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It would probably start off the same. With a boy, newly orphaned, on the doorstep of his aunt’s house, where she would go out for the milk, but find the milk and her dead sister’s baby.
The boy would still be put into the cupboard and wish and wish and wish for a saviour. For someone, anyone, to get him and take him far, far away. The boy would still grow up believing his parents died as drunks and not as martyrs. The boy would still grow up without love and happiness, but rather with spiders and massive clothes.
However, in this story, Harry Potter was someone just a little different. Someone who had found something to love before a half-giant broke down the door and proclaimed him a wizard of all things.
In this story, a five-year-old Harry Potter found a spider in his shoe, and instead of just letting it out into wild wilderness of Privet Drive, he kept it.
As his pet, or companion, take your pick, but he kept it.
He named it Silvester (nicknamed: Silver), because he couldn’t tell if it was a girl or a boy, and so either worked for either. He named it Silvester because he had heard the name somewhere (he couldn’t remember where) and it reminded him of the webs he had found in his shoe. He named it Silvester because he didn’t really think any other name fit and somehow, it just felt right.
At breakfast, a couple of hours after Harry had found his spider, he had managed to procure a jam jar after Dudley had finished it off just that morning on his toast. Aunt Petunia had ordered him to wash it and take it to the outside bin, but Harry’s clothes had been big enough for him to slip it up his top and carry it back to his cupboard.
There, he transferred Silvester to its new home and stared at the distorted image of the black blob scuttling about the jar.
It wasn’t until a couple of days later, where, by chance, they were learning about animals in science at school. Learning about what each animal liked to eat, and it was then that Harry learned spiders ate flies not crumbs of stolen crackers.
It was the first time that Harry felt bitter. Bitter with regret and sadness, because he realised, even as a five-year-old, that spiders can’t be kept in jam jars and fed crumbs of stolen crackers.
And yet, it wasn’t all bitterness, because it was from then that the Harry Potter Spider Station was founded (although it would take a couple more years for the name to become finalised).
The Harry Potter Spider Station.
In short, it was why the Hat set its sight on Hufflepuff not Gryffindor for Harry Potter.
Harry still prayed for not Slytherin, not Slytherin, not Slytherin, because Ron Weasley had still trumped Draco Malfoy in Harry’s eyes.
So then what?
Well, the Hat offered him the other three, and said that he ‘would thrive in any’, but that hadn’t really resolved the case. More or less because Harry Potter didn’t really understand nor care, quite frankly; he just didn’t want to live in another place with more bad people.
No. He just thought about the massive hall and the sea of faces all whispering excitedly at the sound of his name, and he thought about his cupboard and the Harry Potter Spider Station, and he just thought, that if he wanted anything in the world, from life and from Hogwarts in general, it was that he wanted to be happy and that all he wanted was a home.
And the Hat listens to thoughts, so really it should have come as no surprise to anyone when the Hat bellowed, “HUFFLEPUFF!” after a solid six minutes and 17 seconds.
Time froze for a second. There was no sound, no nothing for a moment. And then, and only then, did the Hufflepuff table erupt into very loud cheers and round of applause. Harry felt a flush creeping up his neck, but he tried his best to squash it down as he made his way to the table with the people cheering the loudest.
On the way however, he did give Ron Weasley a grin, which was reciprocated, albeit a little less assuredly than it would have been had the Hat bellowed, “GRYFFINDOR!”. But it was a grin all the same, one that sealed the sign of friendship.
And that was that.
Except it wasn’t quite.
Because in this story Harry sat down beside Hannah Abbot and Susan Bones and Ernie MacMillan and Justin Finch-Fletchley and Zacharias Smith, and his hand was not shaken by Percy Weasley, but by some other fifth year who he didn’t know the name of.
In this story, Harry sat down beside all the people with yellow and black on their ties rather than red and gold, and it made all the difference in the world.
The feast went pretty much the same way: Harry still caught Snape’s eye and his scar burnt for it, except he had to ask someone else who Snape was (he would later go on to find out that he had asked Cedric Diggory); Harry still spoke to the people around him and fell in love with treacle tart, and, most importantly, he still fell in love with Hogwarts.
That night, in the first-year dormitory for the Hufflepuffs, Zacharias Smith was the first to break, “I thought for sure you would’ve been in Gryffindor.”
Harry’s brows furrowed, “Why?”
