Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Harry, we found the target,” Ron barged into Harry’s office.

“Tell the others to gather at the apparition point,” Harry said, grabbing his coat as he stood up from his desk.

“Yeah, sure,” Ron nodded.




Harry turned around as he heard footsteps. “All here?” he asked, looking around.

“All here,” Susan Bones replied.

“Let’s go,” Harry said as the group of Aurors apparated away.




As the group disapparates, they quickly go into hiding.

“The Forbidden Forest?” Harry whispered.

“Yeah, and they’ve just been standing there all day. It’s like they’re waiting for something,” Ron said.

“Or someone,” Katie Bell added.

Harry stared at the hooded figure standing idly. “I’m going there,” he says.

“Mate, you can’t be reckless like that. That person has been appearing at every crime scene for the past year. They could be some mastermind or something,” Ron argued.

“It’ll be fine, and hey, if I get hurt, I’ll have an excuse to see my husband,” Harry grinned, wiggling his eyebrows.

“You and your blond-loving ass. Alright, but if I see any suspicious movements, we’re charging in,” Ron replied, rolling his eyes.

“Gotcha,” Harry said as he left his hiding spot behind some trees and started walking toward the hooded figure.




As Harry closed in, the hooded figure began to speak in an airy-like voice. “Don’t you remember this place?”

Harry stood still, he turned to Ron and signalled him to stay down. “What do you mean?” Harry asked.

“This place—it’s where it all began. And, where it ended,” the figure continued.

“All I know is this is the Forbidden Forest and that you’re under arrest,” Harry said slowly as he approached the figure.

“Oh, I forgot just how much tweaking you’ve gotten. Your memory’s become so dull.”

Harry stood there dumbfounded. “This is the place where you died.”

Harry shook at the revelation. ‘The place where I… died?’

“You must have been so focused on saving everyone that you didn’t take a moment to look at your surroundings,” the hooded figure began to turn. “Well, that doesn't matter, as you’re going to do this all over again.” The figure looked straight at Harry.

“Who are you? What do you mean?” Harry asked warily.

“Oh my, me?” The wind blew back the hood, revealing a figure with long golden hair scattered by the breeze, bright white eyes, pale skin, and colourful markings on her face and arms that blinded Harry.

“Greetings, Harry James Potter. I’m the being you’ve been cursing your whole life: Fate.”

The brightness of the figure in front of him forced Harry to shield his eyes. “Fate?” he stammered, lost for words.

“I believe you have a lot of questions, but I’m just here to tell you that your life did not play out as it was supposed to. I’m going to send you back to before your life was altered by someone I did not account for.”

“Send me back? I’ve worked my whole life to achieve the happiness I have today! I’ve felt so much grief and anger that I do not want to remember. And you’re telling me to redo all of that!?” Harry's rage began to boil.

“Hm, figured you wouldn’t want to go back. Your happiness now is the only thing that Fate got right—and that’s only because the person who put you in this mess is already dead.” Fate smirked.

“Whatever you say, I am not going to do what you want. I’m done being controlled, I’m now writing my own fate!” Harry shouted angrily. He didn’t understand why he was so furious, after all, this person could just be a fake—couldn’t they?

“Well too bad, I knew you couldn’t be negotiated with,” Fate sighed. “Guess we have to do it your way.” She shrugs as black smoke emerges beside her.

“I told you he’s stubborn,” another hooded figure emerged, taller than Fate.

“Yeah, yeah, suit yourself. I’m going back, you handle this.” Fate pulled her hood back up and disappeared in a flash of light.

“Who are you now?” Harry snarled at the remaining figure.

“Hey, kid. You know me better than you know her. So, I’m going to give you a little heads-up: if you don’t want to comply nicely, then I’ll have to make you by force,” the hooded figure said ominously.

“And how would you do that?” Harry smirked defiantly.

The hooded figure stood silently before removing their hood to reveal a skull mask.

“Oh, wouldn’t you like to know?” The figure smirked before transforming into black smoke and flew past Harry.

At first confused, Harry soon realized in horror what was happening.

“Harry! What direction did they go? And also—there are two of them!?” Ron rushed out of his hiding spot and ran toward Harry.

“That direction! He’s going to Saint Mungo's! Draco!”

“Harry, wait!” Ron shouted as Harry apparated away toward Saint Mungo's.




When Harry disapparated at Saint Mungo's, chaos erupted around him—Death Eaters roamed freely, killing everyone in sight. Hooded figures wielding scythes added to the mayhem, those who attempted to fight them off fell victim with a single swipe of their weapons.

Harry rushed toward Draco’s office, praying to any God that would hear him for his safety.




“Draco!” he called out upon seeing Draco's office door broken open by force. Inside, Draco was fighting off multiple Death Eaters.

“Die traitor!” they shouted at him.

“Draco!” Harry joined in the fight alongside Draco.

“Took you long enough,” Draco smirked while deflecting an incoming Diffindo spell.

“I’m just glad you're alright,” Harry sighed as he cast Expelliarmus at a Death Eater.

“Of course! What do you take me for?” Draco replied smugly.

They seemed to be gaining ground until Harry noticed the hooded figure standing in the corner of the room with their arms folded against the wall.

“YOU!” Harry shouted angrily at them.

Distracted by his outburst, a stray green light shot toward him unexpectedly.

“HARRY!” Draco shouted as he lunged forward to pull Harry out of harm's way, shielding him with his own body instead.

Harry stared in horror as Draco’s limp body slumped against him.

“No no no no!” He shook Draco’s body desperately. “Wake up Draco! Wake up!”

Hooded figures rushed into the room and began killing off the remaining Death Eaters without mercy.

Kneeling in despair amid the chaos with Draco’s cold body cradled in his arms, Harry glared at the figure still standing in the corner of the room.

“This… this is your doing!” he spat accusingly at them.

“Me?” The figure approached slowly with a mocking smile on their face. “Oh, no, it’s just a little something called…” They squatted down in front of him. “Fate.”

Harry trembled with rage as the figure continued mocking him. “You like my grim reapers? Quite reliable, eh?”

“Who are you?”

“Me? You should know by now—why we’ve already met.”

“Already met?”

“Yes, nice to meet you again, old friend.” Death stood up tall, looking down at Harry. "I’m Death."

Harry shuddered at the name.

“This is the only way I could think of making you do what needs to be done. Now I'm going to send both of you back in time—to redo how fate was supposed to play out.”

“Oh, that's just cheating!” Harry laughs in disbelief. “You know I'd follow him anywhere he goes.”

“Indeed, you know you can't hide from Death,” Death grinned wider now. “Now count to three—and let’s get this started.” A Grim Reaper loomed ominously behind Harry.

Harry looked at Draco one last time and gave him a small smile: “It’s you and me against the world.”, Harry hugged Draco’s body.

And Harry’s vision turns to black.

Chapter Text

Harry woke up in cold sweat in an unfamiliar, dark room. He could hear the thundering sounds of a storm outside. He tried to move, but his body wouldn’t respond; the most he could do was wriggle his fingers.

He started looking around, his eyes adjusting to the dark. His hazy mind became clearer as he recognized the room—his room, in his parents’ house, in Godric's Hollow.

Harry’s eyes darted around in panic, searching for his mom, ignoring the throbbing pain in his forehead—when suddenly, a figure entered the room. He couldn’t see who it was in the dim light, but as the figure moved closer to his crib, Harry stared in confusion and rage as he recognized the voice.

“Poor boy, your parents’ sacrifice shall be remembered forever. They’ll be remembered as heroes. And you, my boy, shall be our saviour.”

Albus Dumbledore.

Harry didn’t remember anything about Dumbledore visiting Godric’s Hollow the night his parents died.

“Now, I know the prophecy already said you shall be the key to defeating Voldemort,” Dumbledore spat the last word.

“But I shall leave you a gift—something to make your heroic acts go more smoothly and, if I do say so myself, in line with what I have in mind.”

Dumbledore began chanting and pulled out a slip of paper covered in runes. Harry wriggled, trying to get away. As he struggled in vain, Dumbledore finished the ritual and stuck the rune to Harry’s forehead. A wave of nausea hit him like a heavy weight had been placed on his skull.

“That should do it: a bit of a compulsion charm, a forgetfulness charm, lock up that creature inheritance of yours, and of course, a ward seed. It’ll be easier to manipulate an abused boy,” Dumbledore chuckled to himself.

“I shall leave now. Let the rune settle into you. Well then, until we meet again. And when we do, I hope you’ve grown into the hero you’re meant to be,” Dumbledore said, turning to leave the room.

Harry struggled to reach the rune, forcing his baby arms to move. It was only stuck on with a simple sticking charm—it should come off easily if he could just reach it.

It felt like ages as Harry strained to grab the rune. He could feel it seeping into his mind, his consciousness beginning to slip away. Just as he started to fade, the rune was suddenly ripped off his forehead. Harry jolted awake and took a deep breath. His body felt lighter.

He looked up at the figure who helped him and started glaring.

“Yeah, yeah, sorry I’m late. It takes a lot to come down to the mortal realm, and even more to actually interact with it,” the figure said, waving his hand dismissively. “I can only do this because I was given the authority to fix the timeline.”

“Sorry you had to relive this, but this is when that old geezer started to manipulate your life. I couldn’t send you further back—you weren’t born yet,” Death continued, walking around the room and glancing at the lifeless body in front of him.

“I’m sorry your chapters were cut short by force. Your husband’s too. I couldn’t do anything about it,” Death whispered.

Harry knew who he was talking to and simply closed his eyes, exhausted from trying to save himself.

“Hey, kid. I’ll be sticking around in this life. I won’t interfere with your decisions. Just think of me as a cool uncle.”

‘Oh wow, didn’t think Death was that laid-back,’ Harry rolls his eyes.

“Hey, I saw that.”

They both glanced out the window when they heard a motorcycle approaching.

“Alright, kid, giddy up. You’re in for a wild ride,” Death grinned before disappearing into a cloud of black smoke.

‘So dramatic,’ Harry thought.

Soon, a huge figure loomed over him—large in build, but with soft and careful hands.

‘Hagrid’ Harry said to himself as he was picked up.

“Oh, dear. Let’s get you someplace safe, yeah?” Hagrid murmured, carrying Harry out of the room. Before leaving, he muttered a prayer over Lily’s body.

“I’m sorry I came too late. Don’t worry, Lily. We’re going to keep your son safe,” Hagrid whispered, whisking Harry away on the flying motorcycle.

As they soared through the sky, Harry felt a wave of drowsiness and quickly fell asleep.

“How could we ever put him with those Muggles? They hate him!”

“Oh, but they’re still family. We could keep him safe with a blood ward.”

“He might be safe from outside harm, but what about inside?!”

Harry groggily started to awaken due to the voices of two arguing men. He didn’t need to see to know who it was.

“We’re going to put him with the Dursleys, and that’s final, Hagrid,” Dumbledore sternly said.

“But… Headmaster,” Hagrid continued to argue.

“If you’re so worried about him, I’ll give you permission to be the one to pick him up for Hogwarts when he reaches eleven years old,” Dumbledore angrily sat at his desk and popped a lemon candy into his mouth.

Hagrid sighed, “Yes, Headmaster.”

“Good, now chop chop, any longer, and he’ll awaken from his sleep. Wouldn’t want him to be confused by the unfamiliar surroundings.”

“I shall take my leave then,” Hagrid said in defeat, carrying Harry outside the office.

Harry struggled to stay awake.

‘Must be baby instincts,’ Harry thought before falling back to sleep.

Harry was awakened by the sound of rain.

“Even the skies are mourning,” Harry thought to himself.

He looked around; he was inside a basket with a note.

“Alright, little one, you be good here. I’ll come back to pick you up as soon as you’re old enough to enter Hogwarts,” Hagrid gave Harry a small smile as he put him down on the doorstep of the Dursleys.

“Goodbye, little Arry,” Hagrid said, tears looming in his eyes, as he knocked before walking away from the door.

If only Harry could stand up and hug the first person who’d ever been kind to him...

Harry’s trance was broken by the sound of a door being opened.

He could hear a woman’s voice, gasping.

Harry wasn’t very excited to live with the Dursleys, as he had to endure hell on earth for as long as he could remember.

The woman picked up the letter in his basket and read it silently. Harry closed his eyes before feeling himself being picked up, oddly gently. He kept his eyes closed, not wanting to see the anger in the woman he used to wish he could call aunt.

“You’re… Her son？” the woman’s voice was cracking.

Harry was confused to hear the unfamiliar tone; in all his life, he had only heard her yelling and cursing him. Harry slowly opened his eyes in curiosity and was shocked at the scene he was seeing. Petunia Dursley was… crying?

“Oh, you poor thing; you must be cold in this rain,” Petunia carried Harry inside and shut the door.

“Vernon!” Petunia called.

“In the kitchen!” a voice answered, which Harry recognized as his uncle’s.

“Vernon,” Petunia entered the kitchen, cheeks still tear-stricken.

“Yes, what is it—? Why are you crying?” Vernon asked, confused. He then turned to look at Harry.

“Whose child is that?” Vernon asked, furrowing his brows.

“Vern, Lily—” Petunia choked on her sobs, quickly handing over the letter she picked up from Harry’s basket.

Vernon read over the letter, and his eyes turned to sadness. He looked over at his wife, “Oh, Pet, I’m so sorry for your loss. Come here, sit down; let me take the boy.”

Petunia sat down at the dining table and handed Harry to Vernon before grabbing some tissues and wiping her tears.

Both Petunia and Vernon stood there in silence before Petunia started to speak in a silent voice.

“She said she was going into hiding so that her family would be safe—she told me it’d only be for a few months, just until the situation is clear. I wasn’t expecting—” Petunia looked at Harry.

“For her son to be the only one to survive. Oh, Lily, my sister,” Petunia’s tears began streaming down her face again.

“Hey, it’s okay, Pet. We can raise him alongside Dudley. I’m sure he’d love to live with his cousin, and a magical one at that,” Vernon used his free hand to rub Petunia’s back, carrying Harry in just one arm.

Harry was dumbfounded at the conversation and reaction he just witnessed. Was this really his aunt and uncle? The ones that beat him when he didn’t do the house chores, the ones that starved him when he did something wrong, the ones that put him in the cupboard under the stairs?

“Oh, we can give him the room beside Dudley’s; it’s been empty for quite a while,” Petunia said.

“Yeah, needs some cleaning, though, but it’ll do,” Vernon replied.

“Give him some of Dudley’s formula; I’m going to clean up the room a little, just so that he can sleep there for the night. We’ll buy supplies for him tomorrow,” Petunia said as she stood up.

“Of course, you go on ahead. I’ll make him the formula,” Vernon said.

Petunia nodded at her husband before leaving the kitchen and going upstairs.

Vernon skilfully whipped up a bottle of milk with Harry still being carried in one arm before sitting at the dining table and feeding him the bottle.

Tears started to swell in Harry’s eyes from the act of kindness he never received throughout his childhood. Was this how his life would’ve been had it not been twisted and manipulated by a wicked man?

Harry fell asleep while drinking the milk, not fully asleep before being burped by his uncle.

‘This isn’t so bad,’ Harry thought before giving in to the sleepiness.

Harry awoke in a room he recognized as the same room that had metal bars on the window, now closed with a curtain. He glanced at the clock on the wall, telling him that it was 3:00 AM. He tried to fall asleep again before black smoke erupted beside him, slowly taking shape into a tall man he knew all too well.

“Well, how was it?” the man asked.

Harry just stared at him. What? Did he expect a baby to reply?

“Remember the rune that was placed on you? It had a ward seed, a hatred ward, which made everyone inside angrier and more easily irritated by small things. And it was made so that all their anger and hatred was directed onto you, the source of the ward,” Death explained.

Harry could feel his hatred for the man he used to confide in grow, his resentment with the truth. He regretted ever crying for the person who put him in this mess in the first place.

Death stared at Harry glaring at the ceiling, gripping his baby hands.

“You’re adorable in that form,” Death teased.

Harry’s glare shifted from the ceiling toward the skull-masked figure standing beside his bed.

“Probably need to wait a few years until you can ask me questions. Until then, kid, I’ll keep watching over you. When you feel like you’re ready, I’m one call away,” Death said before exiting in the form he always used: black smoke.

Harry stared at the ceiling again, pondering everything he’d ever known about his life. What else was a lie? Everything he experienced was directed by Dumbledore. Heck, he believed even his house, his friends, and his love life were all part of Dumbledore's plans. Then… even the Deaths of some people necessary in his grand plan? Harry swore revenge that night. He’d do anything to ruin Dumbledore’s plans, but first, he’d need a good night's sleep. He wondered where his Draco was now; was he also aware as a baby? Draco as a baby, how cute. And Harry surrendered to slumber.

Harry spends his day eating and sleeping, well, that’s all he can do as a baby. His aunt started to tell Harry stories about his mother, Lily. How Petunia resented her when she was growing up because Lily had magic and she didn’t, but as she grew older, she began to idolize her little sister. Lily was a muggleborn but she was brilliant, always top of her class, and even managed to bag a very wealthy James Potter, Harry’s father.

Lily liked to do magic in front of Petunia, everything that Petunia requested she would do if she could, and if she couldn’t, she’d practice really hard and surprise Petunia the next day. She’d turn flowers into rainbows, make things organize themselves, make paper cranes fly, etc. Because underaged wizards and witches can’t use magic outside, Lily became adept in wandless magic, that part really intrigued Harry as he’s also quite good at using wandless magic. He likes that he’s similar to his mom in that part, made him feel closer to her somehow.

Petunia also tells him about their old neighbour, which he knows is Professor Snape. She told him that they were actually friends before someday he started distancing himself from her and her sister. Petunia didn’t really mind but her sister was the one that became agitated with worry for her friend. Petunia knows that Snape had feelings for her sister, but she just kept quiet and watched from afar. It was quite amusing seeing him pinning for Lily, but her sister was just as oblivious as she could be.

Petunia would keep telling him stories until he fell asleep and would continue where she left off every time Harry finished eating.

Harry’s aunt seems to love her little sister, Harry remembers when he was little, he could see Lily flowers growing in the front garden, but one day when he was 6, his aunt ordered him to cut and pluck every last one of them.

‘Probably the hatred ward becoming stronger’, Harry thought.

Vernon was also oddly talkative; he would tell Harry about what a good man his dad was. What’s even more surprising is that he and Harry’s dad would go play football every other weekend. How he would teach James how to fish the muggle way. He felt like gaining a brother he never had, why he only had an older sister–and a spiteful one at that. Marge Dursley isn’t affected by the hatred ward because she didn’t live with him.

‘Guess Aunt Marge had always hated me with or without the ward’, Harry shrugs as he continues to watch the telly with his uncle.

A year passed and Harry’s now 1 year old. Not much had happened but he finally can walk and talk a bit. Dudley on the other hand, is still a babbling crawling mess. Well, not everyone has the luxury of being thrown back in time by Fate and Death to fix the timeline. Harry gripped the toy car he was holding in frustration.

“Harry, dear, you’re going to hurt yourself”, Petunia said, taking the toy car off Harry’s hands gently.

Harry then glanced over at his cousin who was halfway eating his own toy car.

Harry spends his time lazing around. He can’t imagine being this relaxed throughout his childhood. Well, he’d feel peace every time the Dursleys went out. The time he’s most productive now is every nap time and also bedtime. When he’s not sleepy, he’ll wait until he’s alone and starts practicing magic, he tries to cast simple magic and has managed a Lumos, although he can only hold it for a few seconds before his finger dims back. But progress is progress, he might be able to become stronger than his past self. Harry’s daydreaming was cut by his aunt.

“Alright boys, it’s nap time”, Petunia says as she starts to clean up. 

‘Nice, it’s go time’, Harry thinks before he’s picked up by his aunt and brought to his room. 

“No story for today dear, I need to cook for Vernon’s guest”, Petunia lays Harry on his bed and pets his head before leaving the room.

Harry waits till he can’t hear footsteps anymore before sitting up. He had spent a year adjusting to his new life, but now he’s ready to learn more about his past.

‘Death’, Harry calls.

Not long after that, a flurry of black smoke appears in front of Harry and reveals the person he called.

“You rang?”, Death jokingly answered.

Harry glares at the joke.

“Oh, come on, you always seem so annoyed when you see me. What have I ever done to you–”

Harry points at himself.

‘Touche’, Death rubs the back of his neck.

“Alright, what do you want to know”

“How much, of my life? Is a lie?”, Harry asks, struggling to talk.

Death rubbed his neck before answering, "Your life was planned to a tee. Well, right until you defeated Voldemort of course. After that, you can finally take control of your life, but still with a lot of influence”

“What do you mean, influence?”, Harry tilts his head in confusion.

“Did you remember what that old geezer said when he placed the rune on you?”, Death asks as he sits down on Harry’s bed.

“Some charms, the hatred ward, and… sealing a creature inheritance?”

“Yep”, Death pops the p.

“Compulsory charm makes you more reckless and restless. You had always felt the urge to help someone, even if your entire alarm bells are telling you that it’s dangerous?”

Harry ponders for a while before it hits him. Needing to stop someone stealing the sorcerer's stone in year one, fighting the basilisk in year two, saving Buckbeak in year three, saving Fleur’s sister in year four, and his entire life needing to defeat Voldemort–he always thought that that was just his self-righteousness, needing to save people even if he, himself was terrified. 

“What else?”, Harry asks.

“Forgetfulness charm makes you unable to retain anything you study. He also sealed your eyes, which made you need to have glasses and something resembling dyslexia. Some agitation charm makes you couldn’t sit still for a hot minute. The world doesn't need a hero that’s book smart, just need them to be brave, strong, and quick on their feet. You inherit your mother’s mind, Hogwarts should’ve been a breeze”

Oh, that’s just frustrating, he struggles to get a good grade, he couldn’t hold a book before feeling like he needed a run. The urge lessened with time, right after–he died.

“Wait, what do you mean, sealed my eyes?”

“Here, look at this”, Death calls.

Harry can see black whisps on Death, swirling everywhere around his body.

“What’re those flying around you?”, Harry points out.

“This–is my magic”

Harry’s even more confused now.

“Well, you made those black wisps with magic, so?”, Harry crosses his arms

Death shakes his head, I’m not casting anything.

Harry was taken aback, “Then?”

“You–can see magic, Harry. Your eyes can see the innate magic of a magical being. The thing you’re seeing right now–is my Death magic. Magic always swirls around the being they reside in. You can see a surge of magic if someone wants to cast a spell, or when they’re agitated. Well, I’ll leave the details for you to discover on your own”, Death explains.

“Well then why am I just seeing it now on you?”, Harry looks around.

“You live in a muggle household. Oh, and you can’t see your own magic. Others also can’t; kind of like a two-way safety measure”

Harry nods slowly, taking in the information of his newly acquired skill.

“That old geezer sealed a lot. Not only your eyes and creature inheritance. But he also sealed your magic, not wanting to be rivaled and all. That explains why you’re so short when I know you know your family members are all tall”

‘Tch, I had to endure a lot of teasing because I’m short’, Harry sulks.

“Magical beings all reach maturity and experience their last growth spurt at around 17-18. But I believe, in your case, you should’ve experienced yours on the day you died. When your body’s about to change, your Death halted it, that’s also partly why you survived that day. The extra magic that was about to enhance your body, was used to bring you back to life. That old geezer really gambled with that, who would have known that that day is exactly the day you should’ve broken free of his shackles? Reaching maturity like that sort of reforms your body and purify it of any outside influence. But because it’s imperfect, you stayed the way you are, just the charms having less effect on you”

Harry didn’t know what to say, every inch of his life had been under the control of Dumbledore. How did he make this such grand of a plan, and that it worked?

“Just how far did he mess with this timeline?”, Harry asks, his rage on the brink of tipping off.

“Oh, way back, even before you were born. I believe it started on the day he laid eyes on your parents, but I’ll leave that for you to find out. I can only tell things that relate directly to you, the people above will kill me if I spoil things from the past”, Death answered.

Harry nods, wouldn’t want his source of information to be gone.

“Anything else? I’m always one call away, well not really, I still need to do my job you know. I’ll answer everything you ask if I can, either if it’s about your past, or your magic”, Death offers.

“What’s my creature inheritance?”, Harry asks.

“That, I can’t tell. It’s a future that hasn’t happened yet. But I can give you a hint”, Death smirks.

Death summons two books out of thin air and lays them in front of Harry.

“Take a closer look at your family heredity”, Death points to the book titled “The Oldest Families in The Wizarding World”

“And here’s a book of magical creatures”, Death points to the other book.

“Good luck kid”, Death grins at Harry before disappearing, like always, into a pile of black smoke.

Harry looks over at the books in front of him, ‘Better start reading then’.

Harry spends his nap time reading while still occasionally practicing magic. He can cast Levioso and Wingardium Leviosa now, very handy for hiding a heavy book. Through reading, he managed to finally learn about the family he hailed from. He didn’t have time to learn more about himself when he was little, and he lost interest as he grew older. He learned that the Potter family wasn’t originally British but was from Southern Asia.

‘Well, that explains this unruly hair’

He also learned that he’s the descendant of the third Peverell brother, Ignotus Peverell.

‘Is this what he meant when he said I can’t hide from Death? It’s not like I bring my clock everywhere I go’

Then it structs him. He received his cloak as a Christmas present in his first year at Hogwarts. Why does Dumbledore have his cloak? Shouldn’t it be at his family’s vault?

‘That fucking old man’

Harry suspects that that cloak isn’t the only thing he has in possession now, who knows what he can take from the Potter treasury? He urgently needs to take over his inheritance to halt Dumbledore’s plans, but he’s underaged right now, and his godfather is in Azkaban.

‘I’m going to need to free Sirius, it’d be easier this time around, knowing where that rat is’

After reading about his family, he turned to the book about magical beings, since his family hailed from Southern Asia. Figured that his creature must come from there as well. And Harry starts reading.

Harry wonders if this is what it should’ve been like, in his past life, he could hold a book for more than 5 minutes and now here he is, reading for 3 hours straight. He used to be so bored of anything written because the words just seemed to float around, but now everything is clear and very intriguing. Reading might just be his new hobby; turns out he loves learning and gaining new information. His Hogwarts self would be scoffing at him.

After all that reading, he still couldn’t figure out his creature inheritance, after reading all of the creatures listed in the book, nothing stood out. It says that those who have a creature inheritance would show characteristics and abilities similar to the creature, regardless of whether they already reached maturity or not. The only ability he knows he has is to speak parseltongue, which a lot of people, including himself, believe that he got from having a fracture of Voldemort’s soul in his scar.

‘I’ll know when it comes’, Harry shrugs.

A few years passed and Harry is now 4 years old, but magic-wise, he was on par with first-year students at Hogwarts. Harry’s only been practicing magic in secret, not showing it to the Dursleys, he still doesn’t know how they’ll treat him if he uses magic in front of them. He’s done well not to do any accidental magic, he wants to keep it hidden from muggles, even the Dursleys who already know he’s magical. Well, he’ll need to try extra hard to hide it today because–it‘s his first day in kindergarten.

