Chapter 1: First Year Challenges
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The first month of Tom's absence felt like a year. Harry caught himself starting to call for Tom at breakfast, only to remember the empty chair. Newt wandered into Tom's room multiple times a day, straightening things that didn't need straightening.
"We're pathetic," Newt said one evening, finding Harry reading Tom's letters for the third time.
"Completely pathetic," Harry agreed. "He's been gone four weeks and I miss him so much it hurts."
"At least he's writing regularly." Newt sat beside him. "And he sounds happy."
Tom's letters were detailed and enthusiastic. He'd made friends—a shy Ravenclaw named Eileen Prince who loved potions, and a boisterous Gryffindor named Charlus Potter (Harry had nearly choked on his tea when he read that name—his own grandfather).
Dear Dad and Papa,
Charlus is brilliant! He's teaching me Quidditch, even though I'm rubbish at it. Eileen says I should stick to creatures and leave flying to people with better survival instincts. She's probably right.
Classes are wonderful. Professor Dumbledore's Transfiguration is challenging but fair. He asked about you both and said to tell you he's having tea with me once a week, just to check in. I think he's making sure I'm not turning into a dark lord. I'm not, obviously. Too busy with homework.
The other Hufflepuffs are nice. They don't care that I'm a Peverell-Scamander or that my birth family was dark. They just care that I share my creature sketches and help with homework.
Love, Tom
"He's thriving," Harry said, relief and pride mixing in his chest. "This is exactly what we wanted for him."
But not everything was perfect. The next letter came with concerning news:
Dear Dad and Papa,
Something weird happened today. We were in Defense Against the Dark Arts, learning about dark creatures. Professor Merrythought was demonstrating a Boggart, and when it came to me, it turned into... me. But not me. An older version of me with red eyes and a cruel smile. Everyone saw it. They've been whispering all day about "dark heritage" and "Gaunt blood."
Charlus punched someone who said I was destined to go dark. He got detention but says it was worth it. Eileen hexed someone's bag to leak ink. Also got detention. They're good friends.
But Papa, Dad—what if the Boggart is right? What if my worst fear is becoming the person I'm supposed to be? What if I can't escape it?
Tom
Harry was on his feet immediately. "We're going to Hogwarts."
"We can't just show up—"
"Watch me." Harry was already heading for the Floo. "Our son needs us."
They arrived at Hogwarts to find Dumbledore waiting in the entrance hall, as if he'd expected them.
"He's in my office," Dumbledore said without preamble. "Having hot chocolate and attempting not to cry. He didn't want to seem weak in front of his housemates."
"Where is he?" Newt demanded.
Dumbledore led them to his office. Tom sat in a chair that was too large for him, looking small and miserable despite the hot chocolate.
"Dad! Papa!" Tom's face crumpled with relief. "You came."
Harry pulled him into a fierce hug. "Of course we came. You needed us."
"But the letter just went out this morning—"
"We'll always come when you need us," Newt said, joining the embrace. "Always. Now, tell us what happened."
Tom explained about the Boggart, about the whispers and stares. "It looked like me, but wrong. Evil. And everyone saw it. Everyone knows my worst fear is becoming dark."
"That's not what it means," Harry said firmly. "Tom, a Boggart shows your fear, yes. But that doesn't make the fear true. I'm terrified of losing you and Newt—if I faced a Boggart, it might show me your deaths. That doesn't mean you're going to die. It just means I'm afraid of it."
"You're afraid of becoming dark because you're determined not to be dark," Newt added. "Good people worry about being good. Dark wizards don't care."
"But the way it looked—"
"Was your imagination's version of what 'dark' looks like," Dumbledore interjected gently. "Tom, I've been teaching for many years. I've seen countless Boggarts. The students who worry most about being dark are almost never the ones who become dark. It's the ones who never question themselves who you have to watch."
"Really?" Tom's voice was small.
"Really." Dumbledore's expression was kind. "And for what it's worth, I've been watching you very carefully this month. You're kind to house-elves, gentle with creatures, patient with struggling classmates. You're everything your fathers raised you to be."
Tom was quiet for a moment, then looked at Harry. "Did you ever worry about being dark? In your timeline?"
Harry considered lying, then decided against it. "Every day. I had a piece of Voldemort's soul in me—I was a Horcrux, though I didn't know it for years. I could speak Parseltongue. I had dark thoughts sometimes. And I was terrified I'd become like him."
"But you didn't."
"No. Because I chose not to. And Tom—" Harry knelt in front of him. "—you're already making better choices than I did at your age. You're going to be fine."
They stayed for dinner in the Great Hall, and Harry noticed how Tom's friends immediately surrounded them. Charlus Potter—with the same messy hair and hazel eyes Harry remembered from photos—clapped Tom on the shoulder.
"Your dads are brilliant," Charlus declared. "My dad talks about Lord Peverell's reforms all the time. Says you're changing the whole wizarding world."
Eileen Prince, a thin girl with dark hair and sharp eyes, was more reserved. "Tom's been miserable all day. Thank you for coming."
"We'll always come when he needs us," Newt said simply.
As they prepared to leave, Tom hugged them both tightly. "I love you. Thank you for not being disappointed in me."
"Disappointed?" Harry was genuinely shocked. "Tom, we're incredibly proud of you. You faced a difficult situation with courage. That's all we could ever ask."
Chapter 2: The Parselmouth Incident
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Two months into term, another letter arrived. This one made Harry's blood run cold:
Dear Dad and Papa,
I need to tell you something and I'm afraid you'll be upset. We were in the gardens and there was a snake. A garden snake, nothing dangerous. But it was trapped in some ivy and getting distressed.
I tried to help it, and I was talking to it, telling it to stay calm while I untangled it. And then Eileen said, "Tom, you're speaking Parseltongue."
I didn't even realize. I thought I was speaking English. But I wasn't. I was hissing.
Everyone's terrified now. They say only dark wizards speak to snakes. They say it proves I'm dangerous. Even some of my housemates are avoiding me.
Charlus and Eileen are still my friends. Charlus says his family history books mention that Parseltongue is just a rare gift, not inherently dark. Eileen says if I were dark, I wouldn't have been helping the snake.
But Dad—you said you could speak Parseltongue because of the Horcrux. I don't have a Horcrux. Why can I speak it?
Tom
"It's the Slytherin heritage," Newt said immediately. "Salazar Slytherin could speak it. Tom inherited the ability through the Gaunt bloodline."
"I know that," Harry said grimly. "But this is exactly what I was afraid of. People will use this as proof he's destined to be dark."
They needed to act quickly. Harry called an emergency Wizengamot session and proposed new legislation.
"For too long," Harry said, addressing the assembly, "we've associated certain magical abilities with darkness. Parseltongue, Legilimency, even powerful magic itself—we treat these as signs of evil rather than simply rare talents. This prejudice needs to end."
"Parseltongue is the mark of dark wizards," one of the conservative members argued. "Salazar Slytherin himself—"
"Was one of the four founders of Hogwarts," Harry interrupted. "Yes, he had views we now reject. But his ability to speak to serpents wasn't what made him problematic—his choices were. My son has Parseltongue. He used it to save a trapped snake. That's not darkness—that's compassion."
The debate raged for hours. Finally, they passed a resolution: magical abilities would no longer be classified as inherently dark or light. Intent and action would be the measure, not the gift itself.
It didn't stop the whispers, but it helped.
Harry and Newt visited Hogwarts again, this time bringing Nagini—the Maledictus who lived at their sanctuary, still in human form but knowing her time was limited.
"You wanted to speak to a Parselmouth," Nagini said to the assembled students. Dumbledore had arranged a special assembly. "I am one too. I was born with the ability, and I've used it to communicate with serpents, to understand them, to help them. Does that make me dark?"
The students were silent, many shaking their heads.
"Tom Peverell-Scamander is a child with a rare gift," Nagini continued. "He can speak to creatures most people fear. He can understand them, help them, bridge the gap between species. That's not darkness. That's a blessing."
She turned to Tom, who stood beside Harry looking nervous. "Show them. Speak to me in Parseltongue."
Tom hesitated, then hissed softly. Nagini smiled and hissed back.
"He just asked if I was well," Nagini translated. "And I told him I was, thanks to his fathers' sanctuary. That's what Parseltongue sounds like when used with kindness."
The assembly ended with scattered applause. Not everyone was convinced, but the tide had turned.
"Thank you," Tom told Nagini afterward.
"Thank your fathers," Nagini replied. "They've spent years fighting these prejudices. I'm just helping them continue the work."
Chapter 3: The Chamber Discovery
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It was mid-November when Tom's most concerning letter arrived:
Dear Dad and Papa,
I found something. I probably shouldn't have been exploring, but Charlus dared me and I've never backed down from a dare.
There's a chamber under the school. A hidden one. I could hear water running behind a wall in the dungeons, and when I spoke Parseltongue, a door opened. I didn't go in far—just far enough to see a huge statue of a snake and feel very, very old magic.
I think it's the Chamber of Secrets.
I know that's impossible because the Chamber is supposed to be a legend. But Dad, I can feel it. There's something down there. Something sleeping. Something that feels like it's waiting.
