me Harry.”

“...okay. But my question…”

“I have been observing you, Neville.”

Even with the slightly-disturbing statement, the pudgy first-year’s curiosity piqued, “What do you mean?”

“You were nervous during Potions earlier. Does Snape terrify you?”

Glancing down to the floor, Neville nodded, “He does, Harry. He’s just...so scary. Like he will curse me for breathing too loud or simply for looking at him. And he is so biased against everyone who isn’t a Slytherin...I just don’t understand why he is a teacher here.”

“One word, Dumbledore. The old bastard has reasons to keep the greasy bastard under his control. He doesn’t care that Snape hates anyone who isn’t a Slytherin, especially Gryffindors. The senile motherfucker would let Snape get away with anything if it keeps him under his thumb.”

The pair walked a few paces in silence.

“Also, I saw you having difficulty during Charms yesterday. Do you want to talk about it?”

Neville gave him a nervous look, “A-Are you going to mock me?”

Harry stopped. He turned to face Neville, and with a hand, placed it over his heart, “Swear on my life and dignity, I will not mock you, Neville Longbottom. I merely want to understand you better, as I said earlier.”

Neville pursed his lips, “I-I was never good with magic. Until my Hogwarts letter came, everyone thought I was a squib. My great-uncle Algie kept trying to force magic out of me. He pushed me off Blackpool Pier several years ago, I nearly drowned before a Muggle fished me out…”

Harry froze, “Hold up...did you say that your great-uncle tried to murder you?”

“I-I don’t think he wanted to kill me really. He just wanted magic to save me…”

“Neville, that still counts as child endangerment.”

“I know, my Gran gave him such an earful when I was pulled out.”

“But he didn’t stop,” Harry concluded.

“...No,” Neville shook his head, “Just last month, he dangled me out of the manor windows by my ankles, hoping that it would shock magic out of me. Great-Aunt Enid offered him merengue, and he let go to take it. I bounced down the manor walls and down the lane. Not ten minutes later, the owl carrying my Hogwarts letter arrived.”

“And...your great-aunt didn’t do anything? Not even tell your grandmother?”

“Everyone was just so happy that I had enough magic to get to go to Hogwarts...it was all forgotten, I think.”

Harry didn’t look it, but he was deeply horrified. And his instincts were telling him that there was more to the story.

“Your wand...is it yours?”

Neville shook his head, “No, it belongs to my Dad.”

“Why do you have his?”

The pudgy first-year looked down, scratching his cheek, “My Gran said it is to honour his legacy by carrying his wand…”

Harry wasn’t ignorant. He knew what happened to Frank and Alice Longbottom in the days after Voldemort was vanquished. Tortured into insanity by the Lestranges and Bartemius Crouch Junior in the pursuit for answers following their master’s demise. He also knew that the Longbottoms were formidable aurors in the resistance against Voldemort. They were soft targets, and in some way, forced Neville to grow up in an unsupportive environment under the shadow of his parents’ legacy, the expectations of far too many weighing down on his young shoulders. 

“Neville, before I go any further, I’m really sorry about your parents. If anything, we share a common trait in our familial situations.”

Neville nodded, eyes misty. He too, knew what happened to Harry’s parents.

Harry reached over and took his fellow first-year's shoulders into his firm grip, getting his attention.

“Neville, from this day forth, you are under my protection. No harm will come towards you, I will make sure of that. In potions class, I will be your partner. I will guide you, and keep that greasy bastard at bay. Will you allow me to be your knight?”

Neville was stunned. This was completely unprecedented. In the short time Harry had walked the halls of Hogwarts, he had vehemently refused to let anyone come within a few feet of his personal bubble. Now, this unattainable privilege was being offered to him. Neville might not be confident in himself, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew that many would sign away their souls to be in his position. This wasn’t something to sniff at. If Snape had enough brains, he would leave Harry alone, and by extension, him too if he was under Harry’s protection. It was a no-brainer.

“I-I accept.”

Harry nodded, “Very well. Let us head to lunch, shall we?”

Harry’s expression was still stone-cold, but his eyes conveyed a hidden compassion that Neville was only privy to. For the first time since he had come to Hogwarts, a wobbly smile made its way onto Neville’s lips. Still too overwhelmed to speak, the pudgy first-year nodded again.