“Harry! Dudley! Hurry up, we’re going to be late!”, Petunia calls from the front door.

“Come on, your mom is waiting”, Harry says, urging his cousin to finish his breakfast before grabbing his bag and walking towards the front door.

“Hmbry whhm hbp", Dudley chucks an entire pancake into his mouth before grabbing his bag and following Harry towards the door.

“Dudley, you haven’t tied your shoes yet”, Petunia sighs before tying them for him.

“Alright let’s go”, Petunia opens the door and drives Harry and Dudley to kindergarten.

“Now be good, Harry take care of your cousin for me, yeah?”, Petunia asks Harry.

Harry nods, “You can count on me, Aunt Petunia”

“Thank you, Harry”, Petunia smiles before talking with the teacher and leaves Harry with Dudley.

“Alright children, now will you follow me”, the teacher instructs.

Harry and Dudley walk towards the classroom, find a desk, and sit together, along with other children as well.

It didn’t take long until the class started and the teacher started explaining about fruits and animals. While the other children talk and play with each other, Harry sits quietly, staring outside the window.

The bell rings, marking the start of lunch break. The teacher ends the class and starts guiding the children towards the playground. Harry brought out his lunchbox alongside Dudleys, whose owner had run off to who knows where. 

Harry sits down on a bench and starts unpacking his lunch. He just took a bite of his sandwich before he heard Dudley screaming. He puts his lunch down and runs towards the voice.

When Harry arrived, he saw Dudley screaming at two snakes who were closing in on him. Then, like instinct, Harry starts speaking in parseltongue.

“~Don’t come near him~”, Harry orders.

One snake looks up at Harry before bowing and starts to retreat while the other waits a bit before pouncing on Dudley.

“Vipera Evanesca!”, Harry yells at the snake pouncing mid-air.

The snake vanishes and the other snake stares at Harry in shock.

“~You killed him!~”, the snake hisses. “~He was just trying to defend me, that boy stepped on my tail!~”

“~I didn’t kill your friend, I just sent him outside the school. You can find him there if you go through that door in back there~”, Harry explains. “~Also, I’m sorry for what my cousin did, I’ll keep an eye on him better~”.

The hissing sound that’s coming from the direction Harry pointed at seems to convince the snake in front of him that he’s telling the truth.

“~Thank you, I shall be on my way now, my lord~”, the snake bows before leaving.

‘My lord?’, Harry ponders for a short while before checking in on his cousin.

“Duds, you okay?”, Harry closes in on Dudley.

“Cousin”, Dudley says. “That. Was. So. Cool!”, Dudley yells in excitement. “Do it again! Do it again!”

“Not now Duds, now come on, let’s eat lunch”, Harry helps Dudley up on his feet and finishes the rest of the school day.

“So, how was your first day of kindergarten?”, Petunia asks as she picks Harry and Dudley up.

“Mom! Mom! Cousin Harry did something very cool today!”, Dudley screams in excitement.

“Oh, and what is it?”, Petunia asks.

Harry stayed silent for the whole duration of the car ride. Hearing Dudley tell the story with sound effects that definitely did not happen.

When they reach Number 4 Privet Drive, Dudley rushes outside the car to go inside and tell his dad about what happened.

“Come on Harry”, Petunia opens the door at Harry’s side.

Harry exits the car and walks in silent, head down, terrified at what his aunt will say next.

‘YOU FREAK! YOU’RE AN ABOMINATION!’, the memories of his aunt screaming at him still haunts him to this day, even if it means little to nothing to him anymore.

“Harry–”, Harry flinches at his name being called.

Petunia turns around to see Harry dead in his tracks. She comes close and kneels in front of him.

“What’s wrong Harry? You did a very dangerous thing with that snake. But thank you, that was very brave of you”, Petunia says.

“You–don’t hate me?”, Harry asks in a small voice.

“Hate you? Why would I ever hate you dear?”

“Because I’m different, because I’m–a freak”, Harry’s eyes are looming with tears now.

“A what? Freak? Who called you that?”, Petunia was ready to give anyone who insulted her precious nephew a piece of her mind.

Harry shakes his head. “I have weird powers, I can talk to snakes. Won’t you hate me because of that?”

“Oh Harry, my sister is the same as you, well she can’t talk to snakes, but she has the same powers as you. You have magic Harry, and that–is a very precious and special gift”, Petunia smiles at Harry, clasping his hands to comfort him.

Harry looks up, tears streaming down his cheeks.

“Oh, come here dear”, Petunia hugs Harry.

At first, Harry just stood there, he couldn’t have imagined being hugged by his aunt. This warmth of a mother that he had never felt throughout his childhood before he met Molly.

“We love you, however different you are, we’re family. You can rest assured if the world turns against you, we’ll always be here”

Harry hugged back and cried himself to sleep in his aunt’s warm embrace.

Chapter Text

“Cousin! Come on, we’re going to be late!”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming!”

Dudley is now eleven years old, and Harry is just shy of turning eleven himself. Since it’s the middle of July, their school is holding an informal graduation ceremony for sixth-grade students.

“Dudley! Don’t forget to tie your shoes!” Petunia yells from the front door.

“I already did, Mom!” Dudley shouts back—while hastily tying his still-untied shoes.

Bad habits never die, Harry thinks, rolling his eyes in amusement. He helps Dudley by tying his shoes quickly with magic.

Ever since the day of the snake incident, Harry has been openly using his magic to help with things around the house, making chores a breeze.

The car ride to their school is filled with Dudley’s usual chatter—talking about game consoles, sports, comic books—just about everything. Harry responds whenever he’s addressed, but his attention is clearly elsewhere. Today, his mind isn’t on the school event; it’s on something much bigger.

Today is July 24th—the day he got his Hogwarts letter.

 And next week, he’s going to see his Draco.

“Have you finished with the Hogwarts letters, Minerva?” Dumbledore asks as he steps into McGonagall’s office.

“Oh, just writing a few more.”

“Anyone special this year?”

“You ask like you don’t already know,” McGonagall chuckles.”Harry Potter is coming to Hogwarts this year.”

“And that he is,” Dumbledore replies, his eyes twinkling.

He turns to leave but pauses as he catches a glimpse of the letter in McGonagall’s hand.

“To Mr. H. Potter, Second floor, second bedroom, 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey?” he reads aloud.

“Oh yes. It seems the Dursleys are treating the boy well. I’m so sorry I doubted your judgment when you said you’d leave him with them. I’m glad Harry is experiencing a normal childhood after everything he’s been through,” McGonagall says warmly, placing the last letter on the pile.

“That—of course,” Dumbledore replies, somewhat distracted.

“I’ll leave you to it, then.”

“Yes, of course, Albus,” McGonagall says as she prepares to send off the letters.

Dumbledore exits her office in a hurry.

“Why is that family treating the boy nicely?” Dumbledore snaps as he slams the door to his own office.

“My rune should’ve been perfect.”

 He pauses, then exhales deeply, calming himself as he pops a lemon drop into his mouth.

“It’s fine. He still needs a magical mentor—something that Muggle family can’t provide.”

The school event wasn’t that special—just a celebration for the students moving on to junior high. Not that Harry will be attending a normal school. They’re also giving out awards to students who did well. In this life, Harry actually likes learning, and he’s not being forced to have grades lower than Dudley, so naturally, he gets called and receives an award.

But even that isn’t enough to stop his excitement to go home and receive his letter.

“Harry, you’ve got a letter,” Vernon says as Harry opens the door.

“Who’s it from?” Petunia asks from behind Harry.

“A letter? You’ve got friends, cousin?” Dudley teases Harry.

 Harry rolls his eyes at Dudley.

“Here, read it yourself,” Vernon says, handing Harry the letter, which Harry takes excitedly.

Dear Mr. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Students shall be required to report to the Chamber of Reception upon arrival, the dates for which shall be duly advised.

Please ensure that the utmost attention be paid to the list of requirements attached herewith.

We very much look forward to receiving you as part of the new generation of Hogwarts heritage.

Yours sincerely,

Professor McGonagall

“Hogwarts?” Petunia stops in her tracks.

“Is that the school that Mom and Dad used to go to?” Harry fakes his confusion.

“Oh, yeah,” Petunia hesitates for a bit.

“It’s going to be exciting, no—”

“You can choose not to go if you don’t want to, Harry.”

“—W-what?” Harry's excitement dims.

Petunia just stays quiet.

“I don’t understand, Aunt Petunia,” Harry says.

 Petunia takes a deep breath before speaking.”You know how your parents died—the wizarding world is dangerous. You’re happy here, right?”

Harry hesitates after hearing what his aunt said. He looks around and sees Dudley and Vernon also staying silent.

“I—” Harry looks at the three people who used to be his source of pain and trauma, but now, they’re family.

“I do want to go to Hogwarts. I believe I have something I can achieve there. I need to avenge my parents and learn more about what happened. I want to know the world my father came from and my mother went to join,” Harry says carefully.

Petunia sighs, but then she gives Harry a small smile.

“Alright, give me the list. We’ll go shopping tomorrow,” she says, reaching out her hand.

Harry’s face lights up with joy at that statement.”Oh, wait, can we actually go next week? Right on my birthday?”

“But I thought you’d want to go there immediately?” Petunia asks in confusion.

“I want this year’s birthday to be special,” Harry finds an excuse.

“Well, alright,” Petunia says, before being interrupted by Dudley.

“But Mom, wouldn’t that mean Harry would be staying there for the whole school year, except for holidays?” Dudley whines.

“Come on, Duds, relax. It’s not like I’m going to stay there forever. I’ll bring lots of souvenirs back,” Harry nudges Dudley.

“Give me one of every exotic sweet they have.”

“Deal.” Harry and Dudley snicker.

“Harry,” Vernon, who has been silent all this time, speaks in a low tone.

“If you ever feel uncomfortable, just tell us. We’ll pull you out of that school ASAP.”

Harry doesn’t know what to say. He just stands there for a while before sniffling.

“Harry, you crying?” Vernon asks.

“No, just got something in my eye,” Harry grins.

Harry’s so excited he can’t sleep that night. He has a lot on his mind.

 What will he do when the events set up by Dumbledore happen?

 What house will he join?

 Are his friends also part of Dumbledore’s setup?

 How much of history can he actually change?

 Does Draco remember his past memories?

 What will his life be like at Hogwarts now that he’s in full control of his actions?

 How many people in his life were part of Dumbledore’s plan?

‘Whatever happens, I’ll just think about it tomorrow.’

“Oh my, you look like you’re going on a date,” Petunia teases.

 Harry’s wearing a cream-colored button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up, a pair of tan trousers, and some sneakers.

“Just—wanted to make a good first impression,” Harry grins.

‘To Draco, of course.’

“Alright, whatever you say,” Petunia chuckles.

As Petunia opens the door, a huge shadow looms in front of it. Petunia screams bloody murder.

“’Scuse me, please don’t panic. Let me introduce myself—my name is Rubeus Hagrid. I’m here as a guide for you to Diagon Alley, where you’ll be buying all your school supplies.”

Petunia stops screaming and calms down.

“Oh, well, thank you, but I don’t think you’re going to fit in our car.”

“Well, we’re not going there by car.”

“Excuse me?” Petunia asks, dumbfounded.

“Will you follow me?” Hagrid leads both Petunia and Harry to the backyard.

“Hold my arms, please.”

 Harry grabs Hagrid’s right arm while Petunia holds his left.

“You’re going to be a bit dizzy after this,” Hagrid warns.

“What do you mea—AH!” Petunia’s question is cut off mid-sentence by Hagrid’s Apparition.

“Are you okay, Aunt Petunia?” Harry rubs his aunt’s back.

“I’ll be fine, Harry,” Petunia says, holding the alley wall for dear life.

“You okay, 'Arry? Most first-timers always feel sick,” Hagrid asks.

“It’s okay, I’m fine,” Harry replies.

Not that this is my first Apparition.

“Alright, would you follow me?” Hagrid guides the aunt and nephew duo into a shady bar.

“Who names their place ‘Leaky Cauldron’?” Petunia mutters under her breath.

They walk a bit before the bartender calls out to Hagrid.

“Ah! Hagrid! The usual, right?”

“No thanks, Tom, I’m on official Hogwarts business,” Hagrid says, patting Harry on the shoulder.

“Just helping young Harry and his aunt here buy his school supplies.”

Harry is hit with a huge feeling of déjà vu. This is the exact scene and dialogue from his past. Everything plays out exactly as it did—people come flocking, saying thank you to him.

“Harry—Potter. I can’t tell you how pleased I am to meet you,” a stuttering figure says.

Quirrell, Harry shivers.

Hagrid explains that the person in front of him is a Hogwarts professor and continues talking.

 Petunia clears her throat.”I believe we have some shopping to do.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” Hagrid cuts in and guides Petunia and Harry to the back of the bar.

“Excuse me, gentlemen,” Petunia says.

“Excuse me,” Harry follows.

As they reach the back of the bar, they see nothing but a wall.

“Well, what are we doing here?” Petunia asks.

“Wait, Aunt. Watch,” Harry says.

Hagrid glances at Harry, a bit confused, but then opens the wall to reveal the entrance to Diagon Alley, just like in the past.

“Welcome, Harry, to Diagon Alley,” Hagrid says with a small smile.

Oh, how Harry missed the busy streets of Diagon Alley. After the war, it had never been the same. There were always traces and memories of war here. But right now, it’s as magical as he remembered seeing it for the first time—more so now that he can see all sorts of shades of magic flying around.

Hagrid starts showing them where to buy each of the supplies needed.

“Hagrid, does the wizarding world have anything like a Muggle bank?” Harry asks.

“Of course. There it is. No safer place than that—except maybe Hogwarts,” Hagrid says, pointing to the building labeled ‘Gringotts Bank’ in front of them.

 Harry rolls his eyes at that last sentence.

Hagrid talks to the teller about needing to do something and also withdrawing some money from the Potter vault.

“Excuse me, Mr. Goblin?” Harry calls.

“—Yes?” the goblin looks down at Harry from his desk.

“I want to talk to you a bit about my family treasures and my inheritance,” Harry says.

The goblin looks at Harry for a while before saying,”Follow me.”

“I’ll just be going for a bit—no need to accompany me,” Harry says.

“But—” Hagrid starts.

“Just do what you need to do. I can withdraw my money through the teller,” Harry says.

“Okay, Harry. Be safe,” Petunia says, looking for a place to sit down.

“Follow me,” another goblin says to Hagrid.

 Hagrid looks back at Harry’s retreating figure before following the goblin to do the task Dumbledore assigned him.

“What would you like to know, Mr. Potter?” the goblin, Griphook, asks as they sit in a private room.

“I would like to claim my inheritance and see the message my father left me,” Harry says, sitting across from him.

“You do realize you are still underage to claim your inheritance, correct? You may have access to withdraw money from it, but not full ownership yet,” Griphook replies, searching through some documents.

“May I know who my proxy is as of now?” Harry asks.

“Hold on,” Griphook says, flipping through papers.

“Here it says that Albus Dumbledore is the person currently in charge of all your inheritance, which includes the Potter vault, the Black vault, and the Peverell vault.”

“I would like to see the message my father recorded for me, please.”

“Here it is,” Griphook says, handing Harry a crystal recording ball.

‘My name is James Fleamont Potter, son of Fleamont Potter and Euphemia Potter. I am recording this message in case of any misfortune that may fall upon me, making me unable to be present when my successor receives their inheritance.

I record this without any outside or internal influence.

If my wife, Lily Potter née Evans, and I are to leave our successor behind before they come of age, I wish to list those who shall act as their guardian and temporary proxy to manage the inheritance. In order of preference, if one is unavailable, move to the next. Never give the inheritance to anyone not listed below:

Sirius Orion Black III

Remus John Lupin

Andromeda Tonks

Marlene McKinnon

Frank Longbottom

Alice Longbottom

Pandora Lovegood

Petunia Dursley

If all listed individuals are unavailable, I leave the matter to Gringotts’ discretion. Thank you.’

The recording ends.

“How did the proxy go to Dumbledore? My father listed quite a few people, but he didn’t mention Dumbledore,” Harry protests.

 Griphook looks flustered.

“It seems we’ve made a mistake,” he says in a panic, rifling through the proxy records.

“I believe you pride yourselves on how safe and accurate Gringotts is,” Harry says, crossing his arms.

“Yes, Mr. Potter. I shall compensate you once we finish checking the documents. Would you mind coming back in an hour to sort out this error?” Griphook wipes his brow.

“Sure, no problem,” Harry shrugs.

“Excellent. As compensation, you may use this card for your shopping today. Gringotts will cover all your purchases,” Griphook says, handing Harry a gold card.

“I’ll be back in an hour,” Harry says, standing.

“Yes. Please excuse me,” Griphook says before rushing out.

As Harry walks back, he begins to think about what to do with his inheritance. Thankfully, his aunt is on the list, so that’s one problem down. He’ll just have to wait and see what happens in an hour.

“Harry, you finished with what you needed to do?” Petunia greets him.

 Harry nods.

“Well, we still need to go to your vault to withdraw some money,” Hagrid says, standing.

“Oh, that won’t be necessary. I was given a card—if I show it, Gringotts will automatically pay for everything from my vault,” Harry lies.

“I see. Well, some rich wizarding families do have those, so it’s not weird that you’d have one. Now, shall we continue?” Hagrid says.

“Let’s go,” Harry replies.

The trio goes from shop to shop, buying lots of things. Sometimes, Petunia stands quietly, looking at some supplies.

Hagrid excuses himself when they reach Ollivander’s, saying he needs to do something.

“Oh, wands. I’ll stay outside, Harry. Last time I went in with your mother, I nearly lost my hair,” Petunia says.

Harry nods and enters the shop, letting the nostalgia sink in. He looks around a bit before he hears a sound.

“I wondered when I’d be seeing you, Mr. Potter,” Ollivander says, stepping down and looking for wands.

“Seems only yesterday your mother and father were in here buying their first wands.”

Ollivander grabs a wand and urges Harry to try it.

“Sorry, but can I try a wand?” Harry asks.

“What ever do you mean? You are here to try on wands,” Ollivander says, confused.

“Holly wand. Phoenix feather core,” Harry says.

Ollivander is taken aback by the specific request but finds it nonetheless.

 Harry holds the wand and feels a surge of familiar magic, smiling.

“Curious. Very curious. In all my life, I’ve only seen a few wizards or witches get a match on the first try. But I’ve never had someone come in and ask for a wand—much less for it to be a perfect match. And the fact that the one who gave you your scar holds the brother wand...,” Ollivander rubs his chin.

“How did you know which wand would fit you best?”

“Um, I read about wand types and took a guess based on what I thought suited me. Just gut feeling,” Harry laughs nervously.

“Interesting. That’s quite the sharp intuition.”

“Alright, I’ll pay for this now.”

As Harry pays at the counter, the store racks suddenly shake as if there’s an earthquake.

“What’s happening?” Harry panics.

Ollivander stays calm and checks one of the racks. An old box is shaking with intense force. He picks it up and brings it to the counter.

“Strange. I don’t remember owning this box—and I have a great memory. I know every wand and whom I’ve sold them to,” he says, opening the box to reveal—nothing.

“What’s inside?” Harry asks, curious.

 Ollivander just stares at the empty box, then closes it and hands it to Harry.

“I believe it wants to come with you. Don’t worry, this one’s free of charge.”

“What do you mean?”

 Ollivander ponders for a moment, then smiles.”Just my gut feeling.”

Harry is puzzled by the man standing before him but accepts the box, pays for his wand, and leaves the shop.

Harry and Petunia take a walk through Diagon Alley, looking at the items displayed in shop windows.

“This feeling reminds me of when I was a child. I would accompany your mother every year to buy her school supplies,” Petunia says.

Harry gives her a small smile. She really misses her sister.

As they walk, Petunia notices something in one of the store windows.

“Oh! Look there—that pen series was your mother’s favourite. It says it makes her handwriting look neater, but I believe it’s because it has her flowers,” she says, pointing through the glass.

Harry looks at it for a moment before quickly going inside and buying the pen.

“Now where did that guide go?” Petunia grumbles as they leave the store.

“Harry!” Hagrid calls out. In his hand is a cage—and inside, a snowy white owl.

Hedwig, Harry’s eyes fill with tears. Ever since Hedwig died, Harry had never taken another owl, insisting he couldn’t replace his best friend. He shared an owl with Draco instead. He still cries when he remembers her.

“Last stop—you need to get your robes for Hogwarts,” Hagrid says as they stop in front of Madam Malkins'.

As Harry enters the store, he’s met with the most ethereal view he’s ever seen. There he is—the person he’s been waiting eleven years to see again.

Harry instantly knows that the boy standing on the pedestal, trying on a robe, is his Draco. The Draco from the past didn’t have long hair, but his Draco grew to love wearing it long after Harry once told him it looked like an angel’s halo.

Draco’s eyes lock with Harry’s, and before he knows it, he steps down from the pedestal and walks toward him.

“I’m Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. And you are?” Draco extends his hand with a playful, mocking tone, his chin held high—not because he’s prideful, but because Harry’s actually taller now. He’s no longer the scrawny, malnourished boy from before.

“I’m Harry. Harry Potter,” Harry says, shaking Draco’s hand. He grins.

They just keep looking at each other, their hands still gripping tightly in a handshake. It seems like nothing in the world can interrupt them—until Madam Malkins clears her throat.

“Ahem. Mr. Malfoy, we haven’t finished measuring your robes,” she says, hands on her hips.

“Oh, yes. Of course. Excuse me,” Draco says, pulling away from Harry and giving him a glance before returning to the pedestal.

“Who’s that, Harry?” Petunia asks.

“Oh, I don’t know. Just figured he’s a Hogwarts student. Gotta make as many friends as I can before school starts, right?” Harry laughs nervously.

“Yes, yes, you do,” Petunia replies, though not without suspicion.

As Madam Malkins finishes Draco’s robes and prepares to do Harry’s, the boys sit nearby and chat.

“So, going to Hogwarts?” Harry asks.

“Pfft.” Draco snorts, then covers his mouth.

“Yes, yes I am.” He looks Harry up and down.

“My, don’t you look nice.”

“Why, of course. Can’t have my stylist thinking they failed after nagging me for ten years.”

 Draco gasps and puts a hand on his chest like he’s scandalized.”I do not nag, you heathen. And may I say, I did a great job fixing your horrendous sense of style.” Draco folds his arms and sulks.

“Yes, Draco. You did,” Harry says, trying to get Draco to meet his eyes.

 Draco keeps turning away, maintaining his sulking act.

Harry’s had enough and gently pulls Draco’s chin to face him.

“Unhand me, you brute. People are looking,” Draco huffs, slapping his hand away.

“I’ll do it again if you keep refusing to look at me. Don’t you miss me, Draco?”

 It takes Draco a moment to calm down before he answers softly,”Yes, I do.” He looks Harry in the eyes.

Just as Harry is about to ask about Draco’s regression, Madam Malkins calls him to try on his robes.

“Talk on the train?” Harry asks.

“Sure,” Draco says with a small smile.

 Harry smiles back and disappears behind the curtain.

“Thank you for your purchase,” Madam Malkins says, handing Harry his robes.

“I guess this is where we part ways. I’ve got to deliver this to the Headmaster. I’ll see you at Hogwarts, 'Arry,” Hagrid says with a grin as he walks away.

“See you, Hagrid,” Harry replies with a smile before Hagrid disappears into the crowd.

“Well, that should be everything. Shall we go home?” Petunia asks.

“Oh, not yet. I still need to do something back at the bank,” Harry says.

“And what is that?” Petunia asks.

“About my inheritance. Turns out someone who’s not family is in charge of it right now,” Harry says casually.

“WHAT?!” Petunia screams.”We’re going there right now!”

“Whoa, calm down, I know you’re angry. But let me do the talking. I’ll call you if I need anything.”

“But—”

“Relax. I know what I’m doing.”

“Okay, fine. But we’ve got to hurry.”

“Let’s go.”

“Ah, Mr. Potter, you’re back,” Griphook greets Harry as he enters the room, leaving Petunia in the lobby.

“It seems there has been manipulation in the documents. It was missed because we didn’t cross-check it with the recording. I am terribly sorry, Mr. Potter,” Griphook bows.

“It’s fine. I can make my aunt the proxy then, right?” Harry asks, arms folded.

“Technically you can, but becoming a proxy means bearing the family ring. A normal Muggle cannot handle such magic,” Griphook explains.

Harry pauses. He can’t have his aunt blowing up from magic.

“What solution can you offer? This was partly your fault too,” Harry says, glaring.

“Well, we could look at the other candidates on the list—”

“They’re all either unreachable or dead, Griphook.”

“I—my apologies, sir.”

“Tell you what—leave the proxy in name as it is, but give me the family rings. Can you restrict the current fake proxy’s access to my family vault? Just make up an excuse or something. That way, I’ll hold the position of family head, but since I’m still underage, Dumbledore remains the proxy—only in name,” Harry proposes.

“That… can actually work. But we need to fix this loophole ASAP,” Griphook grumbles.

Harry raises an eyebrow.

“We’ll need to contact the current proxy to return the family rings.”

“And how long will that take?”

“We can get them immediately,” Griphook replies.

Harry thinks—too fast and Dumbledore might get suspicious.

“Make up a long and extensive paperwork trail saying he needs to return the rings. I’ll collect them at the end of the year, so you have time. In the meantime, restrict his access and transfer the ownership to me.”

“Of course, Mr. Potter. We’ll do our best.”

“Keep in touch. Owl me every time something changes,” Harry says, standing up.

“Yes, of course. We will.” Griphook bows again.

“Oh, and the rings the proxy currently holds are only two out of three—the Potter and Peverell rings. He doesn’t have the Black ring.”

“I’ll take that one for now, then,” Harry says.

Griphook fetches the ring, returning with an elegant black box. Inside is a black ring bearing the Black family crest and their motto.

“You can transfigure it however you like. It follows the owner’s preference,” Griphook says.

Harry knows wearing it would cause an uproar at Hogwarts, so he transfigures it into a simple black band with skulls and crows engraved on the surface.

“Thanks. See you at winter, then.”

“My pleasure, Mr. Potter. Until we meet again.”

Harry meets up with Petunia and assures her the issue will be resolved by year’s end.

“Well then, who’s holding your inheritance?” Petunia asks irritably.

“Someone mad. But it’s okay. I’m going to change the proxy to someone I actually know. He’s just… unavailable right now, probably for a few years.”

“How do you know this person?”

“He’s a good friend of Dad’s and apparently my godfather. The goblin told me,” Harry lies.

Harry forgot that he’s not supposed to know any of this so he’s just making excuses after excuses at this point.

“I see. Well, that means everything’s fine, right?”

“No need to worry. Let’s just go home and celebrate my birthday,” Harry grins.

Harry spends the evening celebrating his birthday with his family. He blows out the candles as the Dursleys sing Happy Birthday. This was once a dream he had—a family celebration just for him.

“Time to open presents!” Petunia says enthusiastically.

“Open mine first, cousin!” Dudley practically shoves his gift into Harry’s face.