Should I tell Professor Dumbledore? Or is this something I should handle with you first?
Tom
Harry was already moving. "The Basilisk. We have to get there now."
They arrived at Hogwarts within the hour. Dumbledore met them, Tom's letter already in hand.
"The Chamber of Secrets is real," Dumbledore said gravely. "I've suspected for years, but I could never find it. If Tom can open it—"
"Then we need to deal with what's inside," Harry finished. "There's a Basilisk. Salazar Slytherin left it there to purge the school of Muggleborns."
"How do you know that?" Dumbledore asked sharply.
"Because in my timeline, Tom Riddle found it. He used it to kill." Harry's voice was hard. "We're not letting that happen here."
Tom led them to the entrance—a bathroom with sinks adorned with snake imagery. He hissed at the tap, and it sank, revealing a pipe large enough to slide through.
"I'm going down," Harry said.
"Not alone," Newt insisted.
"I should go," Tom said quietly. "It opened for me. Maybe I can control the Basilisk."
"Absolutely not," both Harry and Newt said in unison.
They went down together—Harry, Newt, Dumbledore, and Tom, despite their protests. The Chamber was exactly as Harry remembered: ancient, massive, carved with serpents.
And at the far end, the statue of Salazar Slytherin loomed.
"There's something written here," Tom said, examining the walls. "In Parseltongue. Should I read it?"
"Wait—" Harry started, but Tom had already begun.
The words glowed with ancient magic as Tom spoke them. And Harry felt his heart stop as he realized what they were: Slytherin's true purpose for the Chamber.
"It says..." Tom's voice was awed. "It says the Chamber was meant to protect students during war. That the Basilisk was meant to defend the school, not attack it. That the purging story was propaganda spread by those who wanted to discredit Slytherin."
"That can't be right," Dumbledore said.
But Harry thought about the journal he'd read—Salazar's private thoughts about protecting Muggleborn students from their own families. What if history had gotten it wrong? What if the Chamber had been twisted into something it was never meant to be?
"Open it," Harry said. "Speak to the Basilisk. But carefully."
Tom hissed the opening command. The statue's mouth opened, and Harry prepared to shield his eyes.
The Basilisk that emerged was enormous, ancient, and clearly confused.
"Who wakes me?" it hissed. Tom translated for them.
"I am Tom Peverell-Scamander, heir of Slytherin," Tom said in Parseltongue. "I've come to understand your purpose."
The Basilisk swayed, its massive head lowering. "Salazar's heir? After so long? I have waited centuries for one who could command me properly."
"What is your true purpose?" Tom asked.
"To protect the school and its students. All students. The legend of purging was a lie spread by those who feared Slytherin's vision of unity." The Basilisk's voice was sad. "I have waited, alone, for someone who would understand."
Harry felt something shift in his understanding of history. "The Basilisk isn't the danger. Ignorance is."
"What do we do with it?" Newt asked practically.
Tom looked at the ancient creature, then at his fathers. "Could we... could we bring it to the sanctuary? Give it a proper home where it wouldn't be alone?"
The Basilisk's reaction was immediate and hopeful. "Freedom? Space to move? I would accept this gift gladly."
It took complex magic and careful planning, but they managed to relocate the Basilisk to a specially prepared habitat at the sanctuary. Blind creatures could be around it safely, and Tom visited regularly to keep it company.
The story leaked, of course. The Daily Prophet ran headlines about "The Boy Who Befriended the Basilisk" and "Peverell-Scamander Solves Thousand-Year Mystery."
But more importantly, it changed Tom's reputation at school. He wasn't the dark Parselmouth to be feared—he was the boy who'd shown compassion to a creature everyone else would have wanted destroyed.
"You did good," Harry told Tom on their next visit. "Really good."
"I just talked to it," Tom said. "Like Papa taught me with all creatures. Listen first, judge later."
"That's the lesson that will serve you your whole life," Newt said proudly.
Chapter 4: Christmas at Home
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Tom came home for Christmas break exhausted but happy. He'd grown taller in just a few months, his face losing the last roundness of childhood.
"I missed you both so much," Tom said, hugging them tightly. "And I missed the sanctuary. Can we visit the Basilisk tomorrow?"
"We can visit every day if you want," Harry promised.
Christmas morning was perfect. They opened presents together, ate Mrs. Pembroke's excellent breakfast, and spent the afternoon in the sanctuary. Tom had brought his friends—with permission—and Charlus Potter and Eileen Prince spent the day in wonder.
"This is incredible," Charlus said, watching Mooncalves dance. "My dad talks about the sanctuary all the time, but I didn't realize how amazing it actually was."
"Your dad's Fleamont, right?" Harry asked.
"Yeah! Do you know him?"
Harry smiled. "We're friends. He's been very supportive of my work."
Eileen was quieter, but Harry noticed her spending a long time watching the Thestrals. "You can see them," he observed.
"My mother died when I was eight," Eileen said. "I watched it happen. Potion accident."
"I'm sorry," Harry said sincerely. "Your father—"
"Doesn't talk about it. Doesn't talk about much." Eileen's face was closed. "Tom's lucky. To have two parents who actually care."
Harry made a mental note to keep an eye on Eileen Prince. Something about her situation troubled him.
That evening, after Tom's friends had gone home, the three of them sat by the fire. Tom was sketching in his notebook—the Basilisk, rendered in careful detail.
"Tom," Harry said carefully. "Can I ask you something?"
"Always."
"Are you happy? At school, I mean. Really happy?"
Tom thought about it. "Mostly. I love learning. I love my friends. But sometimes..." He hesitated. "Sometimes I feel like I'm being watched. Like people are waiting for me to slip up, to prove I'm dark after all."
"That's not fair to you," Newt said, anger in his voice.
"It's okay. I understand why they're worried." Tom set down his sketch. "I'm the Gaunt heir. I'm a Parselmouth. I'm powerful. In another world, another life, I would have been exactly what they fear. But I'm not, because you saved me."
"You saved yourself," Harry corrected. "We just gave you the chance to choose who you wanted to be. You made the choices."
"Then I'm grateful for the chance." Tom smiled. "Even when it's hard, even when people look at me with suspicion—I'd rather be me, with you as my fathers, than anyone else."
Harry felt tears prick his eyes. This was it. This was why he'd come back through time. Not just to prevent Voldemort, but to give one boy the childhood he deserved.
"We're proud of you," Harry said. "Every single day."
The rest of the holiday passed too quickly. They took Tom to Diagon Alley, where he was recognized and people wanted to shake his hand. They visited Theseus and his family—Tom's cousins adored him. They had quiet evenings reading together.
And then, too soon, it was time to return to school.
"I'll write every week," Tom promised. "And I'll be good."
"You're always good," Newt said. "Just be yourself. That's all we ask."
As they watched the Hogwarts Express pull away, Harry felt Newt lean against him.
"He's going to be fine," Newt murmured.
"He is," Harry agreed. "Better than fine. He's going to change the world."
"Like his father," Newt said with a small smile.
"Like both his fathers," Harry corrected.
They went home to Peverell Manor, to the sanctuary, to the life they'd built together. And despite the challenges that surely lay ahead, Harry felt at peace.
They'd done it. They'd saved Tom. They'd changed the future.
And the best part? They'd done it with love.
Chapter 5: The Grindelwald Connection
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Spring term brought unexpected visitors to Hogwarts. Harry received an urgent Floo call from Dumbledore one morning in March.
"There's someone here who needs to speak with you," Dumbledore said, his voice strained. "It's... delicate."
Harry and Newt arrived to find Dumbledore's office occupied by a witch Harry had never seen before—tall, with white-blonde hair and pale eyes that held centuries of wisdom and pain.
"Lord Peverell," she said, her accent faintly Germanic. "I am Vinda Rosier. I was once Gellert Grindelwald's second-in-command."
Harry's wand was in his hand instantly. "And why should I not summon Aurors right now?"
"Because I come with information about your son." Vinda's expression was serious. "And because I wish to prevent the mistakes of my past from repeating."
Harry didn't lower his wand, but he listened.
"I have been watching your family," Vinda continued. "Not with malice, but with concern. You see, Gellert once spoke of a prophecy. A child born of the Gaunt line who would either unite or destroy the magical world. He believed finding this child was crucial to his plans for the greater good."
"Tom," Harry breathed.
"Yes. When I learned of Tom's existence, I investigated. I expected to find a dark child, twisted by heritage and circumstance. Instead, I found a boy being raised with love and ethics." Vinda's expression softened. "You've done what Gellert never could—you've shown that people can be better than their bloodlines. But there are others who followed Gellert who do not share my change of heart. They believe Tom should be recruited or eliminated."
"Over my dead body," Newt said flatly.
"That is precisely what they're planning." Vinda pulled out a list of names. "These are former Grindelwald supporters who have reorganized. They're scattered, operating in cells across Europe. And they've identified Tom as a threat to their vision of wizarding supremacy."
Dumbledore's face was grave. "I've suspected something like this might happen. Grindelwald's ideology didn't die with his defeat."
