A/N:1 This chapter took me so freaking long to edit. Holy shit.

A/N:2 Some mentions of death, thinking about death etc.

See more notes at the end.

September 1st, 1989

The sun was already peeking through the drapes on that fine Friday morning, though Harry was having none of it. The last thing he wanted to see were people who had no interest in him. Which, he figured, was the complete opposite of what usually happened — but now that his scar was not such a vicious red, most people stopped looking.

"Are you ready for today?" Sala's voice filtered through Harry's sleepy brain.

"No."

"Yank his blankets, Sala," Reggie commanded, chuckling.

"You know that's dangerous business, Laurie," Sala countered, sitting on Harry's bed instead.

It had taken Harry a long time in the past year to sleep on the plush mattress. Amongst them, there was a consensus that their beds were softer than the others in the orphanage. Reggie and Sala, who had been there longer, had sworn from the top of the rooftops to the soft mud of the earth that all the other kids' mattresses were a lot lumpier and harder. After his first day, Harry had snuck to sleep under his bed instead of on it until Reggie and Sala had taken to sleeping with him until he finally became comfortable staying in his bed. Harry had overhead Regulus telling Sala that he wondered what kind of upbringing had if the floor had been more comfortable than a bed.

It was adoption day at the orphanage, and the excitement was palpable even from behind the safety of their closed doors. The younger children ran around, playing and giggling, though Harry was refusing to leave his bed, the blanket over his head, and he was speaking to them in grunts.

"Come on Harrrrrrrrrry." Sala whined, looking helplessly towards Reggie for help.

"Harry, no one will judge you for the tiny mark on your head. I promise." Reggie murmured softly, joining Sala in Harry's bed.

"Yeah, it looks so much better now! There's hardly any mark left at all."

Harry finally peeked out from under the covers. It was clear he had once had a mark there, though now it was a pale white instead of the furious red lines of blood it had been.

Emerald green eyes stared up at the two of them, glazing over slightly as he remembered the strange day he had had the surgery.

June 19th, the Day of the Surgery (2 days after Harry arrived)

Mrs Hacker had held Harry's hand as if he were her child. It was almost as if she were walking on eggshells around him, which was plausible as Harry refused to leave the rooms once he had been safely inside. It had taken a strange murmur from Mrs Hacker that Harry didn't understand and for her to wrap some white cloth over his injuries for him to agree to come along finally. Of course, it helped that Mrs Hacker grudgingly allowed Sala and Reggie to join, as Harry (very uncharacteristically, of course) threw a tantrum when she had said no the first time.

A lovely man had stayed to watch over the children at the orphanage, and Harry could see a flicker of recognition on Reggie's face, though he didn't elaborate.

There were people in the waiting room dressed funny, though neither of his companions seemed to be bothered by it, so Harry elected to say nothing. The wait was so long Harry had time to count all the little squares on the ceiling, all the books on the table, and all the blocks scattered on the floor. He had been tempted to drag the other boys to play with it, but they were sat with expressionless features, backs straight, and unmoving bodies. It was new and weird for Harry to see children like this, but again, nearly all the other children there sat the same way. Disgruntled, Harry tried to imitate the others and failed, wincing as his back cracked at the attempt.

"Harry Potter!"

A gasp went through the reception area, though a very vicious glare from the receptionist silenced them all. Harry also failed to notice a strange look on Sala's face before it was wiped clean by the time Harry turned to wave goodbye. Harry gripped tightly to Mrs Hacker's hand, feeling the brunt of everyone's stares.

"Why are they all looking at me like that?" Harry asked, giving a fleeting glance back at them before being pulled into the room.

She didn't answer.

The surgeon's assistant led Harry into the changing room and handed him a hospital gown. "Please remove all clothing and jewellery from the waist up and put on the gown with the opening at the back," she instructed. "You can leave your socks and underwear on. Once you're ready, come back out here, and we'll get you onto the operating table." Harry nodded, feeling a little nervous as he started to undress. He knew this surgery was critical but couldn't help feeling apprehensive about the whole process. Nevertheless, he took a deep breath and focused on the task at hand, eager to finish this and start the road to recovery.

