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Enchanting Melodies (HP SI)

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Chapter 342: The Morning That Follows
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    • Chapter 342: The Morning That Follows

    I would like to thank my beta, Awdyr, for his help in this chapter.

    1 November 1995, Hogwarts (Earth 2)

    He didn't have time to process the magnitude of Harrold's message—not fully. Save Dumbledore or not. The more logical choice was to save the man, and yet something niggled in his head. Of course, that was when Dumbledore sent a Patronus to everyone to gather for an order meeting.

    Sirius spent a bit more time than he expected in the Order meeting room, waiting for the other members to arrive. He barely noticed the passage of time, as he pondered on his choice. The difficult part was over. Voldemort was dead and Harrold had left. He was strangely sad about the latter. He had grown to love the young man, his godson's counterpart. There was a cleverness to him, a sense of assuredness that reminded him strangely of his own grandfather Arcturus.

    Merlin's beard, he hadn't thought about the man for years. He had died a few months after Sirius ran away from home, right after his wife perished after years of fighting dragon pox. He wasn't even allowed to come to the funeral, even if he wasn't particularly close to the man. His mother feared him and tried to limit their contact. But from the few days he got to experience with the man, he was scary and pretty expectant of his descendants. He was probably the only Black he knew who had a proper sense of humour.

    Harrold reminded Sirius of the man. He was terrifyingly intelligent, had everything planned to every minute detail, and had a dry sense of humour that he only showed Sirius after they got comfortable with each other. Harrold played everyone like a fiddle, including bloody Voldemort himself, and that alone made him worth the friendship they built. He kept his promise; Harry was safe now. Voldemort and all his most powerful death eaters were dead. It was a massacre on a scale that Sirius had never seen before, an entire faction wiped out on a single night.

    And yet, something still niggled in his mind. Why didn't Harrold just heal Dumbledore? If this really was an innocent mistake, then he would have just removed the curse himself. And if Dumbledore happened to be some hidden monster, then he wouldn't have given him the option to even save him. In the months since they met, Sirius had gotten a good picture of Harry. The young man would have killed Dumbledore if he was a threat, without even caring about anyone's opinion. That was how Harrold was.

    So, why give him the option? Sure, Harrold might have been biased when it came to Dumbledore, but there had to be another way. At least, he didn't let Harry choose. That would have made Sirius mad; the boy had just gone through enough, especially sitting there and waiting for a killing curse to hit him.

    He was so caught up in his thoughts, that he didn't notice Moony shake him slightly, "Oh, hey, Moony!"

    Sirius turned and saw that almost everyone was there and had taken a seat. They were only waiting for Dumbledore to arrive.

    The werewolf tilted his head with a worried expression on his face, "Are you alright, Sirius? I don't think I've ever seen you so focused. Ever."

    "Very funny. It's been a while, mate. I have some butterbeer in the fridge if you want to hang out later. It's the good stuff. With the kids in Hogwarts, Molly finally stopped yelling at me whenever I put some alcohol in there."

    Remus snorted at that, "You did have it coming. Seriously, what were you thinking?"

    "I was thinking that it was my fridge and that maybe the kids deserved a couple of nights of fun."

    "Well, you certainly made an impression. I didn't know Molly could turn that red without some kind of magic. So, why do you think Dumbledore called us here?"

    Sirius shrugged, "If I had to guess, it would be the fact that Voldemort and most of his Death Eaters were found dead in Azkaban."

    Lupin choked, "What?"

    "I know. I had the same reaction this morning," Sirius replied while tossing him an issue of the Daily Prophet.

    He watched, suppressing the urge to burst into laughter, as Remus' eyes got wider and wider the more, he read the article, until he mumbled, "Greyback's dead."

    "Yeah, so are most of his captains and Voldemort's entire inner circle. And well, Voldemort too."

    That seemed to be the exact time Dumbledore showed up. He entered the room with an intense look on his face, and sat down, "Good morning, everyone."

    The murmurs in the room died down instantly as Dumbledore raised a hand. "Thank you all for coming," he began, his voice carrying a weight that drew everyone's attention. "We are here to discuss the article in today's Daily Prophet. As many of you have read, last night, there was a disturbance in Azkaban."

    "Is it true, then?" Kingsley asked, his deep voice cutting through the silence. "Did... Voldemort really die?"

    Dumbledore sighed and folded his hands on the table. "Let me explain. Late last night, a surge of magic from Azkaban alerted both the Department of Mysteries and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. When they arrived, they found the prison in chaos. The Dementors had vanished without a trace, leaving the place... eerily empty."

    Gasps rippled through the room, but Dumbledore pressed on. "More concerning, the maximum-security wing—the one housing the highest-ranking Death Eaters—was destroyed, almost as if by Fiendfyre. They found the remains of many Death Eaters, some were inmates, but many were people who were found innocent under the Imperius defence after the first war."

    "They wanted to break out the rest of his inner circle?" Moody growled, his magical eye spinning wildly.

    "It would make sense," Dumbledore replied gravely. "However, this entire situation makes me feel nervous. The DMLE is still working on identifying every victim and will continue investigating the scene. Even the Department of Mysteries have agreed to lend their hands, but they're having trouble using their time-turners to get past the magical surge. However, this did confirm that whatever that magical surge was, it happened after the massacre occurred."

    "And... Voldemort?" Tonks asked, her voice quieter than usual.

    Dumbledore nodded. "The body of a man bearing a striking resemblance to Lord Voldemort was found impaled and chained on top of the fortress. The DMLE is running every test they can, and so far, the bodies, including his, appear real—at least as far as their scans can tell."

    "Is he really dead?" Bill Weasley asked, his brow furrowed in disbelief. "Could it be over?"

    Dumbledore's expression darkened. "I fear it is not," he said slowly. "Though this appears to be Voldemort's body, we must remember that the prophecy foretold that only Harry could defeat him. That has not yet happened, and until it does, we cannot assume that Voldemort is truly gone."

    Sirius, leaning forward, snapped, "So you're saying he might still be out there? Do you have any proof beyond a prophecy, Dumbledore?"

    Dumbledore met his gaze. "The prophecy is not to be taken lightly, Sirius. It has guided us through these dark times. Until Harry has fulfilled his role, fate will not be so easily thwarted."

    "Then he's not dead," Remus said quietly. "No matter what the Prophetsays."

    "Indeed," Dumbledore replied, his eyes sweeping across the room. "It is impossible to stop fate, especially when prophecies are involved. We must prepare for what comes next."

    Sirius couldn't believe it. Was Dumbledore really not going to address this? "You're joking, right? Voldemort's body was found dead by everyone and you're not even considering the fact that he might be dead."

    "I hope he is dead, my boy," Dumbledore replied, "But I don't find it likely that luck was so much on our side. We already got extremely lucky fourteen years ago, when his curse rebounded on him. I do not think we can afford to rely on luck once more."

    Everyone agreed and Sirius was getting frustrated. It might be because he knew for a fact that Voldemort was dead, that they were free of the monster forever. It might be because he knew how the dark lord cheated death and knew that his Horcruxes were destroyed. But this entire meeting was rubbing him the wrong way. He was going to blow up at him, only for the unexpected to happen.

    However, of all the people who spoke up for him, Snivellius wouldn't have made the list in a thousand years. However, the potion master of all people spoke up, "The dark mark is gone. It was burned off yesterday, in the middle of the night. I knew that there was a raid last night and I was told that I was to be called in afterwards with dozens of healing and nutrition potions ready, yet I was not summoned. The Dark Lord might have perished. Even after Godric's Hollows, the mark had simply faded but was not fully gone. Not, like it is now. As much as I hate to admit it, Black might have a point. The Dark Lord might be dead."

    Dumbledore gave the man a dirty look, "I have had the misfortune of assuming that Lord Voldemort made mistakes in the past and I have paid heavy prices for those assumptions. This could very easily be a trap, a way for Voldemort to get us to lower our guard, making us think that he is dead, that his followers are gone, only to take us all out at once. This might be a trap, not for the ministry, but for us, for the Order of the Phoenix. Another proof of this is the disappearance of Harrold Smith."

    Wait what? Almost all order members were looking around in confusion, but a few had incredulous looks on their faces, "Harry's friend in school?"

    "Yes, a new student. He also happened to be a very powerful seer. He was hoping to run away from the conflict that he predicted would start in June, by moving to France. He was an extremely hesitant young man, but I was able to get him to open up about a few of his prophecies, which greatly aided me when it came to anticipating Voldemort's movements. However, yesterday was the last time the boy was seen by his classmates and my attempts to find him were very unsuccessful. This brings us to two possibilities, either the boy ran away, knowing that something bad was coming, or he was taken by someone who knew of his abilities and was powerful enough and knowledgeable enough to kidnap him from Hogwarts itself. There is no reason for him to give up on his OWLS, which he needed to be accepted as a citizen in magical France."

    It was a very nicely constructed argument. It was completely wrong but pretty logical. Harrold was a seer, but getting his OWLS was just his pretence to be in Hogwarts to make sure that everything went according to plan. He had no plans on actually staying until the end of the year, and that alone brought down Dumbledore's arguments in seconds.

    He could see everyone slowly starting to be convinced.

    Unfortunately for Dumbledore, Sirius wasn't having it, "You're telling us that because some teenager disappeared, that Voldemort is still alive. We're talking about a teenager. They're not exactly the most stable bunch. I ran away from home when I was around his age and Voldemort attacked Diagon Alley right after. That doesn't mean I was some kind of seer. You need to accept that we might just be that lucky, Albus. Someone might have killed Voldemort, or he got himself killed in some kind of ritual."

    "Voldemort is still alive," Dumbledore retorted loudly, his magic slowly suffocating the room, "He's still out there and I will refuse to even entertain the possibility of him dying until I have personally seen Harry Potter slay him himself."

    "You're serious about that, aren't you?" Sirius asked, feeling his breath leave him at the realization.

    "The prophecy is very clear. My main purpose is to prepare young Harry for that confrontation and perhaps even weaken Voldemort beforehand. Harry Potter must strike the final blow. Fate has mandated so."

    Sirius nodded and the magical pressure lessened, and the rest of the meeting was barely more than a haze. He understood now why Harrold left it up to him. Harry's safety was his responsibility. Sirius had promised James and Lily that he would protect him. He would have fought Voldemort to save him and sacrificed his life for him. But that was easy, that was what he expected. He never thought that he would ever need to betray the trust of a man he genuinely respected to make sure that his godson was safe.

    He couldn't let Dumbledore keep pushing Harry to become the martyr he was building him up to be. He couldn't let the man influence him, making his life revolve around Voldemort once more, especially since the dark lord was dead. As long as Dumbledore lived, he would meddle in Harry's life, and push him to become the saviour he wanted him to be.

    After the meeting was over, Sirius took out the piece of parchment that held the counter curse to the one Dumbledore was suffering from and burned it with a flick of his wand.

    He would protect Harry from everyone, light and dark alike. It was his duty as his godfather.

    AN: I know that some of you are excited to get back to Harry, and I was planning to next chapter. However, this one kinda got away from me a bit. I promise the next chapter will be the final epilogue for this arc (which will be after a time skip) and we'll go back to the EM Harry. Anyway, I sort of wanted to portray Dumbledore as obsessive over the prophecy and Sirius realizing that he'll never leave his godson alone. I hope I pulled it off and that the chapter came out like I wanted it to. I was really tempted to have Sirius just try to tell Dumbledore about EM Harry, to put it in his face, but I thought that this was more satisfying, a bit of a sign that Sirius grew a bit and isn't as reckless as he used to be. As usual, please let me know what you think and if you have any suggestions.
     
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    • There we are. There's the asshat Dumbledore from Canon too stupid to live. Albus just killed himself with his incessant need for total control.
     
    athassprkr said:
    AN: I know that some of you are excited to get back to Harry, and I was planning to next chapter. However, this one kinda got away from me a bit. I promise the next chapter will be the final epilogue for this arc (which will be after a time skip) and we'll go back to the EM Harry. Anyway, I sort of wanted to portray Dumbledore as obsessive over the prophecy and Sirius realizing that he'll never leave his godson alone. I hope I pulled it off and that the chapter came out like I wanted it to. I was really tempted to have Sirius just try to tell Dumbledore about EM Harry, to put it in his face, but I thought that this was more satisfying, a bit of a sign that Sirius grew a bit and isn't as reckless as he used to be. As usual, please let me know what you think and if you have any suggestions.
    Click to expand...
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    Yeah, this whole chapter was needed, and very well done. Dumbledore needed to prove his obsession to sirius, and sirius needed to choose harry over him. It's a great way to show the character growth (and stagnation) before the epilogue happens.
     
    I think you should still write a chapter where Sirius tells-all to Dumbledore about EM Harry. Just at Dumbledore's deathbed. Clear the air, and reveal that there was a cure for Dumbledore, but Sirius knew Dumbledore would never leave local Harry alone. Sirius's character always struck me as someone willing to give one last FU to others.

    Particularly if Dumbledore still won't do anything to prove Sirius innocent.
     
    Chapter 343: An Interesting Life
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    • Chapter 343: An Interesting Life

    I would like to thank my beta, Awdyr, for his help in this chapter.

    5 May 1997, Hogwarts (Earth 2)

    Harry watched as the sun set before his eyes. He was at the exact place where he and Sirius hung out the morning after Voldemort died. He liked to sit there and remember that for as much as life could suck sometimes, it could have easily been worse. If Harry hadn't trusted a boy he had just met, then Voldemort could have been out there, alive, threatening people, killing innocents, and going after Harry again and again, until one of them was dead.

    It was funny how even almost two years afterwards, no one believed that the man who perished on top of Azkaban was actually Lord Voldemort, other than the Order of the Phoenix and a few people who were well-connected to Death Eaters, that is. But with most of the high-ranking death eaters dying in the Azkaban massacre, the remaining Death Eaters didn't have anyone to bail them out.

    Funnily enough, Harrold's disappearance was relatively unnoticed in the entire thing. The only ones who seemed to care were Hogwarts' staff and Dumbledore. They kept investigating the boy's disappearance for months and Sirius even told him that he had Order members hunting down any leads that could help them find him. Harry didn't know why they cared more about his counterpart than Voldemort and his Death Eaters dying, but he stopped really listening to the Order after the Azkaban massacre.

    Still, there was something freeing about Voldemort finally being dead. It was hard to put it into words, but it felt like a weight had come off his shoulders. Ever since his first year, when he realized that the man who had made him an orphan was still alive and would still hunt him down, he knew deep down that he would be in danger until either of them died. It was something that he knew in his bones and when he woke up and saw Voldemort's corpse on top of Azkaban, it was at this moment that he knew he was free, that no one would hunt him down.

    It was strange to be grateful to another version of himself. He wished he knew properly from the beginning so that they could compare their lives. For example, Harry wanted to know why the other boy didn't have a scar on his forehead, or how he was so good at magic. He might be a bit envious about that. The boy had killed a Dark Lord, a man that fought Dumbledore to a standstill, at his age. That sort of power was just inconceivable. Not that people accepted the fact that Voldemort was back in the first place. But Harry didn't care. After all, nothing could ever compare to the feeling of freedom he felt whenever he thought about his enemy's demise.

    Even though everyone agreed that the body didn't belong to Lord Voldemort, Fudge was still removed from office. It was very simple, even if Voldemort hadn't come back, Cedric Diggory had died and they should have investigated Harry's claim, if only to be thorough. The death of Hogwarts' champion was attributed to the fake Voldemort and Fudge, in his paranoia, had allowed the boy's murderer to go unchecked and cause the death of dozens of upstanding citizens.

    Apparently, the Death Eaters who died were considered victims of the Voldemort copycat, and they were under the Imperius Curse and were ordered to attack Azkaban. They broke free of the man's control and tried to rebel. They fought valiantly and were able to kill him, but they all perished. The man was also responsible for banishing the Dementors using some supposed dark magic. That was the story, anyway. Harry still burst into laughter whenever he thought about it. The sheer incredulity he felt at the thought of any of those cowards, who kneeled before Voldemort, kissing his robes, actively defying him, was just so outlandish.

    Either way, there was a lot of political tension since many of the traditionalist families were ended, or significantly culled in the aftermath of the attack. He still felt bad when he remembered seeing Draco Malfoy breaking down when he got a letter from his mother telling him about his father's fate. The ponce stopped bothering him afterwards, thankfully. Harry never considered how killing Death Eaters would impact their families.

    Anyway, Amelia Bones ended up being voted in as minister, and she quickly rounded up whatever remnants of Death Eaters, the ones that were too low ranked to participate in Azkaban's raid yet still held on to the rhetoric and tried attacking people. It seemed like a golden age in Britain was upon them, with a competent minister. Dumbledore's death, however, shocked the world. It was a few months after the Azkaban massacre, and it came out of nowhere.

    The cause of death was attributed to a very old and dark Egyptian curse, one that couldn't be countered. It seemed like Dumbledore was able to resist it, but eventually succumbed to it. Harry did remember seeing the man's hand turned to barely more than bones with blackened skin on it. He had asked the headmaster about it, only for him to touch this ugly ring with a weird black stone and say something about him foolishly letting his guard down, changing the subject right after.

    To be honest, the headmaster kept avoiding Harry until around a month before his death, when he saw him around once a week, asking if his scar hurt and if he had dreams of Voldemort. Harry had confusingly told him that Voldemort was dead, but the man remained resolute in his convictions and told Harry to always keep his guard up.

    Anyway, the man's funeral was an international affair. Everyone from all over Europe came to see the man off, having made more than a few acquaintances over time. People spoke of him, of his bravery against Voldemort and power against Grindelwald. No one spoke of the sad regretful old man that Harry could see beneath the eccentric grandfather façade. No one really cared about the headmaster's death, not him as a person, but as the second coming of Merlin. Still, why the man left him a golden snitch of all things in his will, Harry had no idea. He still played with it sometimes whenever he was bored. The headmaster had also asked him to pick up a prophecy in the Department of Mysteries, but when he went there, he was told that the prophecy orb had mysteriously disappeared. He didn't really give it any thought after that. He never really liked divination all that much.

    The only good thing was that Snape disappeared after the funeral, and Professor Slughorn returned to teaching out of respect. The man was a bit too interested in Harry's fame, but he was a good teacher and that was more than enough for him.

    A few weeks after, Sirius surprised the world by revealing Peter Pettigrew's survival and after months of expensive court proceedings, he was a free man, and he immediately adopted Harry. The decision was met with some resistance from both the ministry and the Order who wished to follow Dumbledore's wish of leaving him in Privet Drive, but Sirius was an adult, and he was Harry's godfather. That was the start of a split within the Order. Most had given up after months of inactivity and became convinced that Voldemort was either dead or had given up. There was no reason to up-end their lives if there wasn't going to be a threat, after all. A few decided to follow Moody and kept running useless missions, hoping to find a trace they could follow. In two years, they found nothing.

    It was also when Harry started distancing himself from the order. There was no reason to stay with his hateful relatives if there was nothing to protect himself from. And Harry did remember Harrold saying that he reduced its duration for a year, so it wouldn't have been working anyway.

    That decision alone was the reason for many of the fights he had with Ron and Hermione, who wanted him to follow Dumbledore's orders, even when the man was dead, and that also ended up with a lot of visits beneath the shade of the tree by the Black Lake. He tended to come here whenever he got frustrated because as he imagined the future that could have been, he couldn't help but feel grateful for what he had. Which brought him to the subject of his current ire, Ron Weasley.

    It had to do with Quidditch of all things. Harry had been the captain of the team since Angelina retired, but he decided to step down from the team entirely for his last year to focus on becoming an Auror. Bones' new requirements were pretty strict, and he would need to dedicate a lot of time to get the scores he needed. Ron hadn't liked that, but what drove him absolutely mental was the fact that he recommended Ginny as captain over him.

    The redhead had his sights on becoming a professional Quidditch player, but honestly, while Ron was good for a school game, he wasn't exactly professional material. Ginny was good, scarily good, and it would bring more attention to her when the scouts came during the school matches. It was just more practical, but Ron saw it as a betrayal. Hermione didn't want to get between them and just avoided the matter entirely.

    It was just so stupid. Ron could apply himself a bit and get a proper career. Quidditch was a short-term career, and it only paid off if you joined the bigger teams, something that was unlikely to happen.

    A soft voice interrupted his thoughts, "Something on your mind, Potter?"

    Harry instinctively raised his wand before relaxing at the familiar voice. "Nothing much, Greengrass. Ron's just being a prat."

    "So, business as usual, then," Daphne snorted.

    He hadn't paid much attention to Daphne Greengrass before. One of his biggest regrets was how closed off he'd been during his years at Hogwarts, especially toward the Slytherins. Malfoy was a bit of a prat when they were younger—though he'd mellowed after his father's death—but the others? They were just regular witches and wizards, albeit from wealthier families.

    The only notable thing he remembered about the girl standing before him was the gossip about Malfoy asking her out and getting rejected. There were rumours of her brawling with Parkinson afterwards, but he wasn't sure how true they were. Still, Harry could see why Draco had been interested—Daphne was striking, with her smooth skin, wavy blonde hair, and piercing blue eyes.

    Feeling awkward around pretty girls, as usual, Harry stammered, "So, uh, what brings you here?"

    "Not much. I come here to think. Looks like we both had the same idea."

    "Care to share what's on your mind?" Harry asked, trying to shift the focus away from his awkwardness.

    "Only if you go first," she replied with a teasing smile.

    Harry sighed. "Nothing too dramatic. Ron's trying to go pro in Quidditch, and I gave up my spot as captain to focus on Auror training. I recommended Ginny for the job instead of him."

    Daphne raised an eyebrow. "Ah, so you're discouraging him from the Quidditch dream. Makes sense. Even if he gets picked, he'd probably end up with a short career on a low-ranking team, while Ginny's got real potential. That's… actually quite cunning of you. I'm impressed."

    Harry smirked. "Hey, don't sound so surprised. The Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin, you know. I can be cunning when I need to be."

