"Did you know that the killing curse was created by Salazar Slytherin's own son? Apparently, he gave it the color of their characteristic eyes."
"Am I supposed to feel complimented or insulted by that?"
"Oh I don't know Harry, you were always a dummy anyway!" she teased.
"You love this, don't you? Compliment me and insult me in the same speech?"
She laughs. It sounds melodious to my ears. She pulls me close and places my head on her lap. Her vibrant eyes peering deep into my soul, she watches me.
"You know I love you, right?"
She laughs. Of course you do."
The door to the Headmaster's office knocked gently.
"Come in, Harry."
Harry entered the room, a soft smile playing on his face. It was the same room just as always- the shelves filled with arcane tomes- the shabby old sorting Hat perched on one of the dusty shelves- Fawkes with his beautiful crimson and gold plumage trilling happily- the odd artifacts tinkling and making odd noises and finally the tad eccentric Headmaster sitting behind the desk- his half-moon glasses with the dense blue eyes peering at him like always, giving him a feeling as if he was being x-rayed.
"What can I do for you, my boy?" The grandfatherly smile is up as usual. Harry wondered if the old man knew how amazingly deceptive his mannerisms were.
"I have come to deliver my yearly begging speech!" Harry replied, keeping his face straight.
Dumbledore looked confused for a moment, but then a small smile forms on his lips—a smile which turns into an amused smirk. "Yearly begging speech, Harry?"
"Yes." Harry sighs. "The Dursleys hate me. They have tortured me ever since I was a kid. I do not want to go there." He ranted half-heartedly.
"My boy. I know you have problems, but it is for your own good. The wards there at the Dursleys provide you protection. It is absolutely necessary for you to return there. At least for three weeks. After that, I will contact Arthur and see if he can take you in for the rest of the summer."
Harry sighed. Somethings never changed. At least this time, the old man would not be able to say that he did not warn him.
"Thank you Professor."
The scholastic session had ended two days after the altercation with the Dementors. Ron and Hermione had been released the previous night and had been awfully busy in packing. Hermione had locked herself away in the library, her last-minute attempts at trying to scurry away as much information as she could memorize. Before long, the students had thronged down the halls of Hogwarts and gathered at Hogsmeade station as the train let out whistles. It was time to leave.
Finding an empty compartment, he ushered himself in. Locking the door with a low-powered privacy ward, he gathered his trunk and belongings.
I am in serious need of some shopping.
A smirk played on his lips. He apparated. Later on the train, Hermione and Ron would find themselves all alone, wondering where Harry Potter was. After minutes of trepidation, the pair decided that Dumbledore must have sent him home privately because of Peter Pettigrew.
Apparating to a suburb near Charing Cross Road, Harry stood alone in a secluded location. Carefully making sure that he was alone, he whispered. "Dobby!" An instantaneous pop later, the wizard and elf appeared on the lush green grounds of Potter Manor. The feeling of fresh grass beneath his boots brought up old memories. It was almost like standing in front of the Mirror of Erised, seeing his hearts' desire in front of her. The Manor, the lush grounds... everything brought back memories he had long wanted to forget.
"We have time... don't we? After all of this is over?"
He smiled back in return, as they walk barefooted through the lush grounds, hand in hand.
"Lots of time... lots and lots of time..."
An explosion... light...heat...fire...confusion.
Blood.
Her glassy eyes...devoid of that characteristic vibrancy...devoid of life...
A bloodcurdling scream...
"Master?"
Harry snapped off from his memories. "Yes!" he asked in a throaty voice, as if something was constricting his windpipe. "What is it, Dobby?"
"Does Master want Dobby to do anything?"
Harry shook his head. "No Dobby. Does Sirius know that I have returned yet?"
"Master Black is having a nap, after his regular potions dose."
"He isn't complaining anymore. Is he?"
Dobby nodded in denial. Good.
"I want to spend some time alone. Do not inform Sirius of my arrival yet."
"HARRY?" The familiar voice rang from the Manor. A healthy looking Sirius Black was waving his hands up high like a five-year-old hyperactive child.
It was worth a try.
