This one was a challenge to write. Still I told myself no later than noon, Sunday, and deadlines are important. I hope you all enjoy!
-REVISED 4/2/2023.-
Since I had time, I thought I'd do some revisions-mostly grammar stuff, but also including changing the narrative from present tense to simple past tense. Hopefully, it's a better read this way.
Going to the Grave
Harry stared at platform 9 ¾, in King's Cross Station wondering about certain past events. He ignored the few oddball stares he got for having a colorful plush toy parrot on his shoulder and wondered if Hardwin had freed Dobby at the end of second year or if the house-elf had possibly stopped him from entering the platform in his third year. It was a passing thought he reflected on before moving deeper toward the inception clawing at the back of his mind.
The thought was another game of Horcrux-Voldemort.
In a genial effort to destabilize Harry's relationship with anyone in his life, as well as make him feel like a worthless sheep, Horcrux-Voldemort pointed out certain details Harry would've never considered himself. He was currently staring at one of them, asking himself the very question that damn parasite had asked him after replaying the event.
'How is it that a matriarch like Molly Weasley forgets where the entrance to the platform is when she's already done it a number of times for Bill, Charlie, Percy, Fred and George?'
When he considered Dumbledore's interest in his life and the close ties the headmaster had with the Weasley family, it made him wonder if the fortuitous meeting was staged by the manipulative headmaster in a preemptive attempt to keep him close. Although it wasn't a damning question, it was certainly suspicious enough to make Harry think that way. He wouldn't put it past the cunning old man to try to manipulate him.
Shaking his head to dispel the disparaging thoughts, Harry calmly walked through the barrier, just in time for the sight-modifying charm he had placed on his phoenix to wear off. Since the charm didn't really affect Nova, her natural defenses didn't need to react. At the same time, Muggles only saw a plush toy instead of a black and red phoenix.
Dressed in simple jeans and a black long-sleeved shirt, with his trunk shrunk and attached to a thin unbreakable chain around his neck, Harry had nothing in his hands as he walked along the large platform towards the train. The platform was mostly empty this early in the morning, so he took a moment to admire the imposing beauty of the giant steam train.
Showing up extra early was a two-fold plan that was purely for peace of mind. They had told Dumbledore that Harry would be arriving around the time of departure, so he could show up early, take a compartment at the very back, and avoid the crowd that he or his phoenix was sure to draw. There was also the possibility of sitting near enough Slytherins to eavesdrop on their conversations, which he hoped would be a far more successful endeavor than his last mission.
As he walked through the nearly empty platform, he lamented the failure of his previous mission, which had ended with him wounded and bleeding out on the cedar hardwood floor of the mansion. Nicolas and Perenelle had been alerted to his injury via the heir-apparent ring and the house wards, so it wasn't more than a minute before they found him. It was then that Harry learned from Nicolas that Nova's healing tears wouldn't develop for at least a year. However, her talons were helpful, which meant he should really be careful. His back was the worst of the injuries, but as a whole, they weren't so severe that a few potions and good healing magic couldn't quickly remedy.
After they were certain he would be fine, they inquired about the details of the night. His instincts immediately wanted to withhold information, but he reminded himself of their level of commitment and moved past his customary reaction. He told them everything except for Malfoy's name, whom he code-named Ferret for security purposes and his own amusement.
"How might you be planning on using this Mr. Ferret?" Nicolas asked.
"I don't know exactly how he'll help," Harry admitted, then hummed. "But he does have a connection to Voldemort, or at the very least, his inner circle. He's the son of a higher-ranking Death Eater. In all likelihood, I'll use him for information."
"That could be very dangerous for your friend," Perenelle stated. "Are you sure he's okay with being a spy?"
"He is not, nor will he ever be my friend!" Harry returned with vitriol, which he quickly regretted directing at the elder lady. "I'm sorry," he said with frustration, regretting the vitriol he had directed at the older lady. "I didn't mean to snap."
Perenelle nodded in acceptance of his apology, and he continued speaking.
"Ferret suffered at Voldemort's hand in ways even I can't understand," Harry continued. "He's motivated enough to pledge a loyalty oath to me." Nicolas and Perenelle gasped in shock, surprised that a wizard would willingly pledge life and magic to another, as it was essentially self-induced slavery. "Look, we were enemies in our timeline—I mean, we hated each other. Merlin knows I could've killed him for one of any number of things he did to me, or my friends, and been entirely justified. If he hadn't pledged fealty to me, I definitely would've obliviated him to birth and sent him on his merry way."