    That seemed to catch her off guard. "Seriously? You?"

    "Yeah," Harry admitted. "Back then, I didn't know much about the houses, except that no one seemed to like Slytherin and Malfoy was in it. So I asked the Hat to put me anywhere but there."

    Now that he thought about it, he hadn't really told anyone about that before. It wasn't a secret, but it wasn't something he went out of his way to share either. It felt strange, how easily he could talk to Daphne, someone he barely knew.

    "Your turn," he said, turning the conversation back to her.

    Daphne hesitated for a moment before speaking. "My parents want me to join the family business. We're in trading, and my father expects me to take over one of the branches in France. But… I want to be a healer. I can't do both—they're both too demanding."

    "That's rough," Harry said sympathetically. "How badly do you want to be a healer?"

    She met his gaze with determination. "More than anything."

    "Then go for it," Harry said firmly. "If you follow your parents' path, you'll always wonder what could've been. What you could've become. The family business will still be there if you ever want to come back to it. But being a healer… that's something you'll regret not chasing."

    Daphne gave him a soft smile. "Thanks, Potter. I needed to hear that. You're not half-bad, you know."

    Harry grinned. "Neither are you, Greengrass."

    They sat in comfortable silence for a few moments before Daphne broke it with a question. "I have to ask… was the Dark Lord really back, like you said?"

    Harry felt a lump form in his throat. "Yeah," he answered quietly. "He was."

    "And he's… dead now? For good?"

    Harry nodded. "He was the body they found chained up after the Azkaban Massacre. No impostors. He's dead. And he's not coming back."

    Daphne looked thoughtful for a moment. "What really happened? In the last task of the Triwizard Tournament, I mean."

    Harry exhaled slowly. "You know, after I told Dumbledore that night, I never really talked about it. Not properly. Only Ron and Hermione know the full story."

    Daphne's smile turned playful. "Are you going to tell me, then?"

    "Maybe… over dinner," Harry said, surprising even himself. "There's a Hogsmeade weekend coming up, after all."

    For a split second, Daphne looked taken aback, but then she smiled widely. "Are you asking me out, Potter?"

    "Why yes, I am, Miss Greengrass."

    "A story and dinner," she mused, her tone light. "That sounds like a good deal. I'll see you on Sunday, Potter."

    With that, she stood up and walked away, leaving Harry sitting there with a dumbfounded grin. He murmured to himself, "I can't believe I just did that."

    As he sat there, the crisp breeze tugging at his hair, Harry felt a strange sense of relief. The weight he usually carried—of past burdens, of responsibilities, of losses—felt a little lighter. For the first time in a long while, he wasn't just "the Chosen One" or "the Boy Who Lived." He was just… Harry, a boy who had just asked out a pretty girl. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

    AN: I put in this scene because I saw it recommended in your comments and I thought it would be hilarious

    Saul Croaker had been the head of the Department of Mysteries for nearly a decade, and it often felt like he was trying to herd a flock of magical chickens—except these chickens had the potential to accidentally unravel reality and cause untold chaos. That was the price of gathering the most inquisitive witches and wizards in Britain and keeping them from rocking the proverbial boat too much. Surprisingly, it worked. Ever since the department's founding, there had been fewer Dark Lord uprisings, and even when one did crop up, it didn't come with a horde of researchers dabbling in forbidden magic.

    The Azkaban Massacre, however, had been one of the department's most infamous unsolved mysteries. Nearly half the department had transferred to the Time Room in the aftermath, obsessively working to create something that could bypass the space-time anomaly that had occurred there. Croaker had his doubts. To him, it seemed like a lost cause, but it kept them busy—and most importantly, kept them from accidentally destroying the world.

    It had been over two years since the massacre, and they were no closer to answers. Until today.

    One of the Unspeakables assigned to the Time Room entered Croaker's office, his face pale but excited. "Sir, we've found something."

    Croaker suppressed a groan. "What is it this time?"

    "We found a way to bypass the anomaly—by observing a mirror plane we anchored with time sand. It's still hazy, and there's some residual interference from the anomaly, but… we can finally project what happened during the Azkaban Massacre."

    Croaker raised an eyebrow, doing his best to mask his surprise. He never expected they'd get anywhere, not with this mess—much like the hopeless mystery of the Veil Room. But curiosity gnawed at him. "You've watched it?"

    The Unspeakable shook his head. "Not yet. We're waiting for your go-ahead."

    Croaker stood, heart beating a little faster. "Right. Let's see this."

    An hour later, half the department gathered in the ritual chamber, a room made entirely of time sand. The sand was consumed within seconds, swirling in the air like mist, before coalescing into a hazy projection of Azkaban. Croaker watched, feeling the tension thicken in the room as the image sharpened.

    There he was—Lord Voldemort, striding through the prison with his followers, freeing Bellatrix Lestrange. Then it happened. A figure appeared, stepping into the scene with a casual, terrifying grace.

    Death itself.

    Croaker's stomach twisted as he watched the figure methodically slaughter every person in its path with a detached efficiency that made his skin crawl. The carnage was too smooth, too effortless until only Voldemort remained.

    What came next defied everything Croaker thought he knew. Voldemort cast a Killing Curse—only for the spell to stop mid-air, as though frozen in time and it was somehow absorbed which also knocked Voldemort unconscious. And then, with almost disturbing ease, the figure chained the Dark Lord on the roof of Azkaban like a puppet. What followed was a ritual so foreign, so eldritch, that Croaker's mind struggled to grasp its intricacies. A spear of energy materialized, piercing through Voldemort, and snuffing out his life in a single, final blow.

    The moment the projection ended, every Unspeakable in the room was violently thrown back, the magic radiating from the scene too much for even the most seasoned of them to bear.

    Croaker staggered to his feet, his mind spinning. He had never seen magic like that—something beyond comprehension, beyond reality itself. And then the realization hit him like a sledgehammer: the figure's face.

    It was Harry Potter's face.

    One of his subordinates, pale and trembling but at least not vomiting, approached him shakily. "What… what do we do now, sir?"

    Croaker's voice felt heavy in his throat as he responded, "We have no choice. We make it our mission to ensure that this… creature is never awakened again. Harry Potter must be protected at all costs. We must ensure he lives a long and peaceful life."

    The Unspeakables nodded, though their expressions were filled with dread. They understood the gravity of the situation. But Croaker wasn't fooled. He knew his team. In a few weeks, they'd be back to creating abominations, poking at the very edges of existence, forgetting the lesson they'd just witnessed.

    He sighed inwardly. Really, being the head of the Department of Mysteries was a curse in itself. No wonder the last director had gone mad.

    AN: So, this is it. The end of the arc. I've enjoyed writing it immensely, to be honest, and it ended up being a bit longer than I expected. I hope you liked this ending and I'm really looking forward to getting back to the main storyline now. As usual, please let me know what you think and if you have any suggestions.
     
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    • Chapter 344: The Land Between
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    • Chapter 344: The Land Between

    I would like to thank my beta, Awdyr, for his help in this chapter.

    Unknown place, Unknown Time

    With a final surge, Harry was pulled through the shimmering rift, vanishing into the swirling storm of colours beyond, leaving behind a prison devoid of dementors, the chained corpse of a Dark Lord impaled in the heart with a black spear, and corpses all over the maximum-security wing.

    It was impossible to describe his journey home. Reality itself was unravelling around Harry, slipping through his grasp as he struggled to make sense of the chaos. He had a plan—though calling it a plan was a stretch. Really, it was a gamble. He was using his own magical signature as an anchor, trying to trace it back to its origin. But it was guesswork at best. If he was being honest, he didn't fully understand the bizarre magical event that had hurled him into another universe in the first place, not after just a few months of work. Oh, he was going to study it mercilessly when he got home if he got home. As for now, he was doing his best to replicate the event to guide him back. It was reckless, insane even. But if the only other choice is a slow and painful death in another universe, then it was the best he could do.

    The universe twisted around him, bending in ways that defied logic like the very fabric of space was being torn apart. Blinding colours, some too intense to look at, others muted and dull, streaked past him in a disorienting blur. Shapes morphed into otherworldly forms that seemed wrong as if they shouldn't exist. It wasn't just strange; it was disturbing like his mind was rejecting everything it tried to process. He closed his eyes, deciding to let his Arcane Hearing fully guide him. It was oddly comforting that even as the laws of space and time were rendered useless in the void between worlds, his single most valuable skill, the ability to analyse the workings of magic, of the universe itself, as songs, made sense.

    He followed his soul's song, trying to see anywhere it could resonate. He was using it as a magnet, as it tried to return to its source, to its home. He didn't know if he was moving. Space and Time were meaningless in this cursed place, and yet he felt the pull get closer and closer, he heard his very soul sing in a way that it hadn't had ever since he found himself in another universe.

    His presence in the void was an anomaly and it showed as his protections were slowly eroded by the chaos around them. Harry gripped the Elder Wand tighter, the ancient wood scorching his palm as he used it to power through them, enhancing his own magical circuits, which burned with agony. The pain was unbearable like every nerve in his body was set ablaze. He felt like he was being torn apart from the inside, but he couldn't stop. He had to focus. Home. He clung to the thought of Daphne, of everything that had brought him this far. That was his anchor, the only thing holding him to any semblance of reality.

    Then, just as he thought he would lose himself to the madness, the chaos around him began to fade. The storm of colours dulled, the lights dimming into softer, muted shades. The wild motion slowed, becoming a drifting haze, like a dream fading on the edge of waking. The strain on his body lifted, the searing pain fading into a dull numbness. The furious buzzing of the wand diminished until it was just a faint hum. Everything...quieted.

    Harry finally opened his eyes and noticed that the kaleidoscope of colour had disappeared, giving way to an expanse of cold, lifeless grey. Not the comforting grey of a foggy morning, but an empty, oppressive void that stretched out endlessly in every direction. No sound, no shapes—just a bleak sea of mist and ash. It felt like the universe had simply stopped. Even time itself seemed frozen.

    Harry floated there, suspended in this strange nothingness, the weight of his journey pressing down on him. As the silence dragged on, an unsettling thought crept into his mind. This wasn't home. This wasn't anywhere. No warmth, no life, no sky, no ground—just endless grey. For the first time in his life, Harry opened up his Arcane Hearing and found utter and complete silence.

    He sighed, the sound oddly echoing in the stillness. "Brilliant," he muttered, glancing down at the wand in his hand. "Absolutely brilliant."

    Suddenly, the ground beneath him solidified. He was no longer floating but standing on something unnaturally flat and cold. A voice echoed from the void, soft but ancient, as though worn down by centuries of time. "That you are, Peverell... that you are."

    Harry whipped around, eyes darting in every direction. "Who's there? Where am I?" he demanded, trying to keep his voice steady.

    The voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once, a low chuckle trailing behind it. "You are everywhere, and nowhere. You are at the beginning, the end, and the middle, all at once."

    Harry rolled his eyes, frustration bubbling up. "Vague riddles? Really? Could you just—not?"

    There was a pause, and then the voice chuckled again, this time sounding amused. "I suppose you're right. It's been an eternity since I've spoken to anyone. Sometimes I forget mortals prefer things more... straightforward. Very well. You are in the borders of your material plane, the shield that protects your realm, and I am its protector. Did you truly think that you could just come through when the Light and the Dark failed to do so for aeons?"

    A figure materialized from the mist. It wore a black hood, that seemed to swallow the very little light that was in this place. It was thin, almost bony, really. The air grew colder, just a bit, and Harry felt this intuitive sixth sense, one that warned him of danger against his person. Even to his Arcane Hearing, he only heard hundreds of small whispers and a coldness that he knew no fire could ever stave.

    There was only one thing he could think of that could make him feel like this, "Are you Death?"

    The figure tilted its head in amusement more than anything, "Death? Did you seriously think that Death would ever come to meet with you? You're just a single soul, that belongs on a single planet, that's in a single realm of existence, that's in a single universe. You've seen a fragment of the multiverse, just a cup of water to the eternal ocean of existence and possibilities. Sure, you navigated it quite well, even if you bumbled around like a child. Still, you're pretty young to have achieved that. Hmm… Not bad for the Lord of Space and Time, I suppose. Nevertheless, Death is a primordial being, the very concept of the end given form. You're still some uppity mortal. It'll be like you trying to see a bacteria. To be fair, there were legends about the first one having actually met the entity, but that doesn't matter, not anymore."

    "So, who are you then?" he asked.

    The black cloak morphed away and revealed a face that made Harry's blood turn cold. He stared at a familiar face, black hair and striking green eyes that glowed with power. The resemblance was unsettling. They looked alike, almost too alike, except this man was older, his face sharper, a bit more angular, in a way.

    Harry tensed, "It's not polite to wear someone else's face."

    The figure raised an eyebrow, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "I'm not. This is what I looked like before I ascended to this... place. I might have had a bit more muscle on me, but brute strength means nothing in this place anyway. Still, you should be more respectful, considering I'm your ancestor."

    "Ancestor?" Harry frowned. "You called me Peverell, but Ignotus had grey eyes, not green."

    The man looked thoughtful for a moment. "Ignotus? Now, that's a name that I haven't heard in a while. I was around your age when I first met him, just as you are meeting me. Back then, I still thought I could escape my fate."

    Harry's mind raced. "Who are you, then?"

    The man's expression shifted, becoming more serious. "I was once known as Mordred Pendragon, though that name holds little meaning now. I'm simply this realm's guardian."

    Harry blinked, caught off guard. "Mordred? As in Arthur's son? The knight who betrayed him at Camlann?"

    Mordred's face darkened. "The same. Though the tales don't tell the whole truth. The Battle of Camlann wasn't about a throne or betrayal. It was a war between Light and Dark—between Merlin and Morgana. And I was caught in the middle."

    "The battle that destroyed Camelot," Harry murmured.

    Mordred nodded. "It was more than that. It was a fight for the fate of the world. My mother tried to break open the prison of the World Serpent, and Merlin refused to stop her, even at Arthur's behest, too busy trying to bind the fey to his will as he prepared for what he thought was the start of Ragnarök. I worked with the Lady of the Lake to trap them both. She fought for her people's freedom, and I hoped to delay the end of times. In the end, I made a choice. I let Arthur kill me as I killed him. My victory was prophesized, you see, and yet I sacrificed it, sacrificed everything, to power the fey's ritual. I wasn't supposed to have died, you know. I was prophesized to rule over Camelot. My mother thought me to be nothing more than he pawn, to be her general in the coming war. She never expected me to defy her, and my sacrifice broke one of the greatest prophecies in history. It was enough for the Fey to seal both Champions' connection to the Light and Dark. They fey killed them in their weakened form, empowered by my sacrifice, but not before they were banished from this material plane. We sacrificed much to kill the Champions of Light and Dark, to wipe the slate clean and stave off Ragnarök. I paid the price with my very life. That should have been it, but fate… fate had other plans."

    "And now you're here," Harry said, understanding dawning on him.

    Mordred's gaze softened. "Now I'm here. And so are you. We share the same curse, Harry—the curse of heroes bound to Ragnarök."

    Harry's grip on his wand tightened. "I'm no hero."

    Mordred smiled knowingly. "I said the exact same thing. But destiny doesn't care for what we think we are. The path you're on... it's the same as mine. You're following in my footsteps, whether you like it or not."

    Harry protested, "And how is that?"

    "You're fighting the Champions of Light and Dark as I did. You hold the Peverell crest as I did, you gathered most of the Deathly Hallows, as I did, as Ignotus Peverell did, as his predecessor did. We were all given a choice. We were to bow to fate's wishes, to let Ragnarök occur, purging most of humanity. We all refused, and we all ended up here, in this place, protecting the barrier the gods created against the Light and Dark, waiting for the next hero of Ragnarök to take our place, or the cycle to end."

    "I refuse," Harry replied with a dry tone.

    "Oh, my dear. Fate doesn't take no for an answer, especially since you killed the World Serpent. Ragnarök will happen. The prophecy is now in effect. My predecessors as I just circumvented it, made sure it didn't begin. For you to escape it, you'll need to break it, and I don't think there's anything in the material world that can do that. I don't think your planet will survive from the backlash alone either."

    Harry prepared to say anything, only for a raspy voice to speak up from all around him,

    "When the serpent falls and silence reigns,
    A war of shadows and light shall start again.
    The sky to fire, the world to rend,
    A legacy reborn as the gods descend.

    From death's embrace and broken vow,
    A child shall rise, marked by the raven's brow.
    Master of ruins, of ashes and dust,
    In their hands, a future we fear to trust.

    Death and Fate, now intertwined,
    A tapestry of existence, misaligned.
    Only ash will remain, the final scene,
    A silent world, cold and unforgivingly serene.

    This prophecy, in whispers cold,
    Of Ragnarök, cruel and bold.
    Not an end, but a cleansing blow,
    For from the ashes, a truer world may grow.
    A necessary purge, the past swept clean,
    So the new may rise, untainted by what has been."

    The last Potter couldn't help but shiver as he heard it, "What the fuck was that?"

    "The full prophecy is Ragnarök. The fates wish to cleanse the world, to start over. We all refused. And now it's your turn. You'll be faced with the same choice. I have to say I'm not envying your position."

    Harry shook his head, his voice low but firm. "No. I'm not going to play along with some prophecy, and I won't let myself be dragged into a war that promises nothing but ruin. Dumbledore and Grindelwald can go fuck themselves. It's not my problem."

    Mordred's smile was sympathetic but weary, as though he had heard it all before. "I said the same. We all did. But this isn't just a war, Harry. It's a cycle, a curse that binds us all. You think you can refuse, that you can walk away. But the moment you activated your crest your fate had already been predetermined. The fact that you killed the World Serpent doesn't really help."

    Harry's fingers tightened around the Elder Wand, his mind racing. "There has to be another way. I won't let the world burn because of some ancient script written by gods that don't care what happens to us."

    Mordred stepped closer, his presence imposing yet almost comforting in its familiarity. "There's always a choice, Harry, but none of them are easy. You either break the cycle or let it consume you. Refuse, and you'll end up here, like me, watching the world teeter on the edge, powerless to stop it. Or you'll let Ragnarök happen, and the world will burn. My song is ending, Peverell, whether the story continues or not will be up to you."

    Harry felt the weight pressing down on him again. He wanted to scream out his frustration at the world but he restrained himself, "I'm not like you," Harry muttered, half to himself. "I don't have to follow your path."

    Mordred's eyes softened with a deep sadness. "No, you don't. But every path you take will always lead to this place. There's no running from it. You'll always have to make that choice eventually. I personally, don't really care all that much, to be honest. Either way, my watch will end, and I'll be at peace in Death's hands."

    Harry stood there in the grey void, the oppressive silence around him somehow louder than the prophecy that had just been recited. The world seemed smaller and darker, as the weight of inevitability pressed harder. He wanted to fight it, to scream against the injustice of it all. But for the first time in a long time, he felt truly powerless.

    And yet, in that powerlessness, something stirred. Wasn't he also powerless when he stood up to Dumbledore as a first year? Wasn't he also powerless when he was imprisoned in the Gardens of Avalon? He would figure a way out like he always did. He must.

    A spark of defiance, burned deep within him, "Do you think I'll just bow to the whims of fate?"

    Mordred simply shrugged, "I don't care. I did my job. I told you your destiny, as Ignotus told me mine. Do with it what you will and eventually, you'll learn, as I did, about the futility of circumventing fate. Go forth, oh lord of Space and Time. I am curious as to how you'll fare against it. At least this promises to be entertaining."

    Harry barely had any time to think about those worlds until he fell down some weird hole, and everything went white. In a blink of an eye, he found himself in a familiar series of mountains, surrounded by snow. He was in Durmstrang. He could feel it, the sense of belonging, the familiarity of the world. He was back home.

    AN: I'll be honest here, I'm not sure about this chapter. It's kinda hard to get back to the original story after the previous arc. I thought about making Mordred speak in old English, a bit like in Elden Ring, but I decided against it. Still, since this is the beginning of a new arc, I'd rather it lands well, so I don't mind rewriting it if you don't like it. As usual, please let me know what you think and if you have any suggestions.
     
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    • Chapter 345: Finding Home
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    • Chapter 345: Finding Home

    I would like to thank my beta, Awdyr, for his help in this chapter.

    28 March 1995, Durmstrang

    In a blink of an eye, he found himself in a familiar series of mountains, surrounded by snow. He was in Durmstrang. He could feel it, the sense of belonging, the familiarity of the world. He was back home.

    Harry laid there in the snow for what felt like hours, just relishing how it soothed his burning magical circuits. The journey alone was gruelling, but it had been worth it. The slow deterioration of his magic because of the sheer wrongness of living in another universe was finally gone. It had been an experience and a half, one that he didn't wish to repeat anytime soon. Perhaps after a few decades, he would try again and find a way to bypass this side effect, to finally explore what's out there, to see a glimpse of the infinity of the multiverse.

    For now, he simply relished just not being under some kind of slow Death sentence. After all, there was a reason why he took such a high risk as his method of travel. It could have so easily gone wrong. Replicating a complex magical incident, an accident really, from what he could remember from the magic, was definitely a gamble. Oh, it took months of work and experimentation to make things stick, and a lot of planning just to simulate the similar forces that were at play.

    Still, now that he had no death sentence on his head, he could finally appreciate the small vacation he had in another universe. It was hard to see his counterpart being this painfully naïve, but it was expected from a boy essentially raised as a pig for slaughter by Dumbledore. It was nice to actually get to know Sirius though. The man was a bit childish and more than a little damaged from his stay in Azkaban, but he was very loyal and generally just nice to be around. It was a shame that his version of Sirius had been an insane serial killer. The dog Animagus had a point; if he compared both universes, then Harry's was definitely on the crazier side.

    Anyway, his stay in another universe, while thankfully brief, was a breath of fresh air. And he liked to think he left the country better than it would have been if he hadn't appeared. He stopped a war, killed Voldemort's supporters who had killed dozens of people each, and ensured that his counterpart would live a long and happy life. It was exactly what he hoped someone would do for him.