"Plans changed, Dobby. Here are my orders. Do not under any circumstances; let anyone know that I am here. I may send you for some shopping. In the meantime, I want you to purchase some... stuff from the Egyptian Market. Do you think you can do that for me?"
Dobby nodded. Good.
"Master!" the odd elf croaked.
Harry turned towards him.
"May I ask something? Master must not take offence."
"Speak out Dobby."
"Master is different. Master is Harry Potter, but Master's magic is different from Harry Potter sir. Harry Potter sir's magic was... warm. Master's is cold. But Master Potter is Harry Potter sir. Dobby is confused."
Harry smirked and let out a hollow laugh. "You are correct, Dobby. However, fear not, I am Harry Potter. As for what happened to me—it is a long story, which I will, share someday later. Now I need to have some rest. Can you take me to the bedrooms?"
"Yes Master Potter."
A single pop later, Master and elf were standing inside the plush bedroom. The king size white bed was prepared and ready for use. The bed stirred up memories. Memories he did not want to delve into, at the moment.
I should meet Sirius and then leave for Gringotts. That will be for the best.
"Harry! Thank God, you are finally here! That elf-" Sirius began.
"Yeah, nice to meet you too, Sirius." He smirked at his forlorn godfather, who seemed to realize something. He strode forward and hugged his godson, the bitter feelings of separation from the child for over a decade swirling inside him. "I am sorry. I am a terrible godfather. I am-"
"Sirius!" Harry deadpanned. Sirius looked at him, a bit confused over the change that had happened inside his Godson. All the year, Harry had been a kind of introvert, save the occasional death-defying stunts in Quidditch and his altercation in the Shrieking Shack. Now though...
Harry Potter was more of a man... a stern decisive man, cold and calculated, eerily reminding him of the most ruthless bastard in the world-his own grandfather—Arcturus Black. His stature was no more of the thirteen-year-old teenager, but of a grown-up man.
"Harry... has something happened?"
Harry raised his eyebrows.
"You seem changed."
Harry smirked. "Forgive me Sirius, but there is a lot many things you do not know about me." Looking at the sudden drop of enthusiasm and the growing bitterness in his godfather's face, he changed track. "Oh come on Sirius, you know what I mean."
Sirius mumbled something incoherent. "Are you taking your nutritional potions as I have told Dobby to provide you with?"
A nod.
"I need you back in my life, Sirius. But first, we need to neutralize the last vestiges of the effects Azkaban has over you."
"Harry! I am fine! Look, there is nothing wrong with me. I swear we can just leave this place and settle somewhere in the Caribbean, preferably near a coven of Veela..." he trailed. Harry raised his eyebrows mockingly.
Yes, definitely nothing wrong with you.
"I am going to Diagon Alley. I should be back by evening. See you then Sirius."
"Wait, how will you go-" Sirius began but stopped his diatribe midway seeing his godson apparate away- "by yourself!" he finished, alone in the room.
Apparating on an empty street near Knockturn Alley, Harry transfigured his robes into plain wizarding robes with a long hood to cover his face. The goblins, for all their flaws, understood the need of privacy and security- much more than wizard kind anyway. Striding across the steps into the giant white edifice that was Gringotts, he walked past the guards, direct towards one of the tellers along the sides. It was much more private than the ones along the main hallway.
Standing in front of the teller, he muttered, his tone audible enough to make sure the goblin heard him, but low enough to keep people from listening in.
"I would like to meet Grimjaw. My name is Potter."
The goblin widened his eyes for a fraction of a second, before reverting to his usual bored expression. "Nagruk here -" a small goblin who looked junior to the teller stood up from his seat, "—will direct you to your destination."
Harry nodded. "May your enemies fall before you, goblin." The teller gave him a sharp smile, looking much more predatory than usual, what with those sharp canines that protruded down his jaw.
After walking through the corridor behind the teller's domain, as was known in Gringotts, the wizard and goblin walked together towards the officials of the banking establishment, or more specifically, the account managers. It was an open secret that goblins, despite the greedy little buggers that they were, did not like being called 'Account-Managers.' According to them, it was simply their job description and not their identity. It was for the same reason why Harry had referred to his Account-manger as Grimjaw and not 'Account-manager Grimjaw.'