“Okay, okay,” Harry laughs, opening the present to find trading cards, action figures, and comic books.

“So that you won’t get bored at school,” Dudley grins.

“Thanks, Duds.”

“All right, now open ours,” Petunia says, pushing over a mountain of presents.

They’re mostly clothes—sweaters, coats, scarves, shoes, gloves, a hat—and plenty of school supplies.

When Harry gets to the final few presents, he slows down. They’re picture frames: one of his parents, and one of him with the Dursleys. Petunia had forced them to take a family picture when he and Dudley were eight.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t forget the last one,” Vernon says.

Harry opens a small box to find a picture pendant. On both sides are the same photos as the framed ones.

“It’s so you always remember you’ve got a family behind you. Though the picture frames are bigger,” Vernon says with a wink.

“Thank you—very much,” Harry says, wiping away tears.

“Cousin, don’t cry. We’ll see each other again on the holidays, right?”

“Yes, of course, Duds,” Harry replies with a smile.

Later that night, as Harry gets ready for bed, he’s reminded of the strange box from Ollivanders. He takes it out and opens it—inside is the Elder Wand.

Harry stands, dumbfounded. Then he whispers:

“Death.”

“You rang?” Death appears in a puff of black smoke.

 Harry glares.

“Boy, you’ve been glaring at me for the past eleven years. Don’t you get tired of it?” Death crosses his arms.

“How is this here? At Ollivanders, the box was empty. And isn’t this supposed to be in Dumbledore’s hands?”

“Hold on, let me answer one at a time.” Death sits on Harry’s bed.

“One—the box wasn’t empty. The wand was just invisible. It only appears to its rightful owner.

 Two—yes, Dumbledore was the previous owner, after defeating his ex—oops, I mean Grindelwald—and claiming it.

 But technically, that wand is mine. So logically, it should belong to the Master of Death, no?” Death strikes a dramatic pose.

“The Master of Death?” Harry tilts his head.

“Yeah. You had all three Hallows, met me in Limbo, and you’re on a mission from me—and Fate.”

“But won’t he be searching for it?”

“Don’t worry, I sent him a message through a nightmare—I mean, a dream.” Death grins.

 Harry nods slowly. ”What about my Holly wand?”

“You’ve got two wands now.”

“What am I supposed to do with two wands?” Harry raises an eyebrow.

“You’ll know when the time comes. For now, use the Holly wand. That’s still part of your fate. The Elder Wand’s just a bonus,” Death winks.

“Uh-huh... well, thanks for answering.”

“No problem, kid. Now go to sleep,” Death says before vanishing in a cloud of smoke.

As Harry tucks himself in, he thinks about how different life at Hogwarts will be—and what he’ll do.

Should he make a plan? Create timelines?

...Nah.

He’ll just trust his gut.

Like he always had.

Chapter Text

Harry wakes early in the morning. It’s September first—the day he goes to Hogwarts. He gets ready, finishes packing his bags, grabs his fake glasses, and goes downstairs for breakfast.

“Are you excited, Harry?” Vernon asks, sipping his morning coffee.

“Very—I couldn’t sleep a wink last night”, Harry grins, grabbing a piece of toast and slathering it with butter.

“Dudley, if you don’t get ready now, we’re going to leave you!” Petunia yells.

“Wait, no! I want to see cousin off!” a voice shouts back from upstairs.

“That boy just doesn’t know how important time is”, Petunia mutters, shaking her head.

“It’s fine, Pet. We’re not leaving for another thirty minutes”, Vernon says.

“But what if we miss the train? What if we can’t find the platform? What if we forgot something?”

“Calm down, Aunt Petunia. We’re going to be fine”, Harry says.

Petunia takes a deep breath. “You’re right, stay calm. It’s not like it’s Harry’s first day at school… in Scotland… which is very far away.” She starts fretting again.

Harry and Vernon exchange a look and sigh.

A few minutes later, Dudley finally comes downstairs and joins them for breakfast. Petunia is still busy preparing for Harry’s trip. The trio just watches as she runs around, grabbing items she thinks Harry might need—most of which he doesn’t.

The house is filled with her cluttering until finally, it’s time to go.

“Come on, get in the car. We’re late!”

'There’s still an hour before the train leaves', Harry says to himself.

The car ride is filled with Petunia reminding Harry to be careful, wear his coat if it’s cold, drink medicine if he feels sick, etc. Harry’s never been fussed over like this in his past life. The only one who ever 'nagged' him was Draco—though he claimed he didn’t nag.

Harry chuckles at the memory. Draco always reminded him of things, just like Petunia now. That’s how he knows she cares—just like Draco did.

‘We’ll see each other real soon, Draco ’, Harry thinks, looking out the window.

“Platform nine and three-quarters? I believe it’s between platforms nine and ten, but I forgot where exactly—it’s been so long”, Petunia says as Harry pushes a trolley.

She looks around for a worker. “Excuse me, where can I find platform nine and three-quarters?”

“Platform nine and three-quarters? You think you’re being funny, ma’am?” the worker scoffs.

Petunia shows him Harry’s ticket.

“We don’t have that platform here. Are you sure this isn’t fake?” the worker mocks before walking off.

“Why you—”

At that moment a group of people passed by them and Harry caught a few words of what they were saying.

"—packed with Muggles, of course—"

Harry turns to the source of the voice. The speaker was a plump woman who was talking to four boys, all with flaming red hair. Each of them was pushing a trunk like Harry's in front of him.

“Platform nine and three-quarters! This way!” a familiar voice calls.

Harry and the Dursleys look at each other before starting to follow the family.

“Alright, pass through. Percy, you go first”, the mother says, standing in front of one of the station’s pillars.

The boy marched toward platforms nine and ten and as the boy reached the dividing barrier between the two platforms, the boy had vanished.

“Fred, you next”

"I'm not Fred, I'm George," said the boy. "Honestly, woman, you call yourself our mother?”

"Sorry, George, dear."

"Only joking, I am Fred," said the boy, and off he went, followed by his twin.

Harry, looking at Fred—alive and well, he could almost cry. Seeing Fred right in front of his eyes made Harry realize that he can safe a lot of people he couldn't in his past life.

Harry's trance was interrupted by Petunia nudging Harry's shoulder, urging him to ask the family in front of them.

“Um, excuse me, can you tell me how to—?”

“How to get onto the platform?” the woman finishes.

Harry nods.

"Not to worry," she said. "All you have to do is walk straight at the barrier between platforms nine and ten. Don't stop and don't be scared you'll crash into it, that's very important. Best do it at a bit of a run if you're nervous. Go on, go now before Ron."

Harry runs at the pillar and bursts through to platform nine and three-quarters. Harry looked behind him and saw a wrought-iron archway where the barrier had been, with the words Platform Nine and Three-Quarters on it.

And there it is, in front of him, Hogwarts Express, shooting smoke from its engines, drifting over the heads of the crowds.

Behind him, Ron and the other Weasleys follow—then the Dursleys.

“Well, this is it, Harry”, Vernon says.

“We’re going to see you again, right?” Dudley shakes Harry’s shoulders.

“Calm down, Duds. I’m going to school, not dying.” Harry gently pulls away.

“You have everything, right? Clothes, books, owl... where’s your wand? We forgot Harry’s wand!” Petunia frets.

“Relax, Aunt. I have it.” Harry pulls his wand from the holster on his sleeve.

“How convenient”, Petunia sighs.

“Alright then—this is goodbye”, Harry says.

“For now”, Vernon adds.

“Yes, for now. See you at Christmas.” Harry smiles at them before boarding the train

Harry sits down in a compartment that’s facing the platform. This time, unlike in his past life, he actually has someone to say goodbye to.

As he waves to the Dursleys, he spots a blond family.

‘Draco.’

He remembers Lucius Malfoy as cold and stoic. But now, Lucius actually looks like a father. He hugs Draco, says something softly, and pats his shoulder. Narcissa hugs him too, before finally sending Draco off to board the train.

Harry opens his compartment door to catch Draco, but instead, a redhead pokes his head in.

“Excuse me, do you mind? Everywhere else is full”, Ron says.

“Not at all”, Harry replies.

Harry is hit with a wave of nostalgia­—seeing Ron like this, still young and awkward. Really different with the brave and bold Ron he came to know and love. Ron’s always been brave ever since they were little, but he’s always socially awkward. He’s much more confident in the future as he becomes the vice-head Auror along with Harry.

“I’m Ron, by the way. Ron Weasley.”

“I’m Harry. Harry Potter.”

Ron’s eyes widened so much Harry thought his eyes were going to pop out.­

“So—it’s true? I mean, do you really have the—” Ron points to his forehead.

“The what?” Harry plays dumb.

Ron glances around and whispers, “The scar.”

“Oh.” Harry chuckles and brushes his bangs aside.

“Wicked”, Ron says just as a trolley of sweets arrives.

“Anything off the trolley, dears?”

“No thanks, I’m all set”, Ron says, showing a sad homemade sandwich.

Harry glances at him, then says, “We’ll take the lot.”

As they dig into the sweets, Draco passes by and spots Harry.

“Crabbe, Goyle—you go on ahead”, Draco says.

He walks into the compartment and scowls at the scene.

“Harry, I haven’t seen you in months and here you are—stuffing yourself with cheap sweets.”, Draco folds his arms. 

“You’ve never tried these, right? Here.” Harry offers an Every Flavor Bean.

“No thanks.” Draco pushes his hand away and sits across from him.

“Ah—a redhead and hand-me-down robes. You must be a Weasley”, he adds, eyeing Ron.

“And you’re—?”

“Malfoy. Draco Malfoy”, Draco cuts in, proud.

Always with their banter, Harry rolls his eyes.

“I saw that”, Draco says.

Harry pretends to ignore him and shoves a chocolate frog in his mouth.

“Those aren’t good for you.” Draco pulls out his wand and Accios the frog away.

“Hey!”

"Evanesco. There. That’s better”, Draco says.

Ron stares at them. “How do you know him?” he whispers to Harry.

“Oh, we met at Madam Malkin’s when I was shopping in Diagon Alley”, Harry says.

“But he’s a pureblood. They’re not the nicest people.”

“Relax, Ron. Draco’s not like the others.”

“Yeah—he’s the purest of purebloods. The snobbiest.”

“Hey, I heard that.”

Ron shuts up.

“I’m not snobbish. I just have pride. I should be proud to be a Malfoy”, Draco says.

“By the way, Harry. You didn’t wear glasses back when we met at Madam Malkins. Why are you wearing it now?”, Draco asks.

“I have my reasons”, Harry replies.

“Uhuh—and are you going to tell me?”

“Later”

They fall into silence until a rat shows up.

“Wah! What is that!?” Draco jumps toward Harry.

“Relax. This is Scabbers. Pathetic, isn’t he?” Ron says.

‘Really pathetic’ , Harry scowls. ‘ Worse, traitorous’

He just nods, holding Draco who jumped on his lap. He’s thinking about when to reveal the animagus rat, he can undo his transformation and free Sirius that way. 

He really doesn’t have a plan right now and he wants Sirius to be free as soon as possible. He could even prevent his death in this life, and without Wormtail, Voldemort wouldn’t be able to resurrect.

“Fred gave me a spell to turn him yellow. Want to see?”

“Sure”, Harry replies.

Ron pulls out his wand. “Sun—”

“Has anyone seen a toad? A boy named Neville’s lost it”, a girl says, stepping in.

“No”, Ron shrugs.

“Oh, are you doing magic? Let’s see it”, she says.

Ron clears his throat again. “Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow, turn this stupid rat yellow!”, Ron swings his wand numerous times at the rat, but it only manages to produce a spark.

“Pfft.”

Everyone turns their attention to the source of the sound.

“Sorry, sorry. Go on”, Draco says, stifling a laugh.

“Is that a real spell? It’s not very good, is it?” she says.

Ron looks at Harry. Draco shrugs.

“I’ve tried a few spells myself. They worked well for me.” She sits across from Harry and Draco.

“For example— Levioso .”

She points at Harry’s hair. It floats, revealing his scar.

“Oh marbles! You’re Harry Potter. I’m Hermione Granger.” She looks at Draco.

“And you are?”

“Malfoy. Draco Malfoy.” He stands and gives a small bow.

“Nice to meet you.” Hermione gives an awkward bow back. Then turns to Ron.

“And you?”

“I’m—Ron Weasley”, he mumbles with his mouth full.

Hermione eyes him briefly. “Pleasure.”

“You three better change into robes. I expect we’ll be arriving soon.” She stands to leave.

“You’ve got dirt on your nose, by the way. Right there.” She points at Ron’s nose, then walks off.

Throughout the conversation, Harry's attention was fixated on Hermione. Hermione's magic, to be exact. He’s seen magic with all sorts of colours, but he’s never seen one where there are two colours opposite of each other. Usually, Harry sees magic as colours that are in harmony with each other. 

Draco’s for example, is a mix of white, grey, and mercury, with a hint of icy blue. Perfectly complimenting Draco. And Ron’s a fiery red, with a tint of orange and yellow. 

But Hermione’s–while mostly pink and red, has a muddled green hint hidden in there, like the colour of puke. It’s almost like there’s someone else’s magic mixed in. 

Harry doesn’t know what that is, but his gut says that it’s not good.

“Come on, let’s go change”, Harry says, following her out.

“Hermione!” he calls.

“What is it?”, Hermione turns around.

“Um... I just wanted to ask–do you want to see me demonstrate magic?”

“Oh? Let’s see.”

“But close your eyes for a second—it’s a surprise.”

“Well... alright”, she closes her eyes.

Harry murmurs a Revelio and there it is, a sign of a charm. He doesn’t really know what charm that is–but what he does know is that he needs to break it.

It seems that the charm itself is actually quite simple, so it doesn’t take long for Harry to dispel it. Thank his years as an Auror, all those cursed objects have made him adept at identifying and dispelling things.

But right now, he needs to do a spell to show Hermione. After a while, he finally opts to use a spell Draco taught him so that he can braid Draco’s hair quickly. 

“All done. You can open your eyes.”

“Oh, it’s pretty! My head feels lighter too. Thanks, Harry. You’ve got to teach me that.”

“You can ask Draco. He made the spell.”

“What? He made a spell? I thought you needed to be advanced in theory for that. Isn’t he a first-year like us? I’ve got so many questions!” She walks off.

‘Crap–sorry, Draco’, Harry thinks. 

The train finally reaches Hogwarts. Hagrid is already at the gate, waiting to guide the first years.

“First years! This way please”, Hagris says, holding a lantern.

“Come on first years don’t be shy”

The first years all began to unboard the Hogwarts Express.

“Come on, hurry up”

Harry walks together with Draco and Ron.

“Hey, Harry”, Hagrid greets him.

“Hey, Hagrid.”

“Whoa”, Ron mutters, staring up at Hagrid.

“Hello there. Follow me”, Hagrid says.

Slipping and stumbling, they followed Hagrid down what seemed to be a steep, narrow path.

As they walk, Harry tells Draco what happened with Hermione.

“You what!?” Draco grabs Harry’s robe and yanks him closer.

“It was a slip of the tongue. Anyone can slip up.”

Draco glares at Harry's statement.

“She’s right, though—you need serious knowledge to create a spell. Knowledge a first-year shouldn't have”, Draco says.

“Can’t you just say it came from a family library book?”, Harry excuses.

Draco lets go of Harry's robes. “That could work. And it gives me a strong alibi when I beat her to the number one spot!” He spreads his arms dramatically.

‘Him and his academic ambitions’ , Harry thinks.

The three of them—Harry, Draco, and Ron—continue walking with the rest of the first years.

The narrow path had opened suddenly onto the edge of a great black take. Perched atop a high mountain on the other side, its windows sparkling in the starry sky, was a vast castle with many turrets and towers. They rode a boat until they reached a kind of underground harbour. Then, they walked up a flight of stone steps and crowded around the huge, Oak front door.

The door swung open at once. A tall, black-haired witch in emerald-green robes stood there.

‘Professor McGonagall’, Harry smiles to himself.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," Hagrid says to McGonagall.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here", she replies before opening the door and instructing the first-years to follow her.

They follow Professor McGonagall until they reach the entrance of the dining hall, marked by two big wooden doors.

“Welcome to Hogwarts”, she says. 

“In a few moments, you will pass through these doors and join your classmates. But before you take your seats, you must be sorted into your houses. They are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin.” 

Draco glances at Harry.

“While you’re here, your house will be like your family. Your triumphs will earn you points. Rule-breaking will cost points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points wins the House Cup—”

“Trevor!” Neville yells as he spots his toad and runs to grab it. “Sorry”, he mumbles to McGonagall.

“The Sorting Ceremony will begin momentarily. I shall return when we are ready for you," McGonagall announces. "Please wait quietly", and she left the first-years.

“Harry, do you know how they sort us into the houses?”, Ron asks.

Harry just shakes his head.

“Fred says that there’s some sort of a test. And that it’ll hurt a lot. But I think he was joking”

Harry just rolls his eyes. ‘ Fred’s really had a great time feeding Ron false pieces of information’

“Harry”, Draco nudges him. “This is where you rejected my handshake.”

“For the last time, I’m sorry”, Harry says.

“No, it’s okay. Only took ten years to become friends”, Draco mutters, arms folded.

Harry wraps an arm around Draco and rests his chin on his head.

Draco shoves him off. “We’re still first years. You can’t act like this.”

“Oh? I can’t? Not even if I’m Harry Potter?” Harry says, a bit too loud.

“Harry Potter?” “Did he say Harry Potter?” whispers break out around them.

Suddenly, the Great Hall doors open, and out comes Professor McGonagall.

“Now, form a line, and follow me”, McGonagall announces.

Harry, Draco, Ron, and the other first years start walking inside the dining hall. It looks just like Harry remembered, lit by thousands and thousands of candles that were floating in midair over four long tables. Harry looked upward and saw a velvety black ceiling dotted with stars.

Behind him, he heard a whisper, "It's bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in Hogwarts, A History", Hermione says.

In front of the room, stood a stool and a hat. For a moment, the whole hall was in complete silence, until the hat suddenly began to sing.

“When I call your name, you’ll come forward. I’ll place the Sorting Hat on your head, and you’ll be sorted into your house”, McGonagall explains as the hat finishes its song.

Professor McGonagall starts to call out names, starting from Hannah Abbot, Terry Boot, and many more before finally reaching a familiar name.

“Granger, Hermione!”

Hermione almost ran to the stool and sat down eagerly. McGonagall places the Sorting Hat on her head.

It takes nearly five and a half minutes before the hat shouts, “Ravenclaw!”

Draco and Harry glanced at each other, stunned.

“What did you do?” Draco asks.

“I don’t know!” Harry says.

“Well, you definitely did something. Maybe that charm on the train?”

Harry thinks. There’s only one explanation.

“Must’ve been that old geezer”, he mutters.

“Who?”

“I’ll explain later. Long story.”

Draco shrugs.

“Malfoy, Draco!” McGonagall calls.

Harry fully expects the hat to yell “Slytherin” immediately, like in his past life. But it takes even longer than Hermione—almost eight minutes—before it finally shouts, “Slytherin!”

“There’s not a witch or wizard who went bad who wasn’t in Slytherin”, Ron whispers.

“Merlin was a Slytherin”, Harry counters.

“That—” Ron starts, then finally opts to shut his mouth.

The sorting continues. As Harry waits, he locks eyes with Snape. His scar suddenly burns.

“Ah—not again”, Harry mutters, touching it.

“Harry, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I’m fine.”

“Weasley, Ronald!”

Ron walks forward.

“Ha! Another Weasley. I know just what to do with you. Gryffindor!” the hat yells.

That, Harry fully expected.

“Potter, Harry!” McGonagall calls.

The hall falls completely silent.

The Boy Who Lived. The Chosen One. Where will he go?

“Hmm, difficult, very difficult”, the Sorting Hat murmurs.

‘You’re like that Malfoy boy, correct? Not from this timeline?’, the hat’s voice echo inside Harry’s mind.

‘How do you know that? ’ Harry asks.

‘I’m a hat that sees potential—and to that extent—your memories. Don’t worry, I’m bound to secrecy by Godric Gryffindor himself. The Malfoy boy’s sorting took a long time for the same reason.’

‘I see—alright then, so where will you put me this time?’

‘You’re suited for any house, like before. But this time, you have ambition—an urge to fix what went wrong in your last timeline. That means you’d best be in…’

“Slytherin!” the hat shouts.

The entire hall gasps. Dumbledore nearly jumps from his seat.

McGonagall removes the hat from Harry’s head. He walks slowly to the Slytherin table and sits next to Draco, who’s staring at him in shock.

‘Oh crap’ , Harry thinks.

“Wha—Harry, how did you get sorted here? You’re the most brute Gryffindor I know”, Draco whispers.

“Again, I don’t know”, Harry replies.

“Merlin, you don’t know anything lately”, Draco sighs.

The sorting finishes. Dumbledore composes himself and stands.

“Before we begin the feast, please rise and sing the Hogwarts song to welcome our new students.”

'Ugh, this song again.'

They all sing, led by Dumbledore.

“You may sit. Now, let the feast begin!”

The food appears on the tables.

“You have a lot of explaining to do”, Draco says.

As the feast ends, Dumbledore announces some things.

The hall fell silent. 

"Ahern -- just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you. 

"First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well." 

"I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors. 

"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch. 

"And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

Harry’s eyes narrowed at Dumbledore when he said the last sentence.

“And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"

Each house follows their prefects to their dormitories.

Harry, Draco, and the other Slytherins walk down into the dungeons.

“Before you head to your rooms, a few ground rules”, the Slytherin Head Boy announces once they reach the common room.

“Rule number one, Slytherins stick together. Don’t walk the halls alone—always be with at least one or two friends. Number two, we don’t fight in public. Resolve all personal problems here, inside the dorms. And three, no hexes, jinxes, or curses on fellow Slytherins. That is all.”, the Head Boy and Head Girl take turns announcing the rules.

“Boys, follow me”, the Head Boy says.

“And girls, follow me”, the Head Girl says.

“Let’s go”, Draco nudges Harry.

They reach the rooms. Harry stops in front of one labelled with four names—his, Draco’s, Blaise Zabini’s, and Theodore Nott’s.

“Looks like we’re roommates”, Harry says, nudging Draco.

“Great. Stuck with you for seven years”, Draco grumbles, only half-joking.

“Hey, you’re in this room too?” says a dark-skinned boy approaching them.

“Yep”, Draco replies.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Blaise Zabini. And this is Theo—Theodore Nott”, he says, pointing at the boy behind him, nose buried in a book.

“Pleased to meet you. I’m Harry Potter”, Harry says, shaking Blaise’s hand.

“Come on, let’s go in”, Draco says lazily, opening the door.

They unpack and take turns using the shower.

'How fancy' , Harry thinks. In Gryffindor, there were no private rooms—just a big shared dorm and communal bathrooms. But here, every room has its own.

As Harry gets ready for bed, he places a couple of framed photos on his bedside table.

Draco, already lying down, spots them.

“Who’re they?”

“My parents in this one. And me with the Dursleys in that one”, Harry points to the picture frames.

“The Dursleys? Didn’t they treat you horribly?”, Draco sits up in shock.

“Apparently, they’re actually nice. Long story.”

“You and your long stories. When are you going to tell me?”

“Tomorrow. Promise. For now, let’s get some sleep.”

“You better”, Draco mutters, lying back down.

Harry chuckles. “Good night, Draco”, he places his glasses on his bedside desk and tucks himself into bed.

“Good night, Harry.”

Harry didn’t sleep well that night, he had a nightmare and was tossing and turning.

He was wearing Professor Quirrell's turban, which kept talking to him, telling him that he chose correctly to be in Slytherin, it was his destiny. Harry tries to take off the turban but it only gets heavier and heavier.

“Harry!”

Harry awoke sweating and shaking.

“Harry, are you okay? You were shaking and breathing hard, I tried waking you up but you just wouldn’t”, Draco says, his face pale.

“I’m fine, Draco. I experienced this back then too”, Harry says, rubbing his face.

Draco looks at Harry, worried. “Would you like to talk about it?”

Harry looks down.

“Darling, you know you can talk to me about anything”, Draco grabs Harry’s face so that he’s facing him directly.

Harry practically melts to Draco’s touch. He knows how much Harry likes it when he uses pet names.

Harry nods.

“Come here”, Draco pulls Harry’s hand.

Harry stands up and follows Draco.

They reached the astronomy tower and sat down, opposite each other. 

They sit in silence for a moment while Draco holds Harry’s hand and caresses it.

“I guess, I should start”, Harry finally broke the silence.

Draco nods and rests his head on his knees.

“In our past life, the same day as today, I had a dream just like I did today. But the difference is, in my last life, the voice told me that I should’ve been in Slytherin, that it’s my destiny. But the difference now is that I am in Slytherin. The voice in my dream is Quirell”

“The stuttering professor?”

“Yeah, you see that turban he always wears? He’s actually hiding Voldemort there”

Draco was taken aback, “I always wondered what happened to him, turns out you’ve been fighting from the moment you stepped in Hogwarts”, Draco said, continuing to caress Harry’s hand.

“It seems that I was supposed to be sorted into Slytherin, but I was manipulated so that I chose to be sorted into Gryffindor”

Draco tilts his head. “Now that you mentioned it, you’re really different from you in the past. You’re taller than me now, and you also don’t need glasses”

Harry nods, when Death sent me back, he sent me to the night my parents died. And on that day, Dumbledore was present. He chanted something and placed a rune on me. Turns out most of my personality back in the day was artificial, it wasn’t the real me.

“So, you being reckless and always needing to be a hero was scripted?”

Harry nods. 

“I just—I didn’t realize just how different I am now than I was, how much of me is actually me? It feels like the personality I had combined to shape who I am, but what would my real personality be like if he never interfered with me? Am I just a fake?”, Harry starts hyperventilating.

“Shh, I know that you’re you, Harry. No matter how much Dumbledore manipulated you, I know that your good nature is always a part of you. The sweet, lovable, sarcastic Harry I know has always been who you really are. Okay? Come here”, Darco pulls Harry to him so that Harry sits facing the wall and his back rests on Draco’s chest.

“He put a compulsory charm on me, not only that, but he also put a forgetness charm, he blocked my eyes which apparently can see magic, he locked my creature inheritance, and he even timed my coming of age with my death!”, Harry rants and starts to hyperventilate again.

“Whoa, whoa slow down. He did what!?”

“Uh which part are you talking about, I mentioned a lot”

“All of it! That man is mad!”, Draco sneers.

“He also planted a ward on me, one that makes the people around me irritated at me. The target of the ward? The Dursleys. They’re actually very nice and they took care of me. I never knew that there’d be a time when I call them my family”, Harry leans his head on Draco’s shoulders.

Draco kisses Harry’s forehead, “I’m glad, Harry. I was so scared that you would have to experience the abuse all over again.”

“There’s so much going on that I don’t even know where to begin. My whole life was planned, Draco. Even from before I was born”

“It’s okay, take your time to tell me”, Draco soothes Harry.

They sit in silence with Draco petting Harry’s hair, freeing the knots.