"Why tell us?" Harry asked Vinda. "Why not join them?"
"Because I'm tired of ideology leading to dead children." Vinda's voice cracked slightly. "I helped Gellert kill in the name of the greater good. I justified it, believed in it. But then I saw what it cost—the families destroyed, the futures stolen. I can't be part of that again."
Harry studied her, using every bit of Legilimency he'd learned to read her sincerity. Finally, he lowered his wand. "What do they want with Tom?"
"They want to test him. To see if he's truly 'good' or if the darkness can be drawn out. If he can be corrupted, they'll use him. If not, they'll kill him before he can stand against them."
"When?"
"Soon. Within the next few months. They're planning to infiltrate Hogwarts during the end-of-year celebrations." Vinda met Harry's eyes. "I'm offering my services. I know their tactics, their hideouts, their leaders. Let me help you protect your son."
Harry wanted to refuse—every instinct screamed not to trust a former dark wizard's lieutenant. But he also knew they needed every advantage they could get.
"You'll work with Theseus," Harry decided. "You'll be monitored constantly. One wrong move, and you'll be in Azkaban before you can blink."
"I accept those terms." Vinda stood. "I've spent years trying to atone for my past. Protecting an innocent child seems a good place to start."
After she left with Theseus, Harry turned to Dumbledore. "Do you trust her?"
"I'm not sure," Dumbledore admitted. "She was a true believer once. People can change, but..." He trailed off, clearly thinking of Grindelwald.
"We don't have to trust her completely," Harry said. "We just have to be prepared."
Chapter 6: Training Together
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With a concrete threat looming, Harry made a decision. "We need to teach Tom to defend himself properly. Not just school-level Defense—real combat magic."
"He's eleven," Newt protested.
"I was eleven when I faced Voldemort the first time," Harry said quietly. "Tom needs to be prepared."
They set up special training sessions during weekends at the Manor. Tom came home via Floo every Saturday, bringing Charlus and Eileen with permission.
"Why are we learning this?" Charlus asked as Harry demonstrated shield charms more advanced than anything taught in first year.
"Because knowledge is protection," Harry said. "Because the world isn't always safe, and I want you all to be able to defend yourselves and each other."
Eileen caught on quickly—she had her mother's talent for magical theory combined with fierce determination. Charlus was more instinctive, his casting powerful but sometimes wild. And Tom... Tom was exceptional.
"You're holding back," Harry observed during one session. "I can feel it. You're afraid to use your full power."
"What if I hurt someone?" Tom asked. "What if I lose control and something terrible happens?"
"Then we stop, we fix it, and we learn from it," Harry said. "Tom, power isn't evil. Refusing to develop your abilities out of fear isn't virtue—it's just making yourself vulnerable."
They worked on control, precision, and ethics. Harry taught them that magic in defense of others was justified, but cruelty never was.
"If someone attacks you, your goal is to stop them, not to hurt them," Harry explained. "Stunning spells, disarming charms, shields. You're not trying to win—you're trying to survive and protect."
"What about the Unforgivables?" Tom asked quietly. Everyone went still.
"What about them?" Harry asked carefully.
"I've read about them. The Killing Curse, the Cruciatus Curse, the Imperius Curse. You can't block them normally. How do you defend against them?"
Harry had known this question would come. "The Killing Curse can only be blocked by physical objects or sacrificial magic. The Imperius can be resisted with mental discipline. And the Cruciatus..." He paused. "The best defense is not to let them cast it. But if they do, you endure. You don't give them the satisfaction of breaking."
"Have you experienced them?" Eileen asked, her sharp eyes studying Harry's face.
"Yes. All three." Harry's voice was flat. "And I survived. That's what matters."
Tom looked horrified. "Who—"
"It's not important. What's important is that you learn to protect yourselves without becoming like those who use such spells."
They trained every weekend through spring. By the time exam season approached, all three children could produce Patronuses—a remarkable feat for first-years.
Tom's was a phoenix, which made Dumbledore's eyebrows rise when he observed one session. "Interesting choice for the Patronus. A symbol of rebirth and transformation."
"I didn't choose it," Tom said. "It just appeared."
"The Patronus reflects your inner self," Dumbledore said. "A phoenix suggests someone who rises from darkness into light. Someone who transforms rather than destroys."
Tom looked pleased by that interpretation.
Chapter 7: The Attack
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The attack came during the end-of-year feast, exactly as Vinda had predicted.
Harry had positioned himself at Hogwarts for the week, ostensibly to give a lecture on creature rights but actually to provide extra protection. Newt was there too, along with Theseus and a dozen disguised Aurors.
The feast was in full swing when the first explosion rocked the Great Hall.
Chaos erupted. Students screamed. Teachers jumped to their feet, wands out. And then they appeared—ten masked figures, Apparating directly past Hogwarts' wards.
"Impossible," Dumbledore breathed. "Those wards—"
"Someone helped them from inside," Theseus said grimly.
The attackers went straight for the Hufflepuff table. Straight for Tom.
But Harry was faster. He threw up a shield that encompassed all of Hufflepuff, then began evacuating students through a side door. "Go! Now! Get to your common rooms and seal the doors!"
Newt was herding younger students, his wand flashing as he deflected curses. Charlus and Eileen had positioned themselves on either side of Tom, wands raised despite their youth.
"We're not leaving him," Charlus said fiercely when a professor tried to evacuate them.
"Then stay close and keep your shields up," Harry ordered.
The battle was fierce. The attackers were skilled, coordinated, using dark magic that made Harry's blood boil. These weren't just Grindelwald's former followers—these were people who'd continued to study and develop their craft.
One of them broke through Harry's defenses, heading straight for Tom. Harry cast a blasting curse that threw the attacker back, then followed up with a binding spell.
"Tom!" Newt shouted.
Harry turned to see two attackers flanking Tom from different directions. Tom's face was set with determination. He raised his wand and spoke in Parseltongue.
The effect was immediate and shocking. The stone serpent decorations on the walls came to life, animated by Tom's will and magic. They struck at the attackers, not to kill but to entangle and immobilize.
"Extraordinary," Dumbledore murmured, even as he dueled three attackers at once.
But the leader of the attack—a wizard who moved with deadly precision—had made it past the defenses. He grabbed Tom, a knife at his throat.
"Stop!" the man commanded. "Everyone stop or the boy dies!"
The Hall went silent. Harry's heart was pounding so hard he thought it might explode.
"You can't have him," Harry said, his voice deadly calm. "Let him go."
"He's coming with us. He'll be raised properly, taught his true purpose—"
"His purpose is his own," Tom said clearly. The knife pressed closer, drawing blood. "And I choose differently than you want."
"Then you're no use to us." The man raised his wand to cast the Killing Curse.
Harry moved on pure instinct, Disapparating—something that should have been impossible within Hogwarts—and appearing between Tom and the curse. He felt the magic hit his shield, felt it start to break through—
And then Vinda Rosier was there, her own curse striking the leader. He crumpled, and Tom broke free, running to Harry.
The remaining attackers tried to flee, but Theseus's Aurors had them surrounded. Within minutes, all ten were captured or dead.
Harry pulled Tom into his arms, checking the cut on his neck. "Are you alright?"
"I'm fine. Dad, you Disapparated in Hogwarts—"
"Adrenaline and Peverell magic," Harry said, his heart still racing. "Don't try it at home."
Newt joined them, crushing them both in a hug. "I thought—when he had the knife—"
"I know. I'm sorry." Harry held them both tightly.
Dumbledore approached, his face grave. "They were after Tom specifically. This wasn't random."
"No," Harry agreed. He looked at Vinda, who stood apart from the others. "You saved him. Why?"
"Because I've taken enough children's futures," Vinda said simply. "I won't take another."
The aftermath took hours. Parents were called, students were checked for injuries, the captured attackers were taken to the Ministry. Dumbledore sealed the school, reinforcing the wards and investigating how they'd been breached.
The traitor was found—a junior professor who'd been radicalized by Grindelwald's old propaganda. He'd created a temporary weakness in the wards, just enough for the attackers to exploit.
"It could have been worse," Theseus said as they finally prepared to take Tom home. "Thanks to your training, the students knew what to do. Several used the defensive spells you taught them."
"They shouldn't have had to," Harry said angrily. "They're children. They should be safe at school."
"Should be, yes," Dumbledore said. "But the world isn't always what it should be. You prepared them, Hadrian. You saved lives today."
Chapter 8: Aftermath and Decisions
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The attack made international headlines. "HOGWARTS BESIEGED: Eleven-Year-Old Heir Fights Off Dark Wizards" screamed the Daily Prophet. Rita Skeeter, now a young reporter eager to make her name, wrote breathless accounts of Tom's bravery.
But the attention was too much. Tom had nightmares about the knife at his throat, about the Killing Curse that had nearly ended his father's life. He flinched at sudden movements and slept with his wand under his pillow.
"It's trauma," Newt said one night, watching Tom toss and turn through the monitoring charm. "He needs help processing this."
They brought in a Mind Healer—a kind witch named Dr. Althea Chen who specialized in treating young people.