It was a surreal sight that greeted the occupants of the Great Hall when the doors opened. Harry Potter led Neville Longbottom to the end of the Hufflepuff table, and no sooner had they sat down, dishes of Italian cuisine appeared in place of the traditional lunch fare. Virtually the entire hall stared in disbelief as Harry introduced a curious Neville to the Italian dishes, and maintained steady conversation with the Longbottom scion throughout their meal, though Neville was doing most of the talking, to be fair. 

Many of the watching students were speechless. They knew early on that Harry Potter was an ice king with a heart so frigidly frozen that no one was able to get too close, let alone talk to him. Many thought they were hallucinating. How did the magically-weak scion of the Longbottoms manage to break down the ice king’s walls and strike a cordial relationship with him?

The stares did not go unnoticed by the two first-years.

“Harry...everyone’s staring at us.”

“Ignore them. You should try the cod with spicy pesto.”

“What’s pesto?”

Harry went into a short explanation of the Genoan sauce, ignoring the continued stares and the onset of scheming amongst the students. Many of them were jealous that Longbottom had succeeded where they haven’t, but they also had their confidence renewed. If a useless squib like Longbottom could open the ice king’s heart, they stood a good chance too. Up at the head table, Dumbledore was on the same wavelength. He saw this as an opening into his weapon’s weaknesses. Perhaps a few compulsion charms towards the youngest Weasley boy could get the ball rolling. Longbottom’s family may be on the side of the Light, but Neville was useless to his schemes. In the headmaster’s mind, his weapon needed proper friends.

“What are you doing after lunch, Harry?” asked Neville curiously.

Harry discreetly snapped his fingers.

“What was that?”

“ Muffliato charm,” Harry replied, “I don’t want anyone hearing our conversation. And to answer your question, I’m going to train.”

“Train?”

“Yes.”

Neville’s curiosity was further piqued, “What kind of training?”

“Magical and physical.”

“...can I come?”

“If you want.”

Neville finished the rest of his pasta, and got up with Harry once the latter had finished his fifth serving. However, they hadn’t gotten two steps away from the Hufflepuff table when they were accosted by a seventh-year Slytherin.

“Heir Potter,” the girl purred, “I knew that you’d come around. Why don’t we have a little chat somewhere more...private, get to know each other better?”

She took Harry’s hand, but found her wrist grabbed harshly by her target. Any attempt at sultriness turned into agonised screams as Harry literally crushed her wrist bones into powder. 

“Who gave you the right to touch me?” Harry snarled, twisting the girl’s arm for good measure, relishing in grisly satisfaction when the bones snapped, “Keep your filthy hands to yourself, or else you will no longer find them attached to your arms.”

The staff were on their feet with their wands out, but another golden barrier prevented them from intervening. The girl tried to get her own wand out, but Harry simply snatched it and tossed it to the side. He then threw the girl to the floor, her uninjured hand cradling her limp forearm.

“This is your only warning, inbred scum,” Harry spat, before turning to the hall as a whole, “And this goes for each and everyone of you! Talk to me or touch me without my consent, and your fate will be just like this bitch on the floor! Remember this, for I will not repeat myself!”

Turning on his heel, Harry guided a somewhat-stupefied Neville out of the Great Hall. Once they were gone, the barrier collapsed, allowing Snape and Pomfrey to hurry over to the wailing girl. Many of the students were shaken, and a good number rescinded their plans to talk to the Boy-Who-Lived. Just when they thought they had a chance, the walls were shot up even higher than before by the latest act of brutality against someone who dared try to breach them.

Appetites were lost that afternoon, and the staff were left unsure of what to do. Eventually, it was decided that nothing could be done against Harry. It was abundantly clear that Hogwarts would no longer accommodate them should they try to take action against the Heir of Gryffindor.

“Did you really have to injure her?” asked Neville nervously.

“Nothing short of physical pain will get the message to stick,” Harry replied shortly, “Most magical folk have no common sense or logic. Only a sharp reminder will get them to learn.”

“But to crush her wrist to powder and snap her forearm into two?”

“She is not the first, nor will she be the last student to attempt to chat me up,” Harry continued, “Like I said, only a sharp, vivid visual would get the students to learn what would happen if they tried to ingratiate themselves with me. Hopefully, the threat of serious injury would stop this nonsense before I really draw my sword and hack off limbs.”