Zacharias shuffled a little on his feet, and Ernie answered for him, “Everyone did.” Harry looked confused still, “You know, because you’re Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived. You killed You-Know-Who.”
This time Harry shuffled a little on his feet, “Well, I don’t think it was actually me –,”
“Who was it then?”
“No idea. I just meant that, I don’t know, I’m not special or anything, so how could I have defeated a really powerful wizard as a baby,” explained Harry, sat on his bed.
Ernie and Zacharias looked slightly disappointed and Justin looked pensive. Justin spoke first, “Well, maybe you just think that because you grew up with Muggles, so you don’t know much magic yet, right? Well, I hope not, because I grew up with Muggles and I don’t know anything. I’ll probably end up holding my wand the wrong way round.”
It was then that Harry found himself laughing, and it wasn’t that Justin had said anything particularly funny. Harry was just laughing, and it made Ernie, Zacharias and Justin start laughing alongside him, even though none of them really knew what it was that they found funny.
(Hagrid had been funnier: when Harry had taken up his invite for tea on the first Friday afternoon, Hagrid had let him in and had said, “Righ’ ‘Arry, remember when I said the ‘Ufflepuffs were duffers?”
“Yeah?”
“Well, forget I said tha’. Just forget it.”)
In this story, Harry Potter had no reason to solely gravitate to one person, or eventually two, and so he became a bit of a busybody, going here there and everywhere, speaking to all people from all different houses and all different years.
It was mainly because the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs all shared lessons but there was no animosity between the two houses, much unlike the other two houses with their notorious reputation. So, it was really by default that Harry Potter became friendly with all the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaws in his year.
He became a bit of a winner with the teachers too, which was probably due to the entire lack of expectation stemming from a red and gold tie to have a second James Potter waltz in late to every lesson. The entire lack of expectation, that had really been stripped away by a two measly colours on his tie, meant that Harry could just be.
(Although that’s not to say Harry was constrained in the original story, it’s just to say that he could have been freer, freer to thrive, to feel, to be happy and cheeky and not have to worry about the legacy of dead parents who looked exactly like you on top of your shoulders.
And although, that’s not to say Snape was suddenly treating Harry like his master. No. Of course not. Because Snape didn’t hate Harry because he wore a red and gold tie whilst Snape had worn green and silver. No. Of course not.
Hatred runs far, far deeper than the colour of someone’s tie.
Even if it could be argued that Snape had never hated Harry at all, and really just hated himself for not.)
But, nevertheless, Harry became a bit of a winner and no one felt it like Harry himself.
This Harry didn’t make become the youngest Seeker in a century, because, well, the Hufflepuff team already had a Seeker, Cedric Diggory, but also because there had been no Draco Malfoy to antagonise him, and so he hadn’t needed to chase after Neville Longbottom’s Remembrall. Instead, he had just laughed when Ron had told him that McGonagall had stormed outside furious and practically dragged Malfoy by the ear to Dumbledore’s office, where he had received three detentions.
But that, by no means, meant that this Harry had taken any less interest in flying.
Because this Harry had still performed exceptionally in his Quidditch lesson and had beamed with pride when Madame Hooch had told him he would make an excellent flier one day and had said his father had been an exceptional flier too.
And so, instead, Harry had traipsed somewhat nervously down to the greenhouses one night in search for his head of house. He had stood, hands clipped behind his back the way Aunt Petunia had told him to, and asked as politely as possible, “If it would be possible for me to, please, join the Quidditch team’s training sessions, so that I could learn how to play properly.”
Pomona Sprout hadn’t really known what to say, but she didn’t see James Potter or Lily Evans. No. Rather she just saw a boy, this one called Harry Potter, who was one of her own, asking for something so simple. So, she had replied with an equally simple, “I’ll see what I can do.”
And sent Harry back off to the common room, with an excited buzz in his stomach.
This Harry Potter never duelled Draco Malfoy, because when he was challenged Ron Weasley hadn’t been there to answer or accept for him. No. Instead, when he was challenged, he merely said, “I’m a bit busy at the minute, but if you ask me another time, maybe I might be able to.”
Draco Malfoy never asked him again.
Called him a coward and just another weak Hufflepuff, but Harry couldn’t find it in him to care.
Draco Malfoy just bitched from afar, and that was fine by Harry.
This Harry Potter was a Hufflepuff and so it was really no surprise that he found the kitchens within the first few weeks of his time at Hogwarts.
