Chapter Text
Harry took in a shuddering breath as he heard the spell being cast. Those two simple words, “Avada Kedavra.” Voldemort. The last face he may ever see, he thought, as the green light flashed across his vision. Then, everything went dark. It wasn’t painful, unlike Harry had expected. It was almost overwhelmingly peaceful.
Harry broke out into a cold sweat. He couldn’t see his hands, nor… anything. He just existed, in some eternally black place. This was what death was like, he assumed. Nothing but cold misery and loneliness for all eternity. He would be right, if Harry Potter were anyone other than Harry Potter. Naturally, he wouldn’t die a normal death. And, if Death could help it, he wouldn’t die at all.
“Hello, master. Are you feeling okay?” Death questioned calmly, the voice encompassing Harry. He tried to look around, but it wasn’t like he could see the source if there was one. Harry let out a small sigh. Xenophilius had prepared him for this, although Harry had desperately hoped that the not-so-fictional tale would not be talking about him. Just his luck. He could apologize for touching Dumbledore’s wand once, but apparently Death had its mind set on him being its master.
“I’m fine. It’s not like I was just murdered or anything,” Harry muttered sarcastically, running a hand through his messy brown hair. Death let out a soft chuckle, though it sounded almost menacing. It was hard to sound empathetic, being the embodiment of Death itself. Death, however, did not seem to have any worry, nor did it seem to understand the sarcastic comment Harry left.
“Yes, well, I thought we could… work something out, so to speak. A bargain of sorts?” Death offered, almost tentatively. Harry’s interest was immediately spiked. A bargain? Like, a second chance? Harry would do anything if it meant that he could win this battle without dying. Although he wasn’t sure what he could give Death, he’d try anything. He was utterly desperate.
“Yes! I’ll do anything. What did you need?” Harry bounced back eagerly, clearly excited to even have a chance for a retry. He’d win this time, he was sure of it. With a new determination in mind, he listened to Death’s next proposition with keen focus. He didn’t care about the circumstances—if he could defeat Voldemort, he would. No matter what.
Harry definitely cared about the circumstances. When Death had proposed an idea that he could go back in time and revive, he figured that, ‘Hey! Death will send me back to maybe year 1 of Hogwarts and I’ll be more experienced!’ No fucking way. He wasn’t that lucky. Instead, he was sent to 1972. With his parents.
Harry was nothing more than another twelve year old walking into Hogwarts. He was sorted into Slytherin, with a couple other students that didn’t attend Hogwarts in their first year. Sitting down at the far end of the table, Harry decided he would avoid everyone. Well, he thought this until he heard a name called—a name that hit a bit too close to home.
“Black, Regulus!” Harry’s head snapped up. Sure enough, the definitive Black features caught his eye. He tore his eyes away, just as he heard the sorting hat yell, ‘Slytherin.’ He took a sip of his pumpkin juice. He had planned to avoid everyone he knew, as he didn’t want to let anything slip. That plan fell through almost immediately when the newly sorted Black sat down beside him.
“Hello! You look about my brother’s age, but you must be new. You’re interesting, and Sirius always talks about interesting people at home,” Regulus commented, reaching for a bite of roast chicken. Harry raised an eyebrow. Of course, Harry wouldn’t know what Regulus was like as a child. Comparing Slughorn’s praise and Sirius’ degradation, both made this boy look like the opposite of the R.A.B. Harry had pictured.
“Yes, well,” Harry paused, unsure how to make up a good enough backstory. It wasn’t like he lacked acting skills, but the halfhearted story he gave to Dumbledore wouldn’t be good enough for Regulus. “Yes. I am new, you had that right. Though I wouldn’t say… interesting.”
Regulus didn’t seem to notice the pause, too excited. Harry assumed he was around Sirius’ age, though that sounded extremely weird to say. The eleven year old beside him had no trouble talking and continued animatedly as they ate. Two boys, around Regulus’ age, quickly joined them as they realized the other end of the table was ‘boring.’
“Hello, Regulus. I see you’ve made a… friend,” Evan stated casually, eyes flickering to Harry with a mix of intrigue and caution. The boy next to the blonde, however, seemed to hold none of the same carefulness that Evan did. Harry forced his posture to remain calm, though he immediately recognized the brunette as Barty Crouch Jr.
“Evan! Come sit. Yes, this is… er, I never did catch your name,” Regulus smiled, turning to Harry. So that was Evan, then. He briefly remembered hearing the name, but an Evan wasn’t uncommon. Harry figured he was overthinking it, and focused on the conversation instead.
“Harry. Harry Pot– Portier,” Harry introduced, barely catching the slip of his tongue. In no way whatsoever could he introduce himself as a Potter. He was Harry Portier, a normal Slytherin second year with a normal life. Not a Potter, not related to James, nothing. Speaking of, he glanced at the Gryffindor table, catching sight of the Marauders laughing and eating.
“Evan Rosier. And this is Barty Crouch.” Evan gestured vaguely to the boy, who was already sitting down at the table across from Regulus. Evan slipped into the seat beside him, politely taking a bite of roast beef. Harry’s eyes immediately snapped back over to them, a flicker of recognition crossing his face. Evan Rosier… that was one of the names he heard in a trial once. Maybe it was fifth year, when he was being tried for casting a patronus in front of Dudley, or fourth year when he was in Dumbledore’s memory. Probably the latter, if Evan was friends with Barty.
“Nice to meet you two, then. You know Regulus?” Harry wondered, not realizing that Regulus hadn’t quite introduced himself yet. Oblivious, Regulus missed the slip and answered for Evan. Barty shrugged, glancing at Evan before reaching for a bite of pork chop. Barty didn’t know Regulus, if that was the boy’s name. Evan did know Regulus, and Barty trusted him.
“Yes! Evan is my cousin, and I assume Barty is Evan’s friend,” Regulus added, giving Barty a small smile and returning to his food. Harry nodded, trying to appear as if he hadn’t just been formally introduced to the man that almost got him killed in fourth year.
Harry’s stomach churned. Being unsure how long he’d stay here, he decided to make the most of it. Honestly, it was terrifying to stay in a decade he wasn’t in. He’d live–maybe. Harry would try to make some friends, at least. Regulus was starting to become one of those friends, though he wasn’t so sure how much he liked that.
Godric–no, Salazar, now–Ron would be so jealous. Hermione would just be angry that Harry accepted such an “absurd” offer. He could practically hear the girl’s voice ringing in his ears. To appear casual to the other people at the table, he took another sip of his pumpkin juice, reluctantly accepting his fate. Harry Potter was now a Slytherin, and even worse, friends with his godfather’s Death Eater little brother. Merlin.