Neville shuddered.

Going up the staircases, Harry and Neville reached the seventh floor.

“Where are we going?”

“A room that only the house-elves know the presence of.”

They approached the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. Taking Neville’s hand, Harry walked past the tapestry three times. On the third time, the tapestry glowed and a clicking noise echoed through the empty corridor. Pushing the tapestry aside, Harry opened the door that Neville realised wasn’t there before.

“This is the Room of Requirement, Neville.”

The scion drew in a sharp breath. The high-vaulted ceilinged room was just as impressive as the first time Harry entered two days prior. Neville’s attention was swapped between the duelling pit with the training mannequins, and the gym equipment at the other side of the room.

“Harry...what’s that?” he pointed at the equipment.

“Muggle gym equipment. I use it for physical training.”

Neville made to move towards the equipment out of fascination, but Harry stopped him.

“Don’t get too close, some of the equipment can cause serious injury when not utilised properly.”

Harry guided Neville towards the duelling pit. The Room provided a bench for the half-Hispanic first-year to sit down. It was good foresight on the room’s part, for Neville had to sit down to stop his legs from giving out when Harry began stripping his school robes off.

He knew Harry was well-built even with his robes on, but to see his powerful muscles, broad shoulders and sculpted torso and back under the skin-tight tunic made Neville’s mouth dryer than the Sahara desert. The Room graciously provided him with a goblet of water, which he finished in one go. Thankfully, the water replenished itself multiple times.

Then came a second good reason that Neville was sitting down instead of standing.

The mannequins had barely come to life and rolled towards Harry when a literal fireworks show began. Neville gripped the bench tightly, daring not to blink as Harry seemed to dance around the faux spells with smooth fluidity and fire back wandless, nonverbal spells that took down the mannequins after five hits exactly. More mannequins were provided to replace the destroyed ones, but they were quickly decimated by Harry’s immense power.

Finally, ten minutes later, the room stopped producing mannequins. Strength returned to Neville’s legs, and he stood up abruptly, clapping wildly in awe. Covered in sweat, Harry nodded in acknowledgement, stepping out of the pit to pick up a provided towel to wipe down his body. Replenishing his lost fluids, Harry stepped back into the pit, drawing his sword with a metallic ring. For the second time, he put on a breathtaking show for Neville, slicing apart the mannequins while dodging the faux spells fired at him. The dance of the sword had Neville really concerned that Harry was going to slice something off by accident, but it only took ten seconds of watching for the half-Hispanic first-year to set his fears at ease. Harry was as good a swordsman as he was a duelist, if the destroyed mannequins were any indication. 

Fifteen minutes later, and the room decided that Harry trained enough. The last mannequin was cleared away, and Harry trooped over to his goblet and swung it down multiple times. Wiping off his sweat, he went over to the Muggle gym equipment and began his workout. This time, Neville went over to watch, though keeping a safe distance as Harry instructed.

“Hey...Harry?”

“Yes, Neville?” the taller first-year replied after finishing a rep of bicep curls.

“Can...can you train me?”

Harry put down the dumbbell.

“Y-You are very confident, and people are afraid of angering you. I-I want to be the same. I don’t want people to walk over me anymore. I don’t want people to call me a squib son of two insane former aurors anymore. I-I-I want to be my own wizard, without having to follow anyone else’s expectations! I want to be my own person!”

By the end of the outburst, Neville was out of breath. Harry stared at his fellow first-year for a moment, before going to put back the dumbbell back on the rack.

“Neville.”

The Longbottom scion looked up to Harry.

“I am willing to train you. But this will not be a walk through Hyde Park. I will push you past your limits to breaking point. There will be no mercy given. Think carefully, Neville Longbottom, for once you agree, there is no backing out. What will it be?”

Neville didn’t need to hesitate or think, “I accept.”

Harry said no more, simply offering Neville his hand, which the latter shook resolutely.

To Be Continued.

Chapter Text

When Harry opened his eyes, he knew right away that he was back.

The gentle downpour of snow, the eternal darkness, the trees in hibernation. He was once again in the tundra deep within his dreamscape.