“Erm – hello,” greeted Harry uncertainly, hand flopping a little pathetically in an attempt to wave at the mysterious creatures.
“You is Harry Potter, isn’t you’s, sir?” a House-Elf asked, and the others were crowded around Harry’s legs, not reaching past his belly button.
“Er -,” began Harry, rethinking the excellent idea he had had to go exploring, “Just Harry is fine. I don’t think I’m much of a ‘sir’… I’ll – er – just be going then…”
“No! No! No! Harry Potter you must be waiting -,” the mix of high-pitched cries were hard to differentiate.
Harry Potter must be waiting, indeed.
It wasn’t long in this story before Harry became known for his easiness when it came to spiders. Probably because in about the third week of Hogwarts, when Harry was still struggling to sleep from utter joy and pure excitement, Hannah Abbot had seen a massive spider near the fireplace.
Many of the girls had squealed and screamed girlishly, in a way that Harry had never quite understood, but Harry had just walked up to it, picked it up in his hand and walked out of the common room and let the spider free into the wild openness of the Hogwarts grounds.
When he had come back in, everyone had looked at him like he was mental and so cool at the same time. “It was just a spider,” Harry said confused, “There are loads in the -,”
“’Just a spider’ he says,” exclaimed Susan, hands gesturing comically all over the place, “That thing was massive.”
Harry wasn’t entirely sure what to say, but when was he ever? So, he just grinned and basked in the bubbling of happiness in his stomach.
This Harry Potter still found Fluffy though because he had developed a rather nasty habit for exploring.
And I think that’s enough said on that.
(A three-headed dog is the same in any universe. Not kinder nor nastier to anyone because of the colour of their tie.)
This Harry Potter met Neville Longbottom not as a house mate, but as a fellow Snape-victim. The two ran into each other in the library, where Harry was searching for books about anything he found interesting and where Neville was searching for a something on Herbology.
“Woah!” exclaimed Harry, gripping on to the shelves for support from the crash.
Neville, not having quite managed to grasp on to anything, fell straight down on to the floor and Harry was quick to help him up. The both of them apologising profusely, whilst their voices were nothing above a whisper, trying to deter Madam Pince’s deathly glare.
“You alright?” whispered Harry.
“Yeah – thanks, Harry,” whispered Neville back.
“Don’t worry about it. What’ve you got to read?” asked Harry.
“Oh,” Neville looked abashed, “It’s nothing cool, just some Herbology stuff.”
They both made their way out of the library, so they could raise their voices back to a normal level, books in either hand. Harry looked at Neville, “Herbology is cool, Neville. What would Professor Sprout say if she heard you slagging off her subject like that?”
His question made Neville laugh a little, but Neville was nothing if not stubbornly humble, “Your book is much better probably.”
Harry flapped his hands about comically, “Plants, Neville! Just think: where would we be without plants? No where good that’s for sure.”
If it was Harry’s intention to make Neville laugh, then he was very much successful.
And as the two began chatting comfortably about plants and where they would be without them, no knowledge of prophecies and dark lords and tortured parents, a very pure and very innocent friendship was born.
Ron Weasley still called Hermione Granger a know-it-all, and Quirrell still let a troll in to the school, but this time Harry heard about it from Susan, who had been chatting to Parvati about it. So, when Dumbledore gave the call, it was Harry who rushed off, grabbing Ron on his way.
(This Harry was still just as noble, but perhaps a bit more bothered by other people’s kindness, or lack thereof. Because the Harry Potter Spider Station had been built on kindness, so he would be damned if he didn’t extend that into his daily life.)
“Harry! Wait! Where are we going?” asked Ron, following his friend all the way through the maze that was Hogwarts corridors.
“Hermione doesn’t know about the troll!” answered Harry, legs pounding beneath him.
Ron, struggling to keep up, said, “How d’you know ‘bout Hermione?”
Did that matter? Harry thought.
He didn’t say it though, he just carried on running.
And you know how the story follows.
By now, Professor Sprout had done what she could, and it was settled that Harry was to join the Hufflepuff Quidditch team once a week for training, where the captain, Peter Lockwood a seventh year, could decide how to weave Harry in.
Harry had been nothing other than chuffed.
The Philosopher’s Stone situation happened as it did in the original story, because this Harry was just as noble, except this time he had more friends, more people who trusted him, and more people, if he wanted to, who he could trust.
