Hadrian Alexander Peverell had always been a seer. This was true. But he had not always been Hadrian Alexander Peverell.
Once upon a time he had been Harry Potter.
That was a long time ago…and a long time from now.
You see, the man who had once been Harry Potter had spent five years in captivity, left to the tender mercies of Voldemort and his followers after he had been captured in 1995 during the events of the Tri-Wizard Tournament.
Quite why Voldemort had chosen to imprison him rather than kill him alongside Cedric Diggory he'd never really worked out - and, the reason didn't really matter in the long run; it didn't change the fact that he'd been a prisoner.
For five years he had been starved and tortured physically, kept alive but confined, and during those years Voldemort had risen to power, laying waste to all before him. By the time the emaciated figure of Harry Potter was dragged before Voldemort's throne in the former Ministry of Magic all his friends were dead, the Order of the Phoenix all but annihilated, and little hope left.
It was hubris which brought Voldemort down.
In his triumph he believed himself invincible, and he sought to publicly execute Harry so as to kill off the last hopes of resistance, yet his killing curse that day back-fired, just as it had on that Halloween night in Godric's Hollow, and instead of killing Harry he weakened himself, broke the bond their souls had, and this display of weakness sparked open rebellion anew.
But when Harry learned how much damage and destruction had been caused during his incarceration he determined to fix it.
It was a deliberate decision to go back to 1987.
He planned to claim the Potter vault, pass himself off as a distant cousin of his younger self, and use his knowledge of the future to change it for the better.
But when he tried to claim the Potter vault he discovered that the Goblins would not allow him to make a disputed claim.
So how did he become a Peverell? How did he become a seer?
Well, in the end, it was the Goblin's fault.
Within Gringotts there are many vaults of ancient pureblood families who have died out. The Goblins cannot access these vaults without the consent of a living heir, so they offer a service, for those desperate enough, where they will provide a potion that re-writes a person's blood to reawaken a dormant bloodline in exchange for 70% of contents of that vault being signed over to them.
It seemed a good idea at the time – Harry had nothing else to lose and no other options.
When Hadrian Peverell first became aware of himself, and just himself, he was lying on a bed, strapped to it, with a blindfold across his eyes. He felt completely drained of magic and energy, barely conscious, but alone at last. Quiet at last.
He could barely move, he couldn't see – save for the small amount of light that crept beyond the blindfold – and, he realised with a rising sense of panic, he couldn't feel anything.
If he had the energy to struggle against his confinement then he would have done so, but the most he could manage was to twist his head and to groan.
He heard what he imagined to be the rustle of paper and the clink of crockery.
Was someone else there?
"He-hello?"
He called out.
"Is, is someone there?"
He strained his ears, listening for a reply, or some movement, or something to indicate the presence of another person.
Someone coughed.
"Mr Peverell?"
A deep baritone voice, barely above a whisper, spoke.
"Are you with us at last?"
Hadrian turned his head towards where he believed the voice was coming from.
"Hello! I can hear you! Who are you? Wha-where am I? Why am I tied up? What do you want from me?"
"All in good time, Mr Peverell. Please, remain calm. I assure you I mean you no harm."
The sound of a movement, footsteps echoing across a slate floor, something wooden – a chair perhaps - being placed right next to the bed.
The baritone voice spoke again.
"First, I have to ask some questions to make sure you're really here."
"…alright"
Hadrian replied.
"I'm clearly not going anywhere."
"What was the first thing I said to you?"
"Er….okay…you said "Mr Peverell. Are you with us at last?" but that was only, like, a minute or so ago. Why would you think I'd forget that?"
"It wouldn't be the first time. The second question, where are you currently? Describe where you are from your perspective."
"…well, I'm on a bed – tied to it, I think, maybe strapped, I don't know, I cant feel what it is – and I have a blindfold of some sort on and, er, I think the room has some kind of stone floor, but that's all I really know. I can't really say more because, you know, I'm blindfolded as strapped to a bed."