Standing up, and brushing the snow off his naked body, Harry looked around. There was no sign of the massive, majestic avian that was the sign of Mother Magic.

“Mother Magic? I am here! Show yourself!”

Just like all previous encounters, Mother Magic’s arrival came with a great howling of wind, bursts of snow, and a blinding flash of light. And there she was, in her form as a massive, otherworldly ice phoenix.

My champion, you have returned.

Harry had a determined look in his frozen irises, “I am ready.”

Mother Magic gave him a look.

Harry, are you sure you are ready? Do you need more time to mourn?

In truth, Harry’s heart still felt heavy, just as he had always felt it would be in the days succeeding the anniversary of Jacob’s untimely fate. His mind begged him to put off Mother Magic’s latest revelation of information until a time where he was not burdened by the grief of loss. Nonetheless, Harry pushed down the emotions brewing in his stomach. More important priorities needed to be faced.

“I am ready, Mother Magic. Let me face the next challenge. I cannot afford to sit around any longer and see you suffer.”

You are my champion, Harry. You must take care of yourself too.

“I know, but Jacob wouldn’t want to see me simmering in sadness for too long. I have mourned him every year since his death, and I have honoured his memory each time. I would be doing the opposite if I do not focus on the present.”

Mother Magic was silent for a moment, before nodding.

I understand.

Harry sat down onto the snow, “So what is it that you want to reveal to me?”

I am sure you are aware of the second prophecy made by Sybill Trelawney?

“I am aware.”

In her seeing words, she announced that you will awaken the five elements to aid in ridding the Lords of the Light and Dark. My champion, you are fated to be one of the bearers of these elements.

“How do I become one?”

You must undergo an arduous trial, my champion. The world needs to deem you fit to sustain the power of the element that you will bear. You must understand, my champion, that once you bear this power, you will become the physical embodiment of that element itself. This trial will be far more difficult than all tribulations, much more agonising than the worst pain you have ever experienced. You could even die if you do not exercise caution. This trial will be like nothing you have experienced before. Are you ready for it?

“As I ever will be,” Harry replied resolutely, “So, what am I supposed to do?”

Find me.

For a moment, Harry thought there was something wrong with his hearing, “Pardon?”

You must find me.

Harry was now certain his hearing was going bad, “What do you mean, ‘find you’?”

Mother Magic said nothing more. Suddenly, the wind began to blow. It was peacefully quiet after Mother Magic made herself known to Harry, but now the silence met its end with the wind blew from the North. The gently-falling snow was kicked up by the wind, which Harry realised was growing stronger with each passing second. The snow fell harder, until his surroundings gradually became shrouded from view. Mother Magic disappeared behind the growing blizzard, her voice barely audible over the howling wind.

Find me, Harry! Find me!

Harry was almost blown over by the wind, his hair whipping all over his face. Crouching down into the rising snow, Harry pushed his hair back, and considered his next move.

‘Okay, Mother Magic wants me to find her in this blizzard. Where do I start? Do I go with my instincts?’

As Harry quickly found out, his instincts were all that he had. He tested to see if he could use his magic, and when he found that he was able to, casted a powerful warming charm over his body in an attempt to stave off the rapidly-falling temperatures. For the first time in many years, he actually felt the freezing cold nip away at his exposed skin, and it was a really unpleasant feeling. It was as if knives were being poked all across his body, and given the circumstances of his current situation, Harry knew it was only going to get worse.

‘Alright, I need to get moving.’

With the snow rising up to his knees, Harry trudged blindly into the blizzard, trying to peek through the blanket of whiteness for any sign of Mother Magic. He could still hear her, just barely, over the howling wind.

Find me…

Find me…

Harry quickly lost track of time as he fought his way through the apocalyptic storm of frozen water. Minutes could have passed, or even as long as hours. The snow kept coming, the wind growing stronger to the point that Mother Magic’s ethereal voice was virtually lost to the ears. The freezing temperatures continued to fall, going beyond uncomfortable into the levels of unbearable. Harry’s warming charm was quickly losing its strength against the onslaught of the blizzard, the frigid cold biting away at his skin.

He tried to channel more magic into reheating the warming charm, but a combination of the worsening blizzard, the cold threatening to freeze him solid, the rising snow levels and the howling winds meant that most of his energy was being used to keeping himself upright. With a minute, the last vestiges of heat disappeared as the charm faded, leaving Harry to fend for himself against the ravaging storm.