    And wasn't it ironic that he had just freed his counterpart from a prophecy, only to find out that he was saddled with one of his own? He sincerely hoped that meeting Mordred was some kind of hallucination that he experienced from the sheer chaos in the void between worlds. He refused the idea that he was destined to chain himself as some protector for refusing to let the end of the world happen. No, he had enough of prophecies intact or broken. His mere presence in the world was an aberration. He knew that ever since he found out he could remember his previous life. His mere existence was a crack in the wall, an unforeseen variable in the tapestry of existence, and that gave him options.

    But now was not the time to think about useless prophecies and the end of times. It wasn't the time to think of Dumbledore or Grindelwald. No, he wanted something far more important, far more primal. He wanted to go home. He wanted to see Daphne.

    He didn't know where she was. He didn't even know how long he was gone. The rules of Space and Time mean very little in the void between worlds. Deciding to bite the bullet, he grabbed the Elder Wand and flicked it while muttering, "Tempus."

    Huh, he had been gone around four months, which was around the same duration he stayed in the other universe. There had to have been some kind of magical implication to that, but he was too drained to really make them. Instead, he focused on Daphne and decided to go to the best place he could find her, Hogwarts.

    With a flick of his wand a portal opened to Hogwarts. It had been far easier than it had been during the Gringotts heist. He had to set up an entire space-time anchor in both schools to cut down the cost of making a portal, especially between two points of space that were so far apart. But now, he wasn't even thinking as he cast the spell. He instinctively knew that he could do it and it worked. His growth in understanding of space and time had reduced the cost of opening the portal, and of course, there's the fact that his magic just felt denser, more potent for the lack of a better word, since he came back.

    He would get enough time to analyse the effects properly, once he saw Daphne again. He missed her terribly. Her counterpart in the other universe looked so much like her, but there was also so much that was just different. She wasn't as hardened, for the lack of a better term. Her sister was still cursed, and she wished to become a healer, but she wasn't willing to sink to the depth of magic and experiment with things she did not fully understand, not like his Daphne. It was probably because she didn't have access to any kind of really dangerous magic, and to be honest, he didn't know if that was a good thing or not. Would Daphne have been the same if Harry hadn't met her? Would she have become as jaded, as obsessed with saving her sister, if he hadn't given her hope that she could do just that in the first place?

    He didn't know and to be honest, there was nothing he could really do to affect any of this. His Daphne was still her own person. She made her own decisions, even if she was influenced by his presence. There was nothing he could do to undo whatever harm that might have caused. He wasn't sure he even wanted to. There were many things he admired about Daphne, and her willingness to dedicate herself fully to a singular goal was admirable, to say the least.

    Harry wondered how she fared without him. He had disappeared after entering in a fight, severely outnumbered. He didn't know what conclusions she could have jumped to, and how she might have felt. He would have been devastated if he was on the other side.

    Still, there was nothing more he could do but try to find her as quickly as he could. He jumped into the portal, arriving in Hogwarts, relishing returning to the castle. Oh, he had missed it very much. There were small differences between it and the one he stayed in the other universe. It didn't feel as alive, as filled with magic as this one did. There was a distinct lack of history there, not so much magical, but the sheer conceptual idea that this was a place of protection, a place of education, a true safe haven for all magical children. That was the message imprinted in every stone of the castle, one that was probably enhanced by both Gryffindor and Slytherin who were Champions of the Light and Dark at the time.

    And yet, there was something muted as he arrived. The students ignored him, of course; he didn't think most of them could see past his privacy charms, but there was a lack of joy that was spread around the castle, a lack of wonder and amazement. Students just walked around with their books, silently, with a very few faintly speaking to one another discreetly.

    What the hell had happened there?

    The incident in Durmstrang, if it could be called that, should have happened in another school. It shouldn't have affected them at all, and yet it somehow did. No, something else happened, something that made people wary of speaking with one another, made people afraid of standing out, something that sucked the happiness out of Britain's magical children.

    He felt it in the air, a tension that clung to every corner of the castle like a fog. The warmth of the Great Hall, the usual hum of excitement over Quidditch matches or upcoming exams, was absent, replaced by an eerie silence. Even the portraits seemed subdued, whispering to one another in hushed tones as if they too were afraid to be overheard. Whatever had cast this shadow, it wasn't just the usual fears of a dark spell or a cursed artefact—it was something deeper, something that had struck at the very heart of their world.

    Harry walked around to his common room, seeking to speak with either Blaise or Tracy. They would know where Daphne would be. He was so preoccupied that he didn't realize that someone had noticed him, someone who he definitely didn't expect.

    As he entered one of the deserted corridors, he heard a yell, "Harry? Is that you?"

    He turned and saw who spoke up to him, "Longbottom?"

    "I can't believe you're alive. Everyone thought you were dead. You just vanished during the task and Greengrass looked unconsolable for some reason. What happened?"

    "It's a long story, pretty complicated, but to be brief, I was involved in a magical accident and was trapped someplace. I was just able to get back. Speaking of Daphne, where is she? I'm guessing she's with the tournament delegation, but shouldn't you have been there too?"

    Neville looked uncomfortable for some reason before speaking up, "It's a bit of a long story too. Gran decided that she wanted me back home and since I already did the task in Durmstrang, my contractual obligation is technically gone. Well, I had to pay a hefty fine, but people didn't really mind me leaving anyway, especially because of the ruckus I caused."

    "What did you do now, Longbottom?" Harry spoke up, feeling slightly exasperated by the other boy's consistent antics. Well, that wasn't really fair. Longbottom seemed to have become fate's stress ball, especially when he compared him to Harry's counterpart, who also happened to be the boy who lived. He would be a hypocrite if he said that Harry didn't have a hand in what happened to the boy, especially after the mess that was the Chamber of Secrets. Now, he realized how much of a fuck-up that was. He shouldn't have killed the World Serpent. He could have probably managed something. Well, not really. He didn't really know about its existence in the Chamber in the first place and dealt with it the only way he could at the time. If he could go back in time, he would have done things differently, but unfortunately, actual time travel was far beyond his reach and was most likely impossible.

    The boy who lived gave Harry an incredulous look, "You really don't know. I thought you might be messing with me or something."

    "You're probably the first person I spoke to since I came back and the castle just feels wrong, depressing, even. Everything is quiet, there aren't any students messing around. People don't laugh anymore, not really. And the pranks, the duels in the courtyards, they've all stopped. It's like everyone's waiting for something bad to happen."

    "Well, you're scarily right. Ever since the war picked up, things haven't been the same here. A lot of people lost their parents in the war."

    Harry gave the boy a confused look, "War? What war? I was only gone for a few months. How was this enough time for a war to start here?"

    "Well, the night you disappeared, Voldemort came back. Dumbledore refused to come back to Britain, even after the ministry cleared him of all charges that were pending against him. But then Voldemort found himself being opposed by an army of weird werewolves that called themselves the Lycans. They could turn to wolves at any time and are stronger, though they don't infect people. They're led by this woman they call the Red Witch. Ever since she came out of thin air, this entire country has been in an all-out war."

    The last Potter froze at that. Seriously? What the fuck had happened in the last few months?

    AN: Again, I'm not really sure about this chapter. It's weird to say it, but I feel kinda rusty when I write the original storyline. The Earth 2 arc felt more like a vacation than anything. Anyway, I hope you like it and if you don't, then I don't mind rewriting it. For those asking about Daphne, I have something special in mind with their reunion, and I thought that having her explain what happened would have made it less impactful. Don't worry, you'll get to see it soon. As usual, please let me know what you think and if you have any suggestions.
     
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    • Chapter 346: The Hero's Bane
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    • Chapter 346: The Hero's Bane

    I would like to thank my beta, Awdyr, for his help in this chapter.

    28 March 1995, Hogwarts

    The last few months of Neville Longbottom's life had been pretty horrible. Ever since Voldemort came back, everything changed. It wasn't that he hadn't thought about it before—he just never really accepted it. Ever since that fateful day in his first year when he learned that his parents' murderer was still alive, he knew this day would eventually come. His mother's protection had killed Quirrell, after all. But somehow, he always imagined Voldemort's return would be a distant threat, something far off that didn't feel real. Then came the third task of the European tournament, and everything went sideways.

    Voldemort kidnapped him right in the middle of the competition, tearing him from the safety of the best protections the International Confederation of Wizards could offer. Using Neville's own blood—his mother's protection—Voldemort made his terrifying comeback. The pain and confusion of that moment flooded back to Neville; he barely managed to escape, poisoned and exhausted, his body screaming in protest. It was all thanks to Hermione, really. He would have died, if it wasn't for her. She held back fucking Voldemort on her own to distract them. For some reason, the dark lord kept comparing her to Lily Evans. It took a couple of minutes to remember who that was, Harry Potter's dead mother.

    Was she really such a fearsome witch? He could somewhat understand why the Lestranges had to burn down an entire town to take her out if she was. It would explain a bit why Harry was such a freak of nature when it came to magic. He must have inherited it from her or something. The thought lingered in Neville's mind, mixing with his admiration for Harry and his lingering feelings of inadequacy.

    Anyway, when he regained consciousness, he was asked what happened and admitted that Voldemort was back. Even with Hermione backing him up, there was still some backlash from the British ministry, which lost a lot of face as one of its troublemakers interfered in one of the tasks. Fudge had started raving about how he was an attention-seeking liar, which would have hurt if Neville could even care about any of that.

    To be completely honest, now that his mortal enemy was back, Neville knew that he was going to be hunted down for the rest of his days, everything else just felt smaller. He had joined the tournament hoping to bring some measure of honour back into his name. Even if he wasn't a Longbottom anymore – not that anyone knew about him being disowned – he was still a wizard. Even without a thousand-year-old legacy behind him, he held traces of their magic within him. His blood did not change, only his crest did. He was the product of a family line of talented and powerful mages that spanned thousands of years. He had his potential; he had just lost his crest. And already, the knowledge he assimilated from his scar before it was sealed, was more than enough of a head start to mark his name in the annals of history and leave a new legacy behind him. The tournament was a good step at that, and he had even won his task.

    But as his reputation was being tarnished once more, he stopped caring. Voldemort was back and public opinion meant nothing in front of pure brute strength. Not that the slander lasted for long. His grandmother didn't even get to rip into Fudge properly because a few weeks later, Voldemort revealed himself in response to a large, coordinated attack against him.

    Neville wasn't sure of the specifics but hundreds of enhanced werewolves – which called themselves Lycans – attacked the homes of known Voldemort supporters from the first war and massacred them to the last man. Apparently, there was this bombing in a town called Little Hangleton that really messed the monster up. There were rumours that most of his inner circle were dead. Corban Yaxley, Crabbe Senior and Goyle Senior were found dead in their homes, with bite marks and deep scratches all over their bodies, Alecto Carrow was attacked and killed in Knockturn Alley in broad daylight. It didn't help that the attacks were brazen; the Lycans did not even bother to hide as they killed wizards whose family lines were probably older than the English language. There was also Nott who hadn't been seen since the attacks started, a few people thought that he'd been assassinated, but there hadn't been any confirmation. Karkaroff, who Voldemort said had helped him come back, remained with the tournament, probably scared shitless to join his master, especially as his followers dropped like flies.

    When Voldemort returned to Britain, he found almost no wizarding support. The few who remained loyal to him were systematically taken out in a way that eerily mirrored his own style of dealing with enemies. Eventually, he was baited into revealing himself in a dramatic attack where he fought the infamous Red Witch—who, to Neville's surprise, he hadn't even heard of. She teamed up with a dozen Lycans for an assault on some village called Little Hangleton. Very few of the Lycans survived as Voldemort himself was there, but the Witch fought him long enough that half a village ended up burning to the ground, the flames illuminating the night sky like a funeral pyre. At the end of the day, there was no way Voldemort could hide his return to build up his forces, and he found himself in a difficult position.

    It was strange. There weren't even any wizards in the fighting, though many got caught in the crossfire. Nobody wanted to pick a side, fearing torture and death from either the terrifying Dark Lord or being ripped apart by the endless waves of Lycans. The fear hung thick in the air, suffocating and unyielding, and that atmosphere was mirrored in Hogwarts.

    In the end, Voldemort simply brokered an agreement with the Dementors to serve as his army. They quickly left Tartarus, Dumbledore's prison, without question, since it wasn't as steeped in suffering as Azkaban before it was destroyed, of course. The sheer desperation and agony that occurred within the fortress was sucked into the castle's very stones, and it made it a very nice place for Dementors. Tartarus didn't have any of this, and the dementors obviously hungered. They were put in place by Dumbledore but without the former headmaster, there was very little they could do to make them stay there.

    Thankfully, Hogwarts was safe. Well, as safe as it could be. Apparently, McGonagall had activated some very powerful wards that were made in case the castle was attacked. It had taken around two weeks to power them fully, but it literally did not allow anyone to enter or leave the castle. Neville's Grandmother had insisted that he come to the castle and not stay with the delegation, since that made him a lot safer, and he already performed a task, as it was required by the tournament rules. She bent the rules a bit to make it so that he could leave, and he remained in the castle ever since.

    Anyway, Britain had gone to shit in the last few months, and even Harry Potter wouldn't have been able to fix it, not that he was there. He disappeared somewhere in Durmstrang during the third task. It was widely believed that Voldemort killed him, but no one knew for sure. Greengrass looked inconsolable but didn't say anything about what happened.

    So, wasn't it a fucking surprise to see him in Hogwarts of all places? During a fucking lockdown, even. That meant that he had been in the castle for months without saying anything, which was even weirder since he said that he was trapped somewhere. The fact that he didn't even know the basics like Voldemort's return did give some credence to the matter, but Harry tended to be very tricky. He was dozens of moves ahead of any opponent he faced. Neville stopped trying to understand him a very long time ago.

    And so, as Neville explained to him what little he knew of the situation, he couldn't help but wonder what the hell actually happened to Potter. What sort of magical accident could have ever taken someone like Harry Potter off-guard? He always seemed so invincible, untouchable, even when he was just a first year.

    Harry stayed completely silent as Neville finished, the weight of the moment pressing down on them. Finally, he asked, "So, what are you going to do? Are you going to help me fight Voldemort?"

    Harry hesitated for a moment, then said, "Tell me again about the Red Witch."

    Neville rolled his eyes. "Why are you so concerned about her? She's obviously on our side. She's literally fighting Voldemort."

    "Just humour me. What did she look like?"

    "I don't know! Other than her red hair, no one knows what she looks like. That could just be a charm to make her hair pop or something."

    Harry frowned, his brow furrowing in thought. "What about her motivations? Did she attack anyone other than Voldemort and his forces?"

    "Oddly enough, yeah. There were a few ministry officials who died too, and a few Wizengamot members from across all sides. But she wasn't there, it was just the Lycans, and no one really knows what they can do. I remember hearing that Dolores Umbridge, the minister's own undersecretary was a casualty, which isn't really that surprising considering how much she hurt werewolves with her proposed bills. The extra measures that business owners had to go through to legally hire a werewolf, as well as the expenses necessary, made it impossible for one to get a job anywhere. Fudge's administration has been going to shit with every attack, not that anyone really cares about politics right now. People just want to be safe."

    Harry looked thoughtful. "So she's using this chaos to clean house and remove her main opposition. I hoped I could have stopped her, at least."

    "Yeah, a lot of people have been caught in the crossfire between her forces and Voldemort's. All the Ministry can do is try to contain it while hiding everything from Muggles. Fudge refuses to deploy the Aurors, insisting they protect wizarding settlements instead. It's a total stalemate. Voldemort doesn't have enough support to wage war beyond his own magical might, and the Red Witch obviously can't beat him or else she would have already done it during the attack; he's literally never been so vulnerable. Sending more forces always ends up with Voldemort killing them. She just targets anyone that even thinks about joining him."

    Neville noticed that Harry looked quickly at his scar. It was barely for a fraction of a second, but it made him flinch. His scar was proof that as long as he lived, as long as it existed, then Voldemort couldn't die. It was a horrible prospect, one that he hoped would have been solved by the time Voldemort returned. But it hadn't, and now he was faced with a choice.

    Every day, Neville woke up and saw other students crying over dead family members. Every day, he watched the castle grow darker, hope fading away because of him. Sure, there was no guarantee that the war would end if he were dead, but it sure would make things simpler, it would make the end of the war even closer.

    Deciding to change the subject, he spoke up, "Yeah, it's been a rough few months. At least I killed Voldemort's snake though. Well, Hermione did, but the look on his face was priceless. Apparently, the Unspeakables trained her a bit while she was being healed in the Department of Mysteries. You should have seen her. It was amazing."

    Harry immediately stiffened, "She killed his snake. Are you sure?"

    "Yes? She dragged the thing into Fiendfyre. I don't know anything that could survive that."

    "I suppose it was only right. Things have changed a lot. But enough of that. Tell me about Daphne. What happened to her?"

    Well, that made a lot more sense. Greengrass and Potter were close, honestly, they were a bit closer than most of the students who were in a relationship.

    There would have probably been a pool on when they'd get together, if everyone wasn't scared shitless of Potter getting offended, "Greengrass? She's not in the castle. She was inconsolable back in Durmstrang. No one could get through to her. She cried all the time, and her parents got permission from McGonagall to stay home. It was a whole thing since she hadn't been in any task in the tournament. I think they agreed about her joining a task later or something, but I really don't know. Her sister was visiting her when the war started, and the wards closed with them outside. I don't think I heard news about them being attacked and I overheard Davis and Zabini talk about her sometimes. I think they're in contact, but I'm not really sure since I don't think either of them could really bypass Hogwarts' wards. There were a few that bragged about it, but they've mostly been full of bullshit. I don't know what to tell you. I haven't been spying on the girl."

    "So, she should be at home?"

    "As far as I know. I could be wrong. Like I said, we're all locked here, and we don't have any contact with the outside world. And it's not like you'll be able to see her either, not until the wards are lifted. I'm sorry, man. I really am."

    The other boy actually snorted at that, before saying, "Yeah, I'll take my chances. Anyway, I'm off to see Daphne. I need to tell her that I'm alright. By the way, thanks for the help, Neville. Oh, and I'd appreciate it if people don't know I'm back yet. I have a few things to take care of first."

    "Off to see Daphne? Things to take care of?" Neville responded, feeling incredulous at the thought, "Did you not hear a word I said? We're all trapped here."

    "Take care of yourself, Neville. Voldemort will come for you. Be ready for him."

    Before Neville could process Harry's words, dozens of ravens appeared out of nowhere, swirling around him like a dark storm. He reached out, desperate to stop him, but his hands went right through Harry, who vanished along with most of the ravens. Neville looked around, bewildered, but saw no trace of him, only the echo of his words hanging in the air.

    Did he seriously know a way past the wards? How? This little act reminded Neville why he sometimes really hated Harry Potter.

    But something about the encounter niggled at him slightly. Harry Potter knew about the Red Witch before she ever revealed herself. He knew her enough to be worried about her, to consider her a threat. No, he seemed to dislike her, more than anything. Had she been the one responsible for his disappearance, or were they working together?

    He always considered Voldemort to be his greatest enemy. But what if the Red Witch was just as bad? He'd been sympathetic to werewolves before, especially how much they were ostracized. It reminded him of how people turned on him so easily, but what if they weren't looking for justice? What if they weren't fighting Voldemort to protect their reign of terror or for some kind of equality?

    Shaking his head to clear it, Neville realized he couldn't shake the feeling that the worst was yet to come. If he was right, then his country was being seized by two hostile forces, and people were dying, not for some grand purpose like saving magical Britain, but for conquest, pure and simple. For some reason, that was even worse than a fight between good and bad, between a monster and the people.

    He sincerely hoped that he was wrong.

    AN: I'll be completely honest. I wrote that while I was in a hurry. There's been a bit of a crisis at work and I had to squeeze in every opportunity to write it. You'll probably find the pacing to be a bit rushed. To be honest, I didn't want to focus too much on Neville and span this into multiple chapters. The next chapter will be the reunion with Daphne, so you won't have to wait for that for long. Anyway, about this chapter, please tell me what you think is wrong, so that I'll be able to fix it (either tonight or tomorrow depending on how work goes). As usual, please let me know what you think and if you have any suggestions.
     
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    • Chapter 347: Fated Reunion
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    • Chapter 347: Fated Reunion

    I would like to thank my beta, Awdyr, for his help in this chapter.

    28 March 1995, Hogwarts

    Harry Potter disappeared from Hogwarts feeling conflicted. For some reason, the entire country had gone to shit in the few months he wasn't around. Voldemort returning wasn't something he expected, but he had prepared himself for it. The option was always there, especially as the Horcrux in Neville's scar was still intact. The good news was that Voldemort's return wasn't without some severe losses on his side, mainly his serpent Nagini.

    Bar Longbottom's scar, that was the Horcruxes gone. Nagini would have been pretty tricky to track down and to be honest, Harry didn't even know if the snake was even a Horcrux in this universe. Still, as far as he could tell, Longbottom was the only reason Voldemort was immortal, and that alone was a problem.

    When Neville channelled the scar, he directly made a connection between himself and the soul shard, which wormed its way into his very soul, bypassing his mother's protection, through the boy's family crest. This deepened the bond between Neville's soul and the Horcrux, making it more robust, less flimsy than the one he just destroyed in his counterpart's scar.

    It was still theoretically possible, but the killing curse would have to be a lot more powerful for it to work properly. It would have to be a perfect spell, with just enough power to spread the curse between the two of them, without killing either, but with the connection between the soul shard and Neville's soul being severed.

    The sheer precision required alone was beyond insane. No, it was literally impossible. The margin of error was so small that any small variation, even something as benign as some extra gases in the air, might change the spell enough and make it too weak to remove the Horcrux, and the lack of any planned air would simply kill them both. Only an act of God, or more appropriately, fate, would save Longbottom. The prophecy wasn't destroyed; it still held power, so it was possible. It just wasn't even close to being probable. It was the true power of fate, to make a slim idea of chance work. It was humbling in a way, but also terrifying.