Nicolas and Perenelle shared a look of concern but didn't say anything more on the topic. It was then that Harry revealed the most significant portion of his interaction with Malfoy. "There's a Harry Potter in this timeline?" Perenelle repeated aghast. "How can that be? We never found any mention of another Potter."
"It would seem to make the most sense," Nicolas admitted. "The human body is the tangible vehicle of the mind and soul—a vessel, if you will. A fragile one but a vessel nonetheless. Regardless of the point in time, you are the soul of Harry Potter, which of course means you inhabit the body it was created for."
"The only reason we haven't heard about him is because he somehow still went to the Dursleys," Harry said sternly.
The bitterness in his tone was potent, and while Nicolas might have left it be, Perenelle felt the need to ask, "And the Dursleys are?"
Harry didn't answer immediately; instead, he contemplated the power that family still seemed to have over him. After everything he had been through, his time with the Dursleys should have been a vacation by comparison. Yet, they were still a nightmare in their own right. Harry answered with just enough information.
"They're the relatives I stayed with before Hogwarts and in the summers," Harry hotly answered. "It was... a challenging place to live," he said as he got out of bed.
"What do you think you're doing?" Perenelle asked in the stern tone of a healer.
"I feel better, and I need answers now," Harry hastily replied.
"It's the middle of the night," Nicolas protested.
"Less chance of being seen," Harry answered as he put on a dark turtleneck.
"I dare say a wizard of your caliber ought to be able to do the same during the day," Nicolas easily returned.
"There's no sense in waiting," Harry rebutted without breaking stride. He was putting on boots and nearly out the door when Perenelle spoke up.
"What are you hoping to learn that you can't simply ask your mother about?" she asked.
Harry whirled around, energized by thoughts of horrible implications, and answered, "If she had even half an idea of how that family treated me, and still kept me- this Harry there, then she's no mother of mine."
With that, he apparated out of the whitestone townhouse, just outside of number 4 Privet Drive in Little Whinging, Surrey. It looked exactly as he remembered, and his breathing immediately quickened. There was suddenly a burst of fire that quickly evaporated, and Nova landed on his shoulder, clutching him far harder than she needed to.
"Sorry girl," Harry stated evenly, still looking at the Dursley home. "I lost my head a bit. I didn't mean to leave you."
She softly clicked and tweeted, easing the strength of her grip. Harry smiled and took a step toward the house. Wand in hand, Harry cast detecting charms on the premises but found no ward of any kind. He apparated inside with a near-silent pop, landing in the entryway. Everything was still, if not silent. Harry could clearly hear the loud trumpet snores of both Vernon and Dudley upstairs.
Harry raised his wand and cast revealing and detecting charms that reported only three occupants in the house and no trace of magic. Harry stepped to the cupboard under the stairs, intent on satisfying some twisted urge of proof. With apprehension, he opened the small door and discovered nothing but boxes and toys inside. There wasn't even a tiny bed.
Harry examined the whole house, room by room, looking for any hint of his presence once upon a time. There wasn't a single trace that another boy might have lived here once. Harry had little option but to dive into their minds and search for the truth. With no hesitation, he searched Dudley's memories first. Besides revealing that this-Harry did live with them, he didn't learn anything of note. For a moment he was tempted to exact some level of retribution on the small orca, but decided against it. It was unnecessary. It wouldn't change anything and served no purpose in destroying Voldemort.
Standing beside Vernon and Petunia's bed, watching the married couple sleep, he pushed past all the pent-up resentment and rising animosity, and delved into their minds with ease. Petunia first. He navigated through the woman's obnoxious motherly duties, her revolting obligations as Vernon's wife, into the memories associated with hate. It was in this emotional tether Harry found memories of a young Harry Potter, exactly like in his timeline.
It turned out Vernon was the first to discover the infant on their doorstep in the morning. Harry took a deep, steady breath as his relatives read the note Dumbledore left. It detailed the wards that would be placed around their residence if they should take Harry as a surrogate son until his seventeenth year. It also informed them of a monthly stipend for his care. How any of this was allowed, even with his mother alive, Harry will never understand.
He delved further into Petunia's memories and discovered the few times Vernon punished him, which she enjoyed watching. The violence excited her and fueled Vernon's sex life. Harry quickly exited his aunt's mind after obtaining the information he needed. According to her recollections, this-Harry had run away one day and never returned. She didn't care about it and thought of telling her sister, Lily, for less than a minute before shrugging and moving on with her life.
Harry took a step back and observed Petunia sleeping peacefully, as if she hadn't committed a sin in her entire life. He then felt a strong urge to repay them for their 'hospitality.' He managed to ignore the desire and proceeded to explore Vernon's mind next.