One particularly strong gust of wind blew Harry over onto the snow. He spat out the mouthful of frozen water, his lips turning blue from the freezing cold. His extremities felt unnaturally cold, even more so than he had expected.

When he pulled his hands out of the snow, he found the tips of his fingers were just as dark blue as his lips were. But what worried him greatly was that he found it increasingly difficult to move his fingers, as ice began creeping from the fingertips down to half his palms. It was far from painless, but Harry had experienced greater pain under his relatives. But he knew it would only grow worse, just as Mother Magic said it would.

Harry had stayed in his current position for too long. He had keep moving. At this rate he was going to literally freeze to death.

It was not going to be easy though. The snow had risen halfway up his thighs, and Harry very quickly realised that his feet were freezing over too. The ice spread from his soles up to just above his ankles. It made trudging through snow even more difficult, and coupled with increasing wind speed and stronger snowfall, Harry found that he only managed a few feet before another gust of wind blew him back onto the snow.

By this time, the painful prickling of ice was spreading again. Both hands had completely frozen over, as had his calves. Moving was virtually impossible now. He also felt ice spreading out from his nose across his face. The pain was blindingly torturous. It felt like thousands of knives, pins and needles were first dipped in acid, and then repeatedly stabbed into every inch of his body.

For the first time in a long while, fear coursed through Harry’s veins.

It was increasingly apparent that he was going to die in this blizzard. As the ice continued to spread up his arms and legs, it was only a matter of time before it reached his heart and froze it over. Death would follow almost instantly.

As much as this dark reality became truer by the second, Harry really didn’t want to die. He needed to fulfil his purpose as Mother Magic’s champion. Furthermore, if he died here, what would happen to his body back in the mortal realm? Would it be forever in stasis because he technically didn’t die in his world? Or will his corpse decompose naturally and attract the attention of the rest of the school? Also, how could he face Jacob in the afterlife? That everything he had done for him ended up wasted and for nothing? He simply would not be able to face his mentor for his failure.

But what could he do? Here he was, slowly dying as the ice crept over his skin, weighing him down with the blizzard catalysing his demise. Mother Magic was nowhere to be seen, and he was completely alone in this apocalyptic storm with no visible means of help that he could cling onto for his own survival.

Harry realised that there was nothing he could do. As much as he hated it, he was at Death’s door. It would take nothing short of a miracle for something to snatch him back into the pathway of Life.

“Harry!”

Even half-dead, Harry jerked at another ethereal-sounding voice calling his name. It was definitely not Mother Magic, but at the same time, it wasn’t unfamiliar, as if he had heard it from somewhere.

“Harry!”

There it was again.

Despite the pain he was in, Harry forced himself to turn towards where the voice seemed to be coming from. Suddenly, out of the howling blizzard, came a great burst of light. Squinting his eyes, Harry watched the light stretch into a humanoid shape. The shape then seemed to undulate, and with another flash, came the translucent image of a woman, one that Harry remembered very clearly.

“M-Mum…?”

The spirit of Lily Potter drifted towards him. Despite the freezing cold, Harry felt tears gather in his frozen eyelids. Lily knelt down, a sad smile spreading her thin lips.

“My sweet baby son.”

“Mum? W-What are y-you doing here?”

“I cannot let my brightest star fizzle out just like that,” Lily replied, hand out to stroke her son’s cold cheek, “You are destined for many great things, my son. You have what it takes to become a bearer of the five elements.”

“W-What do you m-mean? H-How?”

“Remember when we met at Ollivander’s shop?” Lily asked softly, yet still audible despite the howling wind, “I urged you to not fight the magic that came from your wand. To let it become one with your heart and soul. You must do it again, my son. Before the ice consumes you whole, you must embrace it. Show it that you are not an enemy to be destroyed. Show that you and the magic combined will create a greater being unrivalled to anything short of Mother Magic herself.”

Harry was not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. While he wasn’t sure if he could pull off the same move that he did back in Ollivander’s shop, it was literally the only idea he had right now. But he had one question…

“M-Mum…will you s-stay by m-my side?”