The surgeon entered the room, offering minor platitudes to Harry, who didn't listen. He knew this would be better, and all the scars would be gone once he was done, or so he hoped.

Harry lay on the operating table, feeling nervous as the surgeon prepared to fix the injury his uncle had inflicted on him. He didn't know what to expect, but he was grateful that Mrs Hacker had arranged his appointment.

As the surgeon prepared the anaesthesia, Harry's mind began to wander. He thought about his parents, who he had never really known, and wondered if they would have been proud of him. Harry felt sure this would have never happened if they had remained with him. He wondered if he would ever find a family who would love him as much as his parents would have.

What bothered him was the dream he kept having. In it, the red-haired woman who shared his eyes had not been killed, but each time, his dream ended before he could see what had happened to her. He also couldn't understand who the men were, though it was apparent the one attempting to kill him was not someone good.

As the anaesthesia started to take effect, Harry felt his body begin to tingle. The man from his dream had said something to him, and he could remember it vaguely as his eyes began to close. Something about the Master of Death. What did that even mean? With that final thought, Harry was lost to sensation, and everything drifted from his mind.

All of a sudden, an unusual sensation came over him. He felt as though he was suspended above the operating table, observing his own body below. Harry experienced a sense of detachment, able to perceive and understand everything that was happening but unable to communicate with Mrs Hacker. He watched as the surgeon made incisions and did strange things on his forehead, using a stick instead of a knife. It was definitely weird. He also saw the faint outline of the scar the bad man had given him, along with the grisly-looking cuts his uncle had added on top of it.

"At least the Wizarding World will still know of our saviour by his name, from what my nurse tells me," the surgeon joked as he worked with steady hands on the boy who lived.

Ignoring what the man was saying, Harry tried focusing on what he was feeling. It was as if he was being pulled towards the scar, as if something inside him was trying to escape. Harry tried to resist, but it was like something or someone else was in control of his body. A screaming voice was heard, too, though he didn't see anyone screaming except for a shadow hovering over his head, choking him, strangling him.

The next thing he knew, he was fighting a dark entity inside him. He couldn't see it, but he could feel its malevolent energy. Something was trying to control him, change him, fix him, become him.

As Harry struggled to fight the dark existence inside of him, he could feel his heart pounding in his chest. The entity was fighting back, trying to take control of his mind and body. Harry's floating vision began to blur, and he felt a sharp pain in his chest that made him gasp. That sensation was weird, too, as he felt it, despite not being within his body, almost as if his conscious and subconscious were trying to warn him about the danger. It was a strange sensation for the young boy to try and tangle with a strange, black shadow, as a weird and floaty white shadow himself, but he refused to let this black thing take over his physical body, where he lay, unable to defend himself.

Suddenly, he was enveloped in a bright light, a strange mix of green, similar to that of his dream, along with a sharply focused white that reminded him of the hospital wing he had gone to on that fateful day, and somehow it also reminded him of the angel of death. And it was coming from within him. Despite this, it was warm and comforting, like a ray of sunshine on a cloudy day, as if urging Harry to let everything go and accept the peace he finally felt. From far away, he could hear a faint voice calling to him, urging him to keep fighting. But why should he fight when everything was so warm and fuzzy? Harry also realised he was no longer floating.

Despite the pain and fear that he felt, Harry summoned all of his willpower and focused his mind on the light. He could feel his heart slowing down as if preparing to stop. The entity inside of him seemed to be getting weaker, too, as if it was losing its grip on Harry's soul, but perhaps he was losing himself too, as everything within him went far away again.

And then again, he was floating. He could see the black shadow had nearly vanished, unable to keep up his antics of choking Harry to death. Was that because he had already died? Did this black thing kill him? Was he looking at his dead body right now?

Uncertain and unwilling to honestly know if he was no longer amongst the living, Harry pushed, watching with the slightest bit of amusement as his reemerging floating presence smacked at the black shadow with a final burst of energy. It seemed that was all that was needed, as the black shadow fell off Harry before screeching loud enough to scare even the scariest people on Halloween. The entity of the black shadow stabilised for a moment before becoming a wispy spectre. Harry saw as it left his body in a flurry of dark energy, like smoke being sucked out of a chimney.