Navigating past his love of greasy, fattening food, Petunia's submissiveness, his dutiful son, and his secret longing for his wife's sister, Harry examined the large man's hate-filled memories. Vernon loathed a lot of things, but a cherished memory of Harry was at the center of the massive archive. This Vernon enjoyed tormenting Harry early and often, spritzing cleaning fluid in his eyes, leaving the frightened boy outside in the cold all night, never allowing him to shower, starving him, and finally, hitting him. The progression was fast, and by age six, Harry could tell that this-Harry was hit one too many times by the way he stumbled around and didn't speak.
It was odd to note that the large man had used restraint with his beatings, not that it stopped Vernon from hitting this-Harry a little too hard one day. In this memory, which actually gave Vernon a sexual rush, he hit Harry so hard that the boy's body crumpled to the floor, unmoving. Harry found it disgusting but still watched on as Vernon left the unconscious boy alone until he finished watching his show. Later, when his younger self hadn't moved an inch, a miffed Vernon picked up the young boy, put him in the car, and took him to a dark alley. Vernon threw him behind a large dumpster and returned home. He told Petunia that the brat had run away for good, and they proceeded to celebrate in their bedroom.
Harry jumped out of the memory before bile completed its run out of his mouth. A loss of brain function might explain why he couldn't access memories past age six. They wouldn't be accessible or properly remembered at all. Still, it didn't explain how he ended up in a park, nearly dead, years later.
An extra loud snort from Vernon brought Harry back to the present. Looking at their peacefully sleeping faces, Harry felt a deep urge for revenge. He was angry, no doubt, but he couldn't blame it all on them. He had a mother and Dumbledore who deserved some of his ire as well. After all, there was plenty of fault to go around. For the moment, a debt had to be paid, and it wasn't just for personal satisfaction, though there was that.
These people—if he was generous enough to call them that—were as vile and monstrous as Voldemort. The only difference was scale. While Voldemort was powerful enough to affect the world, Vernon and Petunia's poison could only extend to a single boy. Harry wouldn't even be surprised if the Dark Lord approved of them. From the ruin of their villainy, Harry would demand vindication by taking from them all the joy they sought in life.
They would not go to prison, but from that point forward, Dudley would never enjoy anything delicious again. Harry had shut down the large boy's sense of taste, preventing him from feeling the gratification of a full stomach. Mentally reciting, 'May the orca die from gluttony.'
Harry had taken away Petunia's ability to feel physically satisfied by food and replaced it with a deep, physical lust for her son. She would think about being touched by him every chance she had, all the while feeling physically ill at the thought of her husband. Like his son, Vernon had lost his sense of taste and would forever feel hungry. As an added bonus, the leader of the wretched household would never be able to get an erection unless he was physically abused: in pain, beaten black and blue, or bleeding at the hands of another man.
'Let them suffer with this for now,' Harry thought. He briefly considered how light the punishment was for all three, but there was nothing saying he couldn't come back and make it worse. If the full-scope of their punishment was a meal, then this would be the appetizer.
As Harry boarded the nearly empty Hogwart's Express, he recalled explaining everything he had discovered to his pseudo-parents. He must have seemed more raw during the visit than he realized, or Perenelle was very good at reading emotional cues because she implored Harry to learn his mother's side before acting on incomplete information.
"Keep in mind, it's still only half a picture," she had explained. "I wouldn't dream of telling you what to do or preach to you in any way—I know that's not my place. I only suggest that, until you know more, act on the benefit of the doubt. They deserve what they deserve, but make certain it is deserved."
Harry didn't outright ignore her advice, but he didn't completely agree either. As much as this was distressing, it had nothing to do with his goal of destroying Voldemort. For now, he would let it lie and compartmentalize the crisis neatly in a brick of the cell of his mindscape.
Entering the last compartment, Harry applied a weak intent charm on the door meant to discourage anyone gullible enough from entering. He took a seat and pulled out an ancient book on the sand used in time turners. It was mostly a theory-based book, but he thought it might be helpful. Harry knew that Horcrux-Voldemort had used the salt and sand of his withering, naturally magic-infused body to act as power to invoke the dark time warp, but he hoped the book might provide a clue for removing a Horcrux without destroying the container. Most of the knowledge in the book was similar to Voldemort's assessment, if quite behind the lunatic. It was creepy how genius a motivated Voldemort could be.