Although it was still Ron and Hermione who ventured down the trap door with him and Harry hadn’t been there to convince Neville to stand down, or to convince Hermione to leave Neville, so Neville still lay frozen on the floor of the Gryffindor common room, worrying and worrying.
Lily’s love was no different in this story than it was in the original.
A mother’s love can carry across several universes, alternate or not, and so Quirrell died burnt by hands living off a sacrifice and Voldemort fled once again by the hand of Lily Potter’s love and Harry still fell down, down, down.
Days later, when Harry was sat in the Great Hall, yellow and black flags decorating the walls, as he led the Hufflepuffs to victory and destroyed Slytherin’s streak at the same time, he thought that Voldemort or not, this had been the best year of his entire life, which wasn’t saying much, but it meant much to him.
He thought, whilst his housemates chanted his name, that this probably compensated for the fifty points he lost earlier in the year, that he was sure his fellow ‘Puffs were never going to forgive him for.
And he thought, when he looked up to Dumbledore who was smiling at him, that he had never made a better choice when choosing Hufflepuff.
This Harry’s second year began pretty much the same way, except when Dobby came and visited, this Harry was much more accustomed to a House-Elf’s temperament and so, there were no bars on his window and he got all his letters.
The Weasley’s still came and rescued him though, because Hedwig was still locked up, unable to deliver the many replies to the letters Dobby had hidden. Although this rescue didn’t manage to cause as much ruckus as the original one did, because – well…
This Harry still spent half a summer being fed crazy amounts of sausages and potatoes by Mrs Weasley, but this Harry also managed to get a friendly rivalry going with Fred and George, because a Puffer could never beat a Gryff at Quidditch.
(“Nah, they play too nice.”
“Yeah,” Harry said, “But your Seeker couldn’t catch the snitch even if it flew into his hand.”)
And this Harry still explained plugs and rubber ducks to Mr Weasley, because Harry could never say no.
Little Ginny Weasley also still had a crush on this Harry because he was still just as legendary and still just as famous.
This Harry, however, had many more letters he spent many more hours replying to. He replied to all of them, one to Terry Boot on the Charms summer work and his sister’s new boyfriend, another to Justin Finch-Fletchley to let him know how his fat cousin was getting on and to ask about what Russia was like, another to Cedric Diggory to let him know that now he was at the Weasleys he could work on the dives he had been taught in their weekly training sessions and a few more to Neville and Hannah Abbot and Lee Jordan, who like spiders just as much as him, and one to Professor Sprout asking if he could borrow a plant to give Neville for his birthday.
(…while I am happy to help in every way that I could, I just wish to warn you that gifts don’t normally work like this, Harry, alright?
Hope you’re having a wonderful Summer,
Professor Sprout.)
The Harry Potter Spider Station was still very much up and running, much to Ron’s dismay, as well as gratitude. Harry led spiders in and out of the station, saving them from brooms and hoovers and crazy girlish shrieks. He led them in and out because who else was going to save them, if not Harry?
(No one, exactly.)
But this Harry and Ron did not fly to Hogwarts. No. Because, as I said, this Harry was much more accustomed to a House-Elf’s temperament and so it would not have proved necessary for Dobby to close the gate, because this Harry had quite the knack for persuasion and little creatures.
Ginny Weasley became the first Weasley-Hufflepuff in over two centuries, and no one cheered louder than her brothers from the Gryffindor table. Ginny Weasley, flushed bright red and confused all the same, wondered over to the Hufflepuff table only to meet a Harry Potter decked out in his yellow and black tie.
And she thought, that even if she wasn’t brave, she could still be nice and hardworking and all that. (However, and you’ve probably guessed, but I’ll tell you anyway, that this Ginny Weasley went on to become the fiercest Hufflepuff you ever did see.)
But then she looked at Harry Potter, clapping at her, for her, and thought that maybe the houses weren’t worth that much anyway, because Harry Potter was the bravest person in all of Hogwarts and yet he was still a Hufflepuff.
Colin Creevey was still a Gryffindor, although he told Harry Potter a couple of days later that he had begged for Hufflepuff (because that’s where he was) but the Hat had said some things don’t work like that and often bravery was learnt not copied, or something ridiculous like that.
So, he went to Gryffindor instead, which was fine – slightly disappointing – but fine.
The story went on – blah, blah, blah – it’s quite a lot of waffle actually.