Lily nodded, “Of course I will. I will always be by your side.”

The tears gathering in Harry’s frozen eyelids began to fall, but even then his resolve had been rekindled. The spirit of Lily helped her half-frozen son to his feet, keeping a translucent hand on his shoulder to reassure him of her presence. Harry took a long, shuddering breath to calm his nerves, before facing the blizzard engulfing him and his deceased mother. He spread his arms wide open, forcing his magic through his frozen fingertips. In long, flowing ribbons of sparkling ice-blue light, Harry’s magic shot in all directions through the storm of frozen water.

Harry simply let his gut instinct take over.

“Power of the ice and snow, please come to me. I do not seek your defeat, nor your ruin. You and me, we are an unstoppable force. Stronger than the harshest, fiercest blizzard. Sharper than blades of deadly ice. Mightier than the glaciers that overtake mountains and valleys. Together we can achieve so much more, but as enemies it will be all for nought. We have the power, alongside four others, to save Mother Magic from the Lords of Light and Dark. Together, we can ensure that future generations prosper and expand. Please, come to me, and let us be one!”

The final tone of declaration was marked by Harry’s magic pulling the blizzard towards him. The downfall of frozen water did not come willingly. It fought against Harry’s magic, refusing to bond with him. Harry didn’t blame it in the slightest. A blizzard was a force of nature. Nature and mankind do not often mix. And if they do it is usually at the expense of one. This was a situation that nature did not want to risk itself in. But for the sake of the future and Mother Magic’s continued existence, Harry and nature needed to become one.

The Boy-Who-Lived put more strength into his magic, a herculean task because the freezing cold was still eating away at what little energy he had left. But perhaps it was his mother’s presence, her ghostly hand still pressed on his shoulder as a sign of support, that kept him going. Despite its struggles, the blizzard was pulled closer towards Harry. As he used more magic and strength, an orb of light appeared over his chest. The orb expanded outwards, becoming translucent like a frosted glass. Harry became encompassed in the translucent sphere that quickly grew to at least five times his height. The blue ribbons of magic spread out from his fingers to all over the sphere in a manner that resembled a plasma globe.

Lily stepped back far enough to put some distance between herself and the orb. A few seconds later, the orb lifted up from the ground, rising several metres up into the air and taking her only son with it.

Inside the orb, whatever freezing cold become locked outside. For the first time since the blizzard started, Harry felt warmth, as his magic protected him from certain death. The blue ribbons continued to draw the blizzard towards the orb, which upon contact, ice began spreading all over the circumference. The magic within the frozen water was filtered through the orb’s surface, swirling towards Harry in beautiful wisps of sparkling white streams. The magic settled all over Harry’s body, growing in power as more was drawn in.

Harry felt the magic of snow and ice fill his heart and soul, growing stronger by the second. Any moment now, it would reach critical mass.

And it did.

Harry let out one loud, deep roar, as the orb surrounding him exploded in a blinding flash of light that rivalled the greatest supernovae ever recorded by mankind. The magic of ice and snow flared around him, finally accepting him. Like the trails of comets, sparkling lights and snowflakes fell all over Harry, transforming him into the first bearer of the five elements.

His long black hair shimmered into a platinum-blond, the same colour as that single stripe that appeared when Harry received his wand. The parts of his body that had become overcome by ice – his hands up to his elbows, his feet to his knees, and the top half of his face – once so dead and lifeless, seemed to literally glow under the light. Hundreds of snowflakes embedded themselves within the frozen areas, forming beautiful, intricate patterns. Harry’s irises, once split in two between emerald-green and icy-blue, were now completely blue, with two tiny eight-pointed snowflakes in the pupils. More magic rained down over his body, coalescing into a high-collared, sleeveless, tight-fitting robe that was open down the chest, and had two slits down the ankle-length skirt running parallel to his legs, covered by a pair of skin-tight pants that were of an icy-blue colour. His feet and calves were shrouded in more light, forming boots that started icy-blue, before shifting to white from the ankle down. Two large snowflakes embedded themselves into the toe-caps of the boots, and more embedded themselves all across the robe, enhancing the beauty of the white fabric which shifted into an icy-blue halfway down the skirt. Two ribbons of light; one wrapped around Harry’s temple and thinned into a bracketed brace of platinum, the other splitting into delicate filigree tendrils and moulding into the main bracket almost like branches of a vine, became the home of dozens of tiny snowflakes that embedded into the ends of these branches like flowers. A bigger, eight-pointed snowflake made of crystal took pride of place in the centre of the bracket, completing the diadem. Finally, a translucent cape, split into three parts, burst out from Harry’s upper back, flowing in a long train where snowflakes of varying sizes immersed into the fabric alongside thousands of sparkles that became diamonds.