The office was exactly as he remembered. Harry had been here exactly three times in his previous life. One, when he was sent for attending Sirius' will in his sixth year; the second when he took the Lordship of Potter in his seventh year, and finally one five years later, when Voldemort was officially dead.
Things will be different this time. I will not let that arsehole to continue waging the war for so long.
"You are heir Potter?" The very same, uninterested tone.
"And you are the warrior turned banker responsible for keeping my family wealthy?" Harry shot back. Grimjaw raised his eyebrows at the indirect compliment. Harry smirked inwardly. Taking the front chair in front of the long draped table in front of the wizened old goblin, he pressed forward. "I am here for my inheritance. I was hoping some help in acquiring my Headship."
The goblin stared at the young wizard in front of him. As young as he looked, the old goblin knew that age was a well-known deception. The calculated tone of the young man in front of him set him on the edge. "Let me go through some files first." Making sure everything was in order; he looked up at his client.
"Everything seems to be in order. Being the last of your family, you can take up Headship on your thirteenth birthday. Would you like to do that now?"
At his client's eager expression, he muttered something incoherent and took out a ritual dagger and bowl. "I assume you know what to do?"
Harry nodded and sheathed the dagger out, putting his right palm over the sharp end of the dagger, pressing it hard until the dagger had drawn out blood and then ran his palm across, smearing the dagger with his blood. Grimjaw was in awe of the boy. He hadn't even flinched once. Said boy... no, young man... had then placed the ritual dagger into the bowl and chanted. "Familius Magicus." A golden and purple flame erupted out of the bowl, flaring out with eldritch energies. Harry placed his bloodied palm into the eldritch flames, said flames kissing his palm's bloodied inner side, until they got absorbed within it, healing his palm. In the center of the bowl were two familiar rings. One was slightly larger and had a gryffin engraved on a purple top, while the other had a basilisk engraved on the green capstone.
Grimjaw looked at his client with a peculiar expression. It was completely unexpected that the Slytherin heritage would just resurge out after centuries of dormancy. Despite the Dark lords' claims, he had never been able to prove his Slytherin heritage... hence the 'heir of Slytherin' propaganda instead of a 'Lord Slytherin'.
"That is... interesting!" the old goblin mused loudly. "But strangely, by your own expression, you seem to be unsurprised by this. Were you expecting this to happen?"
Harry smirked but did not reply. The goblin muttered something in Gobbledygook, which Harry, for all his knowledge, did not know. There were no books on the Goblin tongue. Not even the employees of Gringotts knew how to speak it. Apparently, it meant 'sacred tongue' to the goblins, but wizards had construed its meaning as 'incomprehensible gibberish'. No thanks to Cuthbert Binns and his clever propaganda against goblin culture, even thirty years after his death.
Taking the Potter ring, he placed it in his middle finger in his right hand, followed by the slytherin ring, which he placed, on the adjacent finger. The rings glowed for a moment as a veritable amount of information flowed into his mind from the rings- information about his properties, his important family connections, official secrets and some other nuances. The wards surrounding the Potter properties tuned themselves to him, and he felt the family vaults go active once again.
"I assume you intend to take over your family vault."
Harry nodded. This time he would not let Albus Dumbledore from keeping his family heritage away from him. "My family wills. Do you know anything about them?"
"The only will which I have in my possession is the standard will made by James Potter on his Lordship. According to it, everything is supposed to fall to you and your mother, should she be alive. Fifty thousand galleons were to be provided to Sirius Black, Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew each while ten thousand galleons were supposed to be given to Albus Dumbledore and Minerva Mcgonagall. A trust vault of twenty thousand galleons were supposed to be handed over to the guardian of one Neville Longbottom. That is all." Grimjaw read it from the file in his hand.
"Was all of it done?"
"No. This will was never executed in public. Sirius Black was imprisoned; Remus Lupin out of the country and Peter Pettigrew was dead. The heir of the family, that is You were not to be found. Since majority of the people named in the will were absent, this will was not activated as is clause. The situation held the same for a year, after which your family vaults went into dormancy until this very moment."
"Very well. I am taking everything into my own hands. I suppose I am emancipated now that I have acquired Headship?"