An overwhelming sense of relief washed over Harry, followed by a profound sense of emptiness. For the first time in his life, his head was clear, as if he had lost a part of himself or his memories, but in a way similar to being released after being held hostage for so long. Overwhelmed by emotions and whirlwinds of visions, his mind spiralled out of control. A heavy breath was exhaled from his nose and expelled through his mouth as he took in the sight of the surroundings.

Harry was lying on his back, gasping for air like he had just run a marathon. He could feel the cold sweat on his forehead, and his heart beat erratically.

The feeling of grogginess and disorientation was to be deserved, Harry thought, seeing as he had some kind of battle that was already a fleeting memory.

Mrs Hacker and the surgeon stood over him, looking concerned but relieved.

"You gave us quite a scare there, Harry," the surgeon said.

"What happened?" Harry asked, feeling confused.

"You had a momentary cardiac arrest during the surgery," Mrs Hacker explained. "But the surgeon managed to revive you."

"Um, in kid speak, please?" Harry requested, staring up at them dumbly.

"You died."

"Oh."

As Harry sat up, he noticed something different about himself. Mrs Hacker had given him a mirror, and he had hoped to see a brand new forehead and was sorely disappointed to see otherwise. His forehead was no longer marked with the distinctive scar he had had most of his life and that his uncle had only recently massacred. Instead, there were faint white marks that were barely visible.

"I guess plastic surgery can't get rid of all scars," he muttered, missing the significant glace the two adults shared. What was strange was that the marks his uncle had given him were gone entirely, yet his original lightning bolt shape was still there, a pale memory of what once was.

"Can I at least get a cream to get rid of this?" Harry asked, feeling self-conscious.

"We can try, though no amount of twisting and fiddling got it to be removed. I can't very well understand it." the surgeon responded in dulcet tones.

He reached up to touch it, feeling a strange sense of disbelief. It was like he had been given a second chance and didn't quite understand how or why.

The surgeon and Mrs Hacker exchanged yet another meaningful glance, but they said nothing. They knew something extraordinary had happened during the surgery, but revealing the truth to Harry was not their place.

As Harry lay back on the bed, he felt a strange calm wash over him. He didn't know what had happened during the surgery, the memory already long gone, but he felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He closed his eyes and let out a deep breath, feeling grateful for the chance to start anew, hopefully without all the stares.

(Back to Adoption day)

In a way, the white barely-there scar had healed just the slightest bit with the help of the cream from his surgeon, though since the operation, he had felt extremely self-conscious about it. Though if he was honest, no one else seemed to notice it at all, except Reggie and Sala, but he constantly brought attention to it, and they consoled him.

"I really don't want to go," Harry murmured, pulling the blanket back over his head before Regulus or Sala could stop him.

"Come on, Harry," Regulus cajoled, "Fine, you know what?" He said, gently prodding the spot where Harry's stomach poked out from the blankets.

"What?" Harry mumbled, peeking only his eyes out again.

"I'll let you call me Laurie."

The covers were off so quickly Regulus jumped. Sala, already used to Harry's weirdness, didn't move.

"Really?"

"Really."

Regulus held his hand out, and Sala got up.

"Laurie," Harry said, grinning.

"Indeed."

"Okay, okay," Sala grunted, yanking them out the doors.

"I'm not dressed!" Harry yelled, flailing his arms.

"You're cute even in your pyjamas, Harry." Regulus chuckled.

It was clear who the adults were swarming. The toddlers were running around, and all the groups of hopeful parents were cooing at the cutest ones.

Harry nudged Regulus in the ribs gently and gestured with his chin.

"Ursa."

Despite being young, Ursa hadn't taken well to coming here; Regulus had prevented him from being adopted on every possible occasion because he had selfishly not wanted to be separated from the boy. Now, at seven years old, Ursa was hanging back, alone, in a small nook reading.

It wasn't as if Narcissa - Harry had learnt her name on one of her visits- hadn't come to see them. She had shown surprise in her features upon meeting him, but at this point, he gave up understanding why. She had been cordial, and after she left, Sala and Reggie - Laurie - he corrected himself with a smirk, had explained all about the "blonde woman" and her strange random visits.