"Tom experienced a life-threatening situation," Dr. Chen explained after her first session with him. "He held up remarkably well in the moment, but now his mind is trying to process what happened. The nightmares, the hypervigilance—these are normal responses to abnormal stress."
"How do we help him?" Harry asked.
"Time, patience, and giving him tools to feel safe again. He needs to know it's okay to be scared, that being afraid doesn't make him weak."
Over the summer, Tom slowly healed. He spent long hours in the sanctuary, finding peace among the creatures. The Basilisk, surprisingly, became a source of comfort—her ancient presence and calm acceptance seemed to soothe Tom's frayed nerves.
"She doesn't judge me for being scared," Tom explained to Harry one day. "She just is. And she reminds me that I survived."
Charlus and Eileen visited frequently. Eileen's home life was clearly difficult—her father was distant and critical, and she often showed up with shadows under her eyes. Harry and Newt made sure she always felt welcome, that she knew there was a safe place for her.
"Thank you," Eileen said quietly one evening after dinner. "For letting me be here. For not asking questions about why I'd rather be anywhere but home."
"You're always welcome," Newt said warmly. "You're Tom's friend. That makes you family."
Charlus was wrestling with his own issues—his parents were pushing him toward a career in politics or business, but he wanted to be an Auror like his distant cousin, Theseus.
"They say it's too dangerous," Charlus confided in Harry. "That I need to think about the family legacy. But I want to do something that matters. Like you do."
"Standing up to your family's expectations is brave," Harry said. "Whatever you choose, make sure it's your choice, not theirs."
By the end of summer, Tom had largely recovered. He still had occasional nightmares, but Dr. Chen said that was to be expected and would fade with time.
"I've been thinking," Tom said one evening as they prepared for second year. "About what happened. About how close it came to being worse."
"What about it?" Harry asked carefully.
"I want to learn more. More defense, more ways to protect people. Not because I'm afraid—well, not just because I'm afraid. But because if something like that happens again, I want to be able to help. Really help."
"That's a mature attitude," Harry said proudly. "But Tom, remember—it's not your responsibility to save everyone. You're allowed to just be a kid sometimes."
"I know. But I have these abilities, this power. Papa always says gifts come with responsibility. I want to use mine to help."
Harry looked at his son—no longer quite a child, not yet a teen, but something in between. Growing into himself, making choices, becoming who he was meant to be.
"Alright," Harry said. "We'll continue the training. But we do it together, and we do it safely."
"Deal." Tom smiled. "Thank you, Dad. For everything. For saving me during the attack. For always being there."
"Always," Harry promised. "No matter what comes, we face it together."
As second year began, Tom returned to Hogwarts with new confidence. He was more cautious now, but not broken. Stronger, but not hardened.
The attack had tried to make him afraid of his own power, tried to prove he was destined for darkness.
Instead, it had proven the opposite—that when faced with real danger, Tom chose to protect others rather than himself. That his first instinct was defense, not offense.
That he was, truly and completely, his fathers' son.
And nothing—not prophecy, not destiny, not the darkest wizards in history—could change that.
Chapter 9: Second Year - New Discoveries
Chapter Text
Second year brought new challenges and unexpected friendships. Tom had become something of a celebrity after the attack, which he handled with characteristic humility.
"People keep asking for my autograph," Tom complained during breakfast in the Great Hall. "I didn't do anything special. I just survived."
"You animated stone serpents to defend yourself and others," Eileen pointed out. "That's fairly special."
"Plus you didn't cry or anything," Charlus added. "I probably would have cried."
A new student joined their year—a transfer from Beauxbatons named Minerva McGonagall. She was Scottish, sharp-tongued, and didn't seem impressed by Tom's reputation at all.
"So you're the famous Tom Peverell-Scamander," she said when they met in Transfiguration. "The boy who befriended a Basilisk and survived dark wizards."
"I'm just Tom," he said, a bit taken aback by her directness.
"Good. I can't stand people who rest on their reputations." But she smiled slightly. "Though I will admit, that business with the stone serpents was impressive magic. How did you manage it?"
They became friends almost despite themselves. Minerva pushed Tom academically, never letting him slack off or rely on natural talent. She was brilliant at Transfiguration—by Christmas, she was transfiguring objects that should have been beyond a second-year's ability.
"You're going to be a professor someday," Tom told her after watching her explain a complex theory to a struggling classmate. "You're a natural teacher."
"Maybe," Minerva said thoughtfully. "I do enjoy helping people understand things. But first I need to actually learn everything myself."
The school year progressed with relative calm—no attacks, no dark plots, just normal adolescent drama. Tom developed his first crush on a Ravenclaw boy named Sebastian Lowe, which sent him into adorable spirals of confusion.
"I think I like him," Tom confessed to Eileen during a study session. "But I don't know how to talk to him anymore. Everything I say sounds stupid."
"That's called having a crush," Eileen said dryly. "It's normal. Just be yourself."
"Myself is currently an idiot who forgets words when Sebastian smiles at me."
"Then be an eloquent idiot." Eileen grinned. "He probably thinks it's cute."
Harry and Newt found Tom's romantic confusion endearing. "Should we give him advice?" Newt wondered.
"About romance? From us?" Harry laughed. "We're the couple who accidentally proposed while discussing logical next steps. We're not exactly experts."
"Fair point."
But they did have a conversation about different kinds of love, about how Tom's feelings were valid regardless of gender, and how the wizarding world was generally more accepting than the Muggle world when it came to same-sex relationships.
"Some people will still have opinions," Harry said carefully. "But what matters is that you're true to yourself and respectful of others."
"Did you ever like girls?" Tom asked curiously. "Before Papa?"
"I was married to a woman once, briefly," Harry admitted, thinking of Ginny. "I loved her very much. But it was different from what I feel with Newt. People can love different people in different ways throughout their lives."
"So I don't have to figure everything out right now?"
"Definitely not. You're twelve. You have plenty of time to figure out who you are and what you want."
Tom did eventually work up the courage to talk to Sebastian normally again, though whether anything would come of it remained to be seen.
Academically, Tom excelled. He was top of his class in Care of Magical Creatures (naturally), Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Transfiguration. Potions was his weakest subject, though Eileen tutored him patiently.
"You're too creative," Eileen said, watching Tom improvise additions to a potion. "You need to follow the instructions exactly."
"But wouldn't it work better if we added powdered moonstone—"
"No! Follow the recipe!"
Despite his academic success, Tom struggled with the weight of expectations. People expected greatness from him—the heir of two ancient houses, the boy who'd survived so much, the Parselmouth who'd befriended a Basilisk.
"What if I'm not special?" Tom asked Harry during a weekend visit home. "What if I'm just... me? What if that's not enough?"
"Just you is more than enough," Harry said firmly. "Tom, you don't owe the world anything because of your heritage or your abilities. You get to choose your own path. And whatever path you choose, we'll support you."
"Even if I wanted to do something completely ordinary? Like be a shopkeeper or something?"
"Even then. Though I think you'd be a terrible shopkeeper—you'd give away half your inventory to creatures you felt sorry for."
Tom laughed. "Fair point."
"But seriously, Tom. Don't let other people's expectations cage you. Be who you want to be, not who they think you should be."
It was a lesson Tom was still learning. But with each passing day, each new experience, he was becoming more confident in his own identity.
Chapter 10: The Prophecy Fragment
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It was Professor Trelawney—not yet the professor Harry remembered, but a young woman doing research at Hogwarts—who made the discovery.
She burst into Dumbledore's office during one of Harry's visits, her eyes wild. "I found it! In the old prophecy records, there's a fragment—"
"Slow down, Sibyll," Dumbledore said gently. "What did you find?"
She spread out ancient parchments. "A prophecy about the Gaunt line. It's incomplete, partially destroyed. But what remains says: 'Born of darkness, raised in light, the Serpent's Heir shall face the night. Power to unite or power to divide, in his choice shall worlds collide.'"
Harry felt his blood run cold. "When was this prophecy made?"
"Centuries ago. Before Salazar Slytherin even founded Hogwarts." Sibyll's eyes were fever-bright. "Don't you see? It's about Tom! The Gaunt heir, born of a dark bloodline but raised in light—by you!"
"Prophecies are unreliable," Dumbledore said firmly. "We've discussed this."
"But the specificity—"
"Could apply to dozens of people throughout history," Harry interrupted. "Every generation has had Gaunt heirs. This could be about any of them."
"Or it could be about Tom," Sibyll insisted. "And if it is, we need to understand what it means. 'Power to unite or power to divide'—that suggests a choice Tom will face. A pivotal moment."
Harry wanted to dismiss it. But he'd lived through one prophecy already. He knew how they could shape events, becoming self-fulfilling through people's attempts to prevent them.
"If it is about Tom," Harry said slowly, "then the key phrase is 'in his choice shall worlds collide.' It's his choice. Not fate, not destiny—choice."
"Exactly," Dumbledore said. "Which means our job is to ensure Tom grows up capable of making good choices. Not to panic about prophecies we can't fully understand."
They decided not to tell Tom about the prophecy fragment. He had enough pressure without adding ancient predictions to the mix.