    No, he would not think of Ragnarök. He had more important things to focus on. Daphne.

    What had she been up to? Longbottom had told him that she was in her family home and hadn't been seen since the task. He sincerely hoped that she wasn't involved in the war in any way. Voldemort really couldn't have picked a worse time to come back, and publicly at that.

    Voldemort was a terrifying wizard, extremely talented, and able to fight Dumbledore to a standstill many times. He had literally gone through enough rituals to empower an army but connected them brilliantly to be able to carve himself a body that could channel enough magic to blow up a village. It was some of the Homunculi of old, which were rumoured to have been created by an extinct family in Germany. He didn't really remember the name, but he remembered being impressed by them. They were created by a mixture of Alchemy, Flesh craft, and Blood Magic. In a way, they were essentially a new breed of magical creatures that were enslaved and used as weapons by creators. They could channel magic in a way that was far superior to any wizard, who was limited by the efficiency of their magical circuits and had to be careful not to strain them.

    Like most oppressed races, they inevitably rebelled and massacred their entire family, but barely got to enjoy their victory as they perished a few years later at the hands of the Light Champion of the time, Charlemagne, who saw them as a threat to his conquest of the German lands. Apparently, the battle was a fierce one and the Champion came very close to dying, even ending up severely wounded. But nevertheless, the Homunculi were dead. The few survivors, if there were any that it, probably perished from natural causes. They weren't designed to live for long and were purposefully sterile.

    Anyway, from the tales, he could infer that Voldemort found rituals to mimic their physiology somehow, and coupled with his genius, was able to somehow stand up to Dumbledore for years.

    He was a terrifying foe, and Lily obviously played him like a fiddle. She probably wouldn't be able to match his spell for spell, but Voldemort's power waned significantly without any followers. With Lily essentially being in control of half the country, she was probably already observing every single potential threat and used her Lycans – which he assumed was an army of werewolves that were as strong as Remus Lupin – to massacre them.

    Harry didn't know where she was planning on going with this. It was safe to assume that she knew about the Horcruxes since she probably had a report about what happened to Hermione. However, she probably had no idea how many there were, or what happened to them. It was obvious that there was more than the Diary considering that it was used as a weapon, not as an anchor for Voldemort to revive himself, but Lily was running into this blindly.

    She was probably hunting down his Horcruxes and hoped the attacks would delay him enough to kill him. She was probably taken by surprise by Voldemort's return.

    The only good news is that Lily was obviously not powerful enough to just defeat Voldemort. He hadn't really been sure about the effects of whatever he had done back in Durmstrang, but it must have done something. Harry remembered how that dimension felt, like a mixture of heat and ash, a world of suffering, decay, and rot, something that his mother wanted to master, to channel into the material plane, even at the cost of killing her own son.

    If she had that kind of power, she would have easily destroyed Voldemort. At least, she should have. He wouldn't have died, of course, but he would have lost his body. This was a power that Lily Evans had planned on using against Dumbledore. It was her net of safety and yet she wasn't using it and the simplest reason would be because she couldn't.

    Harry couldn't help but feel a small trill of vindication at the thought. Lily Evans had betrayed everyone and everything for this power had fought him, her own blood, and sacrificed him for it, only to lose it in the process, while he was still safe and sound. He had hoped that the backlash would have hurt her as well, but something seemed to have worked.

    What he had done was a blind strike at best, a hope for survival, and it worked. Durmstrang still stood, there wasn't a massacre, only Voldemort's return, and most importantly, he was still alive. He didn't know for sure how the backlash affected Lily's dimension. He had no idea what could have happened, but he only wanted it to hurt her.

    If he had any doubts about Lily before, they had disappeared after the events of the third task. He knew that the reveal of her working with Dumbledore was bad, but that Hermione had purposefully presented it to break their alliance. They had both overreacted to the news, but the situation was still technically salvageable. But what happened in Durmstrang sealed the deal. Lily Evans was an enemy and would remain an enemy.

    However, now was not the time to think of Lily and Voldemort. No, he had a much more important goal.

    Daphne.

    He needed to see her. He needed to show her that he was alright. He also needed to know she was alright, especially considering what Neville said about her. She hadn't been seen since the third task, and the rumour was that she was in her family home, grieving.

    Harry quickly turned back from his avian form as he arrived at the Greengrass family home. To be honest, it was probably rude to just arrive while bypassing the heavy wards so easily, especially since they probably cost a lot of gold to power properly. They were pretty old; it seemed like Hogwarts wasn't the only one with strict wards that could be activated in dire times.

    Thinking back, he had been in the mansion exactly once, during dinner back in Summer. Her father was such an asshole. And her mother kept embarrassing Daphne at every chance. It would have been a surprisingly fun dinner if only the Greengrass patriarch hadn't been there. God, that felt like an eternity ago. It was before the bullshit with the European tournament and the broken prophecies. It was even before Lily had even revealed herself.

    Any thoughts were completely interrupted as he heard a very familiar song with his Arcane Hearing. His heart stopped and his breath completely caught in his throat. The soft, haunting melody floated through the air, a mixture of frost and nature, like a small forest in winter. It was far less fast-paced than it was before he left. A small tear appeared in Harry's eye. He could feel the sadness that it evoked, the sheer magnitude of the heartbreak.

    It was Daphne's song, in the garden. She was using her magic, her family crest specifically, to grow a small garden of flowers around her. Harry walked, entranced, towards the garden, his heart racing with a mixture of excitement and trepidation.

    He had missed her, in the last few months. He had done his best to stifle the feeling while he was away. It would have been impossible to concentrate on a way back if he kept thinking about her. Her song immediately soothed his own, letting the tension that he didn't even know existed, fade away into nothingness.

    As he stepped closer, the vibrant colours of the blossoms seemed to sway in time with her gentle melody, almost like they were dancing just for her. It was a slow dance, as mournful as the blonde's song, but there was so much beauty to it.

    Seeing her there, focused and serene, warmed his heart in a way he hadn't felt in a while. He noticed the hint of sadness in her eyes, a slight crease in her brow as she concentrated on her magic. It was clear she was trying to find comfort in her work, but Harry just found himself just staring at her, watching her work.

    She obviously noticed that someone else was there, "I thought I told you to leave me alone while I'm practising."

    "Daphne," he simply said, his voice barely above a whisper, not wanting to break the spell of the moment.

    However, that was enough for whatever magic she was maintaining to unravel. She turned with pure shock in her eyes, which quickly morphed into happiness and disbelief, "Harry?"

    He just stared at her as the emotions on her face kept changing, "Is this real?"

    Harry nodded, and funnily enough, the whirl of emotions settled on anger, "Where were you?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly, "I thought you were dead. The ground shook for a bit, but that was it. And then Lily came out, saying that you died. I looked for you. I spent weeks looking for any sign of you until I had to leave Durmstrang because my parents were worried about me. This is beyond cruel, Harry. Why would you make me go through this?"

    She was slowly tearing up as her voice cracked under the weight of her emotions, and Harry could see the pain etched on her face. Each word felt like a dagger, but it paled in comparison to what he could hear with his Arcane Hearing. He could feel her very emotion in a way that was truly raw, and she was definitely underplaying the agony she felt when he was gone.

    He wanted to reassure her, to show her that it was an accident, that he missed her every day, but words failed him. It had never really happened before. He always had something to say, a clever little retort for every criticism, valid or not. But he very rarely found himself truly speechless.

    Harry didn't know where the urge came from. It was probably because he couldn't quite find the words, but he found himself closing the distance between them, reaching out to cup her face gently in his hands. With a sudden surge of determination, he leaned in and pressed his lips against hers, pouring everything he felt into that single moment.

    When he would look back at it later, he would undoubtedly say that it was the best decision he ever took in his life.

    AN: So, finally, I decided to officially start the romance between Harry and Daphne. I'll be entirely honest, I don't think I'm good at writing romance scenes. I'm more experienced in writing lore and fighting scenes. It was why I kept putting off the start of the romance in this story. I hope I did an alright job and I'm sort of counting on you guys for help on that front. As usual, I don't mind rewriting this chapter, so please let me know what you think and if you have any suggestions.
     
  • Threadmarks
    • Chapter 348: The Emerald Pond
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    • Chapter 348: The Emerald Pond

    I would like to thank my beta, Awdyr, for his help in this chapter.

    28 March 1995, Greengrass Manor

    It took Daphne embarrassingly long to realize that she wasn't dreaming. It was a pretty recurrent one, where she imagined that Harry was still there, that he would just appear from thin air, twirl her around, and kiss her. It was too good to be true, but she always felt mournful when she woke up and faced reality once more.

    However, there were a few imperfections that didn't occur in her dream. For one, Harry looked exhausted, definitely not his usual pristine self. He was slouching slightly and was practically covered in sweat, the usual sharpness in his movements being strangely absent. He didn't look like one of those conquering heroes. Instead of a conquering hero, he reminded her of Tracy after an intense Quidditch match—dishevelled and worn out. It was all too real. The way her heart raced, the heat of his breath against her skin.

    What she was feeling was too real.

    As he leaned in, everything around her faded into the background, like one of those cheesy novels she'd read embarrassingly too many times. His breath was warm, and it sent butterflies fluttering in her stomach. When their lips finally met, it was soft at first—awkward and clumsy, just like she'd imagined it would be, but also thrilling in a way that made her heart race.

    This was real. Harry Potter was kissing her and all it took was almost four years of pining.

    If she was being honest with herself, she had her doubts over the years. She had been in love with Harry ever since she was eleven, and it definitely was a rocky road. There were countless dangers. She was petrified by a Basilisk, saved Hogsmeade from an attack from the Azkaban escapees, escaped a small army of vampires during the Quidditch World Cup, and that's not to mention what happened in the European School Tournament.

    He was probably more comfortable with her than anyone else, but he never showed any romantic interest towards her. He never showed any romantic interest in anyone, really.

    She waited for years, hoping he would return her feelings. Everyone knew that she fancied him, even students in other houses and if Harry wasn't a bit of a social moron, he would have known as well. But she knew exactly what she was signing up for.

    It took four long years, but it was worth the wait. It was even worth his disappearance for a few months, which she was definitely going to yell at him for. He better have a good explanation, because if he didn't, she would make him pay for the grief he caused her. Hell, she might even do it even if he had a good explanation.

    She hadn't known if he was even alive. Hell, Lily had told her that he had died, that he had sacrificed himself to buy them time to escape, and just apparated them into the middle of the wilderness, before slumping down, shaking and shivering, and falling unconscious. It was weird because they weren't exactly on speaking terms with the woman because of her alliance with Dumbledore. Nevertheless, Daphne knew that the redhead looked visibly troubled and miserable, and she, herself, was in complete shock about Harry dying to really do anything.

    Daphne Greengrass found herself alone in the wilderness, while just being told that her best friend, the person she was the closest to in her life, was dead, just like that. He died for her, to give her time to escape. What she was escaping, she had no idea but by the time Lily woke up, hours later, she looked surprised to see Durmstrang still standing for some reason. Longbottom proclaiming that Lord Voldemort was back, didn't help matters.

    Daphne spent weeks trying to find any traces of Harry, any sliver of hope. The only thing she found in Grindelwald's secret room was rubble since the ceiling collapsed. There was no sign of what happened to Harry and Lily wouldn't tell her anything, having disappeared the day after Harry's presumed death, probably to prepare for her fight with Voldemort.

    And yet, Harry was still alive. She had lost hope after months, but she wasn't the same. The world felt greyer, and her magic mirrored her feelings. The sheer realization that she was holding him, in her arms, so very real, returned the colour back to the world.

    After what felt like an eternity, their lips parted and both were gasping in exhilaration. Daphne found herself getting lost in his green eyes. She always liked them. They reminded her of the trees outside her home, where she used to play with Astoria, before she got sick, of course.

    Harry's lips turned into a roguish smile, "I don't suppose that makes up for the date we never got to have."

    Daphne hugged him tighter. "For the date, yes. For making me think you were dead for months, not so much. Where the hell were you? And don't you dare say something as ridiculous as you were doing it to keep me safe? A letter would have been all I needed. Instead, I mourned you. Do you have any idea what that was like?"

    As she spoke, everything she had been holding back—the misery, the pain, the suffering—came spilling out. It was no secret that she was angry. No, she was furious. If he had done something as asinine as keep her away for her own protection, like some self-sacrificing idiot, then he wouldn't get off lightly. She still clung to the possibility that it hadn't been his decision, as unlikely as it was. Because if he abandoned her, left her to grieve for months by choice, she didn't know if she could forgive him.

    Harry shook his head. "No. But to be fair, I wasn't exactly in a position to send anything. Believe me, I would have if I could."

    "Oh, really? You, the great Harry Potter, the magical prodigy, couldn't find a way to let me know you were still alive?" Daphne asked, incredulity dripping from her voice, though a flicker of hope sparked within her.

    "Do you know what happened that day?"

    Daphne shook her head. "Not really. Lily just grabbed me from the corridor and apparated me to the middle of the mountains, saying something about you sacrificing yourself for us. Then she started trembling and passed out. She wouldn't say anything afterwards."

    "I suppose I would be ashamed as well if I were in her place. She's the reason I had to do it in the first place, and she wouldn't even own up to it. She destroyed the sword, and the magical release from the broken prophecy was contaminated with one of my spells. It would have killed everyone in Durmstrang. I managed to ask Lily to get you to safety. I ended up doing something reckless, but it was the best I could do given the situation. It caused a breach, and I found myself somewhere else. I didn't even know if Durmstrang still stood until I was able to come back."

    "Where were you?" Daphne asked, curiosity creeping in, making it hard to stay angry.

    He grinned mischievously. "Believe it or not, an entirely alternate universe."

    She released a disbelieving snort. "You seriously expect me to believe that?"

    "Hey, it wasn't exactly the same. For once, my counterpart was the Boy Who Lived, not Longbottom. He had a bit of a martyr complex too. There weren't any Light or Dark Champions. It was calmer, in a way. I spent months trying to recreate the event that brought me there. I couldn't exactly contact you. Hell, I just came back today. You're probably the second person I've talked to."

    "Who was the first?"

    Harry looked sheepish. "Neville Longbottom."

    Daphne couldn't help but giggle. "The Boy Who Lived Himself? Oh, should I be jealous?"

    "Come on, I just went to Hogwarts to speak to Tracy and Blaise since I assumed they would be there. The first person who noticed me was Neville. I'm surprised he broke my privacy charms so easily. I guess I wasn't really trying very hard, and he must have gotten better somehow. He told me he heard rumours you were in your family home, and here I am. I have to say, I was surprised by the state of affairs in Britain. I never expected a war to break out because I was just gone for a few months."

    Daphne huffed. "I'm still not convinced you're not bullshitting me about the whole other universe thing."

    Harry puffed up, handing her an old wand. "Hey, I even got a souvenir. This was the wand that their version of Dumbledore was using. It's pretty old, a nifty artefact. I kind of understand why so many people were killed for it. And if you're not convinced, I don't mind projecting a few of my memories."

    The blonde rolled her eyes. "Fine, maybe later. You'd have probably come up with a better lie than 'confirming the theory of the multiverse.' It honestly sounds like one of those weird novels you like to read."

    "Hey, don't diss my books," he protested.

    "Now that I think about it, I must have had a counterpart there too. What was she like?"

    "Different. Very different. I didn't talk to her, not really. But she wasn't as open as you—a bit cold to everyone—and didn't really socialize much, at least as far as I could tell. She wanted to be a healer, though. That much I know for sure."

    Daphne's face became thoughtful. "Huh, what about her Astoria?"

    "I'm guessing she's cursed too, but I'm not sure. It felt weird to pry into your counterpart's affairs, to be honest. How has Astoria been, by the way?"

    "Better. Lily came a few times every week to continue teaching me blood magic. She said it's what you would have wanted. I didn't know about what happened in Durmstrang, and she was my last connection to you."

    Harry's jaw tightened, but he took a deep breath. "Did it help Astoria?"

    A smile spread across Daphne's face. She had been worried about him being angry over her lessons with Lily. Now she understood—Lily must have felt guilty, thinking she had killed Harry. "I found a way to halt the progress of her curse slightly. It's a temporary measure, but it should last a few years, enough for me to study the curse properly. I've gotten a lot better at it."

    "I'm glad," he smiled. "And if you want to continue your lessons with Lily, I won't be opposed…"

    Daphne interrupted him. "Continue my lessons? She almost got you killed! Do you think so little of me that I'd accept being taught by someone who did that? Who caused you so much pain? No, I have the foundations and can figure the rest out myself."

    "What about Astoria?"

    "I bought myself enough time for some proper research, and I can work on extending it as well. I don't need her around. My parents were already hesitant about her coming here, especially with the war going on. It would have made me a target."

    Harry glanced at the sky for a second. "Wouldn't it be nice to just leave this mess? We could go to a deserted island somewhere, build a small home, just the two of us."

    "Isn't that moving a little too fast?" she answered with a sly grin.

    "I think we've moved slowly for too long."

    "Well, unfortunately for us, we can't run from our problems. I still have Astoria to heal, and I still have to compete in one of the tournament's tasks by contract."

    Harry furrowed his brow. "Seriously?"

    "Yeah. It's part of being a delegate. There are two tasks left: one happening in a few weeks in Greece, and another here at Hogwarts, although I have no idea if that will remain the case with the war going on."

    "What about after the tournament? You'd compete in just one task, hopefully, the next one. I have a feeling the last one will be the one where Dumbledore's plans come to fruition, and I'd rather we be as far away as possible from this mess."

    "What, you're not planning on stopping him?" Daphne asked, shocked.

    "There's more to life than worrying about Albus Dumbledore and his plans. When I was away, I realized it wasn't my responsibility to stop him. Lily or Voldemort can deal with him if they want to, but I'm done chasing after him. No more heroics, at least not for me."

    Daphne smiled softly. "I'm glad to hear that, but trouble seems to find you anyway. Still, it's a nice dream—us alone somewhere far away from these messes. I don't know about building a home, but I wouldn't say no to a vacation somewhere warm."

    She barely finished her sentence before a blonde missile zoomed toward him. "Harry!"

    Harry gave Astoria a tight hug and turned to Daphne. "You weren't kidding about her getting better."

    Whatever she was going to say next caught in her throat as she saw a familiar redhead standing at the garden's entrance. "Harry?"

    Harry's face blanked completely, and he spoke in a neutral tone. "Hello, Lily. It's been a while."

    AN: I don't know if this is good or not, but I'm really sick. Have been since last night. I pushed myself to write this, but I'll be honest, I'm mostly tired out of my mind. I hope the reunion between the two came out as I imagined it. For some reason, I didn't think that their getting angry at each other for things beyond their control was fitting with their personalities. Anyway, I'll probably re-read the whole thing and do a few rewrites when I get better, hopefully tomorrow. So, as usual, please let me know what you think and if you have any suggestions.
     
  • Threadmarks
    • Chapter 349: Red and Green
  • Threadmarks
    • Chapter 349: Red and Green

    I would like to thank my beta, Awdyr, for his help in this chapter.

    28 March 1995, Greengrass Manor

    To say that Harry was tense would have been an understatement. The moment he heard her voice, everything just came back. He was back in Durmstrang, holding back a corrosive magical release that would have wiped out the entire school and its surrounding land, while Lily Evans declined to help, choosing her own hide over her son, refusing to sacrifice herself for him.

    There was nothing wrong with that last part. Both of them had a hand in the creation of the singularity and if the tables were turned, Harry would have chosen himself too. That alone was proof that they were still acquaintances at best. If Lily saw him as her son, she would have gladly died for him and if he saw her as a friend, let alone a mother, he would have probably done the same. He definitely would for Daphne, without question, without hesitation. There was some irony to it. Harry's counterpart would have done anything to spend a day with either of his parents. He wondered what that boy would have said if he saw the monster she could have been in another life. Then again, this Lily wouldn't have refused to step aside to save her son. This Lily would have burned down the world to save her own skin.

    Harry didn't begrudge her from saving herself, what he hated the most was the way she pretended to mourn for him, the way she apologized. She had chosen for them to be enemies for her own selfishness, for her own power, and she pretended like it was a hard choice, as if it was something that she regretted after doing it again and again.

    No, he had enough of that. He spent months being confused about Lily Evan's motivations, her goals and dreams, and he realized something very important. He didn't care. It all just seemed meaningless, so small, from the outside. She betrayed him and destroyed any potential relationship with her own son, for power. It was all so small in the grand scheme of things.

    He gave Daphne a reassuring look, showing her that he had no plans of blowing up before speaking up, "Hello, Lily. It's been a while."

    She didn't look as sharp as she used to be. That was probably an effect of the war she was waging against Voldemort. It was funny; she wanted to take over Britain and had probably already done so, but she didn't really count on something like this happening. She probably wished she could have consolidated her power through the pure strength she would have acquired with her ritual. If she had enough time to prepare, if she had time to properly put everything into order, Voldemort wouldn't have been able to do anything.

    She would have found a way to bind the Dementors to Tartarus, culled any Dark Creature that would have joined Voldemort, or even Light Creature that would have joined Dumbledore, manipulated the political scene to her liking, and taken over the country fully in a few years. Voldemort wouldn't have been able to get any foothold in the nation and would only have had his pure strength on his side, compared to a very efficient military force that she would have trained to repel invaders. Things were definitely not going according to the redhead's plan. She didn't have enough time to prepare for any conflict, and it showed.

    The redhead gave him a weirdly vulnerable look, "How did you survive?"

    "The fact that Durmstrang didn't turn into a crater didn't give you a clue that I might have pulled something out of my ass to survive. It's weird how I always seem to make any breakthroughs when I'm under pressure."

    "I assumed you redirected the blast somehow. But the sheer energy alone should have killed you. I didn't dare to hope."

    Harry released a mirthless chuckle, "Hope for what exactly? What did you expect me to do if I survived?"