In the hours before departure, Harry heard the bustle of children coming, going, and talking incessantly. Through his mindscape, Harry enhanced his hearing, wondering if he might pick up anything of note from the compartments nearby. It was a toss-up where the Slytherins might settle, but they tended to claim anywhere from the middle to the last few cars of the train. Harry planned to eavesdrop for any slip of information a Death Eater spawn might know.
He didn't like the idea of talking to anyone, much less junior Death Eaters in training. If any of those uptight arse kissers saw his unwillingness to share as a sign of hostility, it would draw more attention than he'd like if he wanted to continue working from the shadows. He would also much rather be alone; his mind and emotions were more stable alone.
Using his enhanced hearing, the only conversation any of them could gossip about was who was attractive, who was ugly, Quidditch in general, the World Cup specifically, and the most talked-about moment of that night, the Death Eater attack—an event that kept the Slytherins firmly segregated from the other houses.
Harry had seen the Daily Prophet that morning and luckily it hadn't mentioned anything about him or the Delacours, but it did highlight the Morsmordre sent into the night sky. Harry had not seen the Dark Mark in the sky that night, but if he had, he would've blown it out of the sky. The article had said there was a casualty but wouldn't reveal the identity of the deceased. Harry wondered if they were withholding the other Death Eaters he had killed when the train began to leave the station.
The trip to Hogsmeade was uneventful until two thirds of the way there. The compartment door swung open with tremendous force, and in stepped Draco Malfoy, looking exasperated.
"Bloody hell, Potter!" he yelled with frustration. "What did you do to the door?"
Harry let out a huff of irritation then forcefully moved Draco inside, before looking out into the corridor. Harry didn't see anyone nearby, but it didn't mean someone didn't hear the obvious slip. Annoyed, Harry closed the compartment door and raised his best privacy wards.
Harry whirled on Malfoy, and retorted, "What did I say about using my name?"
Malfoy was curiously looking at Nova, and then his eyes bulged, pointing at the legendary bird, he gasped, "That's- That's a bloody phoenix!"
Harry's irritation continued to rise. He took his seat next to Nova as she pruned her feathers. They both ignored Draco when he yelled, "A phoenix!" again, arms extended and expecting some explanation. None was forthcoming. Malfoy looked from the phoenix to Harry and back. Whatever questions he had were ignored, so in a huff, he moved on.
"You didn't exactly give me an alternate name to use when I curse," he pointed out, still amazed at the sight of a phoenix picking its feathers. "I was looking for you for hours. Whatever you did to the door is crazy strong."
"I put a light intent charm on it," Harry answered. He had thought long and hard on the best way to incorporate Malfoy into his plans, and for the moment, Harry decided to wait for the right opportunity to present itself. Considering his goal and Malfoy's connections, he'd likely not have to wait long to utilize him. "Maybe you're just exceptionally weak."
"I'm not weak," Draco hotly returned. "I still have the same knowledge and roughly the same skill I had when I died. Maybe you just don't know the meaning of light, Oh-Nameless-One." Malfoy exhaled forcibly and took a seat, letting the silence stretch for several moments until Harry finally broke it.
"My new name is Ares Flamel," Harry stated by way of moving past their natural animosity. "Either is fine, but no more Potter. Not even in private. Less chance you'll slip later."
"No! None of that is fine!" Malfoy bellowed. "Are you daft?! How can you think to use a name like that?!"
"Calm down," Harry warned. "I'm not crazy about Ares either, but what does it matter? It's just a name."
"Not about Ares," Draco corrected him. "That's loads better than Harry. I meant Flamel! Everyone knows who the Flamels are. Merlin's balls, Dumbledore is even close friends with the immortal alchemist! It's obvious why you can't use your real name, but Flamel? Really? That's almost as bad as saying you're a Potter no one's ever heard of. The second Dumbledore spots you, he's going to call his friend-"
"Malfoy!" Harry called loudly. "If you'll kindly stuff it for a minute, I can catch you up." Harry explained to Draco all the pertinent details he had gone through since his arrival. The Flamels had found him because of a Lovegood prediction hundreds of years old, telling them the truth, becoming their heir, and getting Nova. It took him more time to explain the Horcruxes.
"Your father never told you what the diary really was?" Harry asked, genuinely shocked.
"He told me it was an important artifact that belonged to the Dark Lord," Malfoy answered. "He's an avid collector. I didn't really think anything of it."
"Of course you didn't," Harry inwardly sighed. "We currently have two. Hardwin and the diadem are at Hogwarts. Nagini is with Voldemort, the locket is probably with Regulus or Kreacher, and the diary was destroyed... presumably; I still have to verify that. The plan is to destroy the six remaining Horcruxes before I take the maniac down. As you can imagine, Hardwin is going to be the most delicate part of the plan. I still haven't figured out a way to remove the Horcrux without killing him."