Just like that, the blizzard came to an end. Harry floated down like an angel descending from heaven. As soon as his feet touched the ground, Lily came forth, her sad smile now beaming with pride.

Harry was completely out of it, but his mother’s hand on his shoulder slowly brought him back to his senses. In another great burst of light, Mother Magic reappeared before the pair, her form as an ice phoenix seemingly brighter and more vibrant that last.

My sincerest congratulations, Harry Potter. You are now the bearer of Ice and Snow, the very bridge between Magic and mankind. The first of the five elements have been awakened!

“I would have never been able to do it, if Mum had not appeared before me,” Harry replied, turning to his mother’s spirit, “Her love saved me from the Killing Curse cast by the monster who is an affront to Death, and her love ensured that the magic of snow and ice accepted me as its equal to form a greater being that stands before you. She saved me, once again, from certain death, and I am forever grateful for the love she continues to show beyond the veil.”

Lily cupped her son’s cheek, “You are my only son. You have been chosen by fate to save Mother Magic. It is my duty as a mother to support and help Harry through the obstacles and tribulations that stand before him in the fulfilment of his purpose.”

Mother and son shared a hug. Harry let the tears fall again. Even though Lily was only a spirit, and carried nay the warmth that came from a living person, this was the first true hug, born of familial love, that Harry had ever experienced in his eleven years on Earth. It was feeling like no other. The presence of his mother, his protector and saviour, filled him with reassurance and strength, more than he could ever say with Jacob and the goblins. They trained him, yes, and they ensured he survived in a world that sought his ruin. But they could never really be considered parental figures. Any form of love from them could never amount to the familial love from his mother. And Harry savoured the contact, like a forbidden nectar no mere mortal deserved to taste.

You have done well, my champion. Tonight will be a time for recuperation. But you must not rest too long. The magic of ice and snow may be a part of you now, but you must continuously train it daily to let your core magic become acclimatised.

“I understand, Mother Magic,” Harry nodded, “But what about the remaining four bearers? Do I have to search for them? What else must I do?”

Do not burden yourself right now, my champion. The four remaining bearers of the elements will be found over the coming moons. Fate will choose these four bearers, and they will face similar trials to deem them worthy to harness such powers. However, when each bearer is found, you must oversee their training and protection, my champion. Many others will seek these powers for their greedy selves. You must keep these tainted souls away at all costs. And only when all five bearers are of equal power and strength, will you be able to cleanse the world of the filth and sickness brought upon by the Lords of the Light and Dark.

It was a big ask. Most mortals would have passed out from the sheer gravity that such responsibility brought. But Harry was no mere mortal at this point. He had more power and magic than at any point in his life. And he knew, deep down, that he wasn’t going to be alone. He and four others will unite their magic to save their world. And even if she couldn’t always be physically there, his mother will always be watching him, ready to give her support when the time came.

But now, as Mother Magic said, it was time to rest.

Exhaustion hit Harry with as much force as the Knight Bus losing control of its brakes. Feeling his body sag under its own weight, Harry was gently guided down to the snow-covered ground by his mother. Mother Magic stayed close, watching as Lily ensured her son’s comfort, gently stroking her fingers through his blond locks.

Harry felt the darkness of sleep coming in. But before he drifted off, he had one last request for Lily, “Mum…can you sing me to sleep?”

“Of course, Harry. I would love to.”

The still tundra soon echoed with a soft, enchanting lullaby, the same one Lily would always sing to her son when she was still alive, and he was no more than an infant in her arms. Even though it was ten years since he last heard that gentle melody, Harry felt soothing calmness flood his mind and body.

Sleep came fast for the bearer of snow and ice. The last thing he heard, just before darkness came, was the lullaby that continued long after Morpheus had claimed him for the rest of the night.

To Be Continued.