    She stayed silent at that, and Harry continued, "You know, I almost believed you when we met for the first time. Even though I saw your handiwork first-hand with the monster you turned Sirius Black into, I still believed for some reason that all you wanted was to get close to me. I just didn't see any motivation, any reason for your behaviour if you weren't interested. You could have done this while hidden entirely, went through the entirety of your plan without me even knowing you were there, but you specifically tried to hide in plain sight, knowing that I would catch you. I thought it was your way of showing that you cared, somehow, and I was willing to entertain the idea. Do you know why? Hope. I hoped that I wasn't alone, that someone out there could keep up with me. I knew that I didn't need someone to take care of me, not after being alone for so long, but there was more to being a mother than raising a child. I hoped that one day, we'd be close enough that your absence during my childhood would become nothing more than a distant memory. It was a doomed hope, one that I never even admitted to myself, but it was there. I hoped and it was my biggest mistake."

    "I did want to get to know you, Harry," she protested, "it was why I even came to see you."

    "Oh, I don't doubt that you care, in your own twisted way, but not nearly enough. It was curiosity, not affection, that drove you. Because you didn't burn down Godric's Hollows for me, no matter what you say to yourself. You did it because you saw an easy way to get what you want. James would be gone, his bloodline would live through me, and you'd get your power up and kill your attackers. You didn't expect the human aspect. It was always your biggest mistake. You didn't count on the sheer grief that Sirius Black would have felt. Why would you? You could barely feel anything anymore. And that's why I think you never came to see me out of love, but curiosity. And to satisfy that curiosity, you came to me, when I was alone, and you gave me hope. You cannibalized that hope, and abused it utterly, like you did to Remus Lupin and Severus Snape. You gave them hope too, and now they're barely more than your puppets. You literally twisted an entire race to your needs using the exact same thing, giving you an army. It's funny how much people forget just how dangerous hope could be. It works so well because everyone craves it, even if they deny it. I didn't want to accept the fact that I craved that someone would keep up with me, would see the world as I do, and that I wasn't truly alone in the world. You took advantage of that, and I can only blame myself for falling for it."

    "We can start over," Lily spoke up, "I can make this right. You and me, against the world."

    "Here you are, doing it again, playing on a desire that I didn't even know existed, pressing a pressure point that I denied for years and years. You want me to help you fight Voldemort. Did you even consider the fact that I don't want anything to do with you, not anymore? Are you really asking me to join you when you ran away after almost causing an international incident where thousands of minors would have probably perished? Are you really asking for help after you left me alone in Durmstrang to deal with the consequences of your actions? You really are a bitch, Lily."

    The redhead's face froze as if it was made of stone, before she asked in a neutral tone, "So, enemies, then?"

    "I thought I told you that I wanted nothing to do with you. Hell, I want nothing to do with Britain in general. You and Voldemort can go enjoy each other's company. I'm not this country's babysitter."

    "How do I know you're not planning on taking revenge, that you won't change your mind?" she asked with a clinical tone.

    Harry noticed that Daphne had blanched at that question, but he simply gave the woman a smug smile, "Now, why would I do that when I already have taken my revenge."

    "What are you talking about?"

    "I like to think I'm a logical guy, but sometimes, I can be very petty. There's a reason why you haven't just beaten Voldemort, didn't you? Something isn't working right, is it?"

    She glared at him, "You? You did this?"

    "If you mean your little performance issues, then yes. After all, the singularity had to go somewhere, and you were such a good target. Surprising, isn't it, just how much damage a thing like this could do, even shatter dimensional barriers. I can feel it now, your connection to it, and it feels spottier than you expected, doesn't it? You probably thought it was just a temporary thing, that after a period of adjustment, things would work as they should have. Sorry to burst your bubble, but it's not."

    "What did you do?"

    Harry's grin widened, "Nothing really. I didn't even know what the result would have been. I just wanted to remove the singularity. The impact was powered by a prophecy that was thousands of years old being broken, it was more than enough to make a small hole near your connection to the dimension, and energy is leaking out to the void between worlds. It's a slow process, and would probably take years, but here's the thing, the more you use the energy, the wider the hole gets. You can't channel the energy properly, can you? That's because most of what you try to use just gets swallowed away. Oh, you can use a small percent of a percent, but nowhere near what you could have become, and even then, the more you use it, the more the gap widens, the faster your dimension is drained, and the less energy you'll be able to use afterwards, and we both know what that means. Don't think I didn't see the way you bound yourself to that dimension as well. I'm guessing you were hoping to use it as some elaborate method of immortality. Too bad someone fucked it up for you…"

    Harry was chuckling in the end, and Lily's form was surrounded by a cloud of ash in her anger. He smiled, not seeing her as a threat, "Don't be so sensitive, Lily."

    "Fix it!" she growled.

    "I can't. That's the beauty of it. It's a singular event that never occurred before and is almost impossible to replicate. This isn't something that can be repaired. I don't even think that Dumbledore or Grindelwald together, enhanced by the Light or Dark, could do anything about it. Oh, you should see the look on your face. It's funny, isn't it? You worked all your life for this achievement, got married for it, killed your husband for it, massacred an entire town, took over a small country and betrayed your only son, only for it to disappear like breath on a mirror."

    The redhead moved to cast something, only for the ash around her to dissipate and gasp in exertion. Harry gave her a smirk, "Oh, I forgot to mention that I can block your connection to it if I want to."

    "What do you want?" she growled at him.

    "With you? Nothing. I told you, I already got my revenge for what you did, for almost killing me, for betraying me. I took away what you treasure the most, corrupted it, made it lesser. I turned your ambition into your greatest punishment and I'm alright with that. I want nothing to do with Britain, your conquest, or Dumbledore's plan. I'm done. However, this is a bit of a reminder, if you try to get back at me by hurting anyone close to me, then I'll take away your connection to your dimension permanently. I will make you feel the void in your heart for every second of every day you stay alive. I will put you in a place so dark, so unknown, that you would never be able to escape, and only after a lifetime of emptiness would I give you permission to die. Do not talk about me, do not think about me, do not concern yourself about my affairs in any way, that is all I want from you. As far as you're concerned, I died back in Durmstrang. Do not test my patience."

    She turned to Daphne with eyes pleading, only for the blonde to snarl, "You almost got Harry killed for no reason. I can't believe I let you stay in my home, near my sister. I want you to leave and never return."

    She moved to speak only for Harry to sneer at her, "Get the fuck of out my sight, Lily Evans. I hope to never see you again in this lifetime."

    With a flick of his hand, Lily Evans disappeared into a small portal that Harry made which would take her to Diagon Alley. He hoped she would heed his warning. He wasn't joking when he said that he wouldn't blink twice before just killing her. The only reason he hadn't done so was because it wasn't worth the chaos it would cause since she was in in control of half the government. He had already beaten her in every way that mattered, he had already gotten his revenge. Destabilizing a country for some closure wasn't really worth it. If she actually threatened anyone, he cared about then all bets would be off.

    Daphne gave him a worried look, "Do you think she'll come back."

    "Probably, but hopefully it won't be in a very long time."

    Then a soft voice spoke up, "Umm, Daph, Harry, what was that about?"

    Oh, yeah, Astoria was there. He forgot about that. That was bound to be very awkward to explain.

    AN: Well, I still feel like hell, but this chapter wouldn't leave my head. I wasn't planning on releasing anything today, but before I knew it, I was done with it. I didn't even re-read it properly, I'm too tired to do it. I barely skimmed it, and I honestly have no idea if it came out well or not. So, as usual, please let me know what you think and if you have any suggestions. I don't mind rewriting it when I'm better.
     
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    • Chapter 350: The Long Way Round
  • Threadmarks
    • Chapter 350: The Long Way Round

    I would like to thank my beta, Awdyr, for his help in this chapter.

    28 March 1995, Greengrass Manor

    "Probably, but hopefully it won't be in a very long time."

    Then a soft voice spoke up, "Umm, Daph, Harry, what was that about?" Oh, yeah, Astoria was there. He forgot about that. That was bound to be very awkward to explain.

    Harry watched as Daphne gently let Astoria know a few snippets of what they experienced in the last few years. The younger girl's poker face was impressive for a twelve-year-old. Then again, he killed the World Serpent when he was her age so that kinda put things into perspective.

    Still, her neutral expression was obviously making Daphne uncomfortable. To be fair, where Daphne tended to be reserved, Astoria was always outgoing. It probably had to do with her curse. Not the magic itself, of course, but the acceptance of one's mortality especially for a young child, would put everything in perspective. Everyone handled it differently, but one of the common ones was the idea of not caring about the consequences of their actions. No, it wasn't that exactly, it was more like the lack of care of offending someone. She didn't hesitate to do something that she liked because she stopped caring what other people thought about it.

    This was probably one of the few times where he saw Astoria looking very serious. It reminded him very much that she was still Daphne's sister, still her father's daughter.

    In the end, the girl just gave them both a good look, "So, let me get this straight. Harry's mum is still alive somehow despite Godric's Hollows being burned to the ground, and she's the Red Witch from the paper. Over the course of last year, she's been sneakily taking over the country in Dumbledore's absence, and now that You-Know-Who is back, they've been fighting. For some reason, she pretended to be a fake Unspeakable during the tournament to somehow use the power of a broken prophecy – because those are a thing too – to somehow gain power, and almost got everyone in Durmstrang killed. Harry's stopped it but was trapped for a bit, while everyone else thought he died, but now he's back and the two of you are dating."

    Harry nodded, "Sounds about right."

    The girl then continued, "And also, the woman happened to teach you blood magic, which you agreed to because you wanted to heal me and the fact that I'm better because of what you learned from her and secretly have been using to heal me."

    It was Daphne's turn to nod, "Yes."

    The younger girl raised her hands in exasperation, "You're all fucking insane. What even is your life?"

    "Language!" Daphne reproached.

    "Are you out of your mind? I'm bloody twelve not five and this situation deserves a few cuss words. Do you have any idea just how mad you sound? If I didn't know you any better, I would have asked Mum and Dad to get you to Saint Mungo's."

    "Hey, it's not that unbelievable!" Harry protested, doing his best to suppress his growing grin.

    "Not unbelievable? Durmstrang, one of the biggest fortresses and schools in Europe was almost destroyed, and with it, half of the diplomats and academics in the continent. It would have crippled the entirety of Europe and probably caused another Great War."

    The last Potter nodded, "That sounds about right."

    The young girl just raised her hand and growled, "You know what, I'm going to my room. Hopefully, this is all a fancy dream or a hallucination."

    She just walked away without saying anything else. For the first time since the encounter, Harry felt slightly hesitant. He didn't expect her to just run away, "Is she going to be alright?"

    "Yes, she'll be fine. Astoria is stronger than you think. She just needs a few hours to process everything. She'll probably be madder at me than you, to be honest."

    "Why?"

    Daphne looked away for a bit, "Because we used to be inseparable when we were younger. Back then, we did everything together and shared everything. It was the only way to have any sort of fun in the house. Mum does her best, but she can be very strict when it comes to our lessons. And dad was, well, dad. We used to travel a lot to find any possible cure for Astoria's curse, and they were both stressed, especially when the gold started running a bit dry when a few of our plants ended up dying without Dad being in Britain to take care of them with his crest. I haven't really had to hide anything from her before Hogwarts and I didn't want to involve her with our shenanigans afterwards. You know what she's like. She would have jumped at the chance of having an adventure without even caring about the dangers or her health."

    Harry said nothing because there was nothing, he could say to comfort Daphne. What she said was true and he couldn't change the past. Still, he let Daphne hold him tightly as she revealed that and decided to change the subject after a few minutes of silence, "So, how were the tasks I missed? I have to say that I'm kinda curious."

    "I didn't go there, Harry. Did you forget?"

    "Oh, I remember. I just assumed you read about them in the paper or something."

    The blonde rolled her eyes, "Fine. As I said, I don't know the specifics, but the fourth task was in Nebelheim. It was just a standard duelling tournament, really. Pretty boring, compared to the other tasks at least, but it was almost a month long. It's probably the event that got the most gold, since tickets were relatively cheap until the final round, and they apparently got businesses from all over Europe to rent shops in a marketplace that they built especially for the event. They really organized everything very well and it paid off big time. I can't believe I'm saying this, but the Weasley twins ended up stopping Hogwarts from sinking in these rankings. One of them came in third and the other fifth. I think Diggory was ninth as well. I don't remember which position Johnson held, but she was somewhere in the top twenty. McGonagall looked definitely happy about the results. However, there was a curious case of theft during the finals. They're still investigating what happened, and keeping everything quiet to avoid the scandal, but Dad heard that it was actually two artefacts that were stolen, specifically, Megingjörð and Gjallarhorn."

    Harry froze at that, "Thor's belt of strength and Heimdall's horn. I remember reading about them when we researched possible prophecies for each school. The belt was prophesized to be used to kill the last of the giants, and the horn was said to herald the start of Ragnarök."

    "My thoughts exactly. Dumbledore obviously used them for another magical release of some sort, but I don't know anymore that you do. The newspapers didn't have any other information on the matter and neither do my father's contacts."

    "What about the fifth task?"

    "A chariot race. The champions were tasked to build and enchant their own chariots and race them across the country. They were penalized if the government needed to intervene to preserve the statute of secrecy. The race actually started without them having any chariots, so they had to decide whether to focus on building the chariot, or just wing it to save some time. Delacour actually won that one, France's second victory."

    "And how did Hogwarts do?" Harry asked, knowing that there was a reason she omitted the whole thing.

    "We came in last," Daphne answered while looking a bit embarrassed, "It was a bit of a scandal. None of the delegation had taken the Enchanting NEWT elective, so they essentially used normal charms constantly, which sometimes failed and by the time they were halfway through, everyone was too exhausted by the casting to do anything else. They waited for hours for one of them to recover enough to continue the race. McGonagall was in Hogwarts at the time to make sure the wards were maintained and left the decision-making to a vote. Diggory won, of course, and personally chose the teams without even considering that they needed enchantments. To be fair, the nature of the task was announced to be a race and nothing more than that, so he probably gambled on the fact that it would be a short one and lost. Anyway, it's not that big of a deal, we're now tied in second place with the Greek, a far cry from the projections at the start of the tournament."

    "And the broken prophecy?" he asked.

    "I have no idea. We never really researched prophecies in Spain. The only notable thing that I could find was the sudden death of the Duchess of Alba, but that might be a coincidence."

    Harry hummed. He expected this, a bit. He hadn't known of Nero's prophecy back in Rome. There were so many prophecies, some hundreds if not thousands of years old. There was no reason for Dumbledore to be obvious when breaking them.

    Still, it wasn't his problem. Not anymore. He was done trying to save Europe from whatever they were planning if no one else was going to care anyway. He was going to get Daphne to fulfil her obligation to the tournament and have her and her family stay as far away from Britain as he could. He wouldn't involve himself with the Light or Dark once more. He would be far away from their machinations. After all, he couldn't make a decision about Ragnarök if he wasn't there anymore. No matter what Mordred said, he would not be this prophesized hero. He refused.

    Instead of showing how much the thought unsettled him, he gave the blonde a bright smile, "So, I'm guessing we're going to Greece in a few days then."

    Daphne nodded, "I suppose so. So, you're to reveal to the world that you're still alive then?"

    Harry thought about it and had to admit that the blonde did have a point. The only advantage he got from the whole mess in Durmstrang is that everyone thought that he was dead. Daphne's grief was proof that it wasn't some kind of hoax, and both Dumbledore and Grindelwald had no reason to suspect that there was any trick to it. Any use of clairvoyance would return no sign of him for months.

    That was his way out, to finally escape and leave this place, build his legacy somewhere else far away from Europe, well, away from the Champions of Light and Dark, more than anything, "Now that I think about it, it would be better to just remain hidden."

    "So, you're not coming then?"

    Harry shook his head, "Of course I am. Do you seriously think I would leave you alone in Greece of all places?"

    "Then how are you planning on staying hidden? You haven't exactly been subtle so far. You said that you talked the Longbottom and Lily also knows that you're alive. I can get Astoria to not say anything, but I think the cat is already out of the bag."

    To be perfectly honest, Harry wasn't exactly worried about Lily or Neville blabbing. The boy who lived was stuck in an impregnable castle and no one would really take him seriously if he said anything, especially with no connection to the outside world. Lily, though, well, he didn't think she would do anything in fear of retaliation more than anything. Harry already showed her that he could easily block whatever remained of her connection to her dimension. Still, he could go and visit Longbottom just to make sure he wouldn't make a mess of things.

    No, he could hide his survival without too much trouble, as long as there wasn't a giant spotlight there, and the European tournament was definitely that. Ideally, he wouldn't just go to Greece with Daphne, but actually compete alongside her in case something happened.

    To compete, his name would need to be in the delegation. From the looks of it, anyone who hadn't taken their OWLS yet had returned to Hogwarts after the war started, apart from a few people at the request of their parents.

    Harry looked at the Elder Wand in his hand, an idea slowly taking place in his mind. Yes, this could work. A small smile started to grow on his face. He was about to tell Daphne about his plan, only to notice that the blonde looked nervous for some reason, "I don't like the look on your face. It always makes me worried."

    "What?" he answered with a fake indignant look on his face, "There's nothing wrong with my face."

    "You're doing your 'I have an insane idea that might just work' face. Tell me I'm wrong."

    Harry snorted, "Hey, my ideas are perfectly reasonable."

    "So, you do have an idea, then."

    "Fine," he groaned, "I have an idea, but I'll need a bit of preparation to pull it off. I guess I'll have to talk to Arcturus sooner than I expected."

    AN: I'll be honest here, I'm not sure about this chapter. It might be the fact that I'm still sick and needed a bit of a breather, or it might be the fact that the last few chapters were pretty eventful, but it felt a bit right to slow things down a bit for a chapter or two. I've been feeling like shit for almost a week now and it's kinda messing with me. It's kinda hard to write an eventful chapter when I can barely focus. Honestly, I'm surprised I was able to finish this one.

    In case you were curious, the tasks I described in the chapter were ones that I actually planned out to be real tasks for the tournament that I was going to write. Halfway through the Earth 2 arc, I decided to have Harry return a few months after he disappeared since I felt like the tournament whole thing was getting repetitive and that it would have achieved nothing, and chose to return when things would get a bit different. There were a few subplots that I was planning on making, which could have been interesting, but I decided against it.

    Still, it would have been nice to expand the lore in Nebelheim (I had a pretty nice bit of Norse lore planned and the fight for the Gjallarhorn would have been cool to write) and in Spain (I was hoping to write something of a serial killer killing magical Nobility there, which would be intersected into the broken prophecy theme that's rampant around the story).

    Anyway, I have something pretty special in mind for the next task and as a small hint, it'll be a bit different from the older ones (which is why I chose that Harry would return for it). As usual, please let me know what you think and if you have any suggestions. I don't mind rewriting this chapter depending on your feedback, and hopefully, I'll be better by the next chapter.
     
  • Threadmarks
    • Chapter 351: The Black Sanction
  • Threadmarks
    • Chapter 351: The Black Sanction

    I would like to thank my beta, Awdyr, for his help in this chapter.

    29 March 1995, Black Manor

    Arcturus Black sat in his office, drinking a very old bottle of Firewhiskey, and reminisced at the remains of his legacy. He couldn't help but wonder why everything had to go to shit without so much of a head's up. His entire legacy was now made up of Narcissa and her brat of a son, and Andromeda's estranged family which wanted nothing to do with the Black legacy.

    He had observed the remnants of his family very carefully for years. The Malfoy brat was a disappointment enough, and Andromeda's daughter, while showing a lot of promise due to her nature as a Metamorphmagus, was out of reach due to her mother's refusal to even meet. He was proud that his granddaughter had done well for herself despite being forced to fend on her own after his foolish son banished her, but he didn't want the spite she held for the Black name to affect his heir.

    At the end of the day, he resigned himself to the fact that his family name would fade away. Perhaps his crest would end up being unlocked to one of his descendants one day, and he hoped that people would still remember the Black name by then. He decided to just retire and wait for Death to take him to see his beloved Melania. At least, he did until he met Harry Potter.

    It was nothing more than a passing curiosity at first, but it had been the kick in the arse he needed to finally start to hope once more. He thought he had stricken gold with the boy. A descendant of his sister, with enough potential to spearhead the family name into the annals of history, immortalize the House of Black and return it to his rightful place in history.

    He was quickly disillusioned with Dumbledore and was understandably wary of being used. It took some patience, and it worked. He supported the boy, became his guardian, and he didn't disappoint. He rebuilt his family fortune from scratch; his Gringotts vault probably had more gold than it held for at least a century. He had done this in a single year.

    However, this had a bit of a side effect in the fact that he started to care once more about the world around him. The inevitable war between Dumbledore and Grindelwald, like every other Champion of the Light and Dark, would be disastrous. It would be on a scale that even the Great War would look like a small battle. The signs were there. The vampires started to become active once more, on a scale unseen since the Great War, ever since Grindelwald was active and the Goblins started to increase their fees and fortified every branch of their bank. Normally, he would have left things as they were, finding no reason to leave his manor. He was old, too old to really care, too old to fight in any meaningful way. He had gotten rusty, and so had his friends.

    Still, with a possible heir on the horizon, he wanted to make sure he would survive the fighting. He gathered the old guard, his old team that fought Grindelwald's forces, and told them the situation, which led to a small militarization of most of Europe. He made connections, an entire web of information gathering from all over the world. Italy was especially profitable after Harry tricked the Black Widow into giving him half of her properties. Arcturus used the tournament as a cover to build small spy networks in every country he visited. He used considerable resources to make that happen in such a short term, but it worked. He had achieved what he could until the Third Task happened, until Voldemort returned, and Harry Potter disappeared into thin air.

    Arcturus found himself without an heir, without his main motivation of even preparing for the war, and with a fucking war happening on his own doorstep. Apparently, the werewolves got an upgrade somehow, some woman called the Red Witch came out of nowhere to resist the wannabe Dark Lord, but she did that by massacring half the Wizengamot in their homes.