This Harry still heard whispers in the walls and this Colin Creevey still took pictures and this Gilderoy Lockhart was still prat.
But this time, when this Harry figured he could speak to snakes, the whole of Hogwarts didn’t turn on him.
No.
Rather this Harry Potter stood in the middle of the Hufflepuff common room, everyone watching him suspiciously, and explained himself. He said he told the snake to get away from Justin, and he would never want to hurt another member of his house, because they were his family.
And these were Hufflepuffs not Gryffindors, so they just looked at him and, actually it was Ginny who said it first, but eventually they all said they believed him and that of course he was their family too.
Harry felt something wriggly in his chest and grinned a bit wider and a bit broader, even if Zacharias Smith still thought he was a bit suspicious, because who had ever heard of a Parseltongue in Hufflepuff. But Ginny dealt with him, so that was the end of that.
Oh, and on the topic of Ginny, well, this Harry watched Ginny more closely, and not only because Ron and Fred and George had asked him to keep an eye out just in case, but just because he was like that. He knew what it was like to be a Hufflepuff when everyone had expected you to be a Gryffindor.
So, this Harry saw this Ginny deteriorating, both ties yellow and black where they were supposed to be red and gold. So, this Harry acted much sooner and much quicker.
“Hey, Ginny,” greeted Harry, sitting next to her on one of the couches by the fireplace.
“Hey.”
Harry didn’t say anything for a moment, wondering how best to go about it, but then he aborted the whole mission to talk about sleep and blurted, “D’you wanna come to the kitchens with me? The elves make the best hot chocolate I’ve ever had.” He didn’t mention the fact that theirs was the only hot chocolate he’d ever had.
“Er – yeah, alright then.”
It was from then on, that Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley formed an unagreed alliance, one of protection and care, for they were both supposed to have had red and gold on their ties rather than yellow and black.
Again, yadda, yadda, yadda – it’s all trivial stuff really.
This Harry wasn’t on the quidditch team so Dobby couldn’t send a rogue buldger after him. Although he broke his arm in a different way, one of trying (“very stupidly,” according to Cedric) to jump off the school broom, that was practically his by now anyway, in a way to make him seem much more suave – but in reality it hadn’t gone to plan.
But the Hufflepuff quidditch team didn’t train with Lockhart, so Harry went off to the Hospital Wing only to have it quickly mended and be scolded yet again for attempting something so stupid.
Dobby did visit him though – gave Zacharias Smith quite the scare in the boy’s dorm – telling him that he really should go home and that bad things were actually really bad. But Harry didn’t take note properly – no where was better (not safer, because that would be a lie) than Hogwarts – instead, he just promised the Malfoy elf that if he was in danger, he would go home straight away.
(Ha. Hogwarts was his home.)
Anyways, it was probably about a week later, about a day after Justin had been petrified that Ginny told Harry.
They were sat in the kitchen again, because that’s just what they did, and Ginny said, “I think it’s me – or well, not me me – but,” she looked at Harry’s confused face, “I – there’s this diary…”
The diary went to Dumbledore and Harry watched Ginny more closely, just in case there was another diary, or some other talking inanimate object, and the two went exploring more often than not, because that’s just what they did.
In twenty years, when they were married with three children, there would be some nights when they would wonder how it all started and then they would come to the conclusion that everything had started and stemmed from the yellow and black on their ties, where they were supposed to have been red and gold.
But that was in twenty years. Now, they just wondered about the castle, huddled under an invisibility cloak, looking for hiding spots and secret passageways, blissfully unaware of the awful years that faced them.
In this story, Dumbledore was never removed neither was Hagrid shipped off to Azkaban and it took a few goes but Harry got Hagrid to explain what had happened, which Harry had taken to Dumbledore, recited word for word and Hagrid had sobbed into Harry’s yellow and black scarf, pardon letter in hand.
In this story, nothing really happened for the rest of the year, until, due to mass complaint, Lockhart had been forced to resign.
Harry had held a celebration party in the Hufflepuff common room.
Next year, when the dementors came, Ginny would shake less violently, but Harry and Neville would still react the same. Next year, when Remus Lupin joined the Hogwarts teaching cohort, he would look at Harry Potter in his yellow and black tie and see someone just as courageous had he been in a red and gold one. Next year, when Sirius Black would break into Gryffindor tower twice in a row, instead of the Hufflepuff basement, it was only Harry who got suspicious.