But Harry found himself watching Tom more carefully, looking for signs of... what? The choice the prophecy mentioned? The moment where everything would hang in balance?
"You're brooding," Newt observed one evening.
Harry told him about the prophecy. Newt listened, then shook his head firmly.
"No. We're not doing this. We're not letting another prophecy control our lives." Newt's eyes flashed. "Tom is growing up healthy, happy, and ethical. He makes good choices every day. Whatever moment this supposed prophecy refers to—if it refers to anything at all—Tom will be ready for it because we've given him the tools to choose wisely."
"But what if—"
"No what-ifs. We trust Tom. We trust the foundation we've built. And we don't let fear of the future poison the present." Newt took Harry's hands. "You came back through time to change Tom's fate. You've done that. Don't let a fragment of ancient prophecy undo all that work."
Harry pulled Newt close, grateful for his wisdom. "You're right. I'm overthinking."
"You always do." Newt kissed him gently. "It's one of your most annoying traits. Also one of the reasons I love you—you care too much to ever stop worrying. But sometimes, you need to let go and trust."
"I'm working on it."
"Work harder." But Newt was smiling.
They didn't tell Tom about the prophecy. Instead, they focused on what they could control—continuing to guide him, support him, and love him unconditionally.
And Tom, oblivious to the ancient words that might or might not describe his future, continued to simply be himself. A twelve-year-old boy who loved magical creatures, struggled with potions, had his first crush, and was slowly figuring out who he wanted to be.
The prophecy could wait.
For now, there was just life. And that was more than enough.
Chapter 11: Third Year - The Werewolf Debate
Chapter Text
Third year began with controversy. A new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor had been hired—Lyall Lupin, a brilliant scholar with progressive views on dark creatures. His first lesson sparked immediate debate.
"Werewolves are not inherently evil," Professor Lupin said firmly. "They are people afflicted with a condition. A condition that, with proper management through Wolfsbane Potion and safe spaces for transformation, poses minimal risk to society."
Several students looked skeptical. One Slytherin raised his hand. "But Professor, my father says werewolves are dangerous beasts that should be registered and controlled."
"Your father is entitled to his opinion," Lupin said mildly. "But as future members of magical society, you should form your own opinions based on facts, not fear."
Tom was fascinated. After class, he approached Professor Lupin. "Sir, my fathers run a creature sanctuary. They've always taught me that understanding creatures is better than fearing them. Does that apply to werewolves too?"
Lupin's expression softened. "Your fathers are wise men, Tom. Yes, it absolutely applies. In fact—" He hesitated, then seemed to make a decision. "I am a werewolf. I was bitten as a child. And I've spent my life proving that my condition doesn't define me."
Tom's eyes widened. "You're—but you're a professor. You're teaching us."
"Yes. Because Headmaster Dumbledore and your father, Lord Peverell, both believe that competence matters more than species. But not everyone shares that view, which is why I ask that you keep this information private for now."
"I won't tell anyone," Tom promised. "But Professor—thank you. For trusting me. And for teaching us to think differently."
That weekend, Tom brought the subject up with Harry and Newt. "Professor Lupin told me he's a werewolf. He said you helped him get the teaching position."
"We did," Harry confirmed. "Lyall Lupin is one of the most knowledgeable Defense instructors in Britain. His condition shouldn't prevent him from teaching."
"Some parents are complaining," Tom said. "I heard about it in the common room. They want him removed."
"Let them complain," Newt said. "We're working on legislation to protect werewolves from discrimination. Professor Lupin's success as a teacher will help prove that werewolves can be valuable members of society."
"Can I help?" Tom asked. "With the legislation, I mean. Or with changing people's minds?"
Harry smiled. "Actually, you could write an essay for the Prophet. About your experience learning from Professor Lupin. First-hand student perspective would be powerful."
Tom's essay ran a week later: "My Professor is a Werewolf, and That's Okay." It was thoughtful, well-reasoned, and emphasized Professor Lupin's excellence as a teacher. The response was mixed—some praised Tom's maturity, others criticized Harry and Newt for "using" their son to push their agenda.
But it started conversations. And slowly, public opinion began to shift.
"You're becoming quite the advocate," Minerva observed. "Between creature rights and werewolf protections, you're making waves."
"Someone has to," Tom said. "Dad and Papa can't do everything themselves."
Chapter 12: Eileen's Secret
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It was Charlus who first noticed something was seriously wrong with Eileen. She'd always been thin, but by October of third year, she looked gaunt. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, and she flinched at loud noises.
"Something's happening at home," Charlus said to Tom. "She won't talk about it, but I've seen bruises she tries to hide."
Tom felt cold. "You think her father is hurting her?"
"I think something is. We need to tell someone."
They went to Professor McGonagall—recently hired as Deputy Headmistress despite her youth, thanks to Dumbledore recognizing her exceptional talents.
"This is a serious accusation," McGonagall said, her lips thin. "But if you believe Miss Prince is in danger, we must investigate."
The truth came out slowly, painfully. Tobias Prince was an alcoholic who'd become increasingly violent after his wife's death. Eileen had been covering bruises, hiding broken bones, pretending everything was fine because she had nowhere else to go.
"I can't leave," Eileen said when confronted, tears streaming down her face. "He's my father. And if I report him, they'll send me to an orphanage or a distant relative who doesn't want me."
"You could stay with us," Tom said immediately. "Right, Dad? Papa?"
Harry and Newt were at Hogwarts within an hour of being called. They sat with Eileen in McGonagall's office while she told her story—the beatings, the verbal abuse, the fear that had become her daily life.
"You're not going back there," Newt said firmly. "Not ever."
"But I have nowhere—"
"You have us," Harry interrupted. "We'll petition for guardianship. You can live at the Manor, have your own room, be part of our family. If you want that."
Eileen stared at them. "You'd do that? For me?"
"You're Tom's best friend," Harry said gently. "More than that—you're a brilliant young witch with a bright future. We won't let that be destroyed by someone who should have protected you."
The legal battle was swift—Tobias Prince was arrested for child abuse, and Harry's influence in the Wizengamot ensured Eileen was placed in their care immediately. By November, she had moved into Peverell Manor.
"I have my own room," Eileen said wonderingly, standing in the space they'd prepared for her. It was decorated with bookshelves, a potions workspace, and windows overlooking the sanctuary. "And you don't... you don't want anything from me? No conditions?"
"Just be yourself," Newt said. "Study, make friends, be happy. That's all we ask."
Eileen cried that night—the first time she'd felt safe enough to truly cry in years. Tom heard her and quietly knocked on her door.
"Can I come in?"
She nodded, wiping her eyes. Tom sat beside her on the bed.
"Thank you," Eileen said. "For noticing. For caring. For having parents who actually do something."
"They're your parents too now," Tom said. "If you want them to be."
"I do," Eileen whispered. "I really do."
The change in Eileen was remarkable. Within weeks, the dark circles faded. She gained weight. She smiled more. Her magic, which had been suppressed by stress and fear, flourished.
"She's a natural Potions mistress," Newt observed, watching Eileen brew a complex draught with ease. "Given proper training, she could revolutionize the field."
"Then we'll make sure she gets that training," Harry said.
Tom, Charlus, and Eileen became an inseparable trio. They studied together, practiced magic together, and when Eileen had nightmares about her father, Tom was there to reassure her she was safe.
"You're like the brother I never had," Eileen told Tom one day.
"And you're like the sister I always wanted," Tom replied.
Harry watched them and felt profound gratitude. They'd saved Tom from becoming Voldemort. But in the process, they'd also saved Eileen Prince—a girl who, in the original timeline, would grow up to marry Tobias Snape and give birth to Severus.
What would her future hold now? What different choices would she make with love and support?
The timeline was changing in ways Harry couldn't predict. But for once, that didn't scare him.
It gave him hope.
Chapter 13: The Dueling Club
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With the lingering threat from Grindelwald's remnants, Dumbledore approved the formation of a student dueling club. Professor Lupin would supervise, but the real instruction came from Harry himself.
"This isn't about winning," Harry told the assembled students—mostly third years and above, with a few exceptional second years like Minerva. "This is about defense, discipline, and understanding your own limits."
The club met twice a week. Harry taught them advanced shield work, counter-curses, and most importantly, when not to fight.
"The best duel is the one you don't have," Harry said. "Pride isn't worth your life. If you can escape, escape. If you can de-escalate, de-escalate. Fighting is always the last resort."
Tom, Charlus, and Eileen were the stars of the club. Tom's power and control were exceptional, Charlus had raw talent and instinct, and Eileen's theoretical knowledge made her adaptable to any situation.
But it was Minerva who surprised everyone. Her Transfiguration skills translated brilliantly to dueling—she could reshape the environment mid-fight, creating advantages and disadvantages at will.
"You're going to be formidable," Harry told her after one particularly impressive bout. "Have you thought about becoming an Auror?"
"I want to teach," Minerva said firmly. "But I also want to be able to protect my future students. The world is dangerous. Teachers should be able to defend their charges."
"You'll make an excellent professor someday," Harry said. "Hogwarts will be lucky to have you."