Harry had also met Talby and Kreacher, whom the others had called "house elves", though other than using the small cupboard behind the beds, they didn't show up much. Harry continuously refrained from telling them he used to live in a cupboard like these house elves do now. On one occasion, though, Sala had requested he go to the cupboard to see if Talby was there. Though this was a reasonably basic sentence, Harry had a strange episode where he fell to the floor, rocking back and forth, screaming. Nothing could get him out of it until Laurie came and held him close, stroking his hair repeatedly and cooing to him; even that had taken nearly an hour before he calmed. Sala had put his foot down and insisted Harry explain what had happened because the boy didn't want a repeat. Reluctantly, Harry told him in a voice void of emotion that before he had arrived here, he lived in a boot cupboard under the stairs, and "going to his cupboard" was usually the term for "get ready to be beaten within an inch of your life". Nobody had spoken for the longest time after that, though they were undoubtedly more careful with their words.

The three boys went to join Ursa on the window seat, where he glared at them for intruding but moved aside regardless before returning to his book.

According to Laurie, Ursa had finally done accidental magic. Harry still didn't believe in it because of what happened to him after seeing magic before his eyes, but he decided not to tell Laurie, who looked so excited for his baby brother.

"I'm telling you," Laurie had whispered last night into the darkness of their room, "someone tried slamming the door on his finger, and it stopped right before his finger could be crushed!"

"That's all very exciting," Sala had drawled, "But shouldn't you be concerned that someone tried hurting him?"

Laurie had laughed. "Nope, apparently, he glared so fiercely at the boy the perpetrator fell back and ran off scared."

Harry snorted, and they went to bed.

Now they were here, watching as parents flocked to the young ones while the older ones sat nervously, hoping to catch the eye of a prospective parent.

"Your birthday is coming up," Sala said conversationally as they watched another parent walk by them uninterestedly.

"Congrats on knowing how to read the calendar." Regulus snarked. Sala just smiled, and Harry rolled his eyes. Snarky Regulus was the best Regulus.

As the day passed, the room filled with more prospective adoptive parents, all eager to find their perfect child. However, most seemed drawn to the younger children and toddlers, passing over the older children like Reggie, Sala, and Harry. This had been going on all day, so by this time, despite the three friends trying their best to put on their best behaviour, there was no real hope of catching someone's attention. Ursa didn't even bother.

Despite being there for a year, Harry remained optimistic that he would eventually find his forever home. Laurie and Sala, though hopeful themselves, didn't believe for a second anyone would take them. They never seemed to complain, though, so he felt comfortable drawing strength from his friendship with Reggie and Sala, who had become his family. The three of them would spend hours talking about their dreams and hopes for the future, and they had become each other's support system. Sometimes Ursa would join, but for the most part, the younger boy spent his time alone.

As the day dragged on, Regulus, Sala, and Harry watched as family after family walked by them, barely glancing their way.

"Visiting for adoption day ends in five minutes; we might as well make our way back," Harry muttered, glaring downward. He blamed his ugly face for not getting adopted, though he couldn't say the same for Sala and Laurie. Even at nine, both boys were incredibly handsome, and he felt the slightest bit jealous.

Despite the disappointment, the three friends tried to remain optimistic. They had seen children come and go and knew sometimes it took time to find the right match.

In the meantime, the three friends found comfort in each other's company. They frequently spent their days playing together, telling stories, and dreaming about when they would be free from here. Harry talked about wanting to be a healer, Laurie dreamed of becoming an artist, and Sala hoped to one day travel the world. They encouraged each other to follow their dreams and reminded each other that they would always have each other no matter what happened.

The room emptied as the adoption day ended, and the three friends were left alone again. It was tough not to feel disheartened, but they knew they had each other, which was enough. They hugged, but Harry wondered if it was solely for his benefit. They knew they might not have found their forever families that day, but they had found something just as valuable, a lifelong friendship. If anything, the three of them were already family.

"Alright, let's go," Regulus agreed, shaking Ursa, who had fallen asleep.

"I'm so tired I don't want dinner," Sala said, yawning.

"It's okay, I'll eat yours," Harry smiled, ruffling his hair, mainly because Sala hated it.