It was only Harry who got suspicious because this Harry valued other people’s kindness just that little bit more; this Harry valued kindness as the right thing not the brave thing, and perhaps not even the clever thing, but the right thing.
So, when Neville got dragged into the Whomping Willow, Ron’s rat in hand, Harry stared for a moment before grabbing Ginny’s hand and following without a shadow of a doubt on either of their face.
When Sirius Black saw this Harry, with yellow and black on his tie, where James had once had red and gold, his first thought was that he would have loved to have been the one to tell sixteen-year-old James Potter that his son would be a Hufflepuff. His second thought was that it wouldn’t have mattered at all to James because that’s just who James grew to be.
Alas, rats still became dead men, lies still became truths and professors still became werewolves.
But this time there was no time-turner, and so by the edge of the black lake this Harry lay listening to his parents fighting for his life, a godfather – hope – lying next to him, and a friend’s grasp on his hand. But this time Neville had been lying by the Whomping Willow, shouting for help and it had been Dumbledore, consoling his game-keeper over dead hippogriffs, who heard.
A phoenix, both real and corporeal, came to aid and though the Minister still didn’t understand, Dumbledore did, so Sirius got away.
“You have family, Harry,” said Ginny quickly trying to scribble down the conclusion to her charms essay that was due in about ten minutes.
Harry, who was staring at the barely legible scribbles from his godfather, looked up and said, “I’ve always had family.”
“You know what I mean.”
Yeah, he did.
(Also, this Harry happened to run into Luna Lovegood earlier that year. They both, in this story, valued kindness more than anything else, perhaps because neither received it as often as they should, but perhaps because that’s just how they were.
They both believed that kindness was right, not always brave and not always clever, but right.
And so, Harry added another person to his list of correspondents.)
Fourth year came about with the same Death Eaters and burning scars and grapefruits for breakfast. But this Harry had more correspondents and visited them in turns. He visited the Grangers, because fighting trolls and massive chess pieces set about a friendship that could last a million years.
He visited the Diggorys because Cedric was obsessed with Harry’s firebolt and because Cedric had finally taught Harry everything he knew about Quidditch.
He visited the Jordans, because the Harry Potter Spider Station was still up and running and because Lee had more spiders than he probably should have.
He visited the Weasleys, because Mrs Weasley still thought he was too thin and because they had invited him to the quidditch world cup.
In actual fact, that summer he probably spent more time outside of the Dursley house than in it, which was never something any Harry was going to complain about.
This Harry’s name still came out of the Goblet of Fire and Hufflepuff weren’t entirely sure what to do. But Hufflepuff’s were always loyal – to their own at least – so when they saw the look on his face and Ginny Weasley hissing, “You can’t just sit here.”, they cheered if only for face.
Cedric would believe him, because this Harry had spent three years learning dives and tricks on brooms from him and because this Cedric would know this Harry better than most.
The rest of Hufflepuff would believe him because they were loyal to their own and because they knew Harry, not as a celebrity, but as one of their own, and because Ginny Weasley had a mean Bat Bogey Hex up her sleeve, ready to be unleashed at any moment – but, yeah, mostly because the knew Harry was a shit liar as it was.
This Harry and this Cedric shared tactics and ran over plans for dragons and lakes and mazes together, in empty classrooms and in the Hufflepuff common room.
When this Harry and this Cedric got to the cup, they didn’t grasp it “for Hogwarts.”, they grasped it together “for Hufflepuff.”, because that’s just who they were.
When this Harry and this Cedric grasped the cup, they both shared a grin, thinking that they would land to cheers in a quidditch pitch and not curses in a graveyard.
When this Harry and this Cedric spoke for the last time, one terrified and the other dead, their final parting words were, “At least you can finally be Seeker.”, not “Take my body back.”, because this Cedric knew that this Harry would do that regardless.
(But this Harry didn’t want to be Seeker, not like this, not unless Cedric would be there as his mentor, cheering him on. Not like this.)
When this Harry and this Cedric landed to cheers (then screams) in a quidditch pitch, one broken and the other dead, there was nothing – nothing – anyone could say; nothing anyone would ever be able to say to make the pain go away.
The pain was raw and incandescent, and it would never go away – it would never leave Harry Potter’s chest.
For the first time in this story, our characters saw this Harry get angry.
(Kindness wasn’t good enough anymore. Kindness was still right, but it wasn’t good enough.