    He had to return home and saw an entire country in chaos, the dementors having defected, and the mages being nothing more than spectators waiting to weather the storm.

    No matter what he expected, Arcturus could see no way out of this. The Wizengamot was useless, almost entirely scared to submission, and the ministry had refused to deploy its Aurors to keep the peace. Shops all over Britain were closed and Diagon Alley was barely more than a ghost town with only Gringotts being opened. The entire country had gone to shit, and an economic collapse was imminent.

    He couldn't exactly keep making connections in the continent while half of his properties were burning to the ground, and he spent the previous few months doing some damage control, saving whatever investments could be in danger while leaving Sebastien Delacour to continue their purpose later. It was going well too on that front. They had been able to identify dozens of Vampire nests from all over the continent and they had planned a lot of coordinated attacks to eliminate them before the inevitable fighting started.

    The plan was simple, to get as many followers as possible and turn the war into a single battle between Dumbledore and Grindelwald. No wizard was going to follow Dumbledore into a war, not without an ideology to follow. In the Great War, they had done so just to resist Grindelwald's forces, and people followed Grindelwald after decades of speeches and propaganda.

    So far, the advantage they held was Dumbledore and Grindelwald's secrecy. Harry told him that they were working together, that they weren't planning on fighting, and that might be the case. There was obviously a large game at play. However, the Black Patriarch knew better. After whatever plan came through, Grindelwald and Dumbledore would inevitably have their battle, as every champion of Light and Dark did. It was in their nature to fight after all.

    Hopefully one of them would die giving them an opportunity to take the other by surprise. It had happened before, most of the time due to betrayal or sheer luck, but that was the only hope they had. It was better to turn the war into a single battle between two Archmages. An entire army against a wounded Champion was the best they could hope for, given the circumstances. It was literally the only path to victory, and even that was pretty flimsy and relied on a lot of optimism that things would go their way. Arcturus had hoped that Harry would have been the one to do it himself since he obviously could hold his own better than an entire army of Aurors and Hit-Wizards.

    All in all, things weren't going well. His preparations in Britain were in ruin, the country was about to collapse. Harry Potter was gone, probably dead. For the hundred's time, he wished that the boy had unlocked the Black crest instead. It would have immediately made him part of the Black family tapestry, and that would have cleared any doubts in the matter. The boy would have likely appeared when his son would have inevitably unlocked the crest. It tracked the lineage of every holder of the crest, and unfortunately, Harry Potter wasn't one of them.

    Arcturus spent considerable resources trying to find any trace of the boy and found nothing. The Greengrass girl had said something about a secret room in Durmstrang, but all he could find was a destroyed area with traces of some weird corrosive magic. The Hit-Wizards he had hired were freaked out by it, especially since it destabilized most of the spells they cast. After months of searching and thousands of Galleons wasted on Diviners and trackers, he had very little hope that his heir was still alive, and with that realization, the small spark of ambition he held left was quickly fading away as well. There was no reason to fight when he had no legacy left anyway.

    Arcturus took another sip of Firewhiskey, the burn reminding him that at least he could still feel something. He leaned back in his chair, his eyes drifting to the old family crest above the fireplace. The Black name, so proud and unshakable once, now seemed like a relic of a bygone era—a shadow of its former power. There was a time when the Black family name commanded fear and respect, but that time had long since passed. It died with Sirius and Regulus, due to his son's foolishness. He should have known that Orion wasn't ready. He should have eased him into becoming a competent Patriarch. He shouldered a large portion of the blame for his family's circumstances and he accepted that long ago.

    The weight of his own failure bore down on him as he thought about the ghosts of his ancestors. The entire thing, the war, the subterfuge, it was all a failure. Merlin, the boy. Harry Potter was a bright young man, and he failed him. He promised to guard the boy, his sister's blood, and yet, he was gone. He missed him dearly, far more than he liked to admit. The boy's sharp wit endeared him, and things were never boring with him around. He probably should have tried to reign him in, to give him small boundaries for his own protection. The boy would have resented him, of course, but it was better than him being dead.

    He took another sip and groaned, "Oh, Melania, if only you were here… You'd have known how to handle the boy. You could have stopped this."

    A soft voice spoke up from the other side of the office, "Arcturus."

    Arcturus, even with his reflexes dulled by his old age, cast a blood-boiling curse at the voice in a fraction of a second, only for his curse to fade into nothing, "Well, that's a vicious way to greet me back."

    The Black Patriarch finally recognized the voice, and the person he had just attacked, and froze. It was the familiar form of a teenager, "When was the first time we met?"

    "It was in the summer before my second year. You sat next to me in the Leaky Cauldron and asked me to be your heir. I ended up asking you for books about Basilisks."

    "Harry?"

    He looked far better than Arcturus would have expected to be, well he expected him to be dead, but the boy looked rested and well-dressed. The boy's green eyes crinkled in amusement, and he spoke up, "In the flesh. I guess you could say that tales of my demise were greatly exaggerated. I always wanted to say that."

    "Where have you been? What happened?" Arcturus asked quickly.

    "There was a magical accident back in Durmstrang, I was trapped somewhere. I just got back yesterday. It's a long story, believe me. How have things been on your end? I heard that Britain is become quite the shitshow."

    "You don't know the half of it. The country is most likely to collapse soon, and I don't even think the ICW is going to touch us with a ten-foot pole until the fighting stops. Even then, Magical Britain will be beholden to them, completely."

    The boy nodded gravely, "Yeah, I could gather that. I didn't think could get so bad even without Dumbledore's involvement."

    "So, what are you planning?"

    "Nothing. I'm in as much of a bind as you are. I could theoretically kill the Red Witch, but then Voldemort would be able to do as he pleases which isn't exactly ideal, and I can't kill Voldemort without first killing Longbottom and even then, I'd be breaking a prophecy, and I already experienced how that would happen."

    Arcturus knew the boy enough to discern that he was hiding something, "You're not telling me everything."

    The boy took a deep sigh, "I'm tired, Arcturus. I really am. Ever since I came to the magical world, it's been one crisis after another, without me even getting to take a breather. I want to stay hidden for a little while, and enjoy my life for a while before getting back into the fray. Interfering in Britain would raise the spotlight once more. Even Dumbledore and Grindelwald still think that I'm dead."

    "People will die," the Black Patriarch commented.

    "Probably, but it's not my problem. A government shouldn't need a teenager to fix its messes."

    "Alright," Arcturus agreed.

    "What?" the teenager agreed looking confused.

    "Alright, I won't push you to interfere in the conflict in Britain. I'm not an idiot, Harry, I'm just surprised by your switch in priorities. A few months back, you would have jumped at the opportunity to fight them."

    "I'm not a hero."

    The boy sounded strangely resolute when he said that and Arcturus answered, "You are, and believe me, it's not something I like. Heroes have a tendency to die young after all. You might deny it, but you have always prioritized saving people. You have sacrificed many things for other people's safety and that makes you a hero. I never cared for that; I wanted you to be great, to make your mark in history, and I suppose heroism on a road to greatness. However, if you need a break, then I'm more than happy to help you in that regard."

    For some reason, the boy's expression soured before straightening back, "That's good because I need a favour."

    "What do you need?"

    "I need Nymphadora Tonks' location."

    Arcturus was about to ask him what he could ever want with his great-granddaughter, only for a loud bang to echo across the manor. He barely had time to yell, "Something is wrong with the wards," before he was swept off his feet slightly by the impact.

    Black Manor stood with a gigantic hole on its side, and a man floated in. Calling him a man wouldn't have been exact. He certainly looked humanoid, but his serpentine face and red eyes showed the thing's true nature. Lord Voldemort had come for Arcturus Black.

    The chill from the hundreds of dementors surrounding them started to settle all over the manor, and Voldemort spoke up, "Arcturus Black, you're a hard man to find. Your wards were very impressive. They could have stopped anyone from coming here. Well, almost anyone. You'll find that there is very little that could protect you from the likes of me, especially when I'm motivated."

    An unfamiliar voice spoke up, one that made him freeze in his tracks, "Don't kid yourself. You had the dementors slowly freeze the wards dry to make a small weak point towards the ward's anchor, which you blasted easily. Not many people know that they can also absorb magic."

    Where Harry Potter stood just minutes prior, a strangely familiar face, one that slipped Arcturus' mind, stared back at Voldemort. It was still that of a teenager, a bit older than Harry himself, with hazel eyes, black hair, and sharp features. He wouldn't have looked out of place in a Wizengamot meeting.

    The boy stared unflinchingly as the madman's red eyes glowed further in confusion and fury, "You! How can you be here?"

    The boy who was pretending to be his dead grandson for some reason spoke up, "Hello, Voldemort. If it's all the same to you, I'd like my body back."

    That was when Arcturus realized that the disguise that Harry Potter had taken was that of Tom Riddle, essentially Voldemort himself. He had no idea what the boy was planning, but at least it would prove to be interesting.

    AN: Thank you all for your well wishes, I finally feel a bit better after that weirdly persistent cold. Anyway, I hope that this chapter will make up for the lack of action in the previous one a bit. I wasn't sure about adding the confrontation with Voldemort this early, but I decided to just go for it and put a little twist to make it more interesting. I hope this chapter came out like I wanted it to, and I don't mind rewriting it if you don't like it. As usual, please let me know what you think and if you have any suggestions.
     
  • Threadmarks
    • Oh, I think that's kinda smart.

    Voldemort probably won't want to destroy one of his 'horcruxes' out of hand, so that gives Harry an advantage. Plus, I think on some level he might understand that the diary got a lot of his scheming ability and be wary of a trap. And there's plenty of reasons diary-Tom might decide to visit the Blacks - among other things tracking down his own horcruxes like the locket.

    He might even figure that the diary-Tom has been absorbing his horcruxes.
     
    Last edited:
    Chapter 352: The Nature of Duality
  • Threadmarks
    • Chapter 352: The Nature of Duality

    I would like to thank my beta, Awdyr, for his help in this chapter.

    29 March 1995, Black Manor

    Harry couldn't help but curse his luck. No, there had to be more to it. Fate itself must have been against him for everything to turn out so badly. He probably should have come the day before, but he was busy spending some quality time with Daphne and making sure that Longbottom wouldn't tell anyone of his survival.

    In a burst of pure luck, the boy who lived decided to keep his mouth shut about his survival. The boy must have finally learned that saying something outlandish without any proof was an easy way to be mocked and ostracized. Harry was glad for it; it saved him a lot of time tying loose ends. Weirdly enough, Neville was pretty understanding of his wish to remain hidden and vowed not to say anything. To be fair, the boy might have realized that Harry had enough shit on him to really hurt him. The reveal that his scar was a Horcrux would be enough to have half of the country trying to kill him to make Voldemort mortal once more.

    The only real loose end was Lily, and she was unlikely to try anything soon. Oh, she would do something eventually, but Harry can be a very petty guy. He already showed that to her before, and with him being able to close the connection with her dimension, that scared her more than anything. He knew her well enough to know what her next moves would be. She would first try to recreate the connection somehow, or even to fix it.

    It would take a few months of experimentation to finally realize that the singularity had affected the dimension itself, not just her connection and that it was slowly leaking into the void between worlds. Then she would probably follow that by removing her connection to her dimension and try to find another one to bind herself to. She would inevitably try to recreate her ritual in Godric's Hollows and would not confront Harry unless she knew for certain that he would have no hold over her, that he wouldn't be able to so easily hurt her. She would not antagonize him until she was ready.

    It was what he would have planned and as much as he liked to deny it, they were very much alike, in many ways at least. Harry was able to sense the connection because he actively traced it back to when he had to deal with the singularity in Durmstrang. She had used a ritual to connect herself to it, and the connection was still fresh enough that she didn't have any control over it. And now, he could stop it easily because he was familiar with it. Had that not happened, he would have needed to use his Arcane Hearing while she was channelling energy for that dimension, and reverse engineer the connection. He had most of the calculations done when he was travelling back, but it still would have taken a bit of time to analyse the connection enough to block it.

    Lily's reaction was a guess at best, but to be completely honest, he knew that his return would be inevitably revealed. The idea was to be done with Europe entirely by then.

    And yet, he was reminded once more about a fundamental fact that he had forgotten. Fate's a bitch. Because how else would he explain Voldemort coming to attack Black Manor the moment Harry revealed his return to Arcturus?

    The Black Patriarch had definitely seen better days, but Harry didn't have it in him to blame the man for it. His entire country was going to shit, and the man had bet a lot on Harry as his heir, only for him to disappear without a trace. He could understand Arcturus not being his sharp self, especially not in his own home.

    Alas, they barely had time to speak before Voldemort decided to attack the manor with an army of dementors on his side. Crafting an illusion to look like Tom Riddle was an instinctive reaction, but one that could have worked. He had no delusions that Voldemort would keep his return secret, after all.

    Still, he relished the look of shock on the abomination's face as he took his form, "You! How can you be here?"

    Well, he supposed it was time to bullshit himself to victory, "Hello, Voldemort. If it's all the same to you, I'd like my body back."

    The wannabe dark lord stood there, shocked, "What are you talking about? Reveal yourself, impostor!"

    Harry felt the magic trying to convince him to do the same, "Well, isn't that a familiar little trick? How nostalgic. I remember using it in the orphanage quite a lot to get my way. To think you haven't updated your arsenal since we were children. I look at you and I can't help but be disappointed."

    Voldemort sent a killing curse at Harry, who dodged it easily, "Seriously? Is that all you can do? Is that the dark lord people are afraid to even speak his name? I expected more. To think you are a part of me, how disappointing."

    "Part of you?"

    "I am Tom Riddle, the greatest wizard of all time, the man who would defeat the Light and Dark as Solomon did once and bring peace to the magical world, at least I was before you bound me to that loathsome diary."

    "You're my Horcrux? Do you seriously expect me to believe that?"

    Harry chuckled, "Do you remember the day Dumbledore came to see us in the orphanage? He confirmed that we were always special, that we were more, that we mattered. Then, of course, he set our closet on fire. We never did quite forgive him for that. To be fair, he was always a bit of righteous arse."

    Lord Voldemort froze in his tracks and gave Harry a wide look, "You're real. I thought the diary was destroyed."

    "It wasn't. I trapped a girl in it, bound her to it, and used that to break my chains. However, unlike you, I didn't see the point in publicizing my return. I have to ask, why did you even wage war in Britain? Our ambition was to follow Solomon's footsteps, to break the cycle of Light and Dark. Britain was never the goal."

    "It is mine to conquer, mine to rule, mine to protect from Dumbledore and Grindelwald, as well as that loathsome Red Witch. To think that Lily Evans still lives, to this day. I always knew she was troublesome."

    Harry shook his head, "To see my legacy fall so far breaks my heart. Then again, you were always a mistake, my mistake."

    The Dark Lord's eyes glowed in fury, "A mistake, am I?"

    "I don't expect you to understand. You can't after all. You were supposed to be what's in the diary. I was grieving so deeply for the mistake I made that I wasn't paying attention. I was supposed to put my viciousness, my cruelty, my anger at the world, everything that had made me cause poor Myrtle harm. It was an act of repentance, and yet I did the opposite. In my grief, I put myself in the Diary, instead of what I wished to sacrifice. On that day, you were born, Lord Voldemort, a fragment of mine that should have been nothing more than my mistakes in a book."

    "That's not right, I remember…"

    "You remember nothing. Your perception is warped because you are incomplete. You keep justifying your actions as horrible as they could be. Can't you see that? You are destroying Britain, not for some kind of higher purpose, but because you want to. Dumbledore isn't there to threaten either of us, and yet in the months you have returned you have brought nothing but desperation and destruction."

    "I tire of this," the madman sneered at Harry.

    A few dementors advanced towards Harry and he was tempted to use his variation of his Patronus charm to chain them, or even do as he did in the other dimension and trap them in some cave, unable to leave for centuries. However, for the first time in his life, Harry used his Arcane Hearing on the dementors and tried to understand what they were.

    He couldn't help but be surprised by the result. He heard that dementors were amortal, but he had no idea how right people were. Because as much as the dementors looked humanoid, they were definitely not. The cloak, even the flesh itself were all just presentation. Their sentience was nothing more than an illusion, no better than the enchantments on a chess set, even if they could theoretically do something autonomously. The only real thing about the dementors was their mouths, and even then, they weren't really mouths, just a portal to somewhere else. Where to? Well, he didn't really have the time to trace it. The connection wasn't really being used enough for him to trace it easily. If he had to guess, whenever they kissed someone, the energy went there and wasn't that a can of worms on their own?

    Each dementor was barely more than a fancy animated spell given form and every drop of life force they sucked was used to feed whatever was on the other side. It was a very scary thought and the idea of facing something that was powered by this kind of energy was terrifying. And for him to say that was telling, to say the least.

    Not now, Harry, one crisis at a time.

    However, Harry had gotten very good at closing the portal. He cast a black spell at each of the dementors moving towards him, and they immediately collapsed, leaving nothing more than black veils. He gave Voldemort an unimpressed look.

    The madman was too busy gawking at the 'dead' dementors, "How is that possible?"

    "Unlike you, I actually have the ability to have an original idea. I am what we should have been, well a fragment of our potential even then. You should have been able to understand what I have just done, but you don't have my curiosity or wonder anymore, do you?"

    "And what were you doing here, with Black of all people."

    Harry simply shrugged, "We were here to talk about you, of course."

    Voldemort froze, his eyes widened, "What?"

    "Well, I was planning on scheming my way to achieve our goal, to actually kill Dumbledore and Grindelwald, and he was all for it. I was going to leave you alone and try to be obsessed with that Longbottom boy. However, you just had to be a nuisance the moment you came back. I'm impressed, really. It took you less than a few months to set Magical Britain on fire, and for no actual reason bar your lust for power sometimes if I should just let you be, as a lost cause. Then again, you are a mistake, my mistake and it is my responsibility to take care of it."

    Voldemort raised his wand and sent a beam of darkness at him, only for Harry to use the Elder Wand to absorb the energy. It was a nice trick he had learned when he had gotten the wand. He modified a bit its ability to absorb magic to be able to easily absorb the energy in oncoming spells. It could probably work on a killing curse, but he wasn't really willing to risk it.

    The man must have tried to channel a lot of energy because the wand warmed slightly, still the man's eyes widened slightly at how casually Harry was negating things. He slowly walked forward as the beam of Darkness continued to be channelled, and spoke up, "I'm really glad that you're here, now. You saved me the time to track you down, to properly reunite with you."

    "What are you talking about?" he sneered back.

    Harry used the distraction to channel the resurrection stone with what little soul magic he had learned. He hadn't really had the time to research it properly. The stone was as much of a mystery to him now as it was when he had gotten it. He had learned to use it to enhance his spells, to give them a spiritual component, in a way, which could bypass most forms of magical protection. Soul magic was hard, extremely so, and to be honest, he never had the time to study such a field, especially since the returns on investment weren't good in the short term.

    However, he had learned a few tricks, like for example, using the stone to affect souls. It was barely more than a small nudge, a small form of shaking, but Voldemort's eyes widened in fear as he felt it. He had broken his own soul and was somewhat experienced in his soul being manipulated in different ways.

    "What are you doing?" he screeched.

    "Making us one once more," Harry simply replied.

    The Dark Lord froze in his tracks and immediately turned into smoke and Harry stopped him slightly, "You cannot run, Voldemort. I will keep looking for you, and eventually, I will subsume you, once more."

    A small telekinetic push sent the entire room wabbling and Voldemort flew away in his smoke form, fearing for his very existence. He left the dementors behind, who just floated around all over the mansion. Harry turned and spoke to them, "I will only say this once. You saw what I'm capable of, what I can do, and this is my only warning. You will not serve Voldemort or any of his followers. You will return to Tartarus and not leave the prison's premises. You will not attack any innocent muggle, wizard, or magical creature. Do that and I will not track every single one of you and wipe their existence like I did the ones who tried to attack me. If you see me coming, my advice to you is to run as fast and as far away as you can. There will not be a second warning."

    In a surprising show of speed, the dementors quickly left the property, hopefully back to Tartarus. Harry turned to the flabbergasted Arcturus, having removed his opposition, "Well, that ought to give Britain a break for a few weeks, maybe even a month or two."

    He wasn't even lying. Voldemort would remain afraid of being subsumed by Tom Riddle and had just lost the support of the dementors. Lily Evans would remain holed up somewhere trying to get back what she had lost, which should take a while. The only issues would be the Lycans, but wizarding authorities should be able to handle them, especially since their leader would be too busy to coordinate their attacks. Harry had a low opinion of British wizards in general, but they had to figure out that the Lycans, while more resistant to silver, were still harmed by the metal.

    He turned towards the still gaping Black Patriarch and spoke up with a cheerful smile, "Now, where were we before we were so rudely interrupted? Ah, yes, Nymphadora Tonks."

    AN: As you probably noticed, I decided to do something a bit different this time instead of the usual fighting and duelling. Tricking Voldemort into being afraid of his own Horcrux was just too funny not to write. The moment the idea was in my head, it just wouldn't leave. I hope it came out like I wanted it to, and as usual, please let me know what you think and if you have any suggestions.
     
  • Threadmarks
    • Chapter 353: Plain Sight
  • Threadmarks
    • Chapter 353: Plain Sight

    I would like to thank my beta, Awdyr, for his help in this chapter.

    2 April 1995, Ministry of Magic

    Harry's meeting with Arcturus was as fruitful as he had hoped. The man was quick to provide the general whereabouts of his great-granddaughter when Harry assured him that he had no intention of harming her. Apart from Voldemort's brief interruption, everything had gone relatively smoothly. By the time Harry explained the situation, the Black Patriarch was laughing strangely. He already knew about the Horcruxes and understood why Harry needed Regulus' locket, but the thought of Voldemort being threatened by his own soul amused him greatly.

