Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. This fanfiction is being crossposted on ao3 and wattpad, under the user cariadmiller, so if you see it, don't worry, it's me! Oh, English is NOT my first language, so if you see anything wrong around here, that's why! Also, please, let me know so I can fix it :)
1. Everything and nothing.
Monday || October 31st, 2005 - Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.
It begins like everything else in his short but pitiful existence: abruptly, violently, and life-changing. Or, to put it more accurately: death-changing, hah. So (not) funny.
Looking back, he should have known something was about to go wrong, since, you know, it was a sunny morning in London. Anyway… Harry was only just returning home, after spending five weeks breaking curses to hell and back, and then some, back in Aksum, Ethiopia.
After so many cursed ruins and giant fucking obelisks, he was feeling exhausted and all that he really wanted was peace and quiet. Like, the exact same thing he has been craving since he was, like, three, or something. Perhaps earlier, Harry is not so sure. After all, no one has that good of a memory, right? It's not like people actually can remember seeing their mother being murdered by a snake-faced-noseless freaking bastard at the tender age of fifteen months old, right?
Lucky fucking bastards.
Nevertheless, Harry was just coming home, contemplating taking a long bath and dreaming about the delicious onion soup Kreacher makes; the same soup that could make a professional cook weep with jealousy.
And then, as things usually do (at least for him), everything went to shit.
As soon as he stepped into the front yard of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, his two-way mirror warmed up, indicating someone was trying to contact him. Since the people he dealt with these days knew better than to call him for at least two days after Harry was on leave, unless the shit got real… He was fairly certain that the only explanation for the sudden call was that shit had become real.
"What's it?" Harry answered the call, sighing longingly while looking at his home's door, knowing he would not be able to take that damn bath or eat some damn soup. Instead of making things difficult for himself and entering to say hello to Kreacher, which would only mean he would be obligated to eat and bathe by the elf, regardless of his rush, he turned his back to the house.
When he finally looked into the mirror tucked into his right hand, he found Bill Weasley staring back at him with his face covered in blood and looking like he'd had another round with Fenrir Greyback. And lost. Again.
"What the fuck happened with your face, mate?"
"Hah, bloody hah, Potter" Bill scoffed sarcastically before sobering up. "I think I found it," he said with a knowing look mixed with urgency taking over his expressive face.
For a moment, Harry felt as if he couldn't breathe.
"Fuck. I'm coming" and it was not even the pleasurable way of doing that.
Shit.
Let's recollect a little before explaining what in Merlin's beard 'it' is.
The now-named Battle of Hogwarts took place seven years ago, and since then, the Wixen World has been working to try to rebuild and remake what was once a proud and prolific society – and failing miserably.
Harry James Potter was lauded as a hero, received an Order of Merlin First Class and several other accolades, and had been named Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile ever since (to Lockhart's dismay – if he could remember anything to be dismayed about, that is. Which wasn't the case – thank Merlin).
Harry, along with Ron and Hermione, was found guilty of trespassing, stealing and destroying Gringotts property, as well as attacking and injuring the Goblins during his desperate dragon-escape. Even though he'd had good reason to do so (disgusting piece of Voldemort's soul, anyone?), he still had to work his ass off to get an amenable deal with the capriciously bloodthirsty creatures. A deal that, ideally, would not end with him having to be enslaved or sacrificed because of such a blatant disrespect.
To the surprise of absolutely no one, Hermione and Ron both wanted nothing to do with anything that made them miss school or deal with consequences, respectively. This left him alone to figure out a way out of a potentially life-threatening situation with only his grief-ridden brain and the remnants of his supposed Slytherin side (a typical Thursday). Harry finally managed to reach a compromise after weeks of explanation about the why's, how's, and when's. Over the next four years, he would help rebuild the bank and then work for them as a curse breaker, receiving only a fifth of what should be his salary, overtime included. After that time, the Goblins would revisit his case and, if Harry was deemed adequate in his work, he would be acquitted and could finally reopen his family's vaults (yes, as in more than one – and boy, wasn't it a surprise).