The dueling club became hugely popular. Even students who'd been wary of Tom after learning he was a Parselmouth started to see him differently when he helped them improve their defensive spells.
"You could have embarrassed me in that duel," a Slytherin told Tom after a match. "But you pulled your punches. Why?"
"Because this is practice, not combat," Tom said simply. "The goal is to help each other get better, not to win at any cost."
It was a philosophy that confused some students—those raised in families where winning was everything. But others embraced it, and slowly, the club became less about competition and more about genuine skill-building.
Professor Lupin was impressed. "You're teaching them not just magic, but ethics. That's rare."
"I had good teachers," Tom said, thinking of his fathers.
Chapter 14: Valentine's Day Disaster
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Valentine's Day at Hogwarts had always been awkward, but third year took it to new levels of teenage drama.
Tom had been working up the courage to give Sebastian Lowe a card. Nothing too forward—just something to indicate he was interested. But when the day came, Tom panicked and didn't give it to him.
"You're an idiot," Eileen said bluntly when Tom confessed. "Sebastian has been making eyes at you for months. He's clearly interested."
"But what if I'm reading it wrong? What if he just thinks we're friends?"
"Then he'll say so, and you'll deal with it," Minerva added. "But you won't know unless you try."
Meanwhile, Charlus had his own drama. A girl from Ravenclaw had sent him an elaborate singing valentine in the Great Hall. Charlus, mortified, had turned bright red while the entire school watched.
"I don't even know her name," Charlus moaned. "How am I supposed to respond?"
"Politely decline?" Tom suggested.
"But what if she hexes me? She seems the type."
The Valentine's drama reached its peak when someone—to this day, no one would admit who—released a dozen Nifflers into the Great Hall, each carrying love notes in their pouches. Chaos ensued as the Nifflers stole anything shiny, including part of the silverware, Professor McGonagall's brooch, and somehow, Dumbledore's half-moon spectacles.
Tom, Charlus, Eileen, and Minerva helped wrangle the Nifflers. In the chaos, Tom literally bumped into Sebastian, and they both ended up on the floor, tangled together.
"Sorry!" Tom said, mortified.
"It's fine." Sebastian was laughing. "Though this is either the worst or best Valentine's Day introduction ever."
"About that—" Tom took a breath. "Would you want to go to Hogsmeade together? Next weekend? As, um, more than friends?"
Sebastian's smile widened. "I was hoping you'd ask. I've been trying to work up the courage for months."
"Really?"
"Really. You're brilliant, Tom. Kind and powerful and you care about things that matter. Why wouldn't I be interested?"
Tom felt like he was floating. "Hogsmeade, then. It's a date."
They finally untangled themselves and stood up, both grinning like idiots. Across the Hall, Eileen gave Tom a triumphant thumbs up while Minerva shook her head with a smile.
"Young love," Professor Lupin said to Harry, who'd arrived to help with the Niffler chaos. "It's sweet."
"It is," Harry agreed, watching Tom's happiness. "He deserves this. Normal teenage experiences."
"Despite everything he's been through, he's remarkably well-adjusted," Lupin observed. "You've done an excellent job raising him."
"We just loved him," Harry said simply. "Sometimes that's enough."
Chapter 15: The Summer Project
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The summer between third and fourth year brought a new project. Newt's book had sparked international interest in creature conservation, and he'd been invited to speak at a magical creature conference in Geneva.
"The whole family should go," Newt said. "It would be educational for Tom and Eileen. And Charlus too, if his parents agree."
They spent two weeks in Geneva, attending lectures and presentations. Tom was in heaven—surrounded by magizoologists from around the world, discussing everything from dragon migration patterns to proper Hippogriff care.
Eileen became fascinated by magical creature venoms and their potential in potion-making. She spent hours discussing ethical venom collection with a researcher from India.
"This could revolutionize healing potions," Eileen said excitedly. "If we can synthesize certain venoms safely, we could create antidotes that work on multiple toxins."
"You should pursue that," Harry encouraged. "Original research like that could make your career."
Charlus, surprisingly, discovered an interest in the legal side of creature protection. "Someone has to enforce these laws," he said. "Make sure poachers are actually prosecuted, that reserves are properly protected."
"An Auror with a specialty in creature crime," Harry said thoughtfully. "That's an excellent path."
The conference also brought an unexpected encounter. Gellert Grindelwald's niece, Vinda's younger cousin, approached them at a reception.
"Lord Peverell," she said nervously. "I'm Petra Rosier. Vinda sent me. She wanted you to know—the remnants are regrouping. They're planning something for next year."
"What kind of something?" Harry asked, immediately alert.
"I don't know details. But they're obsessed with your son. They believe if they can turn him or eliminate him, they can reshape magical society." Petra handed him a small package. "This is all the information Vinda could gather. She's risking everything to get this to you."
After Petra left, Harry opened the package. Inside were maps, names, and dates. A conspiracy that went deeper than they'd thought.
"They're not going to stop," Newt said grimly. "Not until Tom is of age and can legally defend himself without restriction."
"Then we prepare," Harry said. "We've handled threats before. We'll handle this one too."
But privately, Harry worried. Tom was only thirteen. He had years of vulnerability ahead of him before he'd be a legal adult in the magical world. Years where enemies could exploit his youth.
They would need to be very, very careful.
Chapter 16: Fourth Year - The Triwizard Complications
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Fourth year began with shocking news: Hogwarts would host the Triwizard Tournament.
"Absolutely not," Harry said immediately when Dumbledore announced it in the Wizengamot. "Students have died in that tournament. The risks are unacceptable."
"We've implemented new safety measures," Dumbledore said. "Age restrictions, better monitoring, healers on standby. It will be safe."
"Nothing involving dragons, grindylows, and sphinxes is truly safe," Harry argued. "And with the threat of Grindelwald's remnants still out there—"
"Which is precisely why we're proceeding," Dumbledore interrupted. "Showing strength, promoting international cooperation, refusing to let fear dictate our actions. These are important messages."
The vote passed over Harry's objections. The Triwizard Tournament would happen.
Tom was fascinated despite Harry's concerns. "Champions from three schools, competing in dangerous tasks. It's terrible but also amazing."
"It's terrible without the 'but,'" Eileen said. "People have literally died in past tournaments."
"But no one under seventeen can enter," Charlus pointed out. "So we'll just be spectators."
The Goblet of Fire was placed in the Great Hall in October. Students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang arrived—including Viktor Krum, the famous Seeker, and Fleur Delacour, who made half the male students walk into walls.
"She's part Veela," Minerva explained, rolling her eyes. "It's a magical allure. Ignore it."
The champions were selected: Fleur Delacour from Beauxbatons, Viktor Krum from Durmstrang, and from Hogwarts—Cedric Diggory, a popular sixth-year Hufflepuff.
Everyone applauded. The selection was complete.
Except the Goblet flared again.
Another name emerged.
"Tom Peverell-Scamander."
The Great Hall erupted into chaos. Tom sat frozen in shock while Harry shot to his feet, fury on his face.
"This is impossible," Harry said. "Tom is fourteen. He couldn't have entered himself. Someone put his name in the Goblet."
"The Goblet constitutes a binding magical contract," the representative from the Ministry said nervously. "If it selected him—"
"Then someone manipulated it," Harry interrupted. "And I want to know who."
But despite investigations, no culprit was found. And magically, Tom was bound to compete.
"I don't want to do this," Tom said that night in the common room, surrounded by concerned friends. "I never entered. I never wanted this."
"We'll figure it out," Eileen said fiercely. "We'll help you prepare. You're not facing this alone."
"I'll help too," Cedric Diggory said, approaching them. "This isn't fair to you. You're just a kid. We'll work together, make sure you get through this safely."
Harry and Newt were beside themselves. "This is the remnants," Harry said. "It has to be. They've infiltrated the school somehow, and they're using the tournament to expose Tom to danger."
"Can we withdraw him?" Newt asked desperately.
"Not without breaking the magical contract, which could kill him," Dumbledore said gravely. "I'm sorry, Hadrian. Tom will have to compete. But we'll do everything we can to keep him safe."
Tom's first task was announced: dragons. He would have to retrieve a golden egg from a nesting Hungarian Horntail.
"A Horntail," Harry said flatly. "They're giving a fourteen-year-old a Horntail. This is insane."
"I can do it," Tom said, more confidently than he felt. "I've been around dangerous creatures my whole life. I can handle this."
But as the first task approached, the weight of what was happening became clear. Someone had forced Tom into a deadly competition. Someone wanted him in danger, possibly wanted him dead.
And there was nothing Harry could do to stop it.
Chapter 17: The First Task
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The week before the first task was torturous. Harry and Newt coached Tom every evening, teaching him everything they knew about dragons. Charlus and Eileen researched strategies. Sebastian brought him calming draughts when Tom couldn't sleep.
"I've faced worse," Tom said, trying to sound confident. "I survived dark wizards when I was eleven. I can handle a dragon."
"A dragon is different," Harry said. "They're not evil—they're just protective mothers. You need to respect that, work with it, not against it."