"You have, but the emancipation is temporary. You will have to stay for one complete year without the government ruling your emancipation as void. If things continue unfettered for a year, you can assume permanent Headship and complete emancipation, though you will have to wait till you are nineteen in order to take up your Potter seat in the Wizengamot."
Harry's eyes widened at Grimjaw's choice of words. "What about the Slytherin seat?"
Grimjaw grimaced. "The Slytherin family is one of the families prior to the establishment of the Wizengamot, and thus the normal rules do not levy to them. Once a slytherin lord, always a slytherin lord. However, once again, the emancipation rules hold the same. You must not, under any circumstances, be declared underage by the Ministry within the time of one year."
Harry nodded. "I shall, take care of it. I would like to visit my vaults."
After a visit to the Potter family vault and the Slytherin vault, he had become the owner of a standard money pouch and an old family multi-compartment trunk (specifically, his grandfather's trunk). His grandfather Lord Charlus Nathaniel Potter was an Unspeakable for thirty years of his life before he settled down to play politics on the Wizengamot. Despite the fact that Harry had become a dark lord and ruled over Magical Britain for over three years, he had never known all of this, courtesy to Albus Dumbledore. When Voldemort had invaded Gringotts in Harry's seventh year, the death eaters had plundered it and taken away the contents from the vaults of light families—the Potter Vault being one of them. It was a shortsightedness on his part that he had underestimated the goblin war machine. After all, for all their greediness and their facility with accounts, the goblins were vicious warriors. Voldemort had won, Gringotts had been destroyed but along with that, one-third of Voldemort's forces were decimated. Apart from him, only a score of his death-eaters had remained standing on their feet.
That was before he had the crazy idea of summoning demons.
Harry quickly finished his shopping, complete with his robes and other supplies, for school as well as some ingredients for some potions and rituals he would require, and quickly checked them all. Only one thing was left.
A wand.
For all the good that it did, the holly and phoenix wand was a liability. What was the point in having a wand, which was a brother to your enemy? Yes, the priori Incantatem was a good distraction and everything, but even then- it came down to a battle of wills. While he had no qualms over the fact that he could beat Voldy fair and square in a head-on battle, the reverse-spell effect would render him incapable from saving his arse from other forthcoming attacks.
Hence, a wand.
Harry wandered into the deeper corners of Knockturn alley, and soon found the shop he was looking for. 'Elgart's wandcrafters.'
Found it.
Forty minutes later, a hooded Harry Potter walked out of the wand shop, two hundred galleons less and the proud owner of two dragon-hide wand holsters and a new wand- one with Deathwood as the material and an ice-dragon heartstring as the core. The wand crafter had mentioned that the wand was suitable for any kind of offensive magicks, whether it be dark arts or plain curses. His holly wand had also undergone some changes. Ever since he had fused with his younger self, his magic had changed slightly, something about which the elf had commented previously. Owing to that, he had to make certain additions to his holly wand-precisely, the holly had to be changed with basilisk ivory. It had involved him calling a hyperactive Dobby and popping back to the Chamber of Secrets, to pick up the broken basilisk fang lying there in the heart of the Chamber. Dobby had been anguished to hear that his master had to fight against the big bad snake and that Dobby had unintentionally harmed him more than he knew. The poor elf was wailing with distress until Harry had to command him to be silent and leave for Potter manor. A small amount of Harry's blood had been required for acquiring some sort of stability between the two opposing magical substances-apparently, phoenix feather and basilisk ivory were at odds just like the creatures themselves were.
Apparating back at Potter Manor, he was visited (read stalked) by an anxious Sirius Black and an anguished elf, who was still distressed over the fact that he had created problems for the good great Harry Potter, the greatest wizard in the world. Harry mused that the elf was just one-step away of plain falling down on his knees and downright worshiping him. It would be quite embarrassing.
"Padfoot! I have contacted a mind-healer from abroad, and he has fixed a schedule for your mind-healing sessions. You will have to leave early tomorrow morning. Sirius looked depressed by the news, nothing surprising really. "Is all this really important Harry? I assure you I am quite sane, and everything."