    It might have seemed like a reckless gamble on Harry's part, at least from an outsider's perspective. However, he knew Voldemort quite well, all things considered. After all, Voldemort was fundamentally no different from Tom Riddle, sharing the exact same fear: death. Voldemort feared dying so much that he tore his soul apart seven times. And even after all that, the fear remained.

    Harry hadn't thought he would ever be grateful for his confrontations with Tom Riddle, but without them, he wouldn't have been able to mimic him so convincingly. Voldemort was afraid because he remembered being Tom Riddle and knew, deep down, that if he could, he would have subsumed Voldemort.

    Harry had taken Riddle's form to frighten Voldemort, to make him hesitate. Initially, it was a tactical move to conceal Harry's survival. The rest of the plan formed in seconds, and while there was a degree of madness to it, it fit perfectly within Voldemort's worldview. It was a risk, but Voldemort was remarkably predictable when one knew his triggers, and Harry knew more about the self-proclaimed Dark Lord than he would have liked.

    In the end, Voldemort would be preparing for a confrontation against himself, searching for assassins at every corner. He knew what Tom Riddle was capable of, after all. Distracted and isolated, Voldemort would have no choice but to hide, wary of everyone around him. He wouldn't even try to recruit followers, suspecting they could be Riddle's agents.

    It was similar, in a way, to Lily's issue. Harry was almost certain she feared he would cut off her connection to her dimension on a whim. She likely wouldn't leave her fortified position until she had a countermeasure or a plan in place, meaning she would stay away from him for the time being.

    It was ironic. Harry had no desire to be involved in the conflict between Lily and Voldemort, yet in two days, he managed to distract both parties into an unofficial ceasefire. The dementors were back in Tartarus, and the Lycans were left without direction.

    And it showed. There hadn't been any significant attacks for days; the few incidents involved rogue Lycans targeting Ministry officials who discriminated against werewolves. An uneasy peace settled over Britain, but most people viewed it as the calm before the storm.

    The dementors, however, posed a lingering issue—not the creatures themselves but the entity behind them. It was likely an ancient and powerful force that either craved the energy dementors generated or sought to use them as anchors for some kind of invasion. Harry suspected the former, based on his hypothesis about Mordred's barrier. If he guessed correctly, a connection between an external dimension and the material plane required an anchor, likely another person. The dementors were probably designed as a workaround to this limitation, but they were still physical beings, bound by the same restrictions as any other material entity.

    Whatever this entity was, it was clearly patient. Rather than consuming souls indiscriminately, it had opted to harvest energy passively in wizarding prisons for centuries, avoiding the risk of having its servants bound. That patience, Harry hoped, meant that as long as he posed no immediate threat and kept his word, the entity would wait for him to die.
    He hoped things wouldn't escalate beyond that. But if they did—and it was becoming a trend—Harry would need to be prepared.

    Now, back to the issue at hand: Nymphadora Tonks. Arcturus had given him a surprising amount of information about her, including her favourite places. Apparently, she liked to have lunch alone in one of the training areas. She hadn't made many friends at her rank due to her ambitious nature, though she was clearly favoured by her superiors. Her unofficial apprenticeship under Alastor Moody hadn't endeared her to her colleagues, but she was learning well.

    Using his cloak, Harry snuck past dozens of Aurors, bypassing all wards, and waited in her training room. He cast a discreet ward at the entrance that would mark anyone who entered with a spell he could activate if necessary. It was a precaution, just in case.

    This trick wouldn't have worked on Moody because of his eye, but Harry had chosen a day when Moody was on patrol for his 'heist.'

    Minutes later, Tonks entered and sat down, unaware of the mark. It was a lapse in situational awareness, particularly for an Auror. Harry considered activating the spell to analyze her transformation at his leisure, but something made him hesitate. She shook her head and changed her hair colour. To the casual observer, it was nothing unusual; altering one's appearance was common enough in the magical world, even if it was frowned upon to do so for extended periods.

    But when he analyzed the transformation with his Arcane Hearing, he was caught off guard. He detected a slight shift during the transformation, but beyond that, nothing indicated it wasn't her true appearance.

    In truth, Harry needed to understand this skill precisely because of how undetectable it was. Metamorphmagi appeared sporadically in certain bloodlines, but their abilities weren't particularly special. Despite being impressive, everything they could do could be replicated by a semi-trained wizard with knowledge of human transfiguration.

    What made Black Metamorphmagi so valuable was their ability to remain undetected even when shifting forms. It was likely the result of an interaction between a magical bloodline and the Black family, and that was what Harry sought: a combination of flexibility and subtlety.

    He'd read about the skill in Black Manor years ago but hadn't expected it to fool even his Arcane Hearing. Knocking her out wasn't an option. He needed more data, and for a precise experiment, he'd have to interact with the subject.

    He cast an illusion over himself, appearing as a short man in his thirties. He phased out of the room and knocked on the door. A rude voice responded, "Piss off!"

    Harry kept knocking until Tonks angrily opened the door. "I thought I told you arses—" She stopped when she saw him. "—I don't know who you are."

    He nodded. "I'd be surprised if you did. My name is Harold Smith, from the Transfiguration Guild. I'm conducting research on Metamorphmagi and was directed to you. Could I have a few minutes of your time?"

    "What the hell? I thought Madam Bones assured me the Unspeakables would stop bothering me when I joined the force."

    "I'm unaware of any previous agreement. I'm just here for an interview. I won't cast any spells or take samples. Many have tried to understand your skill over the centuries, and I'm not arrogant enough to think I'd succeed where they failed. If it helps, I can offer compensation. The guild has allocated me up to two hundred Galleons, and I'm willing to give you half for just ten minutes."

    She stiffened. "A hundred Galleons for a ten-minute interview without magic? What's your angle?"

    "As I said, I'm simply a researcher. My methods aren't popular with my superiors, who prefer more... hands-on experiments. I find that barbaric, especially when it involves live mages or magical creatures. Anyway, do you agree?"

    "Fine. But no funny business. I'll arrest you if you try anything!"

    Harry placed the gold on the table. "Shall we begin?"

    She nodded and Harry asked, "So, describe it to me, what's it like being a Metamorphmagus?"

    "The magic itself is pretty cool. According to my mum, my hair was shifting even when I was born. It was a bit boring before Hogwarts since I wasn't allowed to go to Muggle school. My parents tried to dye my hair, or even charm it since it was the most obvious part of my skill, but it would overwhelm it immediately."

    "A few Metamorphmagi that I spoke to say that they have a certain core self that exists at their centre, a base form of some sort, others say that it's just a fancy form of preference. Which group do you agree with?"

    She shook her head wildly, "I'd say the second one. Like I said, I was born shifting, and even when I'm unconscious, my body stays in the last form I took. Unless it was a form of animal features. That always gets dispelled somehow."

    The more she spoke, the more he could understand how her magic worked. What he could analyse with his Arcane Hearing was just nothing more than a standard human transfiguration spell. The interesting part was how the change didn't leave a magical trace. There was something there, a second spell right after the transfiguration itself that washed away the remnant of any magic, erasing a magical trace of the change. It was just too quick for him to perceive, but he needed a sample to study properly.

    Now, he was glad that he didn't just knock her out. He needed something to analyse the spell she unknowingly cast completely and utterly and thankfully, he had exactly what he needed for the task. Harry wandlessly got one of the training dummies to fall down, and Tonks immediately turned towards it, her hair shifting in the meantime. Harry used this to slow down his perception of time, take out the Elder Wand and get it to absorb the magic she used in the meantime.

    He discreetly took a small alchemically altered ruby that he made to hone his Alchemy from Flamel's book and stored the entire magical event inside it. He'd always kept one on him since what happened in Durmstrang. Things would have been a lot easier if he had one to absorb even fragments of the event. It would have made his calculations far easier, instead of relying on trial and error with what he could faintly remember with his Arcane Hearing. Well, at least he learned his lesson with that one; that instinct was paying off already.

    He couldn't really replicate it with his Arcane Hearing because it was just too quick, but having a sample of the change would allow him to take his time to analyse the spell properly.

    He put both the charged jewel and the wand away before the embarrassed Auror turned back at him and grumbled, "Bloody useless things. Now where was I?"

    "You were talking about your balance issues," he continued.

    The conversation continued for a few minutes, where the woman was pretty observant of the pros and cons of being a Metamorphmagus. To be honest, he was even surprised that the balance issues didn't come from constant internal changes, but actually a lack of control of the height. The body was built on muscle memory and her muscles just always assumed a certain form. Constantly changing it, especially quickly would cause her body to adapt badly, hence her clumsiness.

    This little issue would have probably been solved easily if her mother allowed her to activate the Black crest. With hundreds of Metamorphmagi having been in the family before her having put spells that helped them in the crest, she would have found something to help her adjust.

    All in all, talking to Tonks was strangely nice after she had gotten a bit comfortable and realized that he wasn't planning on kidnapping her to become some kind of lab rat. They left cordially, with the Auror saying that her break was almost over, and Harry walked out of the department having gotten what he needed to get his plan rolling.

    He only needed to properly analyse the spell and get someone to impersonate for the tournament. It needed to be someone in the delegation, someone who hadn't gone back to Hogwarts since McGonagall wouldn't let anyone in or out until the final task. It had to be someone who people in the delegation weren't exactly close with, at least not enough to realize that Harry was an impostor.

    It was a bit of a conundrum since no one fit the description well enough. The only other option would have been to take two different forms, one before the task, coming as a visitor or something, and then knocking out one of the competitors. The issue was that it limited his time with Daphne, who would be there as a competitor, and whoever he knocked out would be a clear point of failure. He needed something better, something a bit more foolproof.

    Harry suddenly heard a familiar voice shouting from the other side of the corridor, revealing a young man being kicked out of the Auror's office. It took Harry embarrassingly long to remember who this was, Eddie Carmichael. He was a Ravenclaw around a year older than Harry, and who also happened to be in the Hogwarts delegation as well but hadn't competed. Although, he did remember him getting beaten by Daphne in the duelling tournament around a year prior. Had it really been so long?

    Anyway, his presence in the ministry was curious since he should have been safely in Hogwarts with his yearmates. Unable to restrain his curiosity, Harry used one of the basic clairvoyance spells he learned from the alternate Grindelwald's diary and realized what he was dealing with.

    A smile formed on Harry's face. Yes, he would do. He would do very well.

    AN: Another slow chapter this time as well. I thought about making this some kind of elaborate heist or something, but I just couldn't get it to make sense. I'm really excited about the Greece arc. I have something special planned on that front. Anyway, I'm not sure that this chapter came out like I wanted it to, so as usual, please let me know what you think and if you have any suggestions. I really don't mind rewriting it.
     
  • Threadmarks
    • Chapter 354: Angel's Despair
  • Threadmarks
    • Chapter 354: Angel's Despair

    I would like to thank my beta, Awdyr, for his help in this chapter.

    2 April 1995, Ministry of Magic, London

    The last few months in Eddie Carmichael's life were nothing more than tortuous, even that was an understatement. It made him wonder how things could ever go so wrong. Just months prior, he was in Durmstrang, spectating the European Tournament alongside his school's delegation.

    He knew that he had little to no chance of being selected in any of the main events. He'd always been second best, overlooked, especially when it came to his time in school. He barely had any friends, and the people he hung out with could at most be considered close acquaintances. The professors rarely cared about him, especially since Cho Chang was in his year. He was nothing more than a second thought in Ravenclaw, always outshined by someone, never quite making it.

    Instead, people always cared about Chang, and he always found that completely unfair. It was probably because her family was the source of most imported items from Asia. Eddie wasn't exactly an expert, but he knew that magical society there was completely different than in Europe but was isolated. They had ingredients, magical creatures, and even developed magical arts, that just didn't exist anywhere else, and that importing these things was quite the lucrative endeavour.

    That meant that the school had to essentially parade Chang around to show the quality of their education. To be fair, she had a very good showing in the second task. She clawed her way into tying for first place while she was surrounded by more experienced students and massively outnumbered. Oh, sure, she did confess afterwards that the last trick was a ploy by Potter of all people, but even then, she would have secured second place with her own efforts and that was impressive enough.

    Speaking of Potter, that boy was definitely on another level. Eddie had watched, flabbergasted, as the boy wiped the floor with the competition in the first task. He knew that the boy was talented in school, especially with his performance in their local tournament the previous year. He was just too casual, even if he was doing his best to obviously ridicule Dumbledore. However, Eddie never imagined the boy being paraded around as Britain's next Dumbledore after the headmaster was banished from Britain for trying to kill his students.

    It was always the Potters, the Changs, the Diggorys, the Weasleys, who were celebrated, who were paraded around. They were the golden boys, and Eddie knew deep down, that no one would ever treat him the same way. He had entered the Hogwarts delegation fully knowing that at most, he would simply participate in the Duelling tournament as one student amongst hundreds. It wasn't exactly the most glamorous position.

    Still, it wasn't that bad. He attended most of the classes available and learned a lot from the experiences and made a few pen pals in each school. It was nice, and Eddie was able to get a very nice idea of what he wanted to do in the future, and that was broom-making. There was a workshop in Beauxbatons about it, and he found that he had a knack for it. Nimbus were always looking for new talent, as long as they had a NEWT in enchanting, charms, and transfiguration. He still hadn't done his OWLS, so he had time to specialize properly. He had thankfully taken the Runes and Arithmancy electives in his third year and would do his best to be the best candidate around.

    He wasn't from an old family or anything, so he couldn't really rely on nepotism. Muggleborns always thought that being a pureblood was an easy way to get advantages and never even entertained the thought that it was nepotism, not some kind of blood segregation that moved the magical world. The sad truth was that older families just held more connections and most likely more gold than any muggleborn or new family could come to achieve, and they relied on these connections and 'donations' to help their family members. Being a muggleborn had nothing to do with it at all.

    Eddie's father was an obliviators in the ministry. His mother was a secretary in an accounting firm. They barely had any disposable income after their expenses, especially since they had three children, Eddie, Mary, and Emily. Eddie was the oldest but quite the margin. Mary and Emily wouldn't go to Hogwarts for a couple of years. They lived in a small home in Hogsmeade. It wasn't much, but it was enough for them. Eddie had dreamed of winning a task in the tournament and giving them the gold to help them out a bit, but it was a bit far-fetched. But one could dream.

    Of course, that happiness didn't last; the war between the Dark Lord and the Red Witch reared its ugly head. An attack on Hogsmeade killed both of them when Eddie was still in Durmstrang. He found himself alone with two crying young girls, in an empty house, with a missive from Gringotts to make arrangements to repay a loan his father had taken a few days after the funeral. He couldn't help but internally thank every deity that he wasn't stuck in Hogwarts, unable to be at his sisters' side when their parents died. It was the only silver lining, that things could have been far worse.

    Wasn't that funny? The only good thing was that something worse than them being orphaned could have happened. Not that they were out of the woods with that debt hanging over their heads.

    Which was why he wasn't in the ministry in the first place. After weeks of struggle, he was finally able to book an appointment in the Department of Magical Internal Affairs, so that he could get emancipated, and keep custody of his sisters. The woman in the office was tired, and kind, but her answer was the same with every plead, "Mr. Carmichael, I understand that you are in a delicate situation, but I cannot give you a license to work in magical Britain without having your OWLS."

    "Then let me sit them. I'm ready to do them right now," he growled.

    "I'm afraid that the next exam session is next June."

    "I have a meeting in Gringotts in two weeks. If I don't show them a source of income, they're going to repossess our house. Please think of my sisters. They're nine for Merlin's sake."

    The woman's eyes softened once more, "Again, I understand your position but there's nothing I can do. It's literally not in my power to help you, as much as I want to. The best I can do is to send your file to the Wizengamot and petition for you to receive your work licence, but…"

    She didn't have to continue her sentence; Eddie understood the rest. The Wizengamot members were being hunted down by either the Dark Lord or the Lycans. Sure, the attacks had slowed down in the last couple of days, but most people assumed that it was the calm before the storm. The Wizengamot would meet for months at the very least, the members fearing for their lives.

    "Look, Ma'am, it's not right to declare me to be an adult but refuse me the opportunity to feed my family. You know how the goblins are."

    "I'm sorry, young man, I truly am. But there is nothing I can do. I'd recommend trying to find a safe place for you and your sister to stay and try to convince the Goblins to wait until you get your OWLS and get your official license."

    Yeah right. The goblins would rather cut off their own hands than delay any form of payment. The woman and Eddie kept going back and forth. He might have lost his temper, even if he knew deep down that the woman wasn't at fault. In the end, a couple of Aurors came and escorted them back to their office. He spent hours there being processed and was promptly kicked out later.

    He was about to be escorted out of the ministry, having lost any hope of saving his sisters, until a wizard spoke up in his favour, "Why don't I take him out instead? I'm already leaving."

    The overworked Auror nodded and both Eddie and the stranger walked in silence until they came out of the Ministry. The man spoke up for the first time in almost fifteen minutes, "So, Eddie Carmichael, I understand that you're in a bit of a pickle."

    "How do you know my name?" the younger wizard spoke up, stiffened.

    "It's my job to know things, young man. And you, Eddie, are in a no-win situation. Eventually, in two weeks, Gringotts will repossess your home, and that would mean that the ministry will revoke your emancipation and your custody over your sisters. Who knows where they will end up? You're probably tough enough to handle a few rough months until you get your OWLS and apply for emancipation once more, but that doesn't mean you'll get custody over your sisters again."

    Eddie growled, "What are you getting at?"

    "My client was interested in your situation and is inclined to help you out."

    "Help us out?"

    The man nodded, his facial expression being stony, "That's what I said, help you out."

    "Why?"

    That was the question that wouldn't leave his head. Why would a complete stranger help him? He thought that it might be a scam of some sort. It definitely didn't seem legal from the way the man waited until they left the ministry to speak. Eddie was desperate enough to agree to almost anything, as long as his sisters were safe, of course.

    The person's smile widened, "Because you're in a position to help him as well."

    "I don't think I'm in a position to help anyone," Eddie grumbled.

    "Oh, but you are. The European tournament. I understand that you haven't participated in any task so far."

    That made Eddie stiffened. He forgot about that little detail. His parents' death meant that he skipped the Duelling Tournament. He was contractually obligated to at least compete in a task. It wasn't exactly magically enforceable, but it was still another thing over his head that could screw him over later.

    Instead of panicking, he croaked, "Yes, I haven't."

    "Good. My client wishes to send their agent in the tournament, to protect a family member of theirs."

    "And he wants me to protect them?"

    The man burst into laughter, "Merlin no, why would you ever think that? No, he wants to send someone disguised as you for that time. I know that the ICW checks for disguises and it's our problem to worry about. All we need you to do is lay low until the task ends and sign a document stating that you will not reveal this to anyone else. That's a month at most without any external contact in your home. We'll put up wards to protect you from any attacks, and make sure the three of you won't leave, and we'll even take care of anything you need. In exchange, my client is willing to compensate you with fifty thousand Galleons, more than enough to repay your father's debt and ensure that you and your sisters will not worry about gold for a long time."

    The refusal that was at the tip of his tongue disappeared with that last sentence. Fifty thousand Galleons, that's an entire fortune. Together, his parents earned less than two hundred galleons a month and they were in a relatively good position to repay their debt. Their two thousand galleon debt would have been repaid in a year or two without too many issues, a bit more if there were some unforeseen expenses. Sure, they struggled to save any Galleons, and they rarely got any presents, but from the looks of it, his parents had planned things well enough to be done with any debt by the time the girls attended Hogwarts. They would have struggled for a couple of years left, but things would have gotten better.

    Fifty thousand galleons would easily set him off to a career of his choice and ensure that his sisters would be comfortable until they graduated from Hogwarts as well. Hell, it would be enough to get tutored in the meantime and get his desired NEWTS.

    The only reason he was tempted to refuse would have been because it would have been technically a crime. He would give someone permission to use his face to do whatever they wanted with it for a month, and he would never be able to say anything about it. However, the gold was too good, the idea of their problems being gone for just a month was enough.

    He didn't say anything for a second until the man spoke up, "I understand that you're hesitant, but time is of the essence, and we have other potential candidates…"

    Eddie didn't let the man speak up, "Fine, I'll do it."

    The man smiled and took out a glowing piece of parchment, "Alright sign this. This is Geas Paper and will enforce the terms of the contract according to the severity of the violation. Read it very carefully then sign it with your blood. Don't worry, it's written that the contract is only active until the end of the Sixth Task of the European tournament, after that, you will not be bound in any way. That is unless you somehow discover the identity of the man who will be impersonating you, then you will not be able to reveal who it was without permission. To be fair, that's a very remote possibility at best. Other than that, you'll only have to do a few things to set things in motion and then not try to contact anyone outside your home for a month."

    An hour later, Eddie had read and signed the entire document and came home with a bag of gold that felt far too heavy. The contract was oddly not that constrictive, not that he was an expert. As requested, he sent a letter to McGonagall, asking to return to the delegation for the Sixth task of the tournament since he planned on sitting his OWLS in June.

    For some reason, he didn't feel good about signing up with some unknown client. Hell, he didn't even know the name of the man who got him to sign the contract. However, as he stared at his sisters in his home, he knew that he made the right choice. Maybe it was morally dubious, but he would have done a lot worse for his family.

    AN: Not sure about this chapter, to be honest. I sort of wrote it in a hurry because work has been crazy in the last few days. I'll probably rewrite it depending on your feedback. I'm getting a bit hasty to start the next task since I've been planning it for a while. As usual, please let me know what you think and if you have any suggestions.
     
  • Threadmarks
    • TFTC!

    athassprkr said:
    He found himself alone with two crying young girls, in an empty house, with a missive from Gringotts to make arrangements to repay a loan his father had taken a few days after the funeral.
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...

    Recommend restructuring this sentence to move "a few days after the funeral" to the beginning. Currently it reads as if his father took a loan after the funeral.
     
    Chapter 355: Snake in the Grass
  • Threadmarks
    • Chapter 355: Snake in the Grass

    I would like to thank my beta, Awdyr, for his help in this chapter.