"And remember," Newt added, "the goal isn't to fight. It's to retrieve the egg. Speed and cleverness matter more than power."
The day of the first task dawned cold and clear. The stands around the dragon arena were packed with students, teachers, and international guests. Harry and Newt sat in the champions' family section, both looking like they might be sick.
"He's too young for this," Newt muttered for the hundredth time.
"I know," Harry said, gripping his hand. "But we trained him. He's ready."
Tom drew the Hungarian Horntail—the most aggressive of the four dragons. When he walked into the arena, he looked terrifyingly small compared to the enormous black dragon guarding her golden egg.
The crowd held its breath.
Tom didn't reach for his wand immediately. Instead, he spoke—in Parseltongue, but also in Dragonish, the ancient language of dragons that Newt had taught him.
"Honored mother, I mean no harm to you or your clutch. I seek only the golden egg, which is not truly yours. May I approach?"
The Horntail's head tilted, surprised. Dragons rarely encountered humans who could speak their tongue.
"You speak the old words, hatchling. But that egg is mine to guard."
"Then let us make an exchange," Tom said. He pulled something from his pocket—a large raw steak, enhanced with magic to smell irresistible. "Fresh meat for you, the false egg for me. A fair trade?"
The dragon considered, her massive head swaying. Then, surprisingly, she nudged the golden egg away from her nest.
"Take it, clever hatchling. You honor me with your words and offerings."
Tom bowed respectfully, retrieved the egg, and backed away slowly, never breaking eye contact with the dragon. The entire arena was silent until he crossed the threshold to safety.
Then the cheering erupted—louder than for any previous champion.
"He talked to it," someone shouted. "He negotiated with a dragon!"
"Extraordinary," the judge from the Ministry breathed. "In all the history of the tournament, no one has ever befriended a dragon during the first task."
Tom received top marks from all judges. Even Karkaroff, Durmstrang's headmaster who'd been openly skeptical of Tom's inclusion, gave him high scores.
Harry crushed Tom in a hug the moment he was released from the medical tent. "You brilliant, terrifying child. Don't ever do that to me again."
"There are two more tasks," Tom pointed out, but he was grinning.
"Don't remind me," Newt said, joining the embrace.
That night, the Hogwarts common rooms celebrated. But Tom noticed something odd about his golden egg—when opened, it produced a horrible screeching sound.
"It's a clue for the second task," Cedric explained. "But I can't figure it out either."
Tom took the egg back to his dorm, studying it for hours. Finally, inspiration struck. He took it to the Prefects' bathroom and submerged it in water.
The screeching became a haunting song:
"Come seek us where our voices sound, We cannot sing above the ground, An hour long you'll have to look, To recover what we took."
"Merpeople," Tom breathed. "The second task is underwater."
Chapter 18: Underwater Preparations
Chapter Text
The second task was scheduled for late February. Tom had roughly two months to figure out how to breathe underwater for an hour.
"Gillyweed is the obvious solution," Eileen said, researching furiously. "But it only lasts about an hour—you'd need precise timing."
"What about a Bubble-Head Charm?" Minerva suggested.
"Too risky," Tom said. "If my concentration breaks underwater, I drown."
They experimented with multiple approaches. Tom practiced swimming in the sanctuary's lake—which the Kelpies found hilarious. Sebastian helped time his attempts, while Charlus researched magical solutions.
"What did they take?" Tom wondered aloud. "The song says 'recover what we took.' What would the merpeople take from me?"
"Something you value," Harry said grimly. "In past tournaments, they've taken people. Loved ones held hostage underwater."
Tom's face went pale. "They wouldn't—Dad, they can't put people in danger just for a tournament task."
"They can and they will," Harry said. "The tournament has always prioritized spectacle over safety. We need to prepare you for that possibility."
In early February, Tom received his answer. Dumbledore called him to his office along with the other champions.
"For the second task, each champion will have something precious taken from them," Dumbledore explained. "These hostages will be held in the merpeople's village at the bottom of the lake. You'll have one hour to retrieve them."
"Who?" Tom asked, though he already suspected.
"For you, Tom—we've selected Sebastian Lowe."
Tom's heart dropped. "You're putting my boyfriend at the bottom of a freezing lake? He could die!"
"He'll be perfectly safe," Dumbledore said. "The merpeople will guard him, and he'll be in a magical sleep. But you must retrieve him within the hour, or he'll be lost."
Tom wanted to argue, to refuse, but the magical contract bound him. He left Dumbledore's office in fury.
"They're using Sebastian to manipulate me," Tom said that night. "They know I'll be reckless trying to save him."
"Then don't be reckless," Eileen said firmly. "Be smart. Use your strengths—your empathy, your ability to communicate with creatures. The merpeople aren't enemies. They're just doing their job."
Tom spent the next weeks learning Mermish from a book Newt found. He practiced holding his breath, improving his swimming, and perfecting the Bubble-Head Charm despite his reservations.
The night before the task, Sebastian found Tom pacing the common room.
"You're going to save me," Sebastian said confidently. "I know you will."
"But what if—"
"No what-ifs." Sebastian kissed him gently. "I trust you completely. Now get some sleep."
Chapter 19: The Black Lake
Chapter Text
The second task began at dawn. Tom stood on the dock, looking at the dark, freezing water. The other champions were already preparing—Fleur practicing her Bubble-Head Charm, Viktor performing warming spells, Cedric looking determined.
Harry pulled Tom aside. "Remember—the hostages are safe regardless. The merpeople won't let them drown. So don't take unnecessary risks. Your life matters more than winning."
"I'm not trying to win," Tom said. "I'm trying to save Sebastian."
The cannon fired. Tom dove into the water, the Gillyweed he'd taken beginning to work. Gills opened at his neck, his hands and feet became webbed, and suddenly breathing underwater felt natural.
He swam deeper, following the haunting song. The lake was murky and cold, full of grindylows and other water creatures. Tom spoke to them in their own languages, asking for guidance rather than fighting through.
Finally, he reached the merpeople's village. Four people were suspended in magical sleep, tied to a stone pillar: Sebastian, a young girl Tom recognized as Fleur's sister, a Durmstrang student, and surprisingly, Eileen.
"Wait," Tom said in Mermish to the watching merpeople. "Why is she here? Eileen's not anyone's romantic partner."
The merpeople chief responded: "For you, two treasures. The one you love romantically, and the one you love as family. The magic deemed both equally precious."
Tom's mind raced. He could save both—but would that be breaking the rules? Would there be consequences?
"The others," Tom asked. "If their champions don't come?"
"They will be released at the hour's end," the chief assured him. "We would not truly harm innocents. This is sport, not war."
Tom made a decision. He cut Sebastian free first, then Eileen. The merpeople didn't stop him—in fact, they seemed approving.
"Thank you for learning our tongue," the chief said. "You honor us. Take both your treasures—you have earned them."
Tom swam for the surface with Sebastian and Eileen, using magic to help propel them. They broke the surface with ten minutes to spare.
The crowd erupted in confusion and applause. Tom had retrieved two hostages—something that had never been done before.
"I couldn't leave her," Tom said to the judges, still catching his breath. "If both were taken for me, both deserved to be saved."
The judges debated. Finally, they awarded Tom maximum points not just for completing the task, but for "moral fiber and extraordinary problem-solving."
"You saved me," Eileen said later, wrapped in blankets and warming spells. "You could have just taken Sebastian, been done faster. But you came back for me."
"You're my sister in everything but blood," Tom said simply. "Of course I came back for you."
Chapter 20: The Third Task Approaches
Chapter Text
After the second task, Tom was tied for first place with Cedric. The tension at Hogwarts was electric—everyone knew the third task would be the most dangerous.
But something else was happening. Harry's investigation into who had entered Tom's name had finally borne fruit.
"It was one of the Durmstrang students," Theseus reported. "A sixth-year named Nikolai Volkov. He's been using a glamour—his real identity is Gregor Dolohov, son of Antonin Dolohov."
Harry's blood ran cold. In his original timeline, Antonin Dolohov had been one of Voldemort's most vicious Death Eaters. "He's working for the remnants."
"Yes. He confessed under Veritaserum. The plan was to use the tournament to isolate Tom, then—" Theseus paused. "The third task is a maze. Once Tom's inside, alone, they plan to extract him. Portal keys hidden in the center."
"We need to cancel the task," Newt said immediately.
"We can't," Dumbledore said heavily. "The magical contract still binds. But we can prepare. We can ensure Tom isn't alone in that maze."
"How?" Harry demanded.
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled dangerously. "The rules say champions must enter alone. They say nothing about help once they're inside."
They spent the next weeks preparing contingencies. Harry trained Tom in portal key detection. Newt taught him how to mark his path so rescuers could follow. Theseus placed Aurors around the maze perimeter, ready to breach the hedges at the first sign of trouble.
"I can do this," Tom said the night before the task, though his hands were shaking slightly. "I've faced worse. Dark wizards, dragons, underwater rescue. I can handle a maze."
"The maze is just the beginning," Harry said quietly. "Tom, if someone tries to take you—if they succeed in getting you away from Hogwarts—remember everything we've taught you. Fight smart, not hard. Survive until we can reach you."