A slight chuckle came from the man.
"Yes, that would be a bit of a hindrance, but there is a reason for it."
The stranger coughed again, as if he was collecting himself.
"I think that's as best as I can hope for right now. I believe you are, at last, in the present, so we can finally make some progress."
Hadrian heard the man walk away briefly before he returned, then followed the rustle of paper again.
"My name, Mr Peverell, is Caractacus Grimbald. I am currently the managing director of the firm Quartermane, Tinnean and Wren. We are stock-brokers, money-lenders and general middle-men for financial services in Britain's magical community. Generally we provide a service for those who are…uncomfortable dealing directly with the Goblins. It has recently come to my attention that you family's account with our firm has been reactivated. To cut to the chase, I know for a fact that your family died out over three hundred years ago and there were no pure-blooded Peverells left to inherit the estate."
Hadrian felt a cold sensation grip him. This could be a problem…was it a problem? He was a Peverell now – there was no disputing that – but if someone else knew he hadn't been born one then that could case unwanted questions, unwanted attention.
He bristled in defiance.
"What are you saying? Are you suggesting I'm not, not a Peverell?!"
"Rest assured, Mr Peverell, I do not doubt the validity of your claim. I only know that you cannot have been born a Peverell."
A brief period of silence followed – perhaps Mr Grimbald was having a drink or writing something – then he spoke again.
"Tell me, when did you meet the Goblins?"
Hadrian gave a start. How did he know?!
"…what, what have Goblins got to do with anything?"
The scratching of a quill was the only sound in the room. Hadrian had a horrible feeling that he was in an exam, and wasn't doing well.
"This is not the first time the Goblins have re-written the history of an individual. I understand it is a common, if somewhat obscure, service they offer to those desperate enough, but, of course, it is always for their own benefit. Are you aware that they know the contents of every vault even if they cannot access them?"
"They do?"
"They take stock regularly, I hear, and I believe they are able to manipulate the re-writing process so as to increase their potential gains. That you, whomsoever you may have been before, have become a Peverell is no stroke of fortune, it was deliberate. In return, no doubt, they have claimed for themselves a far richer prize and believe they left you near penniless."
Mr Grimbald stopped to write something, then continued.
"I do not need to know the reason why you agreed to the Goblins terms – it is of no interest to me personally or professionally – but, I must say, you are somewhat fortunate."
Hadrian scoffed.
"And what's fortunate about being scammed by the Goblins?"
"The fact of the matter is that whatever method they use for this re-writing process, it is a deeply flawed one. It does, indeed, provide an entirely legitimate new identity for an individual, but it has a side-effect. It will reawaken a dormant magical trait within a bloodline, but leave the individual with no instinctual way to control it, which can be disastrous.
"Yours is the second such re-writing case I have handled in my time. The first involved a poor soul who reawakened a metamorphmagus trait, yet had absolutely no control over the transformations. That they were unable to leave the magical community was the least of their problems. One moment they could be seven foot tall, the next barely three. Sometimes they had two legs, sometimes none. Other times they would sprout eyes, ears and noses all around their body, or mouths in entirely uncomfortable places. Their internal organs kept rearranging themselves, which left them crippled, and, unfortunately, this was the cause of their death, because their body changed itself as they were eating and turned the food to poison.
"By comparison, the trait you've reawakened is, at least, manageable, and you will be able to live a somewhat normal life once you've gained some measure of control."
Well, if it was a choice of his own body killing him or something else, then Hadrian supposed he was lucky, in some way at least, but he dreaded to ask the obvious question.
"What…what trait have I got?"
Mr Grimbald gave a small throat clearing cough again, and paused to drink something – Hadrian could hear him sipping – and then some more papers rustled.
"You are a seer, Mr Peverell. A true seer"
"A-a-a seer? What? You mean; I can see the future."