“You know, your life isn’t the only one that Dumbledore manipulated”

Harry sat up, eyes wide looking at Draco, “You mean?”

Draco nods, “I didn’t know this before, but I was sent back here when I was 8 years old. On the day Dumbledore visited me”

Harry gulps. “Why would he visit you?”

“He didn’t visit me as Dumbledore, no. He took the form of my private tutor. To be honest, I don’t really remember that day in our last life, he locked my memories of it. He put charms on me and also locked my creature inheritance”

Harry was fuming, just how many people in his life does Dumbledore want to control?

“What charms did he place?”

“Oh, just some charms that would make me more annoying and more prone to bully others. Those charms also influence the people around me, that’s why mother and father didn’t feel anything was wrong as the charm wasn’t placed directly on them, but on me”

“So that means—”

“My father was a kind man and a loving father, ever since that day he turned cold. Not because of himself, but because of a certain individual”

“Then we need to take that charm off of you right now!”, Harry grabs his wand.

“Relax, it’s already off. Seriously, what do you take me for, Potter? It was really simple but quite challenging—if I was a real 8-year-old. It’s a charm that would grow together with the host. So getting rid of it when it was just placed was a breeze”

Harry breathed a sigh of relief.

“Then, do you know what creature you are?”

“Of course, my family's creature bloodline only comes from one species of magical creatures”

“What is it?”

Draco fakes pondering for a bit before teasing, “Guess”, Draco smirks.

“I bet you’re a Veela with your white hair and those deadly allure of yours”, Harry grumbles.

Draco chuckles, “You’ll see”, Draco says before realizing something.

“You mention you have a creature inheritance, those inheritances are really powerful. When you come of age and get your inheritance, you should’ve been reborn and become magically pure again”

“That is what I meant with him timing my death. The day I should’ve gotten my inheritance—is the day I died to Voldemort”

Draco cringed at the word ‘died’.

“My inheritance was the thing that actually kept me alive. When usually it reforms the body and clears it of any impurities, my inheritance was used up to rebuild my body and revive me”, Harry says.

“That—I have no words for that”, Draco’s eyes are filled with sorrow.

Harry nods, “that man planned everything, from my birth up until my death”

Draco looks at Harry and pulls him into his embrace. “You’re okay now, you’re free to make your own choices in this life”, Draco smiles.

“Yeah, and I’ve got you to accompany me now too” 

Chapter Text

"You know, I was surprised you pulled me up to the Astronomy Tower. Isn't that place traumatic for you?" Harry says as they’re getting ready for class in the morning.

Draco pauses what he’s doing and turns to Harry.

"I just wanted to show you that if I can face my trauma, then so can you", Draco shrugs before continuing to fix his tie.

Now it’s Harry’s turn to be stunned, touched deeply by Draco’s words.

"When are we ever going to get to class if you keep pausing to stare?" Draco sighs, stepping closer to help Harry with his tie.

"You two look like a married couple", Blaise comments casually as he steps out of the bathroom, a towel around his neck.

Harry and Draco both turn their heads to stare at him.

"What?" Blaise raises an eyebrow innocently.

Draco just shrugs and finishes tying Harry’s tie.

"Theo, get up!" Blaise calls toward the beds.

A muffled groan is Theo’s only reply as he drags his blanket higher over his head.

"Ugh—go on ahead, I’ll deal with him", Blaise says, exasperated.

"Need a hand?" Harry offers, lifting his wand slightly.

"Maybe. Can you help me drag him to the bathroom?" Blaise mutters, giving up trying to tug the blanket off.

"No problem", Harry replies, and with a casual wave of his hand, levitates the blanket-wrapped Theo into the air.

Both Draco and Blaise stare, wide-eyed.

"There—why are you guys looking at me like that?" Harry asks, confused.

"Harry, you just did a wandless, wordless spell", Draco says, his voice slightly higher than usual. "I knew you were powerful but—what the ever-loving hell was that?"

"Potter, you don’t seem to realize the weight of what you just did!" Blaise jumps in, pointing dramatically. "I can’t even lift a pebble without my wand! How did you do that?"

"Um—beginner’s luck?" Harry says awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Don’t you start shitting me, Potter", Blaise says, jabbing a finger at him.

"Whoa, calm down. If I can do it, you can do it", Harry says quickly, raising both arms in surrender.

Blaise looks like he wants to argue more, but before he can, Theo staggers out of the bathroom, looking half-asleep.

"What are you guys doing? We’re going to be late", he says lazily.

Blaise lets out a long-suffering sigh. "Let’s just go."

They all walk together toward their first class of the day, and to Harry’s dismay, it’s Defense Against the Dark Arts with Professor Quirrell—the last person he wants to see first thing in the morning.

The moment Harry steps into the classroom, he’s assaulted by a sharp, pungent smell—something between spoiled garlic and rotting wood. He quickly finds a seat at the very back beside Draco, as far from the source of the smell as possible.

"Ugh—I forgot how smelly that guy is", Draco fake-gags dramatically.

"Maybe it’s his way of masking a more... rotting smell", Harry mutters, discreetly casting a silent refreshing charm to make the air around them breathable.

"I heard from the Weasley twins that Quirrell stuffs his turban with garlic, so he’s protected from vampires wherever he goes", Blaise says, sliding into the seat beside them with a smirk. "You see how jumpy he is."

The class drags on uneventfully. Quirrell’s lesson is barely comprehensible; between the stammering and the awful smell, Harry wonders how anyone can focus.
Students start asking about his turban—Quirrell claims it was gifted by an African prince as thanks for banishing a troublesome zombie, but nobody quite believes him.

"Finally. Done with this horrid excuse for a class", Blaise says, stretching as they get up.

"What’s our next class?" Harry asks, dreading the answer.

"Oh, you’re going to love this", Draco smirks mischievously.

"What—"

"Double Potions. With the Gryffindors."

Harry groans dramatically, causing Draco and Blaise to snicker.

"Oh, come on, it won’t be that bad", Blaise says, clapping Harry on the back.

They head toward the dungeons together. Harry sits down with Draco, Blaise, and Theo, feeling the heavy atmosphere settle over him.

Someone is staring at him—Harry can feel it. He turns around and catches Ron Weasley hastily looking away.

This is going to be rough, Harry thinks grimly.

As Harry is still contemplating how to fix things with Ron, the classroom door slams open and a tall, black-cloaked figure sweeps in—Professor Snape has arrived.

He starts roll call, pausing dramatically at Harry's name.

"Ah, yes. Harry Potter. Our new—celebrity", he says, voice dripping with disdain.

Draco, sitting beside Harry, snickers quietly and shoots Harry a mocking look. Harry just sighs in defeat.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making", Snape begins, his voice low and silken.
"As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don’t expect you will truly understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron, with its shimmering fumes; the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses—"

Harry quietly mouths along, having memorized the famous lines long ago.

"I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even put a stopper in death", Snape finishes dramatically, letting the words hang in the air.

Without missing a beat, he snaps, "Potter! What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

"A sleeping potion. Also known as the Draught of Living Death", Harry replies lazily.

Snape blinks, slightly taken aback.

"And where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

"In the stomach of a goat."

"And what is it for?"

"It saves you from most poisons."

Snape’s eyes narrow as he steps closer.

"What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

"They're the same plant, also known as aconite", Harry says with a small, knowing grin.

Snape exhales sharply through his nose. "Ten points to Slytherin", he mutters reluctantly.

He sweeps his eyes across the room. "Well? Why aren’t you all copying that down?"

Harry turns to Draco and smirks.

"I knew you memorized all that", Draco says, raising a brow.

"Hey, I actually like reading now. Try me", Harry grins.

Snape slams his desk, causing everyone to jump. "This is a classroom, not a playground, Mr. Potter. And you, Mr. Malfoy, I expected better", he barks before beginning the lesson.

Snape pairs them off and sets them to brewing a simple potion to cure boils.
He sweeps through the rows, his long cloak billowing behind him, criticizing almost everyone except Harry and Draco, who he mostly ignores.

“You’re actually not as horrible as you were back then", Draco teases lightly as he crushes his snake fangs.

“Hey! I was only bad because someone wanted to see me fail", Harry grumbles, measuring out his dried nettles.

They are halfway through stewing horned slugs when a loud hiss and an explosion of acid-green smoke fill the dungeon.
Neville somehow manages to melt Seamus's cauldron into a twisted lump, and their potion seeps across the stone floor, burning holes into shoes. Within seconds, the class is standing on their stools, shrieking, while Neville, drenched in potion, moans in pain as angry red boils pop up all over his arms and legs.

"Idiot boy!" Snape snarls, clearing the spilled potion away with a flick of his wand.

"I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?"

Neville whimpers in response, the boils growing worse.

"Move aside! Everyone, move aside!" Draco barks, pushing through the crowd. He kneels by Neville’s side, whipping out his wand and muttering a string of spells—one to dull the pain, one to treat the boils, and another to soothe the raw skin.

Just as Draco finishes, Snape grabs his wrist and yanks him back roughly.

"That is dangerous magic, Mr. Malfoy! How would you know what to do? One mistake and you could have caused permanent damage!" Snape growls, his face inches from Draco’s.

Neville gingerly touches his arms and face, blinking in astonishment as he realizes he’s cured. He stands up shakily.

"Professor, I’m fine. Malfoy did a great job! I’d have been in so much more pain if he hadn’t acted so fast", Neville says earnestly.

Snape’s grip on Draco loosens.

"Impulsive and irresponsible action. Five points from Slytherin", Snape snaps, though his eyes flick over Neville, clearly noting the result.

Harry quickly steps forward and murmurs a healing spell over Draco’s wrist, soothing the angry redness.

"And for quick thinking and helping another student—fifteen points to Slytherin", Harry says, smirking.

Draco jerks his head toward Harry, shooting him an incredulous look. Harry only smiles smugly back.

"Enough commotion! Ten points from Gryffindor for endangering the class", Snape barks, sweeping his cloak dramatically. "Dismissed."

The students rush to pack up and flee.

As they make their way out, Harry nudges Draco’s shoulder.
"Still got that healer reflex, eh?"

"Try being on the front line with the world’s most reckless Auror, then we’ll talk", Draco says, rolling his eyes.

"Impulsive, not reckless", Harry corrects indignantly.

They are interrupted by a shy voice behind them.

"Um, Malfoy?"

Neville stands there, shifting awkwardly.
"Thanks for helping me. I would’ve been in a lot more pain without you."

"It was nothing. It was so easy, I’m surprised none of your friends could manage it", Draco sneers half-heartedly.

"What he means", Harry cuts in quickly, "is you’re welcome."

Draco catches Ron glaring at him from across the hallway and smirks.

"What? Impressed by my brilliance? You wouldn’t be so amazed if you were even half as talented. Even Harry, who grew up with Muggles, is better than you", Draco mocks before grabbing Harry’s wrist and dragging him away.

"Thanks again!" Neville calls after them.

Harry turns and gives Ron a pointed look, mouthing, See? He’s good.

As they walk down the hall, Harry notices Draco hugging himself tightly.

"Why are you so worked up all of a sudden?" Harry asks.

"I’m... just not used to the attention", Draco mumbles, avoiding Harry’s eyes.

"What? You? The most self-centered person I know?" Harry teases, throwing his arms wide.

Draco glares at him.

"Draco, you were literally called a genius in the medical world", Harry says, his voice full of affection.

"Yeah. After years of judgment and snide remarks from people around me. Sometimes... I feel like I don’t deserve the praise", Draco mutters.

"Hey", Harry says gently. "If you don’t deserve it, then neither do I. And trust me, I was useless at eleven. You, at least, were already getting Snape’s praises."

"Yeah, well... pureblood, private tutors since I was three", Draco says, brushing it off.

Harry looks at him fondly and ruffles Draco’s hair.

"Hey! I spent half an hour styling that!" Draco snarls, trying to fix it.

"You look good no matter what", Harry says with a wink.

"You sap", Draco says, but he can’t hide the small smile tugging at his lips.

"Only for you", Harry grins.

It’s Thursday, marking one of the most pivotal moments in Harry's life.

"Oh wow, the class that made you the youngest Seeker in the world", Draco drawls as they walk to the training field.

The Slytherins are lined up across from the Gryffindors on the smooth, grassy expanse, each with a broomstick at their side. The sky is clear, the breeze crisp—a perfect day for flying.

"Hey, it was thanks to you. You were such a brat back then", Harry chuckles.

"Well, no brat-me means no youngest Seeker-you", Draco smirks.

They’re mid-conversation when Madam Hooch begins reciting the rules in her usual sharp tone, explaining flying etiquette and how dangerous it can be if mishandled.

"If becoming a Seeker didn’t mean going head-to-head with you, I wouldn’t have bothered", Draco mutters under his breath. "I’ve always been more of a Chaser, actually."

Harry raises his eyebrows. "So you—"

"Right! What are you all waiting for?" Madam Hooch barks. "Everyone stand by a broomstick. Quickly now!"

Harry throws a cheeky grin at Draco.

"Stick out your right hand over your broom and say, ‘Up!’" Madam Hooch commands.

"Up!" they all shout.

Only Harry and Draco’s brooms shoot instantly into their hands.

Madam Hooch walks among the rows, correcting postures and grips. When she reaches Harry and Draco, she just gives a small nod before moving on.

"When I blow my whistle, kick off the ground hard", she says. "Rise a few feet, then lean forward slightly to come back down. On my whistle—Three—Two—"

But Neville, jittery and panicked, launches into the air before the whistle.

“Come back, boy!” Madam Hooch shouts, but Neville is already rising—ten feet—twenty—spinning wildly like he’s stuck to a rogue carousel broom.

His Remembrall flies from his pocket, spiraling off toward the horizon.

Worse—he starts slipping.

“Oh no", Harry mutters.

“I’ll catch the Remembrall—you go for him", Draco says instantly.

“Got it!” Harry kicks off without hesitation.

He speeds toward the falling sphere like an arrow, zigzagging through the air, locking eyes on it even as it spins like mad.

Down below, Professor Snape happens to be walking past when the Remembrall zooms straight toward him—just before Harry snags it one-handed midair, executing a graceful flip to stop the momentum.

“Sorry, Professor!” Harry shouts as he loops back toward the field.

Meanwhile, Draco is already climbing to match Neville’s dizzying height. He’s got his wand drawn, eyes focused, heart pounding.

"Levis Pluma", he murmurs, casting a feather-light charm over Neville.

“Immobulus", he follows, freezing Neville’s flailing limbs to make the landing safer.

With practiced ease, Draco reaches him and catches him bridal-style, steering his broom downward with just one hand.

By the time Madam Hooch turns back to them, they’re already on the ground.

“Mr. Malfoy! Mr. Potter! You could have been seriously hurt!” she scolds, pale with panic.

Draco gently sets Neville down, and Harry hands him the Remembrall.

“I’m okay", Neville says quickly, his face flushed with relief. “Please don’t yell at them! I would’ve been badly injured if it weren’t for them.”

Madam Hooch exhales through her nose, torn between anger and admiration.

“Five points from Slytherin for rash decision-making", she says sternly, raising a hand to quiet Neville’s protest. “But... ten points each, for quick reflexes, for saving a student, and for flying with skill and control.”

Harry turns and grins at Draco.

But before they can celebrate—

“Mr. Malfoy. Mr. Potter. My office. Now", a chillingly familiar voice rings across the field.

They turn slowly.

Snape.

Snape’s office is dark, damp, and smells faintly of herbs. The silence hangs heavy until—

"Why is it always you two?" Snape mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Draco opens his mouth, but Snape raises a hand to silence him.

“No, that was rhetorical. I was speaking to myself.”

Snape paces once, then finally stops in front of them.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this—but I would like both of you to play for Slytherin’s Quidditch team.”

Both Harry and Draco blink.

Harry’s jaw drops.

Draco, stunned too, reaches over and gently closes Harry’s mouth for him.

“Professor... you want us—first-years—to join the team?” Harry asks, incredulous.

“Yes", Snape says flatly, locking eyes with him. “I will speak to the Headmaster about bending the first-year rule.”

He turns slightly toward his shelves, as if the topic already bores him. "I will also inform the team captain so you can be officially evaluated."

“Dismissed.”

Harry looks at Draco like he can’t believe it.

"I—uh..."

"Yes, Potter?" Snape asks without turning.

“Uh—thank you for the opportunity, Professor", Harry blurts, and before he can say anything else, Draco drags him out of the office.

“Did you hear that?!” Harry whisper-shouts once they’re out of earshot.

“Yes, Potter, I was standing right next to you", Draco says, deadpan.

“Well... I guess that still makes me the youngest Seeker in the world—even in this life.”

Draco gives him a look. “But isn’t Sev being way out of character lately?”

Harry nods slowly. “You’re right... back then, you had to bribe your way onto the team.”

Draco scrunches his nose but ignores the jab. “You didn’t notice anything weird about his magic? Like Granger’s?”

“Honestly? I was too shocked to check.”

“For Salazar’s sake", Draco mutters, rubbing his temple. “You’re lucky I like you. And stop giving me that look.”

Harry waggles his eyebrows. “You know you love me.”

Draco sighs. “Unfortunately.”

Later that evening, Harry and Draco are recounting everything that happened to their friends over dinner.

“That’s amazing, Draco!” Pansy exclaims, wide-eyed.

“Catching a Remembrall after a fifty-foot dive is impossible", Blaise adds, clearly impressed.

“It’s not that big of a deal", Harry mumbles with a mouthful of treacle tart.

Draco immediately pinches his arm.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“Don’t speak with your mouth full. It’s impolite", Draco sniffs, taking a sip of pumpkin juice.

Pansy leans in and whispers to Blaise, “I think Draco’s love language is physical assault.”

“I agree", Blaise says with a nod, smirking.

Just then, the owls arrive—flooding into the Great Hall like a feathered storm cloud. Most students barely look up—until the collective gasps begin.

Two long, thin packages—carried by six large screech owls each—swoop down toward the Slytherin table, causing an immediate stir.

Harry blinks, confused. That can’t be the Nimbus... I’m not in Gryffindor this time.

The packages drop heavily in front of them, followed by another owl delivering a neatly folded letter addressed in elegant handwriting:

To: Draco Malfoy

“Oh—it’s Mother’s handwriting", Draco says casually, opening the letter.

“What does it say?” Harry asks, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“She and Father heard from Sev that we’re both playing Quidditch this year", Draco says, scanning the letter. “So... as congratulations—Father sent gifts.”

Harry’s eyes widen. “Don’t tell me—”

Draco opens the package in front of him and reveals a sleek, jet-black Nimbus 2001, while Harry tears into his to find the still-gorgeous Nimbus 2000.

The Slytherin table collectively gasps, setting off a wave of chatter that echoes through the hall and quickly spreads to the other Houses.

“Merlin’s balls. Your father actually sent me a broom?” Harry says in disbelief.

“He is nice. He’s always been", Draco replies quietly, eyes not meeting Harry’s.

Harry gives him a look. “Never in my life would I expect to get a gift from Lucius Malfoy.”

Draco smirks, brushing invisible dust off his Nimbus 2001. “Well, I got the better model.”

“You’re his son, obviously", Harry snorts, rolling his eyes.

The chatter in the Great Hall grows louder, forks clattering, voices overlapping with a mixture of awe, envy, and excitement.

Later that week, the two are called to the field.

“The name’s Marcus Flint", the tall, broad-shouldered captain of the Slytherin team says. “I’m the team’s captain.”

He looks Harry up and down, slightly skeptical. “I assume Malfoy here knows Quidditch already... but you?”

Harry folds his arms. “Don’t worry. I know what it is.”

“Good", Flint grunts. “We practice Tuesdays and Thursdays, afternoons until evening. I’ll give you the details when needed.”

He glances between the two. “Any questions?”

“None", they reply in unison.

“Good. Potter—you’re going for Seeker, right?”

“Yep", Harry answers, popping the ‘p.’

“Malfoy—Chaser?”

Draco nods.

“Right. Show me what you’ve got.”

After the tryouts, Marcus leaves them alone to continue flying.

“I really missed this", Harry says, letting the wind whip through his hair as they soar side by side.

“Yeah... we’ve both been really busy lately", Draco admits, glancing at him.

Harry smiles. “I still remember when I finally convinced you to fly again.”

‘’’

“Potter, no. I am not getting on a broom", Draco snaps, being dragged forward by one arm while Harry holds a broom in the other.

“Scared, Malfoy?” Harry teases, pulling him toward the center of the field.

Draco’s eyebrow twitches. “I do not fly, Potter. I heal the idiots who think they can.”

Harry laughs. “Excuse me? Are you forgetting the time you knocked me off my broom to catch the Snitch?”

Draco stays silent.

Harry mounts the broom and holds out a hand. “Come on, it’ll be like old times.”

Draco stares at the hand for a long second before hesitantly grabbing it. In the next moment, Harry pulls him onto the broom behind him, Draco’s arms circling Harry’s waist awkwardly.

“We won’t fit", Draco grumbles stiffly.

“Sure we will. Just hold on", Harry says with a grin—and they take off.

Draco yelps and clings tightly, eyes squeezed shut, his entire body shaking.

“Woohoo! Merlin, I missed this!” Harry calls out, laughing. “How are you doing back there, Malfoy?”

Draco doesn’t answer.

“Come on, open your eyes.”

Draco shakes his head furiously.

“Suit yourself. We’re not coming down until you do", Harry warns, banking hard toward the skyline.

Eventually, Draco peeks through one eye—and freezes.
The view of London, stretched out below them, glows gold and amber in the setting sun, vast and dreamlike.

Harry glances back. “See? I knew you’d like it.”

They stay in the air until the sun dips below the horizon. When they finally land, Draco steps off the broom, smoothing his robes awkwardly.

“Well?” Harry asks.

“It was... nice", Draco admits quietly.

Harry grins. “Let’s do it again sometime. Loser has to do whatever the winner says.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Potter. We both know who’ll win", Draco says, smirk fully returned.

‘’’

Time flies. Between classes and Quidditch training, October creeps up fast. The castle transforms with floating jack-o’-lanterns, and the scent of baking pumpkin fills the corridors.

But Harry barely notices.

October 31st always hits hard—the day his parents died.

He moves through the day in a fog. At breakfast, he picks at his food in silence. Draco doesn’t say anything—he just stays close, keeping Harry grounded.

Later, passing by the Charms classroom, Harry spots Hermione swatting Ron’s shoulder as she walks past.

Ah—the day of the troll, Harry thinks vaguely.

That night, the Great Hall is transformed. A thousand live bats swoop under the enchanted ceiling, making the candlelit pumpkins flicker and dim. Golden platters piled with food shimmer under floating lights.

Draco has just placed a baked potato on Harry’s plate when the doors slam open.

Professor Quirrell stumbles in, pale and sweating, his turban askew.

“T-Troll—in the dungeons! Thought you ought to know", he gasps—then collapses in a dead faint.

The Great Hall erupts in chaos.

It takes several purple firecrackers from Dumbledore’s wand to restore silence.

“Prefects, lead your Houses back to the dormitories immediately", Dumbledore commands firmly.

Harry scans the crowd—Hermione isn’t at the Ravenclaw table.

“Harry", Draco hisses, tugging his sleeve, “do not play hero right now. You’re not in the right state of mind.”

“This is an important canon event. I need to find Ron", Harry says urgently.

Draco sighs heavily but follows. “Fine. But I’m coming with you.”

"Ron! Ron!" Harry calls out, spotting the redhead amid the chaos.

"We need to get Hermione!" Harry says urgently.

"Her? What do you mean?" Ron asks, confused—then catches sight of Draco trailing behind Harry. His face twists into a scowl. "And what's he doing here?"

"No time to explain—come on!" Harry grabs Ron’s robe and hauls him along, Draco close behind.

They sprint toward the girls' bathroom.

Inside, Hermione sits crying in one of the stalls, her sobs muffled and raw. She finally emerges—and freezes.

Standing at the entrance is a hulking, ten-foot-tall mountain troll, its slimy green-gray skin flickering under the dim bathroom torches. The stench hits like a wall—rancid and overwhelming.

Hermione screams in pure terror, stumbling sideways. The troll turns, snorting loudly, and lumbers closer.

The boys burst into the bathroom just seconds too late.

"Harry! Ron! Take care of the troll—I’ll get Granger!" Draco barks, immediately darting past the troll with shocking agility and kneeling by Hermione.

"What?! Take care of the troll?!" Ron shrieks. "We’re first-years, not dragon tamers!"

The troll, confused by all the shouting, swings its head toward Harry and Ron.

"Harry, do something!" Ron yells, backing away fast.

Harry grits his teeth. He doesn’t want to hurt the troll—this isn’t about brute force. It’s about making sure everyone gets through safely.

" Expelliarmus !" Harry shouts, disarming the troll.

The troll’s heavy wooden club thuds to the floor. But it roars in anger, swinging its massive fists instead.

Harry dodges, but not fast enough—a huge hand clips him, sending him crashing into a sink.

"Confuse it!" Harry shouts, struggling to get up.

"HOW?!" Ron yells, panic-stricken.

"Use what you learned in Charms!" Harry calls back, limping to his feet.

Ron fumbles out his wand, heart hammering, and desperately cries, " Wingardium Leviosa !"

By sheer miracle—or desperation—the club Harry disarmed earlier floats up into the air.

The troll blinks in confusion—just as the club hovers, rotates, and smashes down squarely on its own head.

CRACK.

The troll sways, eyes rolling back, and collapses like a felled tree. The entire room shakes with the impact.

Harry staggers upright, breathing hard. Ron stands frozen, wand still raised.

"Is it... dead?" Hermione whispers, her voice shaking.

"I don't think so. Just knocked out", Harry says, wiping blood from his lip.

Near the wall, Draco steadies Hermione, checking her quickly for injuries.

Heavy footsteps echo in the hallway—then the door bursts open.

Professor McGonagall storms in, eyes blazing. Snape is right behind her, his dark eyes sweeping the room, and Quirrell stumbles in after them, clutching his chest dramatically.

Quirrell takes one look at the unconscious troll, lets out a pitiful whimper, and collapses onto a toilet seat.

Snape’s gaze locks immediately on Harry and Draco—sharp, assessing.

‘Here we go’, Harry thinks grimly.

"What on earth were you thinking?!" Professor McGonagall demands, her voice trembling with fury and fear.

Harry glances quickly at Ron, whose face has gone sheet white.

"You’re lucky you weren’t killed!" McGonagall continues, rounding on them. "Why aren’t you in your dormitory?"

Snape’s eyes narrow, flicking between Harry and Draco.

"Please, Professor McGonagall—Professor Snape", Hermione says suddenly, stepping forward, her voice shaking but strong.

"They were looking for me."

McGonagall’s eyes widen. "Miss Granger?"

"I went looking for the troll... because I thought I could handle it alone", Hermione says, eyes downcast. "I’ve read all about them. I thought I knew enough."

Ron drops his wand with a clatter.

Hermione lying to protect them—it stuns even Harry for a moment.

"Miss Granger, you foolish girl", McGonagall says, her voice soft with disappointment. "How could you think of tackling a mountain troll alone?"