"…H-How?" Draco gasped, totally at a loss. He clearly never expected it would take so much to kill Voldemort. "How are we supposed to do all of that without him noticing?"
"One at a time and carefully," Harry easily stated. "For now, I still don't know how best you can help."
"What do you mean?" Draco looked at him curiously. "That much should be obvious. I'll be your spy."
"And in our timeline," Harry began to ask. "When did you really start being involved in actual Death Eater meetings or missions?"
"Sixteen, seventeen, I'd say," he answered.
"That's two to three years from now; far too long down the line," Harry told him. "I'm planning on ending him this year, which means you're too young for them to tell you anything important, and there's no real group for you to spy on anyway. The most you can do would be giving me the locations of all the major families, so I can dismantle them one at a time."
The cold, murderous tone of Harry's voice, the intensity of his eyes and his scars told Draco everything he needed to know about how he planned to handle the Death Eater families. He was going to kill them all, and Draco wasn't sure how he felt about that.
"I don't want this to sound like I'm being... mnn, uncommitted, or disloyal," Draco warily began. "But do you have to kill them?"
The hesitation in Draco's look and voice was very satisfying to Harry and he couldn't help but smile. "Why did you ask, Draco?" Harry challenged with glee. "Are you afraid for your Death Eater friends? Having second thoughts or is this some pure-blood nonsense about superiority?"
"I'm not having second thoughts," Draco firmly stated. "And I now know pure-blood superiority is hogwash, but there are a lot of old families who I'd say were more misguided than all-in supporters of the Dark Lord. These wizards, the ones that aren't like Bellatrix or Crouch Jr. treasure their ancestry and can trace their lineage back for hundreds of years. They take pride in their customs, culture, habits, and ideas. Did you know before we had Halloween and Christmas, it was Samhain and winter solstice celebrations? How would you feel if a tradition your whole community participated in for hundreds of years was suddenly taken away and replaced by some trivial commercially-geared holiday? These families felt like they were losing their place, and only really supported the Dark Lord because they wanted their life to have meaning again."
Gently, solemnly, Harry spoke, "Malfoy… I had no idea they had such a noble concept of… prejudice and bigotry. What a crime. Oh, the fucking humanity," Harry sarcastically stated with enough venom even Draco was impressed. "Their place? Really? Don't forget you, and the like, believed your place was above everyone else. You said it yourself. After the destruction and murder of everything and everyone I held dear, you felt like it was all right again. Is that the rightful place you're talking about? Lord of graves? The problem you all seem to have isn't anything ancestral or noble, but your bigotry, your discrimination, your bias! It's your fucking pride! Your reign came to an end by the people you felt superior to. You all learned that you weren't special, that blood and who you're born to didn't matter, and got angry at us for showing you up. So angry, in fact, that a madman easily convinced you he was your one and only savior—never mind the massive amount of human sacrifice it would take, as long as it's not you. Isn't that right, Draco?"
Harry knew the blond boy's mind immediately burrowed deep into memories of his murdered son. Like any intense exposure to suffering, Draco was lost in his head for a good forty-five minutes. Harry left him to his agony, knowing exactly what he was going through and not feeling an ounce of remorse. When Draco returned to the present his voice was weaker than before, and his eyes were pained.
"...I know," Draco acquiesced. He wasn't going to argue the merits of equality for all, not after witnessing how his ideals led to the murder of his son, but he also didn't like the idea of trading one murderous psychopath for another. "I do. It's because I know, I ask that you show them another way," he said with a little more determination. "I learned the hard way how wrong I was, but they don't have to. All I'm really asking is, do you have to kill them all?"
"I never said I was going to kill them all," Harry returned. "I'm not homicidal... much. Though, I'm sure none of you asked Voldemort the same question before he murdered my friends. Why would you? Aside from being utter cowards, you all believed the shite he was pedaling into your mouths."
Hard kill-me green eyes, bold scars, and a violent frown... The hard gravitas Harry's passion projected was an impression Draco couldn't shake and told Harry as much. "I'm sure if you saw how little-but-kind-of-a-lot murderous you looked, you'd disagree. I'd also point out you already killed Rowle, Jugson, and Nott Sr's brother. Father was livid... not that I cared." Draco had already mentioned who Harry managed to take out, and none of them were really important.