Frankly, Harry thought the Goblins had been pretty generous about the whole deal. Despite being paid very little for a lot of hard work, he would also receive specialized training and new knowledge about magic. Furthermore, he would spend a lot of time in ruins, crypts, and the middle of nowhere, therefore, outside the public eye, which was always a plus. Besides, it wasn't like Harry was unaccustomed to having next to nothing to live off (not that Kreacher would let him starve or, Merlin forbid, leave him unattended).
Overall, not so bad, if he said so himself.
The top brass of the bank unanimously decided that Ron and Hermione would forfeit the right to use the services of the bank, including opening accounts or using pre-existing ones. Furthermore, the bank would deny them access to any other of its services until such time as they acted to compensate for the damage caused to the Goblin Nation due to their criminal conduct. At first, it didn't sound too bad, considering that Ron never had a bank account in his name and Hermione, as a Muggle, never had an interest in opening one until she left school. Until they realized that the Wixen economy was almost entirely run by the Goblins.
By the time they finally understood the pile of horseshit they'd signed their futures into, it was already too late.
Tough luck.
Harry could've said 'I told you so', but that would've meant he would have to actually talk to them. And he really wasn't interested in that sort of thing these days. Last time he heard of Hermione, she was trying to strong-arm the Wizengamot – as she did with most things – to pass a law on banking policies and go against the alleged abusive power that Goblins had over the wizarding economy. Upon hearing that, the Goblin Nation was getting ready for a new war – one that Harry would stay the hell out of. Thank you very much.
In other news, Binns was certain to get a brand-new subject to drone on about and put students to sleep in his classes soon enough. Ah, joy!
Ron, in turn, could be seen helping George run his newest shop in Hogsmeade. Which coincidentally put him many, many miles away from Diagon Alley, making it (just a lit bit) difficult for the Goblins to kidnap him to serve time as a slave. Or a corpse.
Harry even heard some humorous gossip about Ron's newfound Goblin-induced paranoia, which was to be expected, really. If the Goblins ever created a vendetta against him, he was pretty sure he would never be able to sleep soundly again.
Bill, George, Charlie, Percy, and occasionally Arthur were the only Weasley's he still got on with. Between Ron's fury with Harry because of all the fame and spotlight he was getting, and Molly's anger that he didn't want to marry Ginny, Harry was fed up. Given how much Witch Weekly had been talking about him lately, and with the Daily Prophet's attempts to make up for all the shit they had said about him in past years, he knew it would only get worse.
So, for his peace of mind as well as his sanity, he decided to stay away from the Weasley's until they sorted their shit out.
At the Ministry, the Purebloods were still the ruling party, and, although Kingsley was a good and upstanding man, corruption still ran rampant in a Wixen society as uptight as the British. The only reason there weren't as many Death Eaters in positions of power as there used to be was because Harry, Neville, and some members of the good old DA decided to use the gray area between the end of the Battle of Hogwarts and the start of the New Policies to finish off as many of the motherfuckers as possible before people turned a blind eye to it, as they had done before. As they were about to do again.
Hogwarts, honouring its millennia-old history of overcoming wars and hard times, was rebuilt in record time – much of it having been done by the magic of the castle itself – and a monument honouring those lost during the battle was erected near the Black Lake, making it difficult for Harry – and anyone else who fought or lost someone there – to look out of any window in the school.
Life continued, and for the most part, nothing changed.
But Harry did change, and while the Wixen World was never the most observant bunch, there were still some who noticed.
In a fit of unparalleled jealousy and spite from a portrait of an old ex-headmaster – who should have known better – words about the Master of Death began to spread around the world. First, among the halls of Hogwarts, then the students' families. And finally, the general population, and so on, so forth.
Harry would have laughed at the rumours if not for the fact that he knew they were real.
A week after the battle, tired from helping to rebuild the school and desperate for some time alone with his thoughts, he walked into the headmaster's office, wanting to sit down and try to get some peace and quiet. And then, it happened. Despite the Resurrection Stone being left for lost in the Forbidden Forest, and the Elder Wand being returned to Dumbledore's tomb, suddenly the three Deathly Hallows were looming right in front of his eyes, glowing and pulsing with excitement. Demanding to be taking by him. To be claimed.