"You mean just like you were whispering to yourself about the Veela coven last day?" Harry asked pointedly. Sirius looked indignant but Harry persisted. "Even if you are perfectly sane and everything, we cannot risk the effects of the dementors on you. Besides, you are still a fugitive. Even if you live here, you will have to stay all alone here in this Manor. At least in France, you will be able to enjoy the country. I have... arranged matters so that you will not face any problem."
Sirius looked at Harry closely. The way his godson talked, it reminded him scarily of one single person. Lucius Malfoy. The same confident tongue, the underhanded way of manipulation, everything. "Harry... did the Hat, perchance want to put you in Slytherin?"
Harry smirked at his godfather, amused. "Return back from France, and I will answer your question. Besides, I have arranged you one weekend at a Veela massage parlor over there." It was the killer move and he knew that Sirius had fallen for it, what with the way the older man's eyes widened in awe. It was a surprise that he had never seen the hidden insanity of his godfather in his previous timeline. Perhaps that was because he had only stayed in contact for a couple of days in the summer.
Dumbledore.
Harry grit his teeth. That old fool was responsible for many problems. This time, he would not let him destroy his efforts to pull Magical Britain out of the ever-deepening hellhole it was in. The corrupt Ministry would have to go. The bigoted mentality would have to go. The second-chances and over-puritanical Headmaster would have to go.
I am Magical Britain's reckoning.
Ron Weasley was confused. To be honest, he was usually in transition between confusion and hunger, but there was being confused and then there was being 'confused'. In this case, it was the latter. He was confuse over his best friend's actions lately. Ever since their altercation with Peter Pettigrew and Black, his friend had... changed. For one, he was not on the train. At least if he was, he had skillfully avoid him and Hermione; which raised the question why. Why would Harry do that? He was Ron's best friend, after all. It was moments like this that an odd feeling tended to rise inside the depths of his heart.
Anger.
Harry Potter—the boy who lived. Ron Weasley's best friend. Harry Potter had everything, but him? He only had one thing to say for himself- he was Harry Potter's best friend. Harry Potter came from an ancient family, had more money than his dad could make in three lifetimes, had the ear of the Headmaster, was the seeker for Gryffindor, had met with the Minister of Magic on two separate occasions, and now he even had a godfather to himself. Ron just had one thing—he was Harry Potter's best friend. Yes, he had to share that position with Hermione but still, he was his best mate.
Ron Weasley was not a pragmatist, nor was he a kind of person who would spend time in introspection. If anything, he hated being introspective, for usually it would make him disheartened and angry. Every time he thought about his life, it pained him. It pained him that he was one of six brothers, all of whom were good at something or the other. Bill was a talented curse-breaker. Charlie was in Romania, taming dragons. Percy... well he would do a Ministry job for sure. Fred and George, they were thinking of starting a joke shop. Even Ginny got more attention since she was the seventh child in seven generations who was a girl. She was spoilt rotten. Ron was just, Ron.
What was he good at? Wait, chess was one. Unfortunately, chess was not something you could make money in the Wizarding world. Harry had told him about muggle chess tournaments in which the players made a lot of money, but if Ron was honest without himself, he did not really like associating with muggles. The fact that his dad was so pro-muggle sometimes grated his nerves.
There was another thing he was good at. That thing was being informative about Quidditch. He could swear that he knew more about Quidditch records and history than of the Quidditch team members, including their ex-captain Oliver Wood. Despite that, he was not included inside the team- not in his first year, nor the second nor the third.
It was... insulting.
At least the Quidditch cup was coming. His dad had gathered up some cash and had bought Quidditch tickets for everyone, including Harry. Now only if that boy would be good enough to contact them. For Merlin's sake, Harry was grating his nerves more than ever. Not that he wanted it to be such. Harry, for all his flaws, was a good friend. The fact that he got a lot more respect among others because he was buddies with Harry fucking Potter just added to the sweetness.
"Ronnie! Get in! Lunch is ready!"
Ron smiled. He always felt good about lunch. "Coming, mum!"