"Let's be perfectly clear here Malfoy," Harry stated pointedly. "This isn't a game, and I'm not pulling any punches. You put on Death Eater garb, terrorize, rape, pillage, plunder, you're dead to me. Dead! I only have one goal here, and that's killing Riddle. After that, equality for the Noble families and Magical Britain could sod off for all I care."
"That's all I wanted to know," Draco stated, putting his hand up in defeat. Harry curiously looked at him like, 'that was an odd thing to say,' and Draco had to respond. "What? It's not as if you sound like the Potter I knew. I just wanted to know you're still about the right things."
"I'll admit I'm not the same. I've gone through horrors, same as you. I have teeth now, that's all. And while I have zero empathy or patience for Death Eaters and those I know to be responsible for what happened... will happen... may happen, it doesn't mean that I'm about to just kill anybody who doesn't agree with me, or my way of doing things. I'm not your dark lord."
"He's not my dark lord!" Draco hotly declared, standing to his feet. After an intense stare-down, Draco took a seat. "So what do we do? What's your immediate plan?"
"For now, we'll train," Harry abruptly started, moving past another minor altercation. "I need to do a few things which will be dangerous, so I need to know how well you can handle yourself."
"Sounds good," Draco said. "Dangerous or not, I'm all in."
"We'll be doing physical conditioning as well, so be ready for strength training."
With a slight frown, Malfoy only nodded before moving to leave. "You should get ready. I imagine you'll be in Gryffindor again. How do you want to meet up if we have to talk?"
"Afraid of being publicly associated with the enemy?" Harry eyed Malfoy, who only shook his head at the jab. "If I have to talk to you, I'll walk straight up to you. House lines mean nothing compared to what we're doing."
Draco nodded and left the compartment. Harry changed into his unaffiliated school robes and waited for the train to disembark. Once he was sure everyone had left, he stepped off the beautiful train with Nova on his shoulder. As he stepped down onto the Hogsmeade platform, he looked around the familiar and beautiful station, taking in the sights and sounds as he reminisced on better days. He knew it was one of the many magical communities destroyed for not submitting to Voldemort's rule. Staring at it now, he couldn't help but feel guilty and resolute at the same time. Guilt for not stopping that animal when he should have and resolve to do all he could to keep it from happening again.
In the shadows and away from the carriages, Harry observed as the students dwindled and grabbed the last carriage. He spotted two girls who hadn't boarded the last few carriages, not for lack of space, but because the Slytherin's sense of entitlement wouldn't allow two members of another house to ride with them. Not that Ravenclaw seemed to treat these two any better.
Leaning against a column, Harry watched as he realized these Ravenclaw girls were just the type the school accepted to bullying. The blonde's straggly waist-length hair immediately reminded him of Luna, and even the taller girl next to Luna, with lots of bushy brunette hair, reminded him of Hermione. Thoughts of his friends always took him to a dark place.
"… …Bloody hell," Harry choked out, his eyes widening the millisecond he realized the girls were Luna and... and... "Hermione," he gasped.
Harry's knees buckled, and he dropped to them, using his hands to help keep him from completely falling flat on his face. He was vaguely aware of Nova shuffling to keep upright, or her coos of concern. Their eyes were the worst of his agony. Horcrux-Voldemort had once told him that eyes were like windows to the soul, and in Hermione and Luna's torture session, he could easily see their suffering, fury, and condemnation. Harry knew they blamed him. He could just see it. It was all his fault... his crime against humanity.
Harry focused on his occlumency to fight back his tsunami of raging emotions. 'It's alright,' he told himself. 'They're all alright now. Just save them this time, and everything'll be alright. Everything'll be alright. It'll be alright.'
In preparation for entering Hogwarts and expecting to run into his deceased friend's doubles—alive, happy, and unaware of what they meant to each other—Harry found that repeating this promise to himself, this mantra, helped him relax his explosive emotions and focus his unraveling mind. He knew he would see Luna, Hermione, Ron, Neville, and the twins, but he hoped it would be one at a time. Certainly not together like this. A voice brought him out of his contemplation.
"Are you okay?" Hermione asked with concern as she knelt down to get a better look at Harry. He looked directly into her chocolate eyes and saw the light of life in them. It was distinctly different from the magically preserved, dead head that he had seen blankly staring at nothing for years in his cell. He had known Hermione's severed head almost as long as he had known her when she was alive. When he noticed her concerned expression change to awkwardness, Harry tore his glassy eyes away and mentally repeated his mantra before getting to his feet.
"I'm… I'm alright," Harry croaked, paying more attention to dusting his hands than looking directly at her. Still, he could feel the warmth of her a few steps away like a hug. "Yeah, I'm alright. Just slipped a little."