He didn't notice how the eyes in the portrait of the man he'd always considered a hero had lost their twinkle. Didn't notice the anger that stood out behind the half-moon glasses. He was so focused on trying to understand what was going on, what the meaning of this new ridiculous thing was, that it took him a while to realize that even though his part of the prophecy had been fulfilled, that had never been the plan.
At least not for Albus Dumbledore.
Weeks would pass where he would be tracked and attacked by people from all around the world, Wixen and creatures alike, attempting to steal the Hallows from him, to garner their power for their nefarious purposes. Months would pass with relentless work for the Goblins and, with it, numerous health check-ups and so many hurtful discoveries about his past would follow. Years would pass before the opening of his parents' will, and only then Harry would be able to understand just how truly set up for failure he had been.
How truly miraculous it was that he was still alive, still standing, after so many plots against him. Plots against a kid who never asked to be born, that never knew who he truly was until it was too late. An adult who knew next to nothing about his heritage, about the world he lived in.
That hadn't been a nice discovery. But it was a relief, even if painful and rage-inducing, to finally understand. Harry just wished he had noticed earlier, that he'd known sooner. Then he could have done something about it while the perpetrators of his doom were still alive and still able to be accounted for.
Unfortunately, as it is often for Harry, that couldn't be.
But, anyway, he was getting off track.
People wanting the hallows, that's what he should focus on. Because 'it' was nothing more, nothing less than the Invisibility Cloak.
The stolen Hallow.
And Bill had found it.
Monday || October 31st, 2005 - Albania.
After many bloodsheds, an unheard use of violence, and countless guts being spilled onto the ground, Harry was finally able to reach the confines of a hellhole that was Albania. Because, of fucking course, it would be Albania. Piece of jewel to use as a soul-anchor? Demon-like creatures trying to kill humanity? Weird shit that can bring the apocalypse? His stolen Hallow, which he had been searching for the better part of two years? Where, do you ask? Fucking Albania, of course!
Many times already, he had considered wiping out the fucking place of the maps.
Anyhow, Bill and his team of curse-breakers were standing (barely) behind some very nice – and almost broken-looking wards. He glanced at the redhead man at the centre of the group, who was groaning and looking as if deciding if he should kiss him or try to kill him and make it stick, instead. Though luck with that.
Used with that kind of stare, Harry unmade the wards and rushed to them, remaking the protections – a bit more strongly —, and starting to chant healing spells afterwards.
"What the fuck" Ramsom, the very handsome second in command on Bill's team and just as bloodstained, said. "We are five, mate, and we barely made it behind the wards with the things we collected before the fuckers closed on us. You just came and—what the fuck?"
"That's Harry Potter for you," Bill muttered, closing his eyes in relief when his guts got back to the place they should be. "I thought it would take more time for you to come"
"Nah, I had just got home from Aksum, so my things were ready to go. With your last coordinates, it was just the time to make the portkey and clean the patch to reach you guys," Harry replied while finishing with Irontooth's broken arm.
"Clean the patch, he says, like we didn't have eleven hell-bent dark witches trying to use our guts for sacrifice," Ransom spat with some blood, still looking at Harry like he was a creature of legend. "Merlin balls, if I were these people, I wouldn't try to steal anything from you. There are guts everywhere. Are you sure he put your original guts inside you, Bill? There are a lot of them around here".
Nika, the other redhead on the team and the least bloodied of them, snorted. "I think Ransom has a concussion, lads, 'cause he is talking a lot of shit," she said.
"Doesn't he always?" Irontooth scoffed.
"Hey!"
"A-right, you are all patched up. Or as much as I can do by myself" Harry said after finishing some stitches on Axefinger. "Now, where is it?"
Bill, being the only one of the team who knew what exactly Harry had been looking for, looked him in the eye and nodded, indicating to him – in a body language long learned between them after years of working together – that his memories were at the forefront of his mind for Harry to read them.
The green-eyed man used legilimens silently to get the information he needed before nodding in return.
"Thank you," he said gratefully, blood running hot and cold in his veins, heart beating fast in excited fear by the closeness to get his hands on the hallow that had been always rightfully his. "You guys better go to Gringotts so Bloodeye can mother hen you all back to health"
All of them shuddered at the mention of the very scary goblin healer.