Or rather, should I say, kindness wasn’t strong enough.
(except it was. It just took this Harry more time to realise it.))
This anger that stemmed from this Harry was justifiable, as it was to any other Harry, but this anger was different to the others. This anger was raw and incandescent, and it would never go away, because it was anger at and in the knowledge that kindness didn’t save people where it should have.
At and in the knowledge that you can be as kind as you want but you will never get to feel it back.
At and in the knowledge that kindness was a wasteless hope because what good did it do if it just got boys – because that’s what Cedric was: a boy – killed.
This anger stemmed from Harry’s heart and it lashed out from his soul. And so, yes, Harry became as bitter as the name the ‘Boy-Who-Lied’. And so, yes, Harry ended up having to write I must not tell lies over and over and over. And so, yes, Harry lost his godfather in the bowels of the Department of Mysteries.
And so, yes, it hurt.
(painful things often do.)
It hurt more than anything, but what hurt more was knowing that it was still his fault. That he had tried to be kind his whole life, to spiders and to humans, and he had still ended up killing.
But then it was Ginny – of course it was Ginny: who else had the balls? – who had a cream-moustache from her hot chocolate, who sat with him in the kitchens, and told him, “I’ve had enough.”
So had Harry, but that wasn’t what she meant.
“I’ve had enough – everyone’s had enough, Harry. You’re better than this -,”
“What have you had enough of? Your life’s been nothing but a fucking parade -,”
And that’s when they had their first ever argument, in the kitchens, with cream-moustaches and blazing eyes. It was explosive and the House-Elves weren’t entirely sure what to do, but it was explosive so there wasn’t really much that they could have done.
Harsh words were exchanged, ones that they hadn’t really meant, they were both just so angry and so fed up and so tired. They were both only fifteen and fourteen (nearly sixteen and fifteen, they would say) but they were both so, so much older.
Ginny told Harry that he needed to stop his pity party, and Harry told Ginny that she needed to grow up and realise that he wasn’t twelve anymore.
Ginny ended up crying, something that didn’t happen often, and Harry ended up storming out of the kitchens, stomach bubbling with anger, but mostly guilt.
They didn’t speak for the three days before term ended, until it was Neville who had had enough, and who sat the two of them down in the Room of Requirement and spoke to them about how there was a real war that needed fighting. There was a real enemy and that he understood that Harry was hurt and that he was in pain, but as Dumbledore said, “Don’t pity the dead; pity the living.”
Don’t pity the dead, because they can’t feel it, Neville had said.
And then Harry told them.
About the prophecy.
And Neville had no smart words for that, but things like that don’t need smart words, things like that just need support and love and kindness.
“You’re not alone,” Ginny had said, “You’ll never be alone, as long as we’re not dead.”
(Loyalty. Hard work. Patience. Justice.
That was when Ginny finally understood why she had been sorted into Hufflepuff and not Gryffindor.
Because she valued loyalty above bravery, because you don’t choose to be brave – anyone can be brave – but you choose to be loyal.
Loyalty is a choice – not everyone chooses to be loyal.)
Sixth year began much the same way, with new Potions professors hiding memories and OWL results (this Harry got a couple more O’s, mostly due to the fact that he had spent five years of his life studying with Ravenclaws.)
This Harry still kissed this Ginny after winning the quidditch cup, although this time with both of them having played as Seeker and Chaser, and this time it was in the middle of a quidditch pitch and not in the middle of the Gryffindor common room, and this time they were both sporting yellow and black, but really love was love, regardless of the colour of your tie.
This Harry never cast Sectumsempra, because he valued kindness above all else, instead he cast Expelliarmus, which might not have been the bravest spell nor the cleverest, but it was right. And when he held Malfoy’s wand in hand, fiery gaze and chest heaving, he said, “Don’t kill me before your master gets another shot; I’d rather die by Voldemort’s hand than your shaky pale hand.”
He threw Malfoy’s wand on the floor, and stormed out of the bathroom, soaked and winded, before he heard any form of reply. (There wasn’t one.)
There were still horcruxes in this story.
And so, when Dumbledore begged and Snape caved, Harry clutched the fake locket and screamed about cowards just a little louder than the other Harry had, because this Harry still valued kindness above all else.
Remus would go on, in a fit of rage, to call him naïve, to which Harry would respond by calling him a coward. Neither was true, of course. But that didn’t really matter, because the both of them would forgive each other, even if it forever went unspoken.