"You have a beautiful phoenix," Luna whimsically said in her familiar distant and dreamy voice, unimpressed about being so close to one.
Before Harry could say any word of gratitude, or Nova could even enjoy the compliment, Hermione noticed the bird and shrieked, "That's a phoenix!" She apparently saw him on the ground before she was aware of the phoenix. "Merlin! A real-life phoenix. Oh, my! Oh my, oh my. I don't even know what to ask first." Her excitement was palpable, but Luna struck the first question.
"Does she defecate on you often?" she easily asked. "I've read studies that suggest bird droppings bring great fortune."
"Of all things to ask..." Hermione muttered to herself, deflating a little.
Fortunately, a carriage arrived for them, and Harry pointed it out, ending the talk but only for a moment. Harry held the door for them, which surprised Hermione as Luna just stepped on. Once Harry was settled on one side, Hermione—sitting on the other side, beside Luna—rapid-fired just a few of the questions he knew she couldn't help but ask.
"Are you allowed to bring a phoenix to Hogwarts? I don't believe that's ever happened as a student. Oh, what am I saying, of course, you would. That's silly of me to ask. Where did you get him? Do phoenixes have genders? Have you had a chance to study its tears? Can they truly heal all wounds? How many injuries have you tested against its healing properties?"
Hermione had a hard time controlling herself as she stared at the legendary creature. But when she looked at Harry, more specifically to his obvious and fake scars, she yelped. "I'm so very sorry!" she cried. "I didn't mean to imply- I didn't mean to point out your scar- Your injuries."
Harry was about to reassure her he wasn't offended, and truthfully he completely didn't think about it when she continued. "I also didn't mean to bombard you with so many questions. I've been told I speak too much. Apologies. I'm a curious person by nature."
Harry didn't like the slight pained look in her eyes before she leaned away and drew into herself.
"She really is beautiful," Luna added in her sing-song voice, unbothered by Hermione's agitation.
It was the first time Harry had wondered what their school life would be like if he hadn't existed in their past. He couldn't help but question why he hadn't seen Hermione with Ron and Hardwin at the Quidditch game. The idea that Luna or Hermione might have had a hard life without him at Hogwarts made him uneasy. He felt the need to encourage and make amends for not being there, but he knew he had to be cautious and tactful in how he interacted with them moving forward.
Harry cherished their friendship, advice, and devotion, but he also wanted to keep them safe from harm. He reminded himself that he was only here to kill one man, and his goal was closer to an assassination attempt rather than a war that required soldiers to win it. He needed the smallest team possible, and if he could help it, he wouldn't involve them.
With a mix of cordial caution, Harry responded to their questions. "I'm not actually sure if I can or can't have a phoenix on school grounds, or in classes, but as you've probably guessed, she's my familiar, and as such, cannot be separated from me. I got her from t- from my parents. Phoenix' don't have genders, but she feels like a she to me. Big as she is, she's still an infant, so no tears just yet. It'd be nifty to have though. Also, I didn't feel offended, at all. I almost never remember I have these scars, so, really, you have nothing to feel sorry about." Hermione emerged from her cover of hair, listening intently to Harry's response. "And her name is Nova," he added before looking at Nova. ""Reckon you'd like to say hello?"
Nova extended her long neck and wings and cooed and cawed lightly.
"Hello," Luna greeted with a small smile.
"It's lovely to meet you too." Hermione added herself, smacking herself in the forehead with a hard slap. "Of course! How rude of me. Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Hermione Granger. This is Luna Lovegood. And you are?"
Harry smiled at the familiar greeting and replied, "It's nice to meet you. Call me Ares." He purposely omitted his surname to avoid revealing his identity as a member of the immortal family. To avoid disclosing his connection, he changed the subject and asked, "Are you both Ravenclaw? What year are you?"
"Yes, we are," Hermione quickly answered.
Harry had never wondered why Hermione ended up in Gryffindor instead of Ravenclaw. She was one of the bravest witches he knew—fitting in well in the house of the brave—but overall, Harry would admit she was certainly more attuned to Ravenclaw's studious ways.
"I'm a fourth-year, and Luna is in third," she continued. "I've noticed your uniform doesn't have representative colors. How is it that you're not a member of a house, yet clearly older than a first-year? If I had to hazard a guess, I'd say you're new to the school but older, which means a transfer student. Is that the case? Ah, my apologies, I'm being intrusive, aren't I?"
Before Harry could reassure her, Luna had interjected with her own questions. "Is your name inedible? Is that why you want to avoid saying your last name? Because it tastes bad in your mouth?" Luna had easily asked with an air of welcome.