Hermione hangs her head lower.

"Five points will be taken from Ravenclaw", McGonagall says at last. "I am very disappointed."

Hermione nods silently.

Then McGonagall turns to Harry and Ron.

"Still... it was extraordinarily brave. Few first-years could have taken on a troll—and lived to tell the tale."

Harry and Ron stay quiet.

"You each win five points for your Houses—for bravery", McGonagall says crisply. "Now, off you go."

Hermione hurries out, pausing only to mouth a 'thank you' at Draco and Harry.

As Harry and Draco walk back toward the dungeons, Snape follows close behind.

They walk in silence for a long stretch before Snape finally speaks, his voice low and sharp:

"You two were lucky tonight. But mark my words—don’t get involved in foolish heroics again."

With a swirl of his black cloak, Snape turns and disappears down another corridor.

Draco lets out a long breath.

They reach their room, and as soon as Harry closes the door behind them, Draco bursts into laughter.

"'Don’t you dare get involved in these events ever again,'" Draco says, mimicking Snape’s grave tone.

Harry chuckles, leaning against the door. "If only he knew what’s coming."

Draco smirks. "Any more... canon events I should be aware of?"

Harry grins tiredly. "Let’s wash up first. I stink like a troll. And if you really want the full list of canon events I went through this year—you better be ready to stay up all night."

Chapter Text

It’s now November, and the air has turned cold at Hogwarts.

Ever since the troll incident, Hermione has been hanging out with Harry and Draco, and occasionally Ron—when he has homework due that day.

Draco isn’t really that close with Hermione in their past life, but now they seem to hit it off pretty well.

They spend most of their time in the library, Harry listening to endless debates between Draco and Hermione.

“Aligriwid causes pain when consumed—it literally blocks your voice box", Hermione argues.

“Yes, but it can also be used as medicine to treat coughs and sneezes if diluted properly", Draco counters.

“But how would diluting it change the target of the effect?”

“Well, you see—”

Harry has been hearing the argument for hours now, so he decides to block out the noise and focus on the book he’s reading. He’s still trying to figure out what his creature inheritance will be—he’s never experienced it before, and he has no family to ask. Ron is sitting beside him, asleep for the past two hours.

“It’s getting late, let’s end it here, shall we?” Harry says, closing his book and standing up. Ron is startled awake by the sound.

“Hold on, Harry, I need to know this", Hermione says quickly.

“We still have tomorrow. Don’t you have homework to do?”

Hermione sighs. “You’re right, I still need to write ten more inches of that essay.”

“Doesn’t the essay only say you need to write five—”

“Yeah, that’s why we should go back now", Harry cuts Ron off, shutting his mouth.

As they walk back, they encounter a limping Professor Snape passing by. Harry is suddenly hit with the realization that in this life, he didn’t have tea at Hagrid’s hut earlier in the school year with Ron and Hermione. That’s why he had forgotten about the Stone.

“Why is Professor Snape limping like that?” Hermione asks after a moment.

“Dunno, probably tripped and knocked his foot on a cauldron or something", Ron grumbles.

“Hey, remember the warning the Headmaster gave us on the first day?” Ron asks.

“Which one?” Draco asks lazily.

“The one about the door on the third floor. What do you think is inside there?”

“Don’t you ever think about entering that room. We don’t know what’s inside, we could get killed, or worse—expelled", Hermione cuts in.

Ron looks at Harry, confused by Hermione’s last sentence, but Harry just shrugs.

“No need to think about that. Think about tomorrow—it’s the first Quidditch game of the year", Harry says with a grin.

The next morning dawns, bringing cold winds with it. Though the whole school knows Harry and Draco received new brooms, only the Slytherins know that they’re playing in this year’s Quidditch match.

It’s 11 a.m., marking the start of the game. The Quidditch Pitch is full of students, some even bringing binoculars to see better. In the stands, Pansy is holding a banner that reads, ‘Potter and Malfoy, Slytherin Princes.’

“Ugh, Pansy and her dramatic banners", Draco sighs.

Harry just chuckles, seeing people getting confused by the banner, as no one knows they’re playing for the team.

They finish changing and follow the other Slytherin players out to the field, meeting up with Gryffindor at the center.

“Harry?” Fred asks, taken aback.

“What are you—” George starts.

“—doing here?” Fred finishes.

“I’m Slytherin’s Seeker", Harry grins.

“And Malfoy?” George asks, surprised.

Draco just raises an eyebrow in response.

Before the Weasley twins can say anything else, Madam Hooch—refereeing—stands in the middle of the field and raises her wand, signaling the match is about to start.

“Now, I want a nice fair game, all of you", she says. Once the two teams gather around her, she continues, “Mount your brooms.”

She waits for everyone to get ready. As soon as the captains nod, Madam Hooch shoots a flare from her wand and blows her silver whistle loudly.

Brooms kick off the ground, flying high, and the game is on.

“And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor—what an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive, too—”

“JORDAN!”

“Sorry, Professor.”

Lee Jordan, the Weasley twins’ friend, is doing the commentary for the match, closely watched by Professor McGonagall.

“And she’s really belting along up there and—no, the Slytherins have taken the Quaffle. Slytherin Captain Marcus Flint gains the Quaffle and off he goes—flying like an eagle up there—he’s going to sc—no, stopped by an excellent move by Gryffindor Keeper Wood, and the Gryffindors take the Quaffle. That’s Chaser Katie Bell of Gryffindor there, nice dive around Flint, off up the field and—OUCH—that must have hurt! Hit in the back of the head by a Bludger—Quaffle taken by the Slytherins—that’s Draco Malfoy speeding toward the goalposts, but he’s blocked by a second Bludger—sent his way by Fred or George Weasley, can’t tell which—nice play by the Gryffindor Beater—but he dodges. How can a first year fly like that, I do not know—dodges a speeding Bludger—the goalposts are ahead—and SCORE! Points to the Slytherins by their newest Chaser!”

“Slytherin Prince! Slytherin Prince!” the Slytherin stand chants.

“Nice moves", Harry says, flying beside Draco.

“Try to keep up", Draco snarks, chin high.

Harry grins back.

“Slytherin in possession", Lee Jordan says, “Chaser Pucey ducks two Bludgers, two Weasleys, and Chaser Bell, and speeds toward the—wait a moment—was that the Snitch?”

Harry sees it, a rush of excitement surges through him as he dives after the streak of gold. Gryffindor’s Seeker sees it too and tails Harry. Neck and neck, they hurtle toward the Snitch—all the Chasers seem to have forgotten what they’re supposed to be doing as they hang in midair to watch.

Harry is faster—he can see the little round ball, wings fluttering, darting ahead—he puts on an extra burst of speed and reaches out his hand when his broom suddenly gives a frightening lurch. He grips the broom tightly with both his hands and knees and continues to chase the Snitch, but it happens again. It’s as though the broom is trying to buck him off. But Nimbus Two Thousands do not suddenly decide to buck their riders off.

The crowd gasps at the sight: the Slytherin Seeker, fighting with his own broom in the middle of the match.

'That stuttering bastard' , Harry mumbles.

He tries to overpower the shaking broom and flies near the teachers’ stand. There he sees Quirrell, mumbling a spell.

Harry throws a quiet Incendio at Quirrell as he passes the stand, pretending to have lost control of his broom.

“Whoa! The Slytherin Seeker, Harry Potter, decided to greet the crowds—which are the professors. And—there’s a fire in the stands! Seems like the match is so lit the crowd is literally on fire!” Lee Jordan says, only to be smacked lightly on the shoulder by a shocked Professor McGonagall.

While the professors are putting out the fire, Harry spots the Snitch and begins his pursuit. He takes advantage of the players being distracted by the fire to dive.

Harry speeds toward the ground, and the crowd sees him clap his hand around something gold.

“I’ve got the Snitch!” he shouts, waving it above his head, and the game ends in complete confusion.

“And the winner is—SLYTHERIN!” Lee Jordan announces. Slytherin wins by a landslide: two hundred and thirty to twenty.

The Slytherins flock to Harry, rubbing his head and chanting his name.

“See?” Harry nudges Draco.

Draco just rolls his eyes.

Ron and Hermione run to the field. They head to Gryffindor first to talk to Ron’s brothers—the Weasley twins—before making their way over to Harry.

“It was Snape", Ron says. “Hermione and I saw him. He was cursing your broomstick, muttering, he wouldn’t take his eyes off you.”

“Sev? No, he wouldn’t do anything that low, besides he's the Slytherin head, why would he sabotage his own team?", Draco defends.

Ron glares at Draco. “But I saw him, and I know he has a personal grudge against you with how he targets you in Potions.”

Harry is surprised at how observant Ron is—he’s pretty spot on.

“I believe it’s a misunderstanding. I don’t think Professor Snape would do something like that. Not that I don’t believe you, Ron. But it’s not good to accuse someone right away just because they seem suspicious", Harry says calmly.

Hermione steps in. “I think he just wants you to be careful.”

Ron nods reluctantly.

“Of course. Thanks for the concern", Harry says with a smile.

Christmas rolls in. The snow is deep, and Hogwarts’ courtyard is buried in white. The dungeons, where the Slytherin dorms are, are freezing cold under the lake. No one can wait for the holidays to start. The drafty corridors have become icy, and a bitter wind rattles the classroom windows. Worst of all are Professor Snape’s classes down in the dungeons, where their breath rises in a mist and everyone huddles as close as possible to their hot cauldrons.

“You going home this Christmas?” Draco asks as he weighs out some powdered lionfish spine.

“Yeah", Harry says, giving Draco a soft smile.

Draco smiles back. “I’m glad you have a family to go home to now.”

“Yeah, me too.”

Professor McGonagall comes around the week before, making a list of students who will stay for the holidays. For the first time in both his lives, Harry doesn’t sign up.

He’s going home, though he plans to stick around a bit longer to retrieve his family heirloom from a certain headmaster. Ron and his brothers are staying, just like last time, because Mr. and Mrs. Weasley are visiting Charlie in Romania.

After Potions, as they leave the dungeons, they find a huge fir tree blocking the corridor ahead. Two enormous feet sticking out from the bottom and a loud puffing sound tell them that Hagrid is behind it.

“Hi, Hagrid. Want any help?” Harry asks, sticking his head through the branches.

“Nah, I’m all right, thanks, ‘Arry.”

“What are you doing?” Ron chimes in.

“Oh, just helpin’ with the Christmas decorations.”

“Mind if we tag along?” Harry asks.

“Not at all.”

The three of them follow Hagrid and his tree to the Great Hall, where Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick are busy decorating.

“Ah, Hagrid, the last tree—put it in the far corner, would you?” Professor McGonagall says.

The Hall looks spectacular. Holly and mistletoe hang festively around the walls, and no fewer than twelve towering Christmas trees stand around the room, some sparkling with tiny icicles, some glittering with hundreds of candles.

“How many days you got left till yer holidays?” Hagrid asks.

“I’m going back on Christmas Day, Draco’s leaving first thing tomorrow", Harry answers.

“I’m staying here with my brothers", Ron says.

“Leaving right on Christmas Day? You’ll be spending your time on the road!” Hagrid exclaims.

“I’ve got my reasons", Harry says.

“That reminds me, we haven’t had a chance to chat these past few months. Would you lot like to come to my hut for some tea?” Hagrid offers.

Harry looks over at Draco and Ron.

“I’m going to go pack. You guys go on without me", Draco says, waving Harry off.

“Sure. What about you, Ron?” Harry asks.

“I’ll tag along. Don’t have anything else to do.”

As they follow Hagrid, passing the library, Hermione spots them.

“What are you guys doing, not packing?” Hermione asks, her hands full of books.

“Are you seriously borrowing books?” Ron asks, baffled.

“These are for some light reading over the holiday", Hermione defends.

Ron is lost for words until Harry cuts in. “Want to come with us to Hagrid’s hut?”

Hermione tilts her head. “I’d love to, but I’ve got to put these books back in my trunk first.”

“Allow me", Harry says, pulling out his wand—hiding his wandless magic for now—and mutters a spell to shrink the books.

“You can unshrink them when you get home. Saves space, right?” Harry says, tucking his wand back into his sleeve.

“Oh, that’s actually brilliant. Why didn’t I think of that? All right, let’s go.”

The trio follows Hagrid to his hut. When they arrive, Hagrid tells them to wait by the door for a second. They hear frantic scrabbling from inside and several booming barks. Then Hagrid’s voice rings out: “Back, Fang—back.”

Hagrid appears in the doorway, pulling it open while wrestling the collar of an enormous black boarhound.

“Hang on", he says. “Back, Fang.”

He lets them in, struggling to keep hold of Fang, who bounds straight at Ron and starts licking his ears. Like Hagrid, Fang is clearly not as fierce as he looks.

“Oh, I forgot to introduce you. This is Ron", Harry tells Hagrid, who is pouring boiling water into a large teapot and putting rock cakes onto a plate.

“Another Weasley, eh? I noticed", Hagrid says. “I’ve spent half me life chasin’ yer twin brothers away from the forest.”

The rock cakes are shapeless lumps with raisins that nearly break their teeth, but Harry and Ron pretend to enjoy them.

“How’s yer brother Charlie?” Hagrid asks Ron. “I liked him a lot—great with animals.”

“Oh, he’s doing fine. My parents are visiting him this Christmas—that’s why me and my brothers are staying.”

“And this is Hermione.”

“Nice to meet you, young lady", Hagrid says warmly.

“Nice to meet you too. It’s my first time seeing a half-giant up close. You’re very tall", Hermione comments.

Hagrid chuckles. “Well, I suppose I did inherit my mother’s height.”

There’s no newspaper today to steer the conversation toward the Stone, and Harry is really thinking hard about whether to bring his friends with him to get the Stone or handle it alone, so they won’t be put in danger.

“Oh, Hagrid. If you don’t mind me asking, I heard there was a break-in at Gringotts", Ron says suddenly.

Harry and Hagrid both freeze at the topic.

“Why’d you bring that up?” Hagrid asks, taken aback.

“I don’t know—it just popped into my mind.”

“A break-in at Gringotts? How is that possible? Isn’t it the safest place in the wizarding world?” Hermione asks.

“I read it in the newspaper. It said it happened on the 31st of July, and that the culprit still hasn’t been caught. It also said the vault the thief aimed for had been emptied earlier that day.”

'Why would Ron bring this up now?', Harry wonders.

“There was a robbery at Gringotts, trolls got into Hogwarts... this year is wild", Hermione comments, sipping her tea.

“And don’t forget Professor Snape jinxing Harry’s broom. I still don’t get it—why would he tamper with his own house Seeker’s broom? He could’ve cost Slytherin the game!” Ron rants.

“Snape? That’s rubbish. Why would Snape do something like that?” Hagrid says, furrowing his brows.

“And that night! We all saw him limping, right? When we left the library?” Ron pushes.

Harry is starting to feel this conversation is way too familiar. They’re going to press Hagrid until he slips and mentions Nicholas Flamel.

“Guys, calm down. I really don’t believe Professor Snape would ever try to harm anyone. He’s a Hogwarts professor—his top priority is the students’ safety", Harry cuts in firmly.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. Thanks for believin’ me, ‘Arry", Hagrid sighs in relief.

“No problem", Harry says, standing up. “Well, shall we head back? You need to pack to go home tomorrow, right, Hermione?”

“Yeah, I suppose you’re right.”

“We’ll be heading back now, Hagrid. Nice chatting with you", Harry says.

“Feel free to come by my hut anytime", Hagrid says, waving goodbye as they leave.

When Harry gets back to his dorm, he sees Draco, Blaise, and Theo packing.

“You're not going back for the holidays, Potter?” Blaise asks.

“I will, but not until Christmas", Harry shrugs, making his way toward Draco.

“Huh, weird", Blaise mutters, turning back to his packing.

“Write to me?” Harry says to Draco.

“Sure", Draco replies, eyes still focused on what he’s doing.

Harry gives him a small smile and just quietly watches him for a moment.

Once the holidays start, Ron and Harry spend some much-needed bonding time now that they’re in different houses. They sit for hours toasting bread, English muffins, and marshmallows over the fire. Ron also starts "teaching" Harry wizard chess. It’s exactly like Muggle chess except the pieces are alive, making it feel more like directing troops in battle.

Ron’s set is old and battered—like everything else he owns—but that works in his favor. He knows his pieces so well they never argue with his orders. Harry, on the other hand, is using chessmen Seamus Finnigan lent him, but they don’t trust him at all. Even though Harry has played plenty of chess with Vernon, the pieces keep shouting different advice at him, saying wizard chess and Muggle chess are different. Harry just rolls his eyes and plays his own way.

On Christmas Eve, Harry can’t sleep. He’s caught between feeling excited and furious—excited because he’s finally getting his cloak back, and furious because the same person who stole it is the one returning it. He tosses and turns, restless.

“Death.”

Smoke curls out from under his bed, taking shape into a tall man dressed in all black with a skull mask.

“Been a while since you called. Miss me?” Death teases.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever", Harry mutters, sitting up.

“So, what’s up?”

Harry stares at him silently.

“...Why are you looking at me like that? Do I have something on my face?” Death raises an eyebrow.

“How does fate actually work? I’ve been doing everything differently, but events from my past life keep happening—even when I don’t trigger them", Harry says, folding his arms to mirror Death’s posture.

Death sighs. “Well, there are some events that are meant to happen. They’ll trigger even if you avoid them.”

“Then to what extent can I change my future?” Harry’s voice rises slightly.

“Whoa, calm down. You can change what can be changed, and you can’t change what can’t be changed. Simple as that.”

Harry tilts his head, unconvinced.

“You’re actually closer to how fate intended now. Your last life veered way off course from how things were supposed to unfold.”

Harry stays silent, lost in thought.

“Some events still happen, right? Like you becoming the youngest Seeker. In your last life, your lover was the trigger, but here he’s not—and it still happened anyway, didn’t it?”

Harry nods slowly, cheeks heating up at how casually Death mentions Draco.

“But I’m warning you—don’t get too comfortable. Your life isn’t free from interference yet.”

“You mean, he’s still trying to—can you tell me what he's going to do?”

Death shakes his head. “That’s for you to find out.”

Harry scowls.

“Relax. Feel free to change major things. Fate will correct what needs to be corrected", Death says, standing up and ruffling Harry’s hair.

“I’ve got to get going. These chains are killing me.”

Harry raises an eyebrow.

“Hey, I need a lot of probabilities to come down here, you know. See ya", Death says, disappearing into smoke.

After Death leaves, Harry gets up and starts packing for his trip the next day.

When Harry wakes up early in the morning, he quickly peeks at the foot of his bed and sees a small pile of packages. He groggily sits up and starts opening his presents.

The first parcel is wrapped in thick brown paper, scrawled with To Harry, from Hagrid . Inside is a roughly cut wooden flute—clearly whittled by hand.

'Same present as before', Harry notes.

The second, smaller parcel is from Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. Inside is a green and white scarf with a reindeer on it, along with a letter: ' We know you’ll be coming home today, but we just couldn’t wait to give you a Christmas present. I know it isn’t much, but there’s a huge pile of presents waiting for you back home.' A scrawl at the bottom reads, Hurry home, cousin!

Harry smiles warmly at the gift. Last time, all he’d gotten was a fifty-pence piece.

The third present is a small silver box—he knows exactly who this is from. Inside is a note: ‘ Merry Christmas, Dork’, written in neat cursive. Nestled inside is a small silver ring and a thin silver chain. Harry slides the ring onto the chain and wears it around his neck, catching a glimpse of the engraving inside: ' Mi Amor.'

'That sap', Harry thinks, smiling to himself.

Next is a large box of Chocolate Frogs from Hermione.

That leaves just one parcel. Harry picks it up—it’s very light—and unwraps it. Something fluid and silvery-gray slithers to the floor in gleaming folds.

He picks it up and wraps it around himself. ' Welcome home', he murmurs, feeling the familiar softness of the Invisibility Cloak.

As he puts it on, a note flutters out. Written in narrow, loopy writing he knows all too well: ‘ Your father left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you. Use it well. A Very Merry Christmas to you.’

No signature, but Harry doesn’t need one. He burns the note with a quick Incendio.

After discarding all the wrappers, he puts on his scarf and heads to the dining hall. Better to fill his stomach before a long journey.

When Harry gets to the dining hall, he sees Ron sitting at the Gryffindor table.

“Harry! Over here!” Ron calls.

Harry walks over and sits down across from him.

“Here, have this", Ron says, handing him a lumpy parcel.

“What is it?” Harry asks, playing along.

“I told my mum you didn’t have any relatives other than your Muggle family, and—oh no", Ron groans as he realizes something.

“She’s made you a Weasley sweater.”

Harry tears open the parcel to find a thick, hand-knitted sweater in emerald green and a large box of homemade fudge.

“Every year she makes us a sweater", Ron says, pulling out his own. “Mine’s always maroon.”

“That’s really nice of her", Harry says, trying the fudge—it’s delicious.

Before Ron can say anything else, the dining hall doors swing open and Fred and George Weasley bound in.

“Merry Christmas!”

“Hey, look—Harry’s got a Weasley sweater too!”

Fred and George are wearing blue sweaters, one with a large yellow F and the other with a G .

“Harry’s is better than ours, though", Fred says, holding up Harry’s sweater.

“She obviously makes more of an effort if you’re not family.”

“Why aren’t you wearing yours, Ron?” George demands.

“Come on, get it on—they’re lovely and warm.”

“I hate maroon", Ron moans as he pulls it over his head.

“You haven’t got a letter on yours", George observes.

“I suppose she thinks you don’t forget your name. But we’re not stupid—we know we’re called Gred and Forge.”

“What’s all this noise?” Percy Weasley asks as he enters, looking disapproving. He’s carrying a lumpy sweater too, which Fred immediately seizes.

“P for Prefect! Get it on, Percy. Come on, we’re all wearing ours—even Harry’s got one.”

“I—don’t—want—” Percy tries to protest, but Fred and George force the sweater over his head, knocking his glasses askew.

“And you’re not sitting with the prefects today either", George declares.

“Christmas is a time for family.” They frog-march Percy to sit at the Gryffindor table, his arms pinned by his sweater.

Harry chuckles at the chaos.

He and Fred pull a wizard cracker, and it doesn’t just bang—it explodes like a cannon, engulfing them in a cloud of blue smoke. Out pops a rear admiral’s hat and several live white mice.

At the High Table, Dumbledore has swapped his pointed hat for a flowered bonnet and is laughing at a joke Professor Flitwick just told him. Hagrid gets redder and redder as he calls for more wine, finally kissing Professor McGonagall on the cheek. To Harry’s amazement, she giggles and blushes, her top hat askew.

When Harry finally leaves the table, he’s loaded down with wizard cracker goodies, including a pack of non-explodable luminous balloons, a Grow-Your-Own-Warts kit, and his own new wizard chess set.

Harry leaves the dining hall in chaos to the Weasleys to go find the Mirror of Erised. He needs it to defeat Voldemort later.

He finds it in an unused classroom. Desks and chairs are stacked against the walls, and there it is—propped up tall, ornate, and gold-framed, standing on clawed feet. The inscription reads: 'Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi'

Last time, he saw himself with his parents. But now—he sees his older self, as old as he was before he returned. He’s hugging Draco, the love of his life—his husband, with three children, he's always wanted kids—more so ones that looks as beautiful as Draco. Behind them stand all his friends and loved ones—even the Dursleys are there.

Harry feels a deep pang of longing for his old, peaceful life—a stable, calm life he’d accepted before fate had other plans.

“Ah, Harry. It seems you’ve stumbled into this room", Dumbledore says, appearing quietly.

“I—I didn’t see you, sir", Harry says, repeating his past self's words.

Dumbledore chuckles and stands beside him.

“So", he says, “you, like hundreds before you, have discovered the delights of the Mirror of Erised.”

“I didn’t know it was called that, sir.”

“But I expect you’ve realized by now what it does? What do you see in there?”

“It—well—it shows me my family”

Dumbledore rubs his long beard, “Now", Dumbledore says gently, “can you think what the Mirror of Erised shows us all?”

Harry nods. “It shows us our deepest desire.”

“Correct. It shows us nothing more or less than the deepest, most desperate desire of our hearts. However, this mirror will give us neither knowledge nor truth. Men have wasted away before it, entranced by what they have seen, or been driven mad.”

Harry gazes at the mirror, then back to Dumbledore.

“Professor Dumbledore? Can I ask you something?”

“You already have", Dumbledore smiles. “But yes, one more.”

Harry stops himself from rolling his eyes.

“What do you see when you look in the mirror?”

“I? I see myself holding a pair of thick, woolen socks", Dumbledore says.

Harry stares at his words.

“One can never have enough socks", Dumbledore continues. “Another Christmas has come and gone, and I didn’t get a single pair. People insist on giving me books.”

Harry accepts the answer with a small smile, "I see, well then. I should head back to finish packing"

"Yes, of course. Have a safe trip and Merry Christmas, Harry", Dumbledore says.

"Merry Christmas, Professor", Harry replies with gritted teeth.

“See you at the start of term?” Ron asks as Harry gets ready to leave.

“Yeah, see you.”

“Owl me—uh, you do know how?”

“Of course. Relax.”

“Oh, okay. Good. Bye, then.” Ron waves.

Harry boards the Hogwarts Express and sleeps through the entire journey.

Harry wakes up just as the train arrives at King’s Cross Station. On the platform, the Dursleys are waiting, smiling warmly—a huge contrast to the scowls he used to get.

Harry steps off the train and walks toward them.

“Welcome back, Harry", Petunia says, giving him a hug.

“Here, let me help you carry your things", Vernon offers.

“Cousin! You’re back! Quick, let’s go home—we’ve got presents to open!” Dudley exclaims excitedly.

Harry chuckles. “Yes, yes we do.”

Chapter Text

"Why must you go back so fast, cousin? The term hasn't even started yet!" Dudley whines.

"Dudley, term starts tomorrow. If I go back tomorrow, I'd be late," Harry chuckles.

Harry and the Dursleys are standing on Platform 9¾, saying goodbye to Harry until the end-of-year holiday.

Harry really enjoys his holiday now. He even goes and does various new activities with Dudley and Vernon, which he never got to try before.

"Be careful there, Harry. Wear your coat when you're cold, drink some tea if you're dizzy, and—"

Harry continues to hear his aunt's usual rant about safety.

"Yes, of course, Aunt Petunia. See you on holiday?"

"Come back quickly, cousin! Come straight home as soon as the holiday starts," Dudley says.

"You can count on that, Duds," Harry replies.

"Goodbye now," Harry smiles and waves to the Dursleys as he boards the Hogwarts Express.

Like before, Harry sits in a compartment that looks out to the platform to wave to his family and also—to spot Draco.

"Harry! Mind if I sit with you?" Hermione pokes her head through the compartment door.

"Not at all," Harry smiles.

"First of all, happy new year to you," Hermione says as she sits down in front of Harry.

"Happy New Year to you too, Hermione."

"How was your holiday?"

"It was great. How about you?"

"Same as always," Hermione smiles.