"Are you sure you don't need help, Harry?" Bill asked quietly, a bit because he was stalling, clearly afraid of Bloodeye's clutches, and a bit because he was an excellent friend.
Smiling lightly, Harry shook his head.
"I need to do this on my own. But thank you, Bill. Really. I owe you one," he said and then, looking one last time at all the others who were getting ready to leave, Harry turned his back and went in the direction Bill's memories indicated, praying that he would find it.
Praying that everything would be ok.
...
He should have known better.
Undated - Timeless Space.
Lost in the kaleidoscope of colours that made the universe around him, all Harry could remember was running, breaking wards and curses, and, finally, the feeling of silk cloth, like water, against his fingers, the welcoming embrace of an old friend. He felt the Elder Wand shuddering on his hand, like a puppy, happy and excitable. The Resurrection Stone was spinning on the ring on his finger, warm and cold, all-encompassing. And the Invisibility Cloak hugged him tightly, trembling against his skin as if laughing.
As if everything were something that should have happened. That should be happening. That was about to happen.
Finally, the world – universe, dimension, nowhere, somewhere – around him turned pure black. And with the darkness came the cold. Then came the warmth. Then everything and nothing.
And then came the being. Faceless but not. Ageless but not. Timeless but not. An all-consuming entity. Smiling, crying, laughing, screaming at him.
"Hello, Master," they said, welcoming but not.
"Who are you?" Harry asked with his non-existent voice, vibrating in the abyss of nothingness and infinity around him, even if, in the darkness that now was his bones, his body, his heart, he knew who was the one he was speaking with.
He couldn't feel anything. He could feel everything.
Sounds exploded all around him, echoing and disappearing. Maybe a laugh, perhaps a cry.
The being answered.
"I am everything and nothing. The magic starts and ends with me. Life starts and ends with me. The worlds are made by my hands, just for me to end them. I am everything and I am nothing. The one and only entity. The one and only Goddess and God. I am one and I am infinity. I have many names, but still, I am their end and their beginning".
"Death"
"You are finally ready, I see"
"Ready for what?"
"To live"
"Wasn't I doing just that?"
"Were you?"
Harry couldn't answer, but wasn't that answer enough?
Monday || October 31st, 1988 - Number Four, Privet Drive.
"Boy! Wake up!"
He opened his eyes, heart racing, hands shaking. Alive, alive, alive.
.
.
.
.
NOTES: Some important info about this work.
— It will include a lot of Dumbledore bashing, but he will not be turned into some kind of evil dark lord. Instead, I will be using his portrait in the books and working with his choices (or lack thereof) to be very critical about all the shit he did;
— While there will be a critical view of Ron and Hermione, I will not be bashing them – at least not intentionally. I actually like their characters, but in this work, well, they will simply not be significant to Harry this time around;
— I love Sirius and Remus and James, so I won't turn them into some kind of monsters, either. However, there's no way in hell I will not criticize them for their bullying during school days;
— I hate Snape. There I go, I said it. So, don't come here if you're searching for a OOC-paternal-nice Snape. I simply hate the way he treats the KIDS at school (and no spy excuse shit can make me condone that), and hate the bitter way he sees the people and world around him. But I also know he wasn't given a nice hand. So, I will treat his character cautiously, trying not to be too heavy-handed, but be warmed that I'm not promising a redeeming arc;
— Sirius will be a massive part of this fic, so, of course, I won't kill him;
— There will be no redeeming any Death Eaters – just some of their kids because they're KIDS and don't know any better;
— I'm not sure about the main pairing yet, or if it'll be m/m or m/f. I'm waiting for the characters to develop before doing any romantic shit (but there will be romantic shit);
— HARRY WILL HAVE HIS MEMORIES, BUT HE WILL ALSO BE A CHILD, ALRIGHT. There will be ABSOLUTELY NO grooming around here, thank you very much;
— There will be angst, but I'm a comedic author at heart, so you can rest assured that there'll be a happy ending on the horizon!
I think that was it for today, I hope you liked this first chapter! I actually have up to chapter 12 written, so I'll be updating very soon. Please, let me know what you think, alright?