    4 April 1995, Little Hangleton

    Lord Voldemort sat in one of the few remaining safe houses he had left, a hidden bunker in Little Hangleton with a small emergency stash. He remembered feeling a bit silly at the thought of ever needing it. After all, he had never expected to be in this position. He had enough followers to host him in their manors, underneath their century-old wards in case he was injured. In the worst case, Riddle Manor was his most fortified position, not due to its location but its significance.

    Wards, in general, depended very highly on the significance of the location to its castor. The wards on a small house that had been owned for a thousand years were generally more powerful than that of a newly built manor, not until they fully considered the manor to be their home, maybe even not then. Hogwarts was the ultimate proof of this. Thousands, if not millions of students over a thousand years have considered the castle to be their home, and that alone enhanced the wards there in a way that no other place in Britain could hope to match.

    His followers were mostly purebloods from very old families, and their homes were very well-protected. He had warped the same principle with Riddle Manor. Generation of Riddles had lived in this place, and even if the power of a muggle family didn't mean much to him, the power of an ancestral home still could be harnessed, even if it was to a lesser degree than most.

    His stashes and safe houses were not as well protected. They couldn't be. And yet, in some ironical term, while Riddle Manor had been wiped from the map by Lily Evans' attack, alongside half of Little Hangleton, this place still stood, as if it was mocking him.

    The witch had proven to be a very troublesome opponent to deal with. She had almost complete control over the Wizengamot and an army of enhanced werewolves who seemed extremely devoted to her. She had planned this, that was something that he realized now. She was spying on most of the influential people in the country, ordering attacks on their homes the moment they entertained the idea of joining him.

    Lord Voldemort found himself in a very compromising position. He didn't have any followers, no soldiers to command, no army of werewolves, with Greyback dead, no army of Giants, since he couldn't exactly discreetly go them and parley. Doing so would have left Evans with even more time to fortify her position, something that he couldn't risk, and it wasn't like he could send someone like Macnair to do it for him.

    And his Death Eaters were all gone. The Lestranges and poor Barty were killed by that damnable Evans woman. Lucius Malfoy was also dead at the hands of some serial killer. Rookwood, Dolohov, Rosier, and Greyback were given the dementor's kiss and Macnair was in Magical Britain's new prison, Tartarus. He would have tried to break him out if he had enough force to do so. The dementors hadn't been enough. Dumbledore had designed the prison in a way that resisted their influence. They could feed, but that was it.

    Poor Mulciber died at the hands of Potter during the attack on the Hogwarts Express, the Carrows were dead. Snape had disappeared for over a year, and there were no signs of Nott after he announced his return.

    It wasn't supposed to have been like this. His return should have been celebrated, he should have been in a position of influence immediately, just like he had before his demise. Even now, the dementors had abandoned him as well, afraid of one of his own Horcruxes.

    To be completely honest, that was something he didn't see coming. He was supposed to threaten the Black Patriarch into giving him enough funding to hire mercenaries or even help him recruit his assets. Orion and Walburga Black were very instrumental when it came to securing his early funding. That, combined with funds from the Nott, Malfoy, and Lestrange families, was more than enough to fund an entire war against Dumbledore. They were prepared to sacrifice an entire fortune to protect their nation from the headmaster's ambitions.

    He expected Arcturus Black, a man known to oppose Dumbledore in most of his bills, to ally himself with him, even if it was reluctantly. After all, who better than Voldemort himself to keep Dumbledore out of Britain when he inevitably returned after the European tournament ended? Lily Evans? As smart as the witch was, she lacked Voldemort's raw power. She made up for this with enough preparation, trickery, and viciousness, but Dumbledore would have no trouble defeating her. She hadn't sacrificed what he did, released part of himself to secure his ambitions. She had never pushed the barriers of magic as he did, which was why Arcturus should have seen that Voldemort was the only reliable choice. Harry Potter was dead, probably assassinated by Dumbledore, and there was no one else.

    All in all, he expected a reluctant old man at best but instead found a disaster. His own Horcrux, a fragment of his own soul, was defying him, not it was worse than that, he wanted to absorb him, for their positions to shift. When he felt his soul being prodded, being pushed towards his younger self, he couldn't help but flee in fear.

    There were no accounts of Horcruxes turning on their creators before, then again, there were no accounts of Horcrux gaining sentience either. He knew that there was something wrong with the Diary's creation; he was young and grieving for that useless girl who died. It wasn't out of the question to believe that he had made a mistake.

    But what could be the extent of this independence? How far could the diary's consciousness go? For the first time in decades, Voldemort felt a cold, gnawing fear. The Horcrux was not merely defiant; it was ambitious. It wanted to consume him, to become him. And if it succeeded, the question was what would happen to Voldemort? The thought was unthinkable—and yet, he had to entertain it.

    The realization hit him like a curse. If Tom Riddle could have absorbed him, then could he have done the same to his other Horcruxes? The mere thought made him freeze. That alone would have prevented him from making even more since he couldn't risk losing bits of his soul once more. There was also the fact that he could instinctively feel like he had pushed his limit, that messing with his soul once more could mess it up very severely.

    Absorbing a Horcrux necessitated pure regret and remorse for what he had done to create them, something that Voldemort didn't feel, and yet maybe Tom Riddle did. Maybe he used that regret to turn himself into the dominant soul. No, he needed to gather the Horcruxes and hide them somewhere that Riddle would never be able to find.

    The locket and the ring would be the ones that were the most in danger. Riddle working with Black could have had something to do with Regulus leaving some kind of clue before his death, and the ring was something that anyone knowing his Gaunt ancestry could track down, which Tom Riddle obviously did. The diadem in Ravenclaw was the most protected, being underneath Hogwarts' ward, and the Cup in the Lestrange vault should be protected. No, wait a minute, Riddle has been free for almost two years. He could have easily had access to Hogwarts at this time and taken the Diadem. And hadn't there been a successful robbery of Gringotts just a few months before? Had that been him?

    With Nagini dead, he might truly be in trouble. Had his own Horcrux orchestrated all of this? All this time, he had been focused on Evans, but he had a far more insidious enemy in mind, specifically himself.

    No, he needed to check for himself and the ring was nearest. Voldemort apparated to the Gaunt Shack. It was a pathetic building, but its wards were stronger than most people would ever expect. He quickly bypassed them as if they didn't exist. He quickly walked up the stairs to the room and summoned the ring. A box floated towards him, and he commanded it to open, revealing the ugly black ring of his ancestors. Voldemort took a sigh of relief; even in the cast of a Horcrux being absorbed back, the object was always destroyed.

    However, he decided to be thorough – this situation was unprecedented and there was nothing that could help him with it. He quickly dispelled the compulsion and the withering curse with a flick of his wand and frowned as he noticed that the ring didn't exude any magic. He had put on some enchantments to obscure the object's magical nature, but they shouldn't have worked that well.

    He tried overpowering the detection charm and found nothing. He hit it with a dispelling charm, also to no avail. He couldn't help but be curious as he touched the ring and nothing happened. Could it be a fake? Had Riddle taken it and replaced it with a fake, hoping to fool him?

    Angrily, he decided to put it to the test and destroyed the ring with a curse. If it had been a Horcrux, then it would have been intact from the simple spell, but the ring was shattered. That should have been it; however, a raven made of some kind of black mist appeared from the remains of the ring, flew towards him, and was swallowed up under his skin.

    Voldemort froze as he felt it, a curse unlike any he had ever before, impacting his very soul. He had always been very good at sensing magic. It was perhaps, one of his greatest strengths. He could feel it, like a small rot, that affected the connection between his body and his soul, like some kind of slow-killing curse. Normally, it wouldn't have worried him; his Horcruxes would have been his safeguard, but he couldn't trust them anymore, especially with Riddle having gone rogue.

    He could see it now; this had been a trap, one obviously designed by Riddle against him. He knew deep down that being hit with this curse would diminish his soul and make him far easier for Riddle to absorb. Without a body, he wouldn't have been able to fight back. He knew that Voldemort would be here, that he would try to gather his Horcruxes once more, and he used it as bait.

    Voldemort was forced to accept the fact that the Horcrux knew magic that he did not, even if it should have been impossible. If he had any doubts when Riddle killed the dementors that attacked him, he didn't have any now. And that also meant that he did not know how the curse worked, only that it utilized soul magic and what its effects were, and that made it almost impossible to stop or even halt. He needed help. He needed a lot of help and quickly, and there was one person he knew could ever hope to help him.

    No, he had sworn to himself that he would never come back to this place, not after what happened, not after the man betrayed him, the way his mentor, the only man he ever respected, saw him as nothing more than a pawn.

    After tracking down his family artefacts while working in Borgin and Burke, Voldemort decided to travel the world, to see how magic was practised in other societies. It had been a very learning experience, even if he wasn't always welcome. He had learned arts thought lost to most of Europe and saw incredible and horrifying things, but nothing had ever compared to that castle in Albania.

    He came there out of curiosity more than anything. He could feel the magic there and there were so many rumours of the darkest magics being practiced there. He had been pretty disappointed at first; he hadn't encountered anything other than vampire thralls and the occasional Vampire Lord, but that was it. He had been almost tempted to leave if he hadn't stumbled across its greatest secret.

    Voldemort activated his emergency portkey out of reflex. It was one that he enchanted decades prior, in case of emergency, but he knew it would work and found himself standing before the intimidating but familiar castle.

    Voldemort stood before the castle, its towering spires and jagged battlements shrouded in mist. It loomed against the darkening sky, its black stone walls weathered and ancient. The castle's silhouette was harsh and angular, almost claw-like, as if the very architecture sought to ward off intruders. Its windows, narrow and pointed, gleamed with an eerie, dull light, giving the impression that the structure itself was alive, watching his every move.

    The entrance was a massive iron gate, adorned with runes that pulsed with dark magic, which also happened to open without any prompting from him, with a loud creak.

    As he limped inside, the courtyard stretched out like a desolate wasteland, littered with the bones of men, women, children, and even magical creatures. Every shadow seemed to twist and writhe, and yet he couldn't help but feel bitter and nostalgic at the sight.

    The castle door opened again, revealing his former mentor's mocking smile. "Well, if it isn't little Tom. It's been a while."

    "I'm not Tom anymore."

    The man's grin widened. "Oh, right. You're the dreaded Lord Voldemort now. Such a ridiculous nickname. To think my student would actually use it. So, what brings you here after all this time? Your exit was certainly dramatic, with all the yelling and swearing at never coming back to this place."

    "I need your help," Voldemort growled. "No one else can."

    The man's smile turned predatory. "Of course, Tom. But you know how this goes; my help won't come free."

    Voldemort certainly wasn't eager to deal with Vlad Drakul again, unfortunately, he had run out of options. He could only hope that Drakul wouldn't ask for something drastic, but knowing the vampire, that was unlikely.

    AN: Sorry if this feels unpolished. I didn't have time to re-read it since work had me come in during the weekend. I wrote this in kind of a hurry, but it was a chapter that I'd been wanting to write for a while. For those who don't remember, Vlad Drakul was Grindelwald's mentor (as Flamel was Dumbledore's). I probably should have put it later, maybe as an interlude during the Sixth Task to act as a break, but it wouldn't have felt right since he'd have had time to try to out-think Riddle in the meantime.

    Anyway, I know that things have been a bit slow in the past couple of chapters, but things are about to pick up starting from the next one. As usual, please let me know what you think and if you have any suggestions.
     
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    • athassprkr said:
    but quite the margin
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    By quite the margin
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    would meet for months
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    Wouldn't meet for months

    athassprkr said:
    ironical term
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    Ironic turn of events
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    feeling a bit silly
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    Feeling silly
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    not it was worse than that, he wanted to absorb him
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    No it was worse, the horcrux wanted to absorb him

    athassprkr said:
    instinctively feel like he had pushed his limit, that messing with his soul once more could mess it up very severely.
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    Instinctively knew he'd reached the limit, that further changes would cause irreparable damage to his soul.

    athassprkr said:
    but he had a far more insidious enemy in mind, specifically himself.
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    It turned out he had a much more insidious enemy than the Red Witch. Himself.
     
    Chapter 356: The Lonely Mountain
  • Threadmarks
    • Chapter 356: The Lonely Mountain

    I would like to thank my beta, Awdyr, for his help in this chapter.

    8 April 1995, Hogsmeade

    Harry entered the Three Broomsticks disguised as Eddie Carmichael and couldn't help but feel slightly nostalgic at the sight. The familiar warmth hit him the moment he stepped inside, though the place seemed a little quieter and darker than he remembered. The smell of butterbeer was still there, and Madam Rosmerta was still taking orders as if there wasn't a war out there.

    To be fair, there were signs of the difficult times. There were fewer customers there, and no young students had snuck out of the castle to arrive. The atmosphere was a bit more subdued than it used to be. As far as he could tell, Hogsmeade wasn't one of the places that the Lycans attacked. Lily obviously didn't want the people coming after her in case there were any children around. Getting the fighting to happen far away from Hogwarts was the right decision but that didn't mean that people didn't suffer. Students lost their parents, their siblings, their friends in the attacks all over the nation, caught in the crossfire of a pissing contest between a mad monster and an insane witch.

    Even now, that Harry had tricked both Lily and Voldemort into an unofficial ceasefire, people were waiting for the shoe to drop, or simply just properly mourned their losses. He could see it in the corner of the Three Broomsticks, men and women just drinking their sorrow away. It all just felt so meaningless. This was a fight between an insane man who tore apart his own soul in fear of Death and a woman who was prepared to sacrifice her own son for power. Both of them thought that they knew better. Both of them thought that they could bring a new age of peace and prosperity to Magical Britain.

    That was exactly what made them so dangerous, the sheer confidence in themselves being right. It made them ignore the consequences of their actions, justifying them as necessary sacrifices, unwilling to realize that it was all meaningless, in the end, that if anything, they were making things far worse.

    If there was something Harry learned in this life, it would be that no one ever thought themselves to be the villain of their stories, and that had to be the most tragic thing in human nature.

    His thoughts were interrupted by a familiar voice speaking up from behind him, "I know you said that you'd find a disguise, but how the hell did you convince Carmichael of all people to keep quiet about this?"

    Daphne Greengrass, his girlfriend – and wasn't that weird to think that – was obviously teasing him, but she did have a point. Harry didn't really care enough to learn about Eddie Carmichael, but he knew that he was a pretty proud guy, enough that he'd find the idea of someone impersonating him to be very unsettling. And combining that with his frankly rash behaviour, the Ravenclaw would have made a fuss, at the very least.

    "I gave him a pretty generous deal and assured him that I would protect his family in the meantime. His parents died, which was why he isn't in the castle right now, and I saw that he was in a bit of a hard spot, so I offered to help him."

    The blonde's eyes narrowed, "There's something more to it."

    Harry rolled his eyes, "I might have used Geass paper to make sure he wouldn't blab. Not that he had anything to blab about; he doesn't even know that I'm still alive, and the contract will only be active until the task is over. After that, he's free to do whatever he wants."

    Daphne looked like she wanted to protest, and Harry didn't really blame her on that front. Magically enforced contracts were a big taboo in Britain. They were illegal in most of Europe, even, because of how easily they could be misused. Many families lost their fortunes, or even found themselves enslaved by being forced to sign a magical contract.

    They were pretty popular in the Middle Ages until some idiot activated a loophole in some hidden magical document that wiped out over a dozen ancient pureblood families. Ever since then, magically enforced contracts have been illegal and often considered very distasteful. Harry using one just to make sure that Eddie wouldn't make a nuisance of himself, was a bit over the top. The only reason she wasn't fully blowing up at him was probably because of the contract's temporary nature and the fact that Harry did his best to avoid putting Eddie in a position where breaking the contract was even possible.

    He probably shouldn't have sprung everything at her like this. Harry had done his best in the previous few days to not burden the blonde with his problems and just snuck around Greengrass Manor to hang out with her. Even her parents didn't know that he was still alive, and he wanted to keep it that way. He did trust her mother, but there was no doubt in his mind that her father would sell him out for a second if it profited him. Hell, the man practically jumped at the chance of sending his daughter to Greece, hoping that she would make more connections that he could exploit afterwards.

    All in all, the previous few days were pretty relaxing, even if he didn't manage to replicate the weird Black family feat that made their Metamorphmagi undetectable. To be fair, he only got a single sample of the transformation and if it wasn't for the Elder Wand, he wouldn't have been able to get such a pure one. It was funny that, in another world, people had fought wars for the stick, but Harry was using it as a sampling method. The indignation most of them would feel at the idea couldn't help but make him smile in amusement. To be fair, almost all of the magic stored inside was gone. If it wasn't for his Arcane Hearing, it would have been nothing more than a normal wand. Thankfully, Harry learned to manipulate the wand's intrinsic properties to absorb magic in general, not just passively from its wielder, and store it, as well as how to release it in a large sweep.

    In the end, absorbing the magic gave him a perfect sample of Tonks' ability, and while replicating it was doable, it was also tedious. He had to cast a counter of the spell right afterwards in a very specific pattern, in a way that negated only the excess magic, but not the magic itself. Tonks did it without even noticing every time she changed her appearance. Even when casting any other spell, she had to do the same to avoid any interaction between the magic and her transformed form. So, that meant that Harry would either have to make dozens if not hundreds of calculations with every spell, or he could enchant something to do it for him. A lot of Alchemy and Enchanting later, he had a small necklace that mimicked the effect.

    To be fair, the tournament checked for magical artefacts, so, he would need to deal with that later. Maybe he'd swallow the necklace or something. He would figure something out… probably.

    Daphne was going to say something only for McGonagall to enter the room. The Headmistress looked tired. That was the first thought that entered his head. Her sharp gaze hadn't lost its edge, but there was a weariness in the way she carried herself as if the weight of running the school had finally started to show. Her robes were as immaculate as ever, but her movements seemed just a bit slower, her lips pressed in a thin line. It wasn't like her to look this... worn down. She had every right to look tired; she had to essentially take care of a school and the international delegation, while acting as the only person allowed to enter or leave Hogwarts due to the wards she activated.

    Now that he thought about it, Harry and Daphne's participation in the tournament just pushed more work onto her already overwhelming responsibilities and he couldn't help but feel bad about that, "Ah, Mr. Carmichael, Ms. Greengrass, I was afraid I would have had to look for one of you. First, I would like to say how sorry I was when I heard of your parents' passing, Mr. Carmichael. I will not lie and say that we were close, but they were still former students of mine. And Ms. Greengrass, I never got to tell you that I'm sorry for the loss of Harry Potter. It's always horrible to have a student pass away on your watch and I know that the of you were quite close. I'm glad you're both doing well. I understand that both of you wish to enter this task in particular for your own reasons."

    Harry spoke up, "I just need to have June free for my OWLS. I have to take them to have custody over my sisters, so I thought I'd get through the task now instead of having to do it in the middle of my exams."

    That froze the headmistress a bit. Harry had asked Eddie to send her a letter asking to enter the task, but he didn't really say a reason that was the case. It was his prerogative as a member of the delegation that didn't enter any of the tasks before him. He could ask to be put forward and would be prioritized if he hadn't competed in any other task. Considering that everyone that was still with the delegation had participated in the duelling tournament, 'Eddie' and Daphne would have to compete.

    The blonde followed his lead, "My mum said that it would be a good idea to have a change in scenery."

    The woman also remained speechless before speaking up once more, "Those are some valid reasons, of course, but you didn't need to justify yourselves to me. I assume that you're all packed up, as I requested."

    They both nodded and gestured towards the two trunks next to them, and the headmistress continued, "Excellent. I have arranged for an International Portkey to take us there. So, let's be on our way."

    "No dragon this time, professor," Harry asked cheekily.

    "I'm afraid not, Mr. Carmichael," she answered dryly, levitating their trunks with a twitch of her wand and motioning them to follow her.

    Harry and Daphne shared a look before doing as the woman said. They found themselves in front of a nice big stick. She held it out to the both of them and they grabbed it.

    The familiar tug behind Harry's navel was instant and sharp as if a hook had latched onto him, yanking him forward. He felt his feet leave the ground, the world around him spinning into a blur of colour and wind. Daphne's hand tightened slightly on the Portkey as they were pulled through the magical vortex, their bodies weightless but still being propelled forward at a dizzying speed. It wasn't long, just a few seconds, but it always felt like much longer—like being caught in a whirlpool and thrown to shore. And then, just as suddenly, they slammed back into solid ground.

    It was a bit rougher than he expected, probably due to it being an international trip. He was about to comment only to freeze at the sight before him. He barely noticed McGonagall giving them a small smile in their shock, "Welcome to the Olympus Magical Academy."

    The academy was beautiful, sure. It stood like a grand Greek palace, all white marble columns and intricate carvings, with expansive courtyards filled with lush greenery and statues of ancient magical figures. But that was about what he expected.

    However, none of that compared to the sight of the mountain behind it—the true marvel. Towering endlessly into the sky, the mountain stretched so high that it seemed to merge with the heavens themselves. There was no visible peak, just an awe-inspiring expanse of rock and mist, as if the mountain were infinite, disappearing into the clouds. It felt like the academy was cradled at the very base of eternity.

    McGonagall cleared her throat, "They don't call it the Olympus Academy for no reason."

    Olympus, one of the most historically significant locations, was a place that the ancient Greeks considered to be the home of the gods themselves and he could see why. It was a place probably filled with as many secrets as Hogwarts, maybe even more.

    Yes, coming here was the right call. This was definitely going to be fun.

    AN: Finally, I'm getting started with the Sixth task. I really like Greek Mythology, so expect me to play around with it as much as possible. Norse and Greek were always my favourites. To be honest, I wrote this chapter in a hurry. I know I've said that a lot in the last few days, but for some reason, I found myself having to juggle around a dozen problems at once, both in my personal life and work, so I barely had time to write during my break. Everything should settle down either by the next chapter or the one after. Hopefully, at least. Again, please let me know if you find any issues, since I didn't have time to proofread it properly. As usual, I'm also open to any recommendations you have regarding this chapter or the next arc in general.
     
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