Harry's eyebrows couldn't help but rise at her astute question while Hermione had whipped on her friend, calling out, "Luna!" in a reprimanding tone. She had turned to Harry and apologized, "I apologize for my friend's rudeness. She didn't mean to imply anything untoward, I promise."
It was disconcerting for Harry to hear Hermione apologize so much. He smiled a small reassuring smile and said, "It's okay, Ms. Granger. She's right. I was avoiding saying my last name, but not because it tastes bad," he had said with a smirk.
Hermione had looked from Luna to Harry. "Well, even if you were, I'm sure you have your reasons, and it's not our place to pry," she had said to Luna with finality. "We've only just met, after all." Hermione had said, though in a low and shy voice.
Harry had smiled wider, before stating, "Maybe. But it is rude to withhold my whole name as well. It's Flamel, Ares Flamel." Hermione's inquisitive knitting of her brow had told Harry she was likely tracking down the familiarity of the name through the massive maze of knowledge in her mind. It hadn't taken her more than a second. Even Luna's eyes had seemed surprised... Well, more so than normal.
"Flamel... as in the Flamel?" Hermione had asked. "As in Nicolas and Perenelle Flamel? As in the immortal alchemist, Flamel?" Her eyes had been starving for confirmation. Harry had only nodded, trying to keep his amusement in when her jaw had dropped from the shock.
"I'd appreciate it if you kept that between us," Harry had asked lightly. "Not that it'll matter when they call my name to be sorted." Harry had been slightly worried about being sorted. Just knowing that the sorting hat might be powerful enough to enter Harry's well-guarded mind as well as its location in Dumbledore's office, had made Harry sick to his stomach with all the possible ways this could backfire on him.
Closing in on the school grounds, Harry had abruptly felt the strength of the school's wards as they had passed the entrance gate. It hadn't been quite as powerful as he might have expected. Harry had wondered a moment if something wasn't as it should be and if he would have to investigate it later. In Harry's mind, this had been ground zero for his war, and he had wanted to leave nothing to chance. If the school's wards weren't working as they should, he had to figure out why.
Nova had been on Harry's knee while Hermione and Luna petted the phoenix. He had been amused by how much Nova loved the attention when a big splash was heard, turning Harry's attention to the lake. Bursting out of the water had been the imposing Bulgarian ship from Durmstrang. Harry had wondered if the cannons worked when he had spotted the carriage from Beauxbaton flying in from the depth of the dark sky and landing somewhere to the side of the castle, likely somewhere near Hagrid's hut.
The girls noticed his gaze, and one look at the lake made Hermione ask, "That topsail has Durmstrang's emblem on it. What's Durmstrang doing here?"
Harry didn't want to divulge too much for no reason, so he answered, "I'm sure we'll learn soon enough."
When the three exited the carriage, Hermione and Luna turned to Harry. "It was lovely to meet you, Mr. Flamel. And you, Nova," Hermione said happily. Nova flapped her wings once in response.
"Ares, or Flamel, is fine," Harry told her, still amazed to be seeing her again. He tried not to stare at them both, but it was hard not to. It seemed they both picked up on his weird energy.
"You have sad eyes," Luna stated matter-of-factly. She pulled out a copy of the Quibbler and extended it to him. "This should mostly cheer you up. It features an accurate article on Umgubular Slashkilter and how this fantastic creature is actually the Minister of Magic through its puppet, Cornelius Fudge," she explained serenely.
Hermione shut her eyes and tilted her head up as if praying for patience. Harry only nodded graciously and took the magazine. "Uh, thank you, Ms. Lovegood."
"You can call me Looney, if you want," Luna started telling him evenly, as unbothered by it as she was by most other offenses against her. "Most of the other classmates do. Even the teachers don't mind."
Before Hermione could say one word of protest, Harry answered, "I like Luna, if you don't mind. I think that's a good name."
"My mother named me," Luna said, turned, and entered the castle. Hermione lingered a moment, as if tempted to either ask more or explain more, but finally decided to do the polite thing and not bother. Her body language was very telling, Harry noted to himself. She quickly waved to him, then rushed after the shorter, dirty blonde.
"Nova, if you're ever in a position to protect them, do it," Harry told his familiar. "They're the best."
Nova cooed and nodded her beak in response.
Turning to the boats of first-years just starting to land on the shore, Harry decided to wait inside. There were a few groups of students, mostly older years, talking amongst themselves, catching up on each other's summers as they watched the Durmstrang ship. It was the bit of time they had to talk before the sorting began. Harry didn't