"You really think they'll try to kidnap me?"
"I think they'll try anything to either recruit you or kill you," Harry said bluntly. "You represent everything they fear—power used ethically, proof that blood doesn't determine destiny. They can't let you exist as you are."
Tom swallowed hard. "Then I guess I'll have to disappoint them."
Chapter 21: The Maze
Chapter Text
The third task began at dusk. The maze towered above them—hedges twenty feet tall, thick with magic that made them impenetrable. The four champions stood at the entrance, waiting for the signal.
"Good luck," Cedric said to Tom, offering his hand. "Let's both get out of this alive, yeah?"
"Deal," Tom agreed, shaking it.
The cannon fired. Tom entered the maze.
Immediately, everything changed. The hedges seemed to close behind him, the light from outside dimming to twilight. Tom could hear the other champions but couldn't tell their directions.
He moved carefully, wand out, marking his path with small magical signatures. The maze was full of obstacles—boggarts, sphinxes, blast-ended skrewts. Tom used his creature communication skills to negotiate with most of them rather than fighting.
"I seek only passage," he told a sphinx in her own language. "I mean no harm."
"Then answer my riddle," she purred, "and pass unharmed."
The riddle was complex, but Tom's extensive reading paid off. He answered correctly and moved on.
He was nearing the center when he felt it—a wrongness in the magic around him. Something that didn't belong.
Tom stopped, scanning carefully. There—hidden in the hedge, barely visible. A trap.
"Clever boy," a voice said. Gregor Dolohov stepped out of the shadows, his glamour dropped. "But not clever enough."
Three more figures appeared—Grindelwald's remnants, all dressed in dark robes, wands raised.
"You're coming with us," Dolohov said. "The tournament was just a convenient excuse to get you alone. You're going to meet some people who are very interested in your future."
"I'm not going anywhere with you," Tom said, raising his wand.
"You don't have a choice." Dolohov cast a spell that Tom barely blocked. The others joined in, and suddenly Tom was fighting for his life.
He was outnumbered and outmatched. Tom fought defensively, trying to retreat, but they had him cornered. One curse got through his shields, hitting his shoulder and sending pain lancing through him.
"Enough," Dolohov said. "Stupefy!"
Tom felt the spell hit, felt his consciousness slipping—
And then Cedric Diggory burst through the hedge, wand blazing. "Get away from him!"
The distraction was enough. Tom threw off the stunning spell's effects through sheer force of will and joined Cedric. Together, they held off the attackers.
"The center!" Cedric shouted. "The Cup! If we both touch it, we can get out of here!"
They fought their way forward, backing toward where they could see the Triwizard Cup gleaming. Tom reached it first, his hand closing around the stem—
The world twisted. A portkey, but not the one meant to take them to safety.
Tom crashed onto cold stone in an unfamiliar place. Cedric landed beside him, both of them immediately on guard.
They were in a graveyard. An old, abandoned cemetery with weathered headstones. And standing there, waiting, was a figure in a hooded robe.
"Welcome, Tom Peverell-Scamander," the figure said. "We've been expecting you."
Tom raised his wand, heart pounding. Behind him, Cedric did the same.
"Who are you?" Tom demanded. "What do you want?"
The figure lowered its hood, revealing a woman's face—stern, cold, and fanatical.
"I am Carissa Greengrass, true believer in Gellert Grindelwald's vision. And you, boy, are going to help us finish what he started."
"Never," Tom said.
"We'll see about that." Carissa raised her wand. "Your fathers aren't here to save you now. It's time to see what you really are—a champion of light, or the dark lord you were meant to be."
She cast the Cruciatus Curse.
Tom's world exploded into agony.
Chapter 22: The Rescue
Chapter Text
Harry felt it the moment something went wrong. The monitoring charm he'd placed on Tom—without telling him, because Tom would have objected—suddenly activated, signaling distress.
"He's in danger," Harry said, already running. "Newt, Theseus—now!"
They reached the maze's perimeter where Dumbledore and the other professors were monitoring. "Something's wrong," Dumbledore confirmed. "The portkey that should have brought the winners to safety activated, but they didn't arrive where they should have."
"Where did they go?" Newt demanded.
"I'm tracking it now—" Dumbledore's face paled. "They're at the Riddle graveyard. Little Hangleton."
Harry's blood froze. The same place where Voldemort had been resurrected in the original timeline. "They're trying to recreate it. Trying to force Tom to become what they want."
"Can you get us there?" Theseus asked.
"I can," Harry said, his magic already reaching out. He'd been to that graveyard before, knew it intimately from his memories. "Hold on."
He Apparated them directly there—a feat that should have been impossible across such a distance, but Harry's Peverell magic and desperation made it possible.
They arrived to see Tom on his knees, screaming under the Cruciatus Curse while Cedric tried to shield him and fight off three attackers at once.
Harry's fury was incandescent. He cast a blasting curse that threw Carissa Greengrass backward, breaking her concentration. Tom collapsed, gasping.
"Dad—" Tom choked out.
"I've got you," Harry said, positioning himself between Tom and the attackers. Newt and Theseus engaged the others while Dumbledore began dismantling whatever ritual they'd been preparing.
Carissa struggled to her feet, blood running from her mouth. "You can't protect him forever, Peverell. He's destined—"
"He's not destined for anything except what he chooses!" Harry roared. "And you—you're finished."
The battle was brief but brutal. The remnants were skilled, but they were facing Harry at his most protective, Newt fighting for his son, Theseus defending two students, and Dumbledore's considerable power. Within minutes, all four attackers were subdued.
Harry knelt beside Tom, who was still shaking from the aftereffects of the Cruciatus Curse. "Can you stand?"
"I think so." Tom let Harry help him up, then immediately hugged him. "How did you find us?"
"Monitoring charm. I'm sorry—I should have told you I placed it. But I needed to be able to find you if—"
"I'm glad you did," Tom interrupted. "Dad, they were going to—they wanted to—"
"I know. But they failed. You're safe now."
Cedric was being checked by Theseus, looking shaken but intact. "I tried to help him," Cedric said. "But there were so many of them—"
"You did help," Tom said firmly. "You probably saved my life. Thank you."
They returned to Hogwarts to chaos. The tournament had been officially cancelled, the perpetrators arrested, and an investigation launched into how the security had been breached so thoroughly.
"This is the end of it," Dumbledore announced to the gathered schools. "The Triwizard Tournament is hereby dissolved, never to be held again. The risks are too great, the potential for manipulation too high."
Tom was awarded the tournament victory by default, though he refused to accept it. "Cedric was winning fairly. He should get the prize. I just want this to be over."
That night, Tom sat in the hospital wing with his fathers, Sebastian, and his friends around him. The Cruciatus Curse had left him weak and shaking, but Madam Pomfrey said he'd make a full recovery.
"It's really over?" Tom asked. "The remnants—they're all captured?"
"Not all," Harry admitted. "But their leadership is gone. The organization is broken. And the Ministry is taking this seriously now—they're hunting down every last member."
"What if more come after me?" Tom's voice was small. "What if this never ends?"
"Then we keep fighting," Newt said gently. "But Tom—you've proven something important. They tried to break you, tried to torture you into becoming what they wanted. And you didn't break. You stayed yourself."
"I wanted to hurt them," Tom confessed. "When she was torturing me, I wanted to hurt her back so badly. For a moment, I almost—"
"But you didn't," Harry said. "That's what matters. Having dark impulses doesn't make you dark. Acting on them does. You chose not to."
"The prophecy," Tom said suddenly. "There is one, isn't there? About me. I heard them talking about it in the graveyard."
Harry and Newt exchanged glances. "Yes," Harry admitted. "An old, incomplete prophecy about the Gaunt heir."
"What does it say?"
"That you have the power to unite or divide. That in your choice, worlds will collide." Harry took Tom's hand. "But it's your choice, Tom. That's the key word. Not fate, not destiny—choice."
Tom was quiet for a moment. "I choose to unite. I choose to help people. I choose to be better than what they fear."
"Then that's what you'll be," Newt said. "We believe in you."
As Tom finally fell asleep, exhausted from trauma and healing potions, Harry and Newt kept vigil.
"He's going to be okay," Newt whispered. "He's strong. He survived."
"He survived," Harry agreed. "But at what cost? He's been through so much—the attack last year, now this. He's only fourteen."
"And he's handled it all with courage and grace," Newt said. "We've raised him well, Hadrian. Even when the world tries to make him into something dark, he chooses light."
Harry looked at his sleeping son—no longer quite a child, not yet an adult, but somewhere in between. Growing into someone extraordinary not because of his power or his heritage, but because of his choices.
"We did it," Harry said softly. "We really did it. We saved him."
"We gave him the tools to save himself," Newt corrected. "That's even better."
And watching Tom sleep peacefully, finally safe, Harry allowed himself to believe it.
The worst was over. Tom had faced his darkest trial and emerged victorious.
Now they could finally, finally rest.
greentulips on Chapter 8 Tue 11 Nov 2025 04:06PM UTC
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