"Lads!" Regulus said, his voice sharp and commanding once they finally entered their rooms. Harry and Sala both looked at him. "Narcissa is here, and Draco is with her."

"Is she trying to get rid of Draco?" Sala asked, interested.

"Doubt it," Regulus grunted.

"But," Harry asked, confused, "Doesn't she usually appear directly in the rooms?"

Harry and Sala joined Regulus by the window, where he looked out, watching as Narcissa and Draco walked up the path.

"Exactly," Regulus answered, glaring towards the path for some reason.

"You don't think she came because of adoption day, do you?" Sala questioned, "Why else would she take the Muggle route?"

"Muggle?" Harry wondered, glaring at them both when they didn't answer.

Soon, Narcissa disappeared, and though it was officially dinner time, none of them went, hauled up in their rooms to wait and guess why the Malfoy Matriarch had shown up at their orphanage.

A light knock on the door had both Regulus and Sala standing immediately, defensively. Ursa and Harry stared at the two of them and stood, too, though they remained slightly hidden behind one of the wardrobes.

"Sala?" Mrs Hacker said a strained smile on her face. "You're wanted in my office, please."

Sala looked at them beseechingly, though no one spoke up until Sala was at the door, and Regulus said, his voice firm, if low, "Tu es frater meus, usque ad mortem tibi faveo."

Sala smiled tremulously and put a fist to his heart and kissed his fingers to his lips. "Et tu mihi, usque ad mortem", the boy said before the door closed behind him.

"Ugh, I love him," Regulus muttered, staring daggers at the door after he slipped to the floor, his head on his knees.

"He loves you too, Reg," Harry told him gently. We all love you, and we love Sala."

"He'll come back," Ursa added helpfully, though it didn't seem like he believed his own words.

They waited what felt like hours, but Sala didn't return.

When the stars had come out, Sala finally walked back into their rooms. His eyes were tear-stained, and Regulus jumped to his feet and pulled the boy into his arms, where Sala broke down. Harry, not feeling like he should intrude, stayed back.

"What happened?" Regulus asked, sitting back down and pulling Sala into his lap. Sala went willingly, putting his head into the crook of the other boy's neck, still sniffling.

"She wants to adopt me."

"But she's already your mo-" Regulus started to say before Sala cut him off with a bite to his ear.

Harry was watching all this with his eyes wide.

"Do I want to know?" he asked, trying to lighten the situation.

Regulus sighed but didn't answer.

"She divorced Lucius," Sala whispered, looking up at them, a desperate expression covering his face.

"Ah."

Frowning slightly at being ignored, Harry went to the small couch in the corner and sat down on it, cuddling up underneath the fluffy throw that was kept there. Ursa joined him and immediately fell asleep again. Harry, though feeling left out, stayed awake, watching as the other boys interacted between themselves.

"I said no."

"What?" Regulus asked, scandalised. "Why the hell not?"

Sala bit his lip, ignoring Regulus's language as they were all used to his "weird ways when he got overwhelmed".

"I told her I wasn't leaving without you guys…"

"What did she say?" Harry asked, even though they had made it clear it was an a and b conversation, and he was c.

Sala looked at him and smiled slightly, though his eyes were still puffy. "She said she can't just adopt three other people."

Harry's hope dimmed, like a lightbulb breaking and the light shutting off.

"I told her, well, that's great, but I would rather stay here with them than go with her and leave you behind. And then I left, even though that's against everything a pureblood is."

"Pureblood?" Harry was getting annoyed by the constant amount of terms the two used constantly but never explained.

"Okay, I have enough of this." Sala removed himself from Regulus' lap and instead got up, pulling Harry from where he lay, and brought the more petite boy with him to the circle, careful not to wake Ursa.

Harry, pleased to be part of the group again, went with Sala quickly, sitting next to the others with his eyes wide and accepting.

"We are going to become blood brothers." And with that, he took out his knife and cut it into his palm.

End note: The Latin Regulus says to Sala: Tu es frater meus, usque ad mortem tibi faveo" conveys the meaning "You're my brother, I've got you even to death."

And Sala's response: "Et tu mihi, usque ad mortem" which translates to "And you to me, even to death."

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