It isn’t long before Draco passes their compartment and spots Harry. Draco enters and plops himself on the seat beside Harry.

As he sits down, Harry notices a silver chain on Draco's neck. He turns away toward the window, smiling to himself. He’s always liked wearing matching things with Draco.

"And hello to you too, Draco."

Draco just nods.

"Still as posh as ever," Harry rolls his eyes adoringly.

"Harry, what is—bird trapping?" Draco asks, scrunching his face.

Harry and Draco have been exchanging letters throughout the holidays, telling each other what they've been up to. It takes a while before the Dursleys aren't shocked every time an owl flies into the house.

"Well, you use various tools and methods to catch birds," Harry explains.

"Uhuh… and what are these—methods?" Draco gives Harry a confused face.

"Well, there's—"

"There are quite a lot of methods used in bird trapping. Usually, people use walk-in traps, which let the bird walk in but can't escape. There's also net traps—which include using nets—and lime-sticking, which glues twigs to ensnare birds," Hermione cuts Harry.

"Thanks, Hermione," Harry says.

Draco tilts his head, looking at Harry. "And what do you do after catching the bird?"

"We usually let it go back to the wild," Harry answers.

"Let me get this straight. You trap a bird, potentially causing it to stress out or even hurt itself, and let it back out—just for fun?"

Harry is lost for words. He looks over at Hermione for help.

"I, for one, have not participated in this activity," Hermione says before looking the other way, ignoring Harry's pleading eyes.

"Harry James Potter, I do not support this cruel new—activity of yours," Draco snarls.

Hermione looks at Harry with sympathy. She knows just how bad Draco's outbursts can be.

'It's fine,' Harry mouths. He doesn’t really know why it ticks Draco off so much. Draco usually doesn’t react so strongly to Harry's activities. He’d probably just reply with "Oh, that's nice," or throw some colorful and creative insults at him.

They sit in silence throughout the journey to Hogwarts.

As they reach Hogwarts, Harry and Draco part ways with Hermione. They go to the Slytherin dungeons while Hermione heads to the Ravenclaw tower.

As they walk through the hall together, Draco remains silent. Harry tries to talk to him, but Draco just keeps his mouth shut and his arms folded the whole time.

Harry decides to give Draco some space, but every time Draco glances at him, Harry gives him a smile.

It isn’t until late at night that Harry feels a dip in his bed and slender arms wrapping around his waist.

Draco nuzzles his face into Harry's back and mumbles incoherent words.

"Draco?" Harry calls softly before turning to face him. "Hey."

"I'm sorry," Draco says, averting his eyes.

"Hey, look at me," Harry grabs Draco's chin gently and raises it so Draco looks him in the eye. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Draco looks at Harry in silence before finally speaking. "I don't know why hearing you trapping birds triggered me so much. I was never an animal lover before," he averts his eyes.

"It's okay, Draco," Harry closes in and kisses Draco's forehead.

"Are you feeling better now?"

Draco nods. "I'm not as mad as before, but I'm still kind of pissed off."

Harry ponders for a bit before a mental lightbulb lights up above his head. "I know what'll make you feel better."

Draco raises an eyebrow.

"Come on, follow me," Harry gets up and pulls Draco to his feet.

Harry casts a silencing charm and grabs his invisibility cloak to hide them. They walk together in silence under the cloak, heading to the room that houses the Mirror of Erised.

After Harry closes the door behind them, he takes off the cloak.

"Harry, what's that mirror?" Draco asks.

"Here, let me show you," Harry grabs Draco's hand and pulls him in front of the mirror. "What do you see?"

Draco's eyes go wide, his lips quivering before opening to speak. "Harry, that's—us."

Harry nods beside Draco.

"And who are those children? Oh—that little one has your emerald green eyes," Draco smiles.

"I—I don't understand, is this mirror showing us our future?" Draco looks at Harry hesitantly.

"This mirror—it shows us our deepest, greatest desire. I'm happy that we saw the same thing," Harry hugs Draco from behind.

"Oh… that's—," Draco blushes.

Harry chuckles at Draco's reaction before he notices mirror Draco moving.

And there he sees mirror Draco holding a stone he knows all too well—the Sorcerer's Stone. Mirror Draco gives the stone to mirror Harry, who then puts it in his right pocket.

Then, Harry feels a weight in his right pocket, like something—a stone—has been placed inside.

He reaches in—and there it is. A round stone. He doesn't actually understand how he got the stone in his past life. Dumbledore said it was because his deepest desire was to defeat Quirrell and, by extension, Voldemort. But now, his deepest desire is to defeat Dumbledore and live a quiet, happy life with Draco.

He'll have to talk to Death about this.

"Let's go back now, shall we?" Harry smiles at Draco.

Draco nods and follows Harry, getting under the cloak and returning to their dorm.

After they get back, Draco says a quick good night and goes to sleep, leaving Harry awake with his thoughts.

He can't call Death since he doesn't want to awaken Draco. So he's left staring at the stone in his hand.

He’s never actually spoken with the creator of the stone—Nicholas Flamel; he only knew his name when researching the stone with Ron and Hermione.

He's confused as to why Nicholas Flamel agreed to destroy the stone. Everyone knows the Sorcerer’s Stone is Flamel’s greatest creation, the product of his life’s research.

And there has never been a report of that stone being stolen—until it was put in Gringotts.

Could it be?

Harry gets up and accios a quill and a piece of paper. He begins to write a letter to Nicholas Flamel. He doesn’t actually know what this impulsive letter will lead to, but he just wants to return the stone to its owner and creator.

After finishing the letter, he wraps it with the stone and walks quietly under his invisibility cloak to the owlery. After giving Hedwig a small treat, he sends her off on her way.

Harry returns to the dorm and tries to fall asleep. After what feels like forever, he finally succumbs to sleep—only to be awakened by the sunrise an hour later. He really can’t get rid of the habit of sleeping in the morning. He got used to it during his time as an Auror, always taking the night patrol and sleeping in the morning.

He groggily gets up from the bed and begins to shake Draco's shoulders, waking him up. Draco's never a morning person. Every time Harry tries to wake him up, he’s grumpy. Harry just chuckles, dipping down and kissing Draco’s cheek affectionately.

The term goes as usual. Classes, Quidditch practice, eating, sleeping. Harry would have never dreamed of having a calm, quiet school year. There's always something going on that he needs to do—or struggle against. But now, he actually enjoys his time as a normal eleven-year-old going to school. Well, as normal as a magical person gets. The only thing that’s a bit abnormal is that he gets hungry faster and eats far more meat than he usually does. He even swallows it whole without noticing until he starts choking.

Draco scolds him and calls him a brute for eating like that, but Harry just can’t help it. He’s never been like this before.

One day, when Draco is lecturing him about chewing his food while handing him water, the owls come by as scheduled to deliver letters. Draco receives a letter from his parents and some chocolate his mother got from Belgium or somewhere.

Harry receives a letter from the Dursleys. During the holidays, he gifted them an owl and taught them how to send a letter so their communication isn't cut off during the school year. Aunt Petunia even sends him a box of mince pies since he told them he’s been craving meat lately. Of course, they don’t forget to send him some treacle tarts. No amount of meat cravings will overpower his love for treacle tarts.

But then, another owl flies through the Great Hall doors and drops a letter in front of Harry.

Strange.

"Who's that from?" Draco asks.

"I don't know, the envelope is blank," Harry says, flipping the envelope over to find the sender.

"Huh, open it then," Draco says lazily as he scoops another spoonful of spaghetti onto his plate.

Harry opens the envelope and starts reading the contents.

'Dear Mr. Potter,

I’d like to thank you for returning my prized possession back to me. I’ve been wondering where it went, as it never left my office. I have a feeling that this won’t be our last meeting, so I would like to offer you an acquaintance . Feel free to send me letters or ask me anything.

Best regards,

Nicholas Flamel.

Draco nearly chokes when he hears the name.

"How did you get in touch with Nicholas Flamel?"

"Um, I sort of found the Sorcerer’s Stone and returned it to him," Harry says, rubbing his neck.

"You found the Sorcerer’s Stone? I thought he never let anyone touch it, not even see it. It's that precious to him."

"Well, you know who can make the impossible possible."

Draco tilts his head before realization hits.

"Oh, him. I was wondering how the stone got into Hogwarts and how Flamel actually agreed to destroy it," Draco rolls his eyes.

Harry chuckles. "It seems that you hate him very much."

"Of course. I thought he was the pinnacle of good, but turns out he's a manipulating bastard who orchestrated everything that happened to us. Makes me feel like—were the choices I made—my family made—really ours?"

"I know, Draco."

"I do not know why you insist on watching Quidditch when we're not playing. Especially when it's between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff," Draco snarks as Harry drags him along.

"Hey! What's wrong with watching other houses play?" Harry asks.

"Well, I do not find amusement in watching kids play."

Harry raises an eyebrow.

"Draco, we're also kids now."

Draco clicks his tongue. "You know what I mean, Harry. Besides, I know who'll win this—"

"AND HUFFLEPUFF'S SEEKER HAS GOTTEN THE SNITCH!"

Draco and Harry quickly turn their attention to the field.

"THE MATCH BARELY LASTED FIVE MINUTES AND CEDRIC DIGGORY HAS GOTTEN THE SNITCH AFTER A SPECTACULAR DIVE!"

"W-what?" Draco stutters.

Harry shrugs. "Told ya, history's different now. Last time it was me, now—it's someone else. Every canon event is going to happen whoever the person or whatever the situation is."

"Uhuh..." Draco slowly nods.

As they're eating dinner, Harry remembers another scene he witnessed before.

"Hey, Draco. Come with me."

"Huh? Where to?"

"Just come," Harry grabs Draco by the arm and drags him away.

"The Forbidden Forest? What in Merlin's name—"

"Shhh," Harry says from under the invisibility cloak they share.

In front of them, in a shadowy clearing, stands Snape. But he isn't alone. Quirrell is there, too, stuttering worse than ever.

"...d-don't know why you wanted t-t-to meet here of all p-places, Severus..."

"Oh, I thought we’d keep this private," says Snape, his voice icy. "Students aren't supposed to know about the Sorcerer's Stone, after all."

Quirrell mumbles something. Snape interrupts him.

"Have you found out how to get past that beast of Hagrid's yet?"

"B-b-but Severus, I—"

"You don't want me as your enemy, Quirrell," says Snape, stepping forward.

"I-I don't know what you—"

"You know perfectly well what I mean."

"—your little bit of hocus-pocus. I'm waiting."

"B-but I d-d-don't—"

"Very well," Snape cuts in. "We'll have another little chat soon, when you've had time to think things over and decide where your loyalties lie."

He throws his cloak over his head and strides out of the clearing. It's almost dark now, but Quirrell still stands as though petrified.

Draco says nothing as Harry holds his hand and leads him back to the Great Hall.

Not even when they return to their dorms and finish washing up.

"Hey, Draco. You got some hair tonic? Mine's out," Blaise calls out.

"Huh? Oh, yeah, here," Draco grabs his wand and levitates the bottle toward Blaise.

"Thanks."

They've been dormmates for half a term now, but Harry notices they're still awkward with each other, Theo included. They don't really speak unless needed. Rather than friends, they’re more like acquaintances.

Harry remembers Draco only grows close with Blaise and Theo in fourth year. From first to third year, Draco always hangs out with Crabbe and Goyle. Well, that's political friendship for you.

"Hey, Zabini—do you mind if I start calling you Blaise?" Harry asks.

Blaise seems startled for a moment but then composes himself.

"Well—I don't particularly mind. Suit yourself," Blaise shrugs.

Harry looks at Draco and only gets an eyebrow raise in response.

"And—Nott."

Theo flinches at his name being called.

"Do you mind if I start calling you Theodore—or Theo?"

Theo stares at Harry from above his book, then just shrugs. Harry takes that as a yes.

"You know, I heard there’ll be a group project for Potions. What about we team up?" Harry suggests.

"Where did you get that information?" Blaise raises an eyebrow.

"Just—around."

"Well, sure. It'd be easier since we're dormmates," Blaise answers.

Harry nods.

Okay, he doesn't actually know how to befriend Slytherins. He just does what he usually does—which is befriending Gryffindors. He's only spent time with Draco, Ron, and Hermione. But he sees that it would be more beneficial in the long run to befriend his dormmates for the next seven years.

As usual, Harry was hanging out—which actually means listening to heated arguments between Draco and Hermione in the library. Ron is also there, opening and closing his homework in utter dismay.

Harry is looking for another book to read when he notices a large silhouette beside him.

"Hagrid! Fancy seeing you here."

Hagrid shuffles beside him, hiding something behind his back.

"Oh, yeh uh, jus' lookin'," he says in a shifty voice that immediately piques their interest.

"And what're you lot up to?" he asks.

"The usual, just hanging out," Harry smiles.

"That's great! Er, I better be goin' now. Bye, Arry."

"Bye."

Harry remembers this scene from his previous life. Hagrid must have the dragon now. He doesn't actually need to interfere, but without his and his friends' help, that dragon won't be saved or sent to Charlie.

Harry returns to his table and calls out, "Hey, guys. What about a stroll to Hagrid's hut?"

As they reach the gatekeeper's hut an hour later, they are surprised to see all the curtains drawn.

Hagrid calls, "Who is it?" before letting them in and quickly shuts the door behind them.

It is stifling hot inside. Even though it's such a warm day, there's a blazing fire in the grate. Hagrid makes them tea and offers them stoat sandwiches, which they refuse.

"So, what brings yeh lot here?" Hagrid asks, a little fidgety.

"We just wanted to come by and say hi. Say, Hagrid, can we open a window? I’m boiling," Harry says, repeating what he said in the past.

"Can't, Harry, sorry," says Hagrid. Harry notices him glance at the fire.

Harry looks at it, too.

"Hagrid—what's that?"

But he already knows. In the very heart of the fire, underneath the kettle, is a huge, black egg.

"Ah," says Hagrid, fiddling nervously with his beard. "That's—er..."

"Where did you get it, Hagrid?" says Ron, crouching over the fire to get a closer look at the egg. "It must've cost you a fortune."

"Won it," says Hagrid. "Las' night. I was down in the village havin' a few drinks an' got into a game o' cards with a stranger. Think he was quite glad ter get rid of it, ter be honest."

"But what are you going to do with it when it hatches?" says Hermione.

"Well, I’ve bin doin' some readin'," says Hagrid, pulling a large book from under his pillow. "Got this outta the library—Dragon Breeding for Pleasure and Profit — it's a bit outta date, o' course, but it's all in here. Keep the egg in the fire, 'cause their mothers breathe on 'em, see, an' when it hatches, feed it a bucket o' brandy mixed with chicken blood every half hour. An' see here—how ter recognize diff'rent eggs—what I got there's a Norwegian Ridgeback. They're rare, them."

He looks very pleased with himself, but Hermione doesn't.

"Hagrid, you live in a wooden house," she says.

But Hagrid isn't listening. He's humming merrily as he stokes the fire.

"I'm sorry, but isn't keeping dragons illegal?" Draco snarks.

"I'm annoyed to say that I agree with him," Ron grumbles. "Dragon breeding was outlawed by the Warlocks' Convention of 1709, everyone knows that. It's hard to stop Muggles from noticing us if we're keeping dragons in the back garden—anyway, you can't tame dragons, it's dangerous. You should see the burns Charlie's got off wild ones in Romania."

But Hagrid doesn't mind Draco and Ron's warnings and just looks at the egg fondly.

Imagine if anyone finds out he's hiding an illegal dragon in his hut.

They leave Hagrid's hut after that and agree to keep it a secret. Just the four of them know.

As Harry and Draco walk together to dinner, Draco finally speaks.

"I finally know why you suspect Sev of being evil. Everyone would've misunderstood."

Harry hums, "Professor Snape is a very misunderstood man. You gotta know him first before you can judge him."

Draco nods. "And also—" Draco takes a deep breath, "A dragon!? Are you freaking kidding me? Merlin, what on earth were you doing as a first year?"

"Shhh, quiet down, Draco," Harry holds a finger in front of his mouth.

"Whatever you're going to do, count me out," Draco says, but Harry knows that deep down—Draco has a deep fascination with dragons.

Then, one morning—a few days after their last visit, Hedwig brings Harry another note from Hagrid.

He has written only two words: It’s hatching.

Harry nudges Draco and tells him to read the letter. He can see Draco really wants to come but ends up rejecting it.

While walking to class, Harry notices Ron and Hermione and tells them about the letter.

Ron wants to skip Herbology and go straight down to the hut. Hermione won’t hear of it.

"Hermione, how many times in our lives are we going to see a dragon hatching?"

"You've got lessons. We'll get into trouble, and that’s nothing compared to what Hagrid's going to be in when someone finds out what he's doing."

"I say we wait till classes are over. Anyway, Draco’s not going, so he’ll be in the library if you want to sit this one out, Hermione."

"Finally, a sensible person," Hermione rolls her eyes.

When the bell rings at the end of their lesson, Harry and Ron meet up and hurry through the grounds to the edge of the forest. Hagrid greets them, looking flushed and excited.

"It's nearly out." He ushers them inside.

The egg is lying on the table. There are deep cracks in it. Something is moving inside; a funny clicking noise is coming from it.

They all draw their chairs up to the table and watch with bated breath.

All at once there's a scraping noise and the egg splits open. The baby dragon flops onto the table. Its spiny wings are huge compared to its skinny jet body, it has a long snout with wide nostrils, the stubs of horns, and bulging, orange eyes.

It sneezes. A couple of sparks fly out of its snout.

"Isn't he beautiful?" Hagrid murmurs. He reaches out a hand to stroke the dragon's head. It snaps at his fingers, showing pointed fangs.

"Bless him, look, he knows his mummy!" says Hagrid.

"What will you name him?" Ron asks.

Hagrid is about to answer when the color suddenly drains from his face—he leaps to his feet and runs to the window.

"What's the matter?"

"Someone was lookin' through the gap in the curtains—it's a kid—he's runnin' back up ter the school."

Harry bolts to the door and looks out, confused as to who is replacing Draco in this scene. Even at a distance he knows who it is—it's Goyle, and he's running toward Crabbe.

"Hagrid, I know how much you love the dragon. But it's not safe for you to keep it. I'm saying this as a friend, okay?" Harry says.

"I know, Arry," Hagrid looks at the dragon sadly.

Harry and Ron use their free time to visit the dragon, sometimes with Hermione tagging along, but never Draco.

Harry tells Draco about Crabbe and Goyle, but Draco just scoffs, saying they're copycats.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione spend most of their free time in Hagrid's darkened hut, trying to reason with him.

"Just let him go," Harry urges. "Set him free."

"I can't," says Hagrid. "He's too little. He'd die."

They look at the dragon. It has grown three times in length in just a week. Smoke keeps furling out of its nostrils. Hagrid hasn’t been doing his gatekeeping duties because the dragon is keeping him so busy. There are empty brandy bottles and chicken feathers all over the floor.

"I've decided to call him Norbert," says Hagrid, looking at the dragon with misty eyes. "He really knows me now, watch. Norbert! Norbert! Where's Mummy?"

"He's lost his marbles," Ron mutters in Harry’s ear.

"Hagrid," says Harry loudly, "give it two weeks and Norbert’s going to be as long as your house. Those kids can report you anytime."

Hagrid bites his lip.

"I—I know I can't keep him forever, but I can't just dump him. I can't."

Harry turns to Ron. "Ron, Charlie—your brother is studying dragons in Norway, right? We could send Norbert to him. Charlie can take care of him and then put him back in the wild!"

"Brilliant!" says Ron. "How about it, Hagrid?"

And in the end, Hagrid agrees they can send an owl to Charlie to ask him.

The following week drags by. They wait for Charlie’s response. While eating at the Great Hall, owls fly in to drop letters as usual. Harry hurries to Ron and also calls Hermione when he reads the letter he receives.

The three of them put their heads together to read the note.

'Dear Ron,

How are you? Thanks for the letter—I’d be glad to take the Norwegian Ridgeback, but it won’t be easy getting him here . I think the best thing will be to send him over with some friends of mine who are coming to visit me next week. Trouble is, they mustn’t be seen carrying an illegal dragon. Could you get the Ridgeback up the tallest tower at midnight on Saturday? They can meet you there and take him away while it’s still dark.

Send me an answer as soon as possible.

Love,

Charlie'

"Well, I guess we’ve got a heist," Ron grins.

They find Fang the boarhound sitting outside with a bandaged tail when they go to tell Hagrid, who opens a window to talk to them.

"I won't let you in," he puffs. "Norbert’s at a tricky stage—nothin’ I can't handle."

When they tell him about Charlie’s letter, his eyes fill with tears, although that might be because Norbert has just bitten him on the leg.

"Aargh! It's all right, he only got my boot—jus’ playin’—he’s only a baby, after all."

The baby bangs its tail on the wall, making the windows rattle. Harry and Hermione walk back to the castle, feeling Saturday can’t come quickly enough.

They would feel sorry for Hagrid when the time comes to say goodbye to Norbert if they weren’t so worried about what they have to do. It’s a very dark, cloudy night, and they arrive at Hagrid’s hut a bit late because they have to wait for Peeves to get out of their way in the entrance hall, where he’s playing tennis against the wall.

Hagrid has Norbert packed and ready in a large crate.

"He’s got lots o’ rats an’ some brandy fer the journey," says Hagrid in a muffled voice. "An’ I’ve packed his teddy bear in case he gets lonely."

From inside the crate come ripping noises that sound to Harry as though the teddy is having its head torn off.

"Bye-bye, Norbert!" Hagrid sobs as Harry casts a Disillusionment Charm on the crate and the three of them.

"Mummy will never forget you!"

Midnight ticks nearer as they maneuver Norbert up the marble staircase in the entrance hall and along the dark corridors. Up another staircase, then another—even one of Harry’s shortcuts doesn’t make the work much easier.

"Nearly there!" Harry whispers as they reach the corridor beneath the tallest tower.

Then a sudden movement ahead of them makes them freeze.

Forgetting that they are already invisible, they shrink into the shadows, staring at the dark outlines of two people grappling ten feet away. A lamp flares.

Professor McGonagall, in a tartan bathrobe and a hair net, has Draco by the ear. What a nostalgic sight.

"Detention!" she shouts. "And twenty points from Slytherin! Wandering around in the middle of the night, how dare you—"

"I'm really sorry, Professor, but I was just worried since I didn’t see Harry in his bed. I’ve searched for him everywhere and was really scared he was sleepwalking again," Draco rambles.

McGonagall clicks her tongue. "Alright then, we’ll search for him together. If he turns out to still be at the Slytherin dorm—I shall see Professor Snape about you, Malfoy!"

Hermione looks at Harry with concern.

"You go ahead with the rescue, I’m going to Draco," Harry says, walking away.

But as he steps further from Ron and Hermione, his charm begins to fade. When the duo starts to climb the steep spiral staircase up to the top of the tower, Harry’s charm disappears completely. They have to carry the crate by hand—which isn’t that tiring since they’ve relied on Harry’s levitation spell the whole way. It’s not until they step out into the cold night air that they finally feel the muscle burn from carrying the crate.

They wait. Norbert still thrashes about inside.

About ten minutes later, four broomsticks come swooping down out of the darkness.

Charlie’s friends are a cheery lot. They show Ron and Hermione the harness they’ve rigged up to suspend Norbert between them. Everyone helps buckle Norbert in safely, and then Harry and Hermione shake hands with the others and thank them.

At last, Norbert is taken away, further and further... until they can’t see him anymore.

They slip back down the spiral staircase, their hearts as light as their hands, now that Norbert is off them. No more dragon. Case closed.

Harry catches up to Draco and Professor McGonagall.

"Ah, Mr. Potter. Care to explain?" McGonagall asks, fury flashing in her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Professor. I didn’t know how I got here. One second I was sleeping, the next I woke up outside the castle hall. I ran as fast as I could when I heard Draco was going to get into trouble looking for me," Harry pants dramatically.

McGonagall stays silent, weighing the truth of the story.

"Very well then, I suppose that means Mr. Malfoy was telling the truth. But it was not a wise decision to go wandering at one in the morning. You should’ve informed a teacher."

"Yes, I know, Professor. But I was just so worried and panicked. I'm sorry—I wasn’t acting rationally."

McGonagall sighs. "I guess that clears things up. Now run along, you two. Back to bed."

"Thank you, Professor," Harry and Draco say together as they head back to their dorm.

"What were you doing, Draco?" Harry asks, concerned.

"You remember when it was me who ratted you out?"

Harry nods.

"Well, I overheard Vince and Greg wanting to rat you out tonight, so I sneaked up behind them and knocked them out."

Harry gapes.

"Calm down, it was nothing serious, just a light sedation charm," Draco winks.

"Oh, and I also knocked out Filch," Draco adds.

"You what!?"

"Shh! He was the one who caught you before, right? Might as well finish the job."

Harry stares at Draco wide-eyed, then chuckles. "I love you so much I could kiss you right now."

"Not a chance, Potter. We’re in public."

Harry folds his arms and huffs, turning the other way, pretending to sulk.

They walk in silence until they reach their dorm.

As Harry prepares to go to bed, Draco suddenly pulls him in and kisses him on the cheek.

When Harry looks over, Draco is already buried under his blankets and facing away.

Harry grins like he hasn’t been kissed by Draco before, giggling like a schoolboy.

He tucks himself into bed and goes to sleep. Guess he won’t need detention in the Forbidden Forest in this life.

Chapter Text

“Ssseek he who walksss between life and death.”

Harry can’t tell where the voice is coming from—just hissing, slithering all around him.

“Fulfill your task, you who hasss been granted the authority", the shadowed figure continues.

“What do you mean?” Harry asks, blinking rapidly, trying to focus. But his surroundings stay foggy and unreal.

The figure seems to inch closer, its movements like gliding over water.

“Sssseek.”

“Punisssh.”

The closer it gets, the taller it seems. A hood covers its face

Harry steps back instinctively. “Who do I have to find? What’s my task?”

“Finisssh your purpossse.”

Harry frowns, his voice caught between confusion and fear. “What purpose? What are you talking about?”

The figure doesn’t answer. It looms above him, whispering words too old and ancient to understand.

“Hello?” Harry calls out hesitantly. “Hell—”

“FIND HIM!”

“GAHH!”

Harry jolts upright in bed, panting, his skin clammy with sweat. His heart slams against his ribs.

He runs a hand through his hair. That figure was not wearing a hood—it was a cobra’s head.

“Harry, what’s wrong?” Draco asks from the other bed, already halfway through making his own.

Harry forces his breathing to slow down. “The usual. Nightmares.”

Draco pauses, clearly worried, but doesn’t press. “Well, no time to talk about it now. Class starts soon.”

Harry grabs his fake glasses from the nightstand, rubs his eyes, and drags himself out of bed.

“Harry! Harry!”

“Huh, what?” Harry blinks, jerking awake.

The classroom is silent—every eye fixed on him. He realizes belatedly that he’s upright, but barely conscious.

“Mr. Potter", Snape says with a voice as sharp as a blade, “is my lesson truly so dreadful it drove you to hiss your way through it?”