"That's certainly one aspect, yes, and the inability to control that power is why we have confined you so."
And Mr Grimbald gave a slight pull to the rope or strap holding Hadrian down for emphasis.
"You see, we found you almost three weeks ago now, in Knockturn Alley. You appeared to be a rambling madman, purposely stumbling from place to place, talking in riddles and completely unaware of where you were or what you were doing. We brought you here, strapped you down for your protection, covered your eyes to prevent anything crossing your sight and triggering a vision, and we've been constantly renewing an insulating charm to prevent anything you touch from doing so. It was the only way we could attempt to bring you back to the present."
"But-but why? Why go this far? What's in it for you?"
"To tell the truth, my actions are motivated by professional concerns. The Peverell account is one of the most lucrative accounts in my firm, and, with the Peverell Family now restored, we require your consent to continue administering it. To do this we need you to be of sound mind and body so that you can grant that permission, so it is, of course, in our interests to help you."
Hadrian shook his head.
"I…I don't know what to say. I can't get my head around this to be honest."
"Then perhaps I should explain the history of you families account with my firm, to give you an idea of why it is important to us."
"A-alright."
"You ancestor, Boniface, the last pure-blooded Peverell, specified that only a restored pureblood could claim inheritance. His only son, one Pious, was a squib and remained recognized as an heir only due to the failure to produce another and in the hope that his descendents might restore the family. Unfortunately Pious vanished at sea some ten years after his father's death and produced no heir, thereby ending the Peverell line and leaving the estate dormant. Its content then fell within the remit of my firm.
"Unlike his son, Boniface died a very wealthy man. He was a successful property magnate in life and was estimated to own half the land occupied in the magical community in Britain. Indeed half of Diagon Alley is built on Peverell land, and the Ministry of Magic itself stands upon land purchased from the Peverell estate. Furthermore the Peverell family owned much of the land in Puddlemore, Falmouth, Chudleigh, Tinworth, Tutshill and Wimbourne. Much of it has been sold off over the years but the Peverell estate still retains ownership of, we estimate, a seventh of all land in the magical community.
"This, I'm sure you realise, will make you a very wealthy man, even with whatever price you had to pay the Goblins to become a Peverell, but it is a large estate which requires considerable management, and in your current condition you would not be able to see to the matter yourself.
"In return for permitting my firm to continue this administration, should you choose to do so, we will support you in any way you require. Obviously we will aid you in gaining some measure of control over your new abilities regardless, but we can help you beyond that. We can provide a full and detailed background for your new identity, for instance, which would prevent any questions being asked as to your origin, and if you require some specific information or items then my firm would be able to provide support in finding it, no questions asked.
"The benefit to Quartermane, Tinnean and Wren, should you agree to this arrangement, would be continued financial income from the property as we would take a 40% administration fee - and I can assure you that this will still be a considerable sum for the firm and yourself – so it would be a mutually beneficial arrangement."
Mr Grimbald shuffled his papers again, and took another sip of his drink, before clearing his throat once more.
"I will not ask you to decide now – it would be unfair to take advantage of you in your current state – in the meantime we will provide you with a tutor to help you gain control of your new abilities, medical support to help you recover your health and, hopefully, within a few weeks you will be able to tell me your decision. Until that time, Mr Peverell, I suggest you rest as much as you are able, and focus on keeping your mind in the present. Now, I have business elsewhere which I must attend to, but there is a house-elf called Floci who be available to you while I am away. Good day, Mr Peverell."
And with that Mr Grimbald stood and moved his chair back to where it had come from before leaving the room and leaving Hadrian to dwell on his personal situation and his new-found fortune.
Author's note: This is the first OC in this story, and this is his only appearance thus far - if I continue the story beyond this arc he might appear again but I only ever foresee him being in a supplementory, supporitve role. He's largley just dumping exposition to help establish the world and Hadrian's place within it.