However, in this story, Neville replaced Ron in the final chapter. Ron went back to Hogwarts with his sister, and carried on the Dumbledore’s Army legacy, whilst Harry, Hermione and Neville went horcrux hunting.
There would be no particular reason for the swap, other than that it was just how everything all panned out, because Ron was never Harry’s best friend – he was his first, but never his best – that place was reserved for Ginny Weasley in this story.
The basilisk was never killed in this story, it just died of old age, but no one even knew that, because the Chamber had never been found. So, on the night of the battle, Crabbe’s fiendfyre ended up destroying three of Tom Riddle’s horcruxes.
In fact, it was fiendfyre that killed all but one of them.
(Dumbledore having had no other way and Neville having drawn fire as well as a sword)
The final horcrux still died in the same way, like a pig for slaughter.
This Harry lay on the floor of Dumbledore’s office, with the realisation that he had tried to be kind all his life, only to have to give it all up. With the realisation that the kindness that had built the Harry Potter Spider Station had never been reciprocated, because fate hadn’t been kind in turn to Harry.
This Harry, who had fought so hard to live, was still forced to die.
This Harry stared at the Great Hall, bodies everywhere, cries and sobs and defeat stinging the air. He stared at Remus and Tonks and Fred and Colin Creevey. (“Don’t pity the dead, they can’t hear it.”) He stared from a far at Ginny, his best friend, and at Neville (“Plants, Neville! Just think: where would we be without plants? No where good that’s for sure.”) and at Luna and at Hermione and at Professor Sprout and at Dumbledore’s Army.
And he hoped that they didn’t pity him, but even if they did, he didn’t think he would want to hear it.
This Harry turned the stone thrice in his hand in the middle of the Forbidden Forest, and still whispered, “Mum,” when Lily Potter’s ethereal self partially appeared in front of him.
“You’ve been so brave.”
“I’m a Hufflepuff.”
James Potter laughed, “A bloody brave Hufflepuff.”
Harry turned to his father, who had valued bravery above kindness, “You don’t -?”
“We’re so proud of you. More than you could possibly imagine,” Lily Potter answered.
Harry felt his heart begin to pump a bit faster, because no one had ever actually told him if his parents would have been as proud of him had his tie donned red and gold rather than yellow and black. No one had ever told him because no one knew.
He turned to Sirius, who had been so trapped and so constrained all his life, first in a family and then a cell and then a house, and hadn’t known how to apologise, so instead he still asked if it hurt to die.
The answer was the same and he turned to Remus and apologised for not being able to look after his son.
The answer was the same and he dropped the stone.
This Harry’s last thought was still of Ginny. He thought about cream-moustaches and exploring and ties that were supposed to be red and gold. He thought about Hufflepuff and he thought as his vision was shrouded with green light that he had never made a better choice than when he chose Hufflepuff.
Hagrid still carried Harry in shaking arms, and Voldemort still declared victory and Neville still quickly put an end to that.
However, when those that had survived saw this Harry lying dead in Hagrid’s arms they were painfully reminded of how a boy – because that’s what Harry was: a boy – who had valued kindness above all else had been forced to live a life so unkind – so cruel.
They were reminded of how this Harry had died believing that his kindness had meant nothing; that his kindness had only led to destruction.
They were reminded of how they had all failed in providing a boy so broken, so tired, with the kindness he had provided for them all.
Except this Harry wasn’t actually dead either, but that didn’t matter.
No.
What did matter was that kindness was a choice, and they had all failed so pitifully at making it. They had chosen to be loyal and they had chosen to stand where Harry stood and fight where Harry fought. But they hadn’t chose to be kind.
And you may disagree, but they hadn’t. They hadn’t chosen to be truly kind.
Because to Harry, this one and the others, true kindness would have come in the form of not standing where he stood or fighting where he fought, because that got people killed.
That led people to death because of his kindness, and that made it his fault.
This Harry still killed Voldemort and people still sung his name for decades after and this Harry still valued kindness above all else.
This Harry still valued kindness above bravery, loyalty and wisdom, because being kind wasn’t always brave neither was it always clever, but it was always right.
This Harry still valued kindness above all else, even if the world had never been kind to him.
He did it because if not him, who?
Who would value what was right over what was brave or clever?
Just think, for a moment: who?