“Hissing?” Harry mumbles, then glances at Draco beside him.

Draco leans back slightly, brows raised. “You’ve been doing it since halfway through class.”

“Oh—sorry, Professor. I think I was dreaming.”

“Sleeping in my class?” Snape snaps. “Well, then you must know everything I’ve said already. Let’s see…”

Harry straightens up quickly. Here we go again.

“What parasite is commonly used in antidotes?” Snape asks, cold amusement curling in his voice.

“Chizpurfle carapace", Harry replies.

“And how do you extract it?”

“You lure them to a Venomous Tentacula using Lumos Duo. The plant crushes them with its jaws and spits out the carapace.”

“What antidote does it make?”

“Antidote to uncommon poisons”

“And the rest of the ingredients?”

“Fire seeds, graphorn horn, billywig stings, and the carapaces.”

Snape clicks his tongue, clearly irritated.

“Five points from Slytherin for dozing off. Ten points to Slytherin for answering correctly. Moving on.”

Snape turns, robes swirling, leaving Harry to slump forward with a sigh.

Draco smirks behind his book. “Hissing. That’s new.”

Harry leans back in his chair. “It’s not the weirdest part of that dream…”

“Hey", Draco whispers, nudging Harry as they leave class. “Want to tell me what happened?”

Harry sighs, running a hand through his hair. “It was… a giant talking cobra. Told me to ‘seek him who walks between life and death.’ And something about finishing my task.”

Draco tilts his head. “I’m never not baffled by your dreams. Think it means something?”

“I didn’t. But now... I think I do.”

“Oh?”

“Today’s the day we were supposed to go to the Forbidden Forest, right?”

Draco stiffens. “The day we saw that creepy black figure?”

Harry nods slowly. “I think it has a connection—something to do with him.”

“You didn’t get detention this time, Harry. You want to go back there voluntarily ?”

“My dream said to. And they usually mean something.”

Draco exhales, long and slow. “Fine. I’m coming with you.”

“No. I’m going with Hagrid like we did before”

Draco frowns. “Harry—”

“I’ll be fine, Draco.”

Before Draco can reply, a cold voice interrupts.

“Having a lovely chat?” Snape says, eyes narrowing.

“Oh, and Mr. Malfoy too. Now tell me—what is a Deadlyius?”

Draco winces. Harry snickers under his breath. For once, he isn’t the one being questioned.

“You going now?” Draco asks, sitting on his bed.

“Yeah. I remember it being around this time", Harry replies, swinging his legs over the side of his bed.

Draco sighs, rubbing his neck. “Alright… be safe.”

“Of course.” Harry flashes a brief smile before casting a Disillusionment Charm over himself, followed by a Silencing Charm.

As he slips out of the dormitory and through the castle corridors, he moves silently, the magic keeping him hidden even from Filch’s lurking cat.

When Harry reaches the edge of the grounds, he sees a warm glow spilling from Hagrid’s hut. As he gets closer, Hagrid steps out with Fang at his heels, crossbow in one hand and a heavy quiver slung over his shoulder.

Harry dispels the charms. “Hagrid!”

“Arry?” Hagrid’s brow furrows. “What’re yeh doin’ ‘ere?”

“I, um… wanted to visit the Forbidden Forest", Harry says, grinning as innocently as possible.

Hagrid narrows his eyes. “An’ why would yeh want ter do that?”

“I… I wanted to find some herbs. For Draco.” Harry coughs awkwardly. “Thought I’d make him a lotion. His skin’s been dry, and I need lavender and thyme.”

“You can get that at a shop", Hagrid says, unconvinced.

“I know, but I wanted to make it for him by tomorrow. He’s been complaining about it for days. You know how Draco is.” Harry smiles sheepishly, shoulders rising in an awkward shrug.

Hagrid glares at him for a long moment, then sighs in defeat.

“Fine. Yeh can come. But stay close ter me. I mean it.”

“Yes! Thank you, Hagrid.”

They head toward the edge of the forest. Hagrid holds up a lamp, its yellow light flickering as it illuminates the narrow, winding path into the trees. A light breeze stirs the leaves, and the woods ahead look darker than they should under the moonlight.

“Look there", Hagrid says, pointing with his crossbow.

A silvery substance glistens on the forest floor.

“That’s unicorn blood. There’s one out there—hurt badly. This is the second time in a week. I found one dead last Wednesday. We’re gonna see if we can find it. Might need to… put it out of its misery.”

“Do you think the thing that’s hurting them will come after us?” Harry asks, despite already suspecting the answer.

“Nothin’ in this forest’ll come near yeh if yer with me or Fang. But stick ter the path, yeh hear?”

Hagrid looks over his shoulder.

“Now, we’re splittin’ up. Cover more ground. You’ll be with me.”

They walk slowly into the trees. The light from the lamp barely cuts through the thick branches overhead, but every so often, a sliver of moonlight reveals a glint of silver blood smeared on leaves or pooling on roots.

Hagrid’s face is tense. His hand never leaves his crossbow.

“Could a werewolf do this?” Harry asks softly, though part of him already knows it’s not.

“Not fast enough", Hagrid replies. “Unicorns are strong magic creatures. I never even heard of one gettin’ hurt before.”

They pass a moss-covered stump. The faint trickle of water suggests a nearby stream. Harry notices more blood now—smeared across bark, soaking into the dirt.

“It can’t’ve gone far if it’s bleedin’ this much", Hagrid murmurs. “Maybe—GET BEHIND THAT TREE!”

Hagrid yanks Harry backward just in time, shoving him behind the massive trunk of an oak. He loads his crossbow, aiming it down the path. Harry holds his breath.

There’s a soft, slithering sound—something like fabric dragging over dead leaves.

Hagrid narrows his eyes, scanning the darkness. But after a few moments, the sound fades.

“Knew it", he mutters. “There’s summat in here that shouldn’t be.”

Harry’s heart races.

“A werewolf?” he asks again, quietly.

“That wasn’t a werewolf", Hagrid says grimly. “An’ it weren’t a unicorn either.”

“Right. Let’s keep movin’. Quiet now.”

They tread more carefully. The sounds of the forest seem muted, as if the trees themselves are holding their breath. Then, in a small clearing ahead, something moves.

“Who’s there?” Hagrid calls, raising his crossbow. “Show yerself—I’m armed!”

A figure steps into the light—at first, Harry thinks it’s a man. But then he sees the body below the waist.

A horse’s body, chestnut and gleaming. The upper torso is human, with red hair and a long beard.

Harry stares, eyes wide—he had forgotten about this encounter.

“Oh—it’s you, Ronan", Hagrid breathes in relief.

“How are yeh?” Hagrid steps forward, lowering his crossbow and shaking the centaur’s hand.

“Good evening to you, Hagrid", says Ronan. His voice is low and sorrowful. “Were you going to shoot me?”

“Can’t be too careful", Hagrid replies. “There’s summat bad loose in the forest. This here’s Harry Potter. He’s a student. An’ this is Ronan—centaur, obviously.”

“Nice to meet you", Harry says quietly.

“Good evening", Ronan replies. “A student, are you? And do you learn much up at the school?”

Harry shrugs. “Just a bit.”

Ronan sighs, gazing up at the sky. “Mars is bright tonight.”

“Yeah", Hagrid mutters, glancing upward too.

“Listen, I’m glad we ran inter yeh, Ronan. There’s a unicorn been hurt—have yeh seen anything?”

Ronan doesn’t answer. He stares at the stars, unblinking, before speaking in a soft, mournful tone.

“Always the innocent are the first to die", he says. “So it has been, so it shall be.”

“Right…” Hagrid scratches his beard, unimpressed. “But have yeh seen anything unusual?”

“Mars is bright tonight", Ronan repeats. “Unusually bright.”

Harry glances up. The red planet glows dimly between the clouds. He wonders if there’s something he’s supposed to understand from that.

“I meant anything strange here , Ronan", Hagrid says, growing impatient. “Yeh haven’t seen anything odd?”

Ronan doesn’t answer right away. At last, he murmurs, “The forest hides many secrets.”

A rustle in the underbrush draws all their attention. Hagrid lifts his bow again, but another centaur steps into view—this one darker, with wild black hair and a powerful black horse body.

“Hullo, Bane", Hagrid greets. “All right?”

“Good evening, Hagrid. I hope you are well", Bane says.

“Well enough. I was just askin’ Ronan if he’d seen anything odd. A unicorn’s been attacked—would yeh know anything about it?”

Bane walks to stand beside Ronan and looks up.

“Mars is bright tonight", he says.

“We’ve heard", Hagrid replies dryly.

“If either of yeh see anything strange, let me know, will yeh? We’ll be off, then.”

Harry glances over his shoulder at the two centaurs as they walk away. Their silhouettes are soon lost in the trees.

“Never try an’ get a straight answer outta a centaur", Hagrid mutters. 

“Ruddy stargazers. Not interested in anything closer than the moon.”

“Are there a lot of them in the forest?” Harry asks.

“Oh, a fair few. Keep to themselves mostly, but they’ll show up if I ask. They know things… jus’ don’t share much.”

They continue deeper into the woods, the trees thickening, moonlight barely reaching the ground. The air grows colder.

Suddenly, they come across something gleaming pale and still.

Harry’s breath catches in his throat.

The unicorn lies in the clearing, its slender legs twisted at unnatural angles, its pearly mane spread across the leaves like spilled moonlight.

Harry takes a step forward—but a sound freezes him in place.

Slithering. From the edge of the clearing.

A hooded figure crawls from the shadows, moving low like a beast. It leans over the unicorn’s wound and begins to drink.

Harry stares, disturbed. The figure lifts its head, blood dripping down its chin—and it locks eyes with him.

It rises and lurches forward.

Harry scrambles back, reaching for his wand—but a jolt of pain shoots through his scar, making him stagger. His vision blurs.

Hoofbeats thunder behind him. A shape leaps over him—tall, fast, golden.

The creature charges the hooded figure.

Harry collapses to his knees, clutching his forehead. The pain throbs like fire. After a moment, the figure is gone—and a centaur stands over him.

Not Ronan. Not Bane. This one is younger, with pale blond hair and a gleaming palomino body.

“Are you all right?” the centaur asks, pulling Harry gently to his feet.

Harry blinks. “Yes… thank you.”

The centaur studies him, gaze lingering on the scar standing out on his forehead.

“You are the Potter boy.”

“Yeah.”

“You should return to Hagrid. The forest is not safe—especially for you. Can you ride? It will be quicker.”

“Ride?”

“My name is Firenze.” He lowers himself so Harry can climb on his back.

Harry hesitates, then climbs up.

More galloping hooves approach—Ronan and Bane burst into the clearing, flanks heaving.

“Firenze!” Bane shouts, fury in every step as he storms toward them. “What are you doing? You have a human on your back! Have you no shame? Are you a common mule?”

Firenze stands tall, his voice steady but fierce. “Do you realize who this is?” he says. “This is the Potter boy. The quicker he leaves this forest, the better.”

“What have you been telling him?” Bane growls. 

“Remember our oath—we are sworn not to set ourselves against the heavens! Have we not read what’s to come in the movements of the planets?”

Ronan paws nervously at the earth. 

“I’m sure Firenze thought he was acting for the best", he mutters, his tone as heavy as the night.

“For the best?” Bane lashes a hoof against the ground. 

“That’s not our role! We don’t chase humans through the forest like donkeys. We read the stars—we do not interfere!”

Suddenly, Firenze rears up on his hind legs, forcing Harry to cling to his shoulders for balance.

“Do you not see that unicorn?” Firenze roars.

“Do you not understand why it was killed? Or have the planets failed to show you that truth?”

He spins around, galloping away from them, hooves pounding against the forest floor. Harry hangs on, silent.

They weave through the trees for a long time before Firenze slows again, his voice quieter now. “What you saw tonight… That was no ordinary dark magic.”

Harry lowers his head to avoid a branch. “What was that thing?”

Firenze doesn’t answer immediately. They walk through a dense patch of trees, silence stretching until Harry wonders if the centaur will speak at all.

Finally, Firenze stops.

“Harry Potter", he says slowly, “do you know what unicorn blood is used for?”

Harry hesitates. “We’ve only used horn and tail hair in class. But… I’ve read that the blood can keep someone alive… if they’re close to death. But they’re cursed to live a half-life.”

Firenze nods.

“That is correct. Only one who has nothing to lose and everything to gain would commit such a crime. To slay something so pure… that leaves a mark on your soul. A cursed life begins the moment the blood touches your lips.”

“So whoever’s drinking it… they’re desperate.”

Firenze’s pale blue eyes shine in the moonlight. “Who would be that desperate? Who would rather be cursed than dead?”

A whisper brushes the edge of Harry’s thoughts. “Someone who only needs to stay alive long enough to… to get something else. Something that would restore their strength. Make them immortal.”

Firenze gives no reply, but his silence says everything.

“Mr. Potter", he says at last, “do you know what is hidden in the school right now?”

Harry nods once.

“And I believe", Firenze adds, “you know who is after it.”

Another nod.

“Then your path has been set.”

Eventually, they spot the warm glow of Hagrid’s lamp through the trees.

“Hagrid!” Harry calls out.

“Arry!” Hagrid rushes over, his face pale and stricken. “Where’ve yeh been?! Yeh had me worried sick!”

“Sorry, Hagrid.” Harry slips off Firenze’s back.

“This is where I leave you", Firenze says. “You are safe now. Good luck, Harry Potter.”

He turns, cantering into the trees without another word.

Hagrid doesn’t ask questions. He simply walks Harry back toward his hut in heavy silence. When they reach the porch, he finally speaks.

“Yeh should head back now. It’s well past curfew. Don’t want ter get caught wanderin’ out here.”

Harry nods. “Yeah. You’re right. Thanks, Hagrid.”

As soon as Hagrid disappears inside, Harry casts the Disillusionment and Silencing Charms again and slips off toward the castle.

He reaches the dungeons undetected. Inside the dormitory, he quietly removes the charms and tiptoes toward the bathroom.

A voice stops him.

“You look like shite.”

Harry freezes. He turns to see Draco sitting up in bed, a book open in his lap.

Harry just shrugs.

“Well, go on. Clean up. You smell like a horse.”

Harry waves him off and disappears into the bathroom.

When he returns, face washed, hair still damp, he tosses on his pajamas and climbs into bed.

“Did you see it?” Draco asks from the dark.

Harry blinks. “The same figure from before?”

“I’m guessing the same thing happened again?”

Harry nods, not even bothering to explain.

“I see. Nox.” Draco puts down his book and turns away.

“Draco?”

“Mhm?”

“Do you know anything about Mars?”

Draco groans. “Harry, it’s half past one. Save the planet talk for the morning.”

“Right… Good night.”

“Night, dork.”

“I think I read something about that", Hermione says the next morning, slamming a thick book onto the library table. The cover reads: ‘ Hindu Mythologies’.

She opens the book and skims a few pages while Harry and Draco exchange tired glances. Who better to ask than Hermione, after all?

“There’s a lot about Mars in different cultures. If you’re mentioning cobras, though, we’re likely looking at Asian mythology—probably from South to South East Asia”

She reads aloud:

“As per Hindu mythology, Mars, or Mangal , is also known as Bhoomi Putra —son of Mother Earth. He's identified with Kartikeya , the god of war.

In Hinduism, Mars is the godly form of Muruga , commander of the celestial forces. He governs destruction, war, and energy.

He’s also known as the protector of Dharma —the sacred life path and divine purpose.”

“Interesting…” Harry mumbles. “And what does that mean for me?”

Hermione snaps the book shut. “I’m not a mythology expert, Harry.”

“Finals are in three weeks, and I’m already behind on revision", she adds with a look of stress.

Harry glances at Draco, who shrugs.

“That's what this study group is for, right?”, Harry grins.

Harry spends the next few days in a fog—between studying, scar pain, and trying to piece together prophecies and dreams, everything blurs.

Harry wondered how his past self had managed to get through his first-year exams with a massive headache, all of those charms Dumbledore put on him, and Lord Voldy on his tail to top it off.

But at least now he could get through it easily, even with the constant throbbing pain on his scar. 

After weeks of grueling finals, they finally finished. Hermione’s still reviewing their past exam papers and comparing answers with Draco. While Harry and Ron are just glad finals are over. 

“Finally, no more studying. But why are we still in the library”, Ron stretches his back. 

“Because Hermione’s worried she didn’t write enough explanations to prove her point and is still debating with Draco about it”, Harry says, resting his chin on his arms on the table. 

Ron mimics Harry’s position, “you know, I’ve been thinking” 

“Wow, Ronald Weasley, thinking”, Draco chirps from beside them. 

“Shut up, Malfoy”

“Continue”, Harry says.

“Isn’t it weird that a random someone just up and gave Hagrid a dragon egg. I mean, who would just happen to have an egg in his pocket? And also, it’s illegal” 

Harry sat straight, he had forgotten about the third-floor corridor because he had already secured the stone. 

‘Oh shit it’s tonight’  

“Eh, probably just his luck, you know how badly he wants a dragon”, Harry reasons. 

“Still, it was too lucky that they met Hagrid. Too much of a coincidence”, Ron doesn’t seem convinced. 

“Well we can always ask him”, Harry says. 

Ron pondered for a while, “Nah, it’s fine. Not our problem anyway and we’ve already helped him out of it” 

Harry sighs in relief. 

“Yeah”

“Another night adventure?”, Draco asks, sitting on his bed. 

“Mm, remember when I fainted during first year?” Harry asks quietly, standing by his bed, wand in hand.

“Yeah", Draco replies, looking up from his book.

“I fought Voldemort.”

“Oh. And tonight’s the night?”

Harry nods.

“Right. Have fun.” Draco pauses. “Are you going to faint again?”

“I think?”

“Then I won’t wait for you.

Harry chuckles. “Good night, Draco.”

“Come here.” Draco sets his book down.

Harry walks over, and Draco grabs his collar, pulling him in for a quick kiss on the cheek. 

“Do I need to come with you?”

“No. I’ll be fine. But… maybe come check on me around midnight?”

“Sure.” 

Harry looks at Draco’s eyes and gives him a short kiss on the lips—just a peck, but enough.

Their first kiss in this life.

“I’m not the Boy Who Lived for nothing", Harry smirks, casting his usual charms before disappearing into the shadows.

When Harry reaches the third-floor corridor, like before, the door to the forbidden room is already ajar.

“Alright. Let’s get this over with.”

He steps past Fluffy easily. The dog doesn’t stir—his steps are still silent from his silencing charm. He jumps through the trapdoor and lands among the Devil’s Snare, staying still until it releases him.

Flying keys come next. This time, Harry simply mutters, 

“ Accio key", and catches it easily.

He unlocks the door and strides through.

The next room is as dark as he remembers, as he steps on the chess board—it lights up. Revealing giant chess pieces.

“Bombarda Maxima" , he says, blasting the enemy king to pieces. 

The door opens.

“Huh, well that’s easy. I thought I would need to blow up the door as well”, Harry says as he walks through the door and onto the next room.

He crinkles his nose at the stench of the troll room and casts an air-freshening charm, stepping carefully past the slumped creature.

The final room flares with purple flames behind him. Without hesitation, Harry grabs the smallest bottle, drinks it, and walks through the black fire.

As Harry steps through the black flames, the temperature drops.

He emerges into the last chamber—and he isn’t alone.

In the chamber, lit only by the dim fire that sprung out from behind him, stands Professor Quirrell.

His back is to Harry, but he doesn’t look startled. He’s waiting.

The Mirror of Erised looms beside him, tall and ancient.

Harry fakes a shocked expression. “Professor Quirrell? But I thought… it was Professor Snape—”

“Severus?” Quirrell chuckles. The voice that emerges isn’t stuttering—it’s clear, sharp, and disturbingly calm.

“Yes, he does seem the type, doesn’t he? So useful, always brooding like a bat. Made it easy for everyone to look the other way.”

He turns slightly and raises a hand.

Ropes shoot from thin air, coiling around Harry and binding him tight.

“You’re far too curious for your own good, Potter. Poking around, spying, wandering where you shouldn’t. You saw me on Halloween night, didn’t you?”

“You let the troll in?”

“Of course. I’ve always had a knack for trolls. You saw what I did to the one back there, yes? Snape, unfortunately, was already suspicious. He ran straight here and ruined everything.”

Quirrell turns back to the mirror, stroking its frame as if it might whisper answers to him.

“This mirror is the key", he murmurs. “Trust Dumbledore to make something so... insufferably poetic. But he’s in London, and I’ll be long gone by the time he returns.”

Harry tries to keep his breathing steady. His scar throbs slightly, as if warning him. He watches Quirrell circle the mirror like a predator.

“I saw you and Snape in the forest", Harry blurts, waiting for the right time to strike. “He suspected you.”

“Oh, he did", Quirrell says airily.

“He always has. Thought he could frighten me… even with Lord Voldemort at my side.”

Harry raises an eyebrow.

Quirrell’s voice softens to a whisper. “Yes… my master is with me always. He found me during my travels—when I was young, foolish, obsessed with light and goodness. He showed me the truth.”

He steps back and stares into the mirror again.

“I see it… I see the Stone. I’m giving it to him… but where is it?”

Harry stares into the mirror from where he stands, but what he saw shocked him far more than when he saw Quirrell in his past life.

Then, he'll need to lie—just like last time.

“I see myself", he says calmly, “becoming an Auror. I’m surrounded by the people I love.”

“He lies… he lies…” the voice hisses.

Quirrell flinches. “Tell me the truth!” he shouts.

“Let me speak to him", the other voice commands, higher, colder. “Face to face…”

“Master, you’re not strong enough—”

“I have enough strength… for this…”

Quirrell’s hands reach up. He unties the turban from his head. It falls away, and Harry’s breath catches.

There’s a face where the back of Quirrell’s head should be—pale, hollow, with slitted nostrils and eyes red as blood. Oh so ugly as he remembers.

“Harry Potter…” it hisses.

Harry returns the glare.

“See what I have become?” the face says softly. “Mere shadow and vapor. But with unicorn blood… I grow stronger. Once I have the Elixir of Life, I shall rise again. You’ve seen what faithful Quirrell does for me.”

Its eyes narrow. “Give me the Stone in your pocket.”

“I don’t have it", Harry answers.

The voice twists with fury. “Do not lie to me, boy.”

“I’m not lying.”

“You’ll meet the same end as your parents. They died begging for mercy.”

Harry’s fists clench. “Too bad I don’t have the Stone.”

Quirrell lunges.

His hands close around Harry’s wrist, and instantly, pain erupts through Harry’s body—burning like molten fire.

Quirrell howls, stumbling back.

Harry gasps, his skin tingling. The pain flares brighter as Quirrell tries again, grabbing Harry by the throat this time.

Harry chokes, struggling to breathe.

“SEIZE HIM! SEIZE HIM!” Voldemort screeches.

Quirrell slams Harry down, hands tightening.

The pain becomes unbearable. His head feels like it’s splitting in two and his skin's turning inside out.

His fingers fumble for his wand.

Everything aches. His skin burns. His magic swells inside him, wild and unchained.

The moment his hand closes around his wand—BOOM—a shockwave explodes outward.

Both Quirrell and Harry are thrown apart.

Harry’s body trembles. His vision swims.

Then he sees it.

His wand—no longer his usual wand. It’s longer. Heavier. Emitting a glowing light.

At its tip… a curved blade gleams with pale light.

A scythe.

He stumbles upright, hunched over, his head pounding. The pain in his scar echoes like a scream.

A whisper curls in his ear.

“That being disrupts the balance. He is neither alive… nor dead.”

Harry turns toward Quirrell, who is crawling to his knees.

“Fulfill your destiny. Right what is wrong.”

Harry’s grip tightens around the glowing weapon. He moves without thought. His feet step forward. His arm lifts. The blade spins.

In a single swift motion, he swings the scythe through Quirrell’s form.

Quirrell gasps—but no blood spills. Instead, his body disintegrates into dust, blown apart by the magic Harry didn’t even know he had.

Harry turns away.

Then he hears it.

A screech.

He spins around.

A cloud of black smoke rushes toward him, shrieking like a dying star.

It slams into him—passes through him—ripping something open in his chest.

His scar burns, burns, burns .

He screams.

And everything goes black.

Harry wakes with a jolt, gasping softly.

His throat is dry, his head heavy—but he’s alive.

There’s a warmth on his left side. He glances over.

Draco is there, fast asleep, head resting on the side of Harry’s bed, hand still gently wrapped around Harry’s.

Harry lifts his other hand, about to brush back Draco’s hair—when the door creaks open.

“Good afternoon, Harry", says Dumbledore, stepping into the room, eyes twinkling behind his half-moon glasses.

Harry nods silently, not wanting to wake Draco.

Dumbledore notices and smiles faintly. With a flick of his wand, he casts a gentle Muffliato between them.

On the table beside Harry, a tower of sweets leans precariously.

“Tokens from your friends and admirers", Dumbledore explains.

“You could open a shop with that haul. I believe Fred and George Weasley tried to send you a toilet seat. Madam Pomfrey, of course, confiscated it—something about hygiene.”

Harry nods weakly, then asks, “How long have I been here?”

“Three days", Dumbledore says. “Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley have been beside themselves with worry. And Mr. Malfoy…” He glances at Draco. “Hasn’t left your side since he found you.”

Harry doesn’t respond right away.

“Professor… what happened?” he asks finally. “Quirrell—he was talking about a stone. The Sorcerer’s Stone?”

Dumbledore nods, folding his hands behind his back. “Indeed. He did not take it from you, Harry. I arrived just in time, though you were faring quite impressively on your own.”

“I didn’t have the stone", Harry says. “He thought I did, but…”

“Ah", Dumbledore’s smile fades. “Yes. The Stone is now safely with its creator. It sensed danger, it seems, and returned to Nicholas Flamel.”

Harry fakes a surprised expression. “So… it really was the Sorcerer’s Stone, then?”

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkle. “Quite.”

There’s a moment of silence before Harry asks, “Voldemort… he’s still out there, isn’t he?”

“He is", Dumbledore replies. “Not truly alive, and thus not truly able to be killed. He will look for other ways to return. But you, Harry, delayed him—bravely, I might add.”

Harry stares at the ceiling. “Professor… I’d like to know the truth.”

Dumbledore sighs softly. “Ah, the truth. A beautiful and terrible thing, and should therefore be treated with great caution. I’ll answer what I can—truthfully, though not always completely.”

Harry nods once. “Why did Voldemort want to kill me in the first place?”

Dumbledore hesitates—just long enough for Harry to notice.

“I cannot tell you that. Not yet. But one day, when you are ready… you will know.”

Harry’s jaw clenches, but he doesn’t argue.

“Why couldn’t Quirrell touch me?”

“Your mother’s love", Dumbledore says. “She died to protect you. Voldemort cannot comprehend love, and her sacrifice created a protective charm—one that lives in your very skin. Quirrell, bound to Voldemort, could not touch someone marked by something so pure.”

Harry looks away.

'Still lying', he thinks bitterly. ‘He 'knows' what happened… but not what really happened.’