Harry spent the rest of the day with his godfather, chatting with the older man about his parents, about the pranks they played on everyone and especially Snape, whom Sirius was bent on referring to as 'Snivellus'. When Harry had inquired about the origins of that particular name, Sirius had explained how Snivellus was always sniveling in front of the other wannabe Death-eaters like Lucius Malfoy and Rudolphus Lestrange. The fact that Snape had been the one to kill Dumbledore never really left Harry's mind. For all his flaws, the old man was a fearsome wizard, one who stood on almost equal footing with Voldy when it came to power and experience. After Dumbledore's death, Voldemort had moved in swiftly and captured the fortress, killing off Mcgonagall and Flitwick, although the half-goblin had managed to take down Snape and Rudolphus before his fall.
This time things will be different. This time Sirius will live. This time, Hogwarts will not fall.
This time I will save her.
"Sirius?"
"Yeah Prongslet?"
"After you are free, what are you planning to do?"
"You mean apart from the coven of Veela plans?" Sirius asked enthusiastically.
Harry sighed. "Yes! Apart from the Veela coven."
Sirius' face changed into a thoughtful mood. "I will...need to update my will. My trust vault... it contains a lot of money, both from my inheritance and what I have earned."
Harry looked confused. "What about the Black Vaults?"
Sirius looked perplexed. "Harry, my mother threw me out of the family when I was sixteen. I am not a Black by name. I think."
That's confusing.
"Are you sure about that, Sirius? Perhaps you should make it a point to check in with Gringotts."
"If you say so, Harry." Sirius replied hurriedly, trying to end the conversation. Knowing how much Sirius hated his family, he gave in. "The mind-healer informed me that the therapy will continue for four months, hence the only time we will be meeting next will be during Christmas I suppose." Harry mused loudly, knowing fully well that with the Triwizard happening, he would be meeting with Sirius much sooner.
Somewhere in a village called Little Hangleton.
The Riddle manor was easily the largest building in the entire muggle village. The old Manor was almost dilapidated, with only one single caretaker—one Frank Bryce who had a history of serving the family and even though the family was now dead for fifty years. The old window frames shook for a while, and suddenly, the room filled with a surge of wind, blowing the dust off.
A sudden flash and a dazzling white light manifested in the middle of the room, as a portal opened out of nowhere. Another flash and an elder-looking man stepped out of the portal. His red chestnut hair completely unruly, his face still having a couple of freckles on it. His brown eyes, shining with uncontrolled malice. His face shone with some kind of eldritch power as he shook his shoulders, flexing his muscles.
Quickly casting a tempus spell, he checked the time. "Riddle Mansion, how... exciting!"
He crossed the creaking stairs, which groaned as he walked over them. It reminded him of a time long, long ago. It almost seemed like a different time altogether.
The front door on top of the stairs opened with a creak. A haggard looking, short-statured man peeped out. Finding no one, he opened the door completely. Even from a distance, the man's face looked almost rat-like.
He smirked. It seemed Peter Pettigrew was as much of a loser as he had known. He whipped his wand towards the rat-faced man. One dark crimson flash later, Peter Pettigrew lay bound on the floor in chains. Smirking he went up, opening the door and crossing the corridor and entering the room opposite it.
"Wormtail, who is it?" A penetrating voice called out.
He smirked. Entering the room, he faced the tiny miniature baby with the glowing red eyes.
"Who are you?" the baby asked dangerously, his red eyes glowing with red energies. The man smirked, his eyes shining with mirth as he slowly extended his wand arm out. His black wand held carelessly in his right hand, the holly and phoenix feather wand throwing out red sparks as he looked at the dark lord in the eye.
"Who are you?" The dark lord repeated, now almost at an edge, knowing how vulnerable he was at the moment.
"Lord Voldemort. I'm glad to finally meet you again." His wand arm flexing as his robe fluttered, revealing the extravagant symbol on his hand.
A skull with a snake coming out of it.
"My Lord." The man smirked as he knelt in front of the baby. "I come from the future. Your future."
"Why?"
"To make sure that Harry Potter suffers, to make sure that the world burns with him."
### That's for the third chapter guys! Hopefully this story appeals to you. Can you guess who the stranger from the future is? As always, please review. If anyone has any suggestions for the story, do tell me. Either in reviews or in PM. Thank you.