“One more thing", he says. “The Invisibility Cloak. I got it Christmas Morning. Do you know who sent it?”

Dumbledore smiles, though there’s a flicker of something else in his eyes.

“Your father left it in my possession. I thought it was about time you had it. He mostly used it for sneaking down to the kitchens, if I’m being honest.”

Harry nods politely. “Thank you.”

Dumbledore turns toward the door. “I’ll let Madam Pomfrey know you're awake. And your friends will want to see you.”

Just as he leaves, two familiar heads peek through the doorway.

“Five minutes", Madam Pomfrey warns. “Only five.”

Ron and Hermione rush in.

“Harry! What happened?” Hermione cries.

“Uh… I tripped and fell?” Harry says, half-smiling.

Ron raises a brow. “The whole school’s talking. You didn’t just trip.”

Harry sighs. “Alright, alright.”

He tells them most of what happened—Quirrell, the mirror, Voldemort. He omits the scythe, and the voice, and what really awakened inside him.

Hermione gasps at the right moments. When he mentions what was under Quirrell’s turban, she lets out a scream.

That scream is what wakes Draco.

He groans, sits up, and blinks blearily at Harry. “You’re awake", he mutters, then smacks Harry on the head.

“Ow!”

“That’s for making me sit here for three days.”

“Didn’t you already know I’d—” Harry glances at Ron and Hermione. “Uhm. Sorry?”

Draco raises an eyebrow but lets it slide.

Madam Pomfrey reappears. “Out, out, all of you. He needs rest.”

“I want to go to the feast", Harry says quickly.

She scowls. “Dumbledore says you may—but don’t blame me if you pass out in your pudding.”

“Oh, and you have another visitor.”

“Who—?”

Just as Madam Pomfrey was about to answer, he can hear heavy footsteps walking towards the door.

The half-giant enters, sits beside Harry, and promptly bursts into tears.

“It’s—all—my—fault!” he sobs. “I told that scum how ter get past Fluffy! Yeh could’ve died! All fer a dragon egg! I’m useless!”

“Hagrid, calm down, Voldemort would have found out anyway", Harry says gently. “We stopped him. That’s what matters.”

“Yeh could’ve died! ” Hagrid wails. “An’ don’t say his name—!”

“Voldemort!” Harry says loudly. Hagrid flinches. “I’ve met him. I’m not afraid of a name.”

That shuts Hagrid up. He sniffles loudly, then says, “I’ve got yeh a present.”

Harry’s eyes widened, he had forgotten about his most precious photo album. 

Hagrid passes him a leather-covered book. Harry opens and sees a full page of wizard photographs. Smiling and waving at him from every page were his mother and father. 

“Sent owls off ter all yer parents’ old school friends, askin’ fer photos—knew yeh didn’ have any... d’yeh like it?” 

Harry stayed silent for a moment before looking up to Hagrid, “Thank you”, Harry smiles, hugging the book.

At the year-end feast, the Great Hall is decorated in green and silver—Slytherin wins the House Cup for the seventh year running.

Dumbledore rises with a twinkle in his eye.

“Another year gone!” Dumbledore said cheerfully. 

“And I must trouble you with an old man’s wheezing waffle before we sink our teeth into our delicious feast. What a year it has been! Hopefully your heads are all a little fuller than they were before coming here. Now, you have the whole summer ahead to get them nice and empty before next year starts”

“Now, as I know what you’ve all been waiting for. The House Cup here needs awarding, and the points stand thus: In fourth place, Hufflepuff, with three hundred and fifty-two; in third, Gryffindor, with four hundred and ten points; Ravenclaw has four hundred and twenty-six and Slytherin, five hundred and thirty-three.” 

A storm of cheering and stamping broke out from the Slytherin table. Harry cheers together with Draco.

 “Now, let’s feast all night and celebrate the end of the year!”, Dumbledore says before stepping down and sitting on the teacher’s table.

As food appears on the golden plates, the Slytherin table bursts into cheers. Harry laughs, nudging Draco.

“No bullshit last minute points I see”, Draco nudges Harry. 

“Yea, pretty unreasonable now that I think about it”, Harry nods. 

“Speak for yourself, you’re still winning the house cup. Just in a different house now”, Draco rolls his eyes. 

“Hell yeah, we got the win thanks to our new quidditch stars”, Blaise teases.

“Oh come on, we all worked together to get those points. Don’t give them all the glory”, Pansy snarks. 

The Slytherin table fills with noise—celebration, congratulations, the hum of summer freedom on the horizon.

When they got back to their room at the dungeons, Blaise drags Theo off to some after party celebrations, leaving Harry and Draco alone in their room.

“You need to explain the scales on your neck", Draco says, suddenly serious.

“The what?”

Draco points. “When I found you, you had scales . Snake scales. I had to cover it and glamour them constantly when Pomfrey wanted to check you so she wouldn’t see.”

Harry hurries to the mirror, removing the scarf around his neck.

Faint, iridescent scales shimmer just under his skin.

“It’s been molting for the past few days. Your face had them too—at first. Those are gone now.”

Harry stares at himself. 

“I… think I know what this is.”

“Creature inheritance?” Draco asks.

Harry nods. “Yeah. Emergency manifestation, maybe. Snake—go figure.”

“How very Slytherin of you”, Draco teeses. 

“And I got a weapon together with it”

Draco look at Harry like he just said he laid an egg.

Harry rubs his temples. “When I looked into the Mirror…I saw myself wielding a scythe, killing Quirrell in one swipe”.
Draco frowns. “That doesn’t sound like creature inheritance. That sounds like prophecy nonsense.”

 “It’s a blur, I only remember feeling like my body is burning and moving on its own before fainting. Wait—”

He reaches for his wand, it’s still his trusty old holly wand.

“…weird. I vaguely remember the grip being different", he mutters. “Maybe I imagined it.”

Draco shrugs, “You and your chosen one shenanigans.”

“Not my fault", Harry grins.

The castle bustles as students pack to go home. Trunks are crammed, sweets exchanged, and grades handed out.

Ron barely scrapes through. Harry earns a mix of A’s and O’s, despite his constant battle with headaches. Draco and Hermione tie for top student—though Draco edges ahead by a single Outstanding.

The train ride is filled with laughter, snark, and Hermione arguing over exam results with Draco.

When they reach King’s Cross, the old guard reminds them to go in twos and threes through the barrier.

Hermione and Ron go first. Harry walks through with Draco.

“Still famous", Ron calls as they exit.

Harry rolls his eyes.

They spot the Weasleys. Ginny points excitedly. 

“Mom, thats! I can see his—”

“Ginny, it’s rude to point”, Molly stops Ginny.

Draco’s grip on Harry’s hand tightens.

Molly smiles at Harry, “Busy year?”

“Very. Thanks for the fudge and sweater, Mrs. Weasley", Harry says.

“Oh, it was nothing, dear.”

“COUSIN!”

Harry blinks. “Nice to see you too, Duds.”

Petunia and Vernon approach. Petunia smiles sweetly at the Weasleys.

“You must be Harry’s family” Mrs. Weasley greets.

“Yes. We’re his aunt and uncle.”

“Ready to go home?” Petunia asks.

Harry nods, turning to wave. “Bye, everyone! Bye, Draco.”

Draco pulls him into a quick hug.

“See you over the summer", Harry adds.

As they walk to the car, Dudley bombards him with questions.

Eventually, Petunia asks, “That boy… was he the one from the alley? When you tried on your school robes”

Harry glances at her.

“Yeah. That’s Draco.”

Petunia hums thoughtfully. “He seems like a nice young man.”

Harry grins. “Yes. That he is.”

Chapter Text

"Death"

Harry looks around but sees no smoke.

He tilts his head in confusion.

"Death."

Still no sign.

He is just about to call it a night when Death's floating head pops out of thin air, directly in front of him.

"GAH! Do not do that!" Harry exclaims, calming his racing heart.

"Kekekekeke. I needed that", Death cackles as the head floats to the edge of the bed and finally forms a complete figure.

Harry shakes his head and sighs.

"Okay, so... what do you need? How's your first year at school as a middle-aged—"

"Now what the hell happened in that room?" Harry cuts him off.

Death tilts his head. "Don't you already know? Creature inheritance."

Harry summons the creature book Death gave him years ago and flips it open, stopping at a specific page.

"I'm guessing... this is my inheritance", he says, pointing to the page.

Death smirks. "Why ask if you're already so sure?"

"I had a dream. It told me to fulfill my calling, my purpose. What's that all about?"

Death nods. "Try reading this part", he says, pointing to a section of the page.

Harry reads the highlighted part of the entry:

"Nagas symbolize transformation, rebirth, and cosmic energy. Their association with the cycle of life and death reflects the eternal cycle of birth, death, and rebirth. The creator deity Brahma relegated the nagas to the nether regions when they became too populous on Earth and commanded them to bite only the truly evil or those destined to die prematurely."

"Mhm."

Harry finally comes to a realization. "So... my destiny is—"

Death nods. "You. That person. Khk." He makes a cutting throat motion.

"Well, not really only that person", Death continues. "As the rightful Master of Death, your task is quite similar to what you humans call a grim reaper."

"And the scythe?" Harry raises an eyebrow.

"That—is a gift from me. You like it?" Death wriggles his eyebrows.

Harry glares at him, visibly offended.

"Okay, no—I mean technically it is, but here. That weapon has always been present in the Elder Wand, just needed to have the right heir to wield it", Death explains with a shrug.

"As fate had always intended, you are the sole soul to fit all of the criteria. Your inheritance's kind ties closely to my realm, you're the descendant of the three brothers, you have all three treasures, and you've experienced death—twice."

Harry rubs his neck.

"Well, what can I say? You are the chosen one", Death grins.

Harry sighs. "I need a break."

"Hey, hey! You haven't told me how your year was."

Harry raises an eyebrow.

"Don't you already know everything? You've been watching me, right?"

"Yup. But I want to hear it from your perspective."

Harry shakes his head.

"It's weird. I experience constant deja vu. Events are happening like before, but they aren't. I remember what others will do, what they'll say. But because of my change, they behave slightly different. And seeing dead people alive and well... really takes a toll on you."

Death nods slowly.

"I mean, are they actually supposed to be? Is this their real fate? Or am I making a whole new one for them by acting differently?"

Harry looks at Death.

"Am I going to doom them by changing the timeline?"

Death meets his eyes, and for once, there's softness behind his gaze. A calm that contrasts his usual mischief.

"We can only let Fate decide."

Harry ruffles his hair in frustration.

"Fate this, fate that. Where was it when I was going through all those things in the past? You said Dumbledore manipulated everyone. How does that even happen? Wasn't everything supposed to happen like it was supposed to?"

Death sighs.

"Fate works in strange ways. Yes, everything will happen as it should, but if the event that triggers it and the outcome more or less remain the same, you can manipulate things in between. That's why you still experience those events you call 'Canon Events' even though you're doing things differently this time."

Harry tilts his head.

"So... Fate isn't really set in stone? You can basically mess around in the in-between, and while the outcome stays the same, it's totally fine?" He looks at Death, disbelief in his voice.

"Well... if you put it that way", Death shrugs.

Harry nods slowly. "Then I guess I wouldn't need to be that careful anymore."

Death tilts his head.

"Oh, and one more thing."

Death looks at Harry.

"How far do I get to choose who lives and who dies?"

"That shall be your judgment as my Master."

For the first time in centuries, Death feels the chill crawl down his spine as Harry's grin grows wider.

Harry has just finished writing letters to Draco, Ron, Hermione, and—surprisingly—Blaise and Pansy. Though Pansy, more or less, talks more about his relationship with Draco than actually replying in full sentences.

He gently pets Hedwig and gives her a treat.

He still remembers the argument he had with the Dursleys about keeping Hedwig. But now, they adore her. She has a whole box of treats and toys just for her.

Now, one might wonder how Harry has been receiving his letters since a certain house-elf used to steal them in the past.

Well, let’s just say Draco has a special errand for that elf that keeps him very busy these days.

"Harry! Come down, boy, our guests are going to arrive soon!" Vernon's voice echoes from the bottom of the stairs.

"Coming!"

Ah yes, the day that got him locked up in his room—with metal bars no less. How could he ever forget his worst birthday?

"I think we should run through the schedule one more time", says Uncle Vernon.

"We should all be in position at eight o’clock. Petunia, you will be—?"

"In the lounge", says Aunt Petunia promptly, "waiting to welcome them graciously to our home."

"Good, good. And Dudley?"

"I’ll be waiting to open the door", Dudley replies, putting on a practiced smile.

"Good day to you, Mr. and Mrs. Mason."

"Yes, very good. And you?" Vernon looks at Harry.

"I’ll be ready to greet them and take their coats", Harry bows slightly. "May I take your coats, Mr. and Mrs. Mason?"

"Oh, they’ll love him!" cries Aunt Petunia rapturously.

"Exactly! Excellent", says Uncle Vernon.

"I will lead them into the lounge, introduce you, Petunia, and pour them drinks. At eight-fifteen—"

"I’ll announce dinner", says Aunt Petunia.

"And, Dudley, you’ll say—"

"May I take you through to the dining room, Mrs. Mason?" Dudley offers his arm to an invisible guest.

"My perfect little gentleman!" sniffles Aunt Petunia.

"And you?" Vernon turns to Harry again.

"Oh, let me help you get seated", Harry says, pulling an imaginary chair.

"Precisely. Now, we should aim to get in a few good compliments at dinner. Petunia, any ideas?"

"Vernon tells me you’re a wonderful golfer, Mr. Mason. Do tell me where you bought your dress, Mrs. Mason..."

"Perfect... Dudley?"

"How about—'We had to write an essay about our hero at school, Mr. Mason, and I wrote about you.'"

"And you, boy?"

Harry fights to keep a straight face. "If I were a wizard, I’d make a spell in tribute to you."

"Alright, perfect", Vernon says.

"When dinner’s over, you take Mrs. Mason back to the lounge for coffee, Petunia, and I’ll bring the subject around to drills. With any luck, I’ll have the deal signed and sealed before the news at ten. We’ll be shopping for a vacation home in Majorca this time tomorrow."

"Right—I’m off into town to pick up the dinner jackets for us", Vernon adds before walking out.

Harry nods.

"Oh, Harry dear. I'm really sorry that this event falls right on your birthday. I promise, we’ll celebrate properly tomorrow morning. You can do whatever you want, go wherever you want, and ask for anything you want", Petunia says sweetly.

Harry smiles back. "It’s fine, really. My room’s already filled with loads of presents from last night."

"But it’s your birthday, not your birth hour. We’ve got to celebrate the whole day, don’t we?"

Harry chuckles. "Whatever you say, Aunt."

Harry has just finished getting ready when he is called downstairs.

"Oh! They're pulling up the driveway!" Petunia announces as she peeks out the window.

"Quickly, into position—just like we rehearsed!" Vernon calls out, hurrying into place.

Just as Petunia returns to the lounge, the doorbell rings.

Dudley opens the door, puffing out his chest. "Good day to you, Mr. and Mrs. Mason."

"Oh, good day to you too, young man", Mrs. Mason replies warmly.

"May I take your coats, Mr. and Mrs. Mason?" Harry steps in smoothly, bowing slightly.

"Why yes, thank you", Mr. Mason says as he slips off his coat.

Harry takes them politely, hanging them with care.

This is going to be a long, but interesting night, Harry thinks to himself.

Harry only had memories of muffled conversations from his bedroom on this night in the original timeline—not counting the fact that a certain house-elf had completely ruined the event. So, hearing what Mr. and Mrs. Mason actually have to say now is a new experience.

They talk about work, philosophy, and even make small talk with both him and Dudley: questions about school, interests, aspirations.

But what truly intrigues Harry is when they start discussing hidden intentions.

Mr. Mason says something that sticks in Harry's mind like a thorn:

"Everyone has their own wants and needs. Not everything is as it seems. If you keep looking from where you're standing, you'll never see the bigger picture."

He continues.

"Imagine someone living in an apartment—the view from the 10th floor and the 100th floor are vastly different. People with little knowledge often curse those in power, wondering why they don’t act. But those with knowledge are constantly calculating. Nothing in this world is black and white. Every action comes with consequences."

The rest of the dinner goes smoothly. Vernon beams throughout, practically glowing after Mr. Mason agrees to the project. He hasn’t stopped smiling since.

"What a great day!" Vernon laughs as he leans back in his chair.

"Oh yes, you were just wonderful, dear. And oh! I couldn’t be more proud of you both", Petunia hugs both Harry and Dudley with a rare, warm sincerity.

Harry chuckles. "I didn’t do anything. It was all Duds."

"Nonsense, cousin! You were actually talking with them", Dudley grins and punches Harry lightly on the arm.

"Ouch", Harry rubs the spot, laughing.

That night, Harry can't sleep. He lies in bed, staring at the ceiling.

Mr. Mason's words echo over and over in his mind.

Different positions of power mean different perspectives. Understanding comes with elevation.

But who can he even ask about something so complex?

Death certainly wouldn’t be of help here. He never answers anything that falls outside his domain.

Harry turns on his side.

Someone wise. Someone who's lived a long time. Someone who knows Dumbledore, but isn't blinded by him...

A spark lights in his mind.

Harry quickly waves his hand, summoning a piece of parchment, a quill, and ink. He begins to write.

The letter is short and straightforward.

When he finishes, he gently ties it to Hedwig's leg. She hoots softly and nuzzles him before taking off into the night.

"Harry, Harry!"

He feels his body being shaken.

"Wake up, cousin! Time to celebrate your birthday!"

Harry groggily opens his eyes, blinking through the morning haze.

Dudley's wide grin hovers inches from his face.

"And good morning to you too, Duds", Harry mutters, stretching and rubbing his eyes.

"Hurry up, get ready, and let's go!"

"Okay, okay", Harry chuckles, pushing the blankets off and standing up.

"Ready for today, Harry?" Vernon asks as Harry joins them at the breakfast table.

Harry nods while stuffing a piece of toast into his mouth.

"Where are we going first?" he says between chews.

"Now that will be a surprise, dear", Petunia sings, clearly excited.

The whole day becomes a whirlwind of activity. The Dursleys pile into the car, and together they explore all across Surrey.

They visit museums, libraries, an amusement park, botanical gardens, and even take a long stroll through a mall.

Of course, at every stop, Harry receives even more presents.

Books. Souvenirs. Dried flowers. Chocolates. Trinkets.

He loses count after the fifth bag.

Dudley, not to be left out, also gets his fair share—though mostly sweets, which he devours throughout the day.

By the time they return home, the living room is filled with Harry’s presents, stacked high and wide.

"Go wash up, Harry dear. It’s time for your birthday dinner! I made your favorites, and yes, there’s treacle tart", Petunia calls.

Harry smiles, warmed by her rare cheer. "Got it", he replies and heads upstairs.

When he enters his room, something catches his eye immediately.

A letter.

It sits on his desk, placed carefully, like a gift.

He walks over slowly.

There’s a single sentence written on the envelope:

"Convenite me ut inveniatis quod quaeris."

Harry blinks.

Latin?

He shrugs, having no idea what it means. Then he tears the envelope open and dumps the contents onto the desk.

Only a single Black Dahlia falls out.

Harry stares.

He reaches to touch the flower petal.

As soon as his fingers graze it—the world begins to spin.

He knows this feeling.

It’s the same sensation he felt during the Triwizard Tournament when that portkey dragged him to Voldemort.

Ever since that incident in 4th year, he’s had a love and hate relationship with portkeys. It’s fine if he’s the one activating the portkey, but it’s a different story if it’s by force.

He hates it. Hates being taken by force. It's different when he's the one in control of the portkey.

But this?

This is like being yanked out of time.

His feet hit the ground hard as he lands, stumbling forward.

He resists the urge to vomit and steadies himself.

Everything around him is pitch dark.

He walks slowly, carefully, one step at a time.

He can feel eyes on him—watching.

"Lumos", he whispers, and light flickers at the tip of his finger. He flicks it into the air, and it floats like a slow-moving orb.

The ball of light floats forward, casting a path.

Just as he's about to follow it, the room lights up.

Candles, hundreds of them, light themselves around the circular space, bathing it in a golden glow.

And at the far end of the room—a figure.

Tall. Bearded. Old.

Harry squints.

"Convenite me ut inveniatis quod quaeris", the man says, his voice calm and commanding.

Harry tilts his head, slowly translating the words.

"Seek me to find what you are looking for."

The man nods. "That is correct—and what is it, exactly, that you are looking for?"

"The truth", Harry replies.

"Then the truth is what you shall receive."

Harry studies him. There’s something familiar.

And then it clicks.

"Nicholas Flamel?"

The man nods.

Harry gapes. "The Nicholas Flamel?"

Flamel furrows his brows. "What is it that confuses you? We have been corresponding. I summoned you here to answer your question."

Harry laughs awkwardly. "It's just... you look so much better in person than the pictures in books."

"Ah, yes—a simple glamour. I must conceal the full effects of the Stone. If people saw what it truly did, many more would come seeking it."

Harry nods, impressed. "Makes sense. You're practically immortal."

Flamel chuckles. "It seems even your headmaster wants a piece of that immortality."

Harry's smile fades. "About that. Aren't you—close friends?"

Flamel sighs. "'Close'... is not the word I would use. Let's say we're... situational acquaintances. We know each other because of our positions and age."

Harry frowns. "But you gave him the Sorcerer's Stone... to bait out Voldemort."

"Yes, I gave it to him. Because he threatened to reveal its secrets. That would be... inconvenient."

Harry nods again, this time more slowly.

"Alright. What is it exactly that you wanted to know?" Flamel asks, folding his arms.

"Do you know anything about Dumbledore's grand plan?"

Flamel tilts his head. "Which one? That boy always has plans."

Harry grimaces. "The one where he manipulates and sacrifices me to finally kill Voldemort?"

Flamel taps his chin. "Ah... that one. No, doesn’t ring a bell."

He looks at Harry, curious.

"And how would you know that?", Flamel asks.

Harry hesitates.

He debates whether telling the truth will make him sound insane.

But then again—what hasn't been insane in his life?

He takes a breath.

"Alright. This is going to be a long one."

Flamel hums. "Then let’s sit."

They both move to a nearby bench.

The air feels timeless. Still.

Flamel listens carefully as Harry tells his story. Every detail. Every truth. From the first life to the second.

When Harry finally finishes, Flamel strokes his beard thoughtfully.

"I see. It does sound like something that brat would do," he says at last.

Harry stifles a laugh. The way Flamel calls Dumbledore a brat is oddly refreshing.

"You do realize you’ve just spoiled the future to me," Flamel says, glancing sideways at Harry.

Harry nods. "Well... not like it would matter much. You only died in that version."

"Fair point," Flamel muses.

He leans forward slightly, his tone shifting.

"You seem to know a lot about your future and even your past. But do you know how this all truly began?"

Harry tilts his head. "What do you mean?"

"I mean the story behind Tom Riddle. How he truly became Voldemort."

Harry frowns. "Isn’t it just... he hates Muggles and Muggleborns? He wanted to purify the bloodlines?"

Flamel leans back in his chair, crossing his arms.

"Technically, yes. But I wouldn't say he hated them, he just—dislikes him. Like, he would rather take a long detour than walking past them. No, what I mean is his real motive. And what the Death Eaters truly are."

Harry blinks. "But I’ve always heard that Death Eaters are just a bunch of blood supremacists. Pureblood maniacs who follow Voldemort like blind sheep."

"And yet," Flamel says, "you know a Death Eater who isn't evil, don’t you?"

Draco's father comes to mind instantly.

Lucius Malfoy.

He isn’t evil. Strict, sure. Dangerous, definitely. But he loves Draco, and has always served the Ministry with diligence. Harry knows that now. So why would a man like that join Voldemort?

"A mistake?" Harry mutters aloud. "Something from his youth?"

"You know, you could always ask him directly one day," Flamel says. "But let me tell you this: even though it may seem like Voldemort's reign brought nothing but chaos... it was, ironically, the most peaceful time for the magical world. Justice. Equality. Harsh laws, yes. But laws that were enforced without bias."

Harry blinks slowly.

"You're telling me Voldemort was... a stabilizing force?"

"In a twisted, calculated way? Yes."

Harry leans back, stunned. The information is too heavy to absorb in one go.

"And the person who drove Tom Riddle into madness... was his own teacher," Flamel adds.

That makes Harry sit up straight.

He thinks back to Mr. Mason's metaphor. The apartment view. Different floors. Different perspectives.

Maybe... this is that different view.

Just as he begins connecting the threads, a sudden panic hits him.

The Dursleys.

They’re probably waiting downstairs.

Flamel notices the shift in Harry's energy and raises a hand calmly.

"This room is a pocket in time. Time does not flow here. They wouldn’t even realize you were gone."

Harry lets out a long breath, the tension draining from his shoulders.

"Thank you."

Flamel nods. "I believe it's time to send you back. But know this: you are welcome to write to me anytime you need to speak. I do enjoy good conversation."

Harry smiles. "I’ll keep that in mind."

Flamel tosses him a coin.

Harry catches it easily and gives him a grin.

"Portus."

Harry lands back in his room.

The lights are still on.

Everything is exactly as he left it.

He takes a moment to compose himself before heading to the bathroom to wash up.

He makes it downstairs just in time.

"Oh! Just in time, dear. Let’s take a photo before eating, shall we?" Petunia greets him warmly, bustling about with the camera.

Harry glances at the clock.

No time has passed.

Flamel wasn’t joking. That room really was outside of time.

Useful, Harry thinks. Very useful. I should really study how that works... Maybe it could give me more time with Draco.

Petunia claps her hands. "Harry, you stand there. Dudley, on Harry’s left. You too, Dear."

She sets up the camera, stepping back quickly.

"Alright. In 3... 2... 1..."

The flash goes off.

Captured in that moment: a boy smiling with his family. A birthday filled with light, just hours after diving into a deeper darkness.

And in his pocket—a coin. A promise. A key to the truths yet to be told.

==== Notes and Fun Facts ====

This story is my passion project so I’m really excited to share this to everyone and I am really happy that a lot of people likes this.

This is really just what trope that I like in Harry Potter ficts LOL.

This fic is actually heavily inspired by The Fanciful Providence of Death by hoboheartache

But with my own story and twists of course.

I really want to incorporate a lot of myths so I did a lot of research on each to make sure it’s as accurate and correct as possible. But since it is not my own culture, forgive me if there’re some details that i got wrong.

And also, here’s a sketch ref on what the scythe looks like and how it works !!

I really do hope you can read my handwriting(´ｰ∀ｰ`)

If you’re interested, maybe I can make a character sheet ref on how Harry and Draco look like ? Maybe ?

Oh and this chapter is like a bridge between year 1 and year 2, so I do notice that it's shorter than the other chapters (I do not like it, but what can I do （；´д｀）ゞ).

Enough of that, thank you very much ! (๐॔˃̶ᗜ˂̶๐॓)

For those who said that they can't see the illustrations maybe you can see it here ?  https://imgur.com/user/PoisonAifihv/posts 

Let me know if you still can't and I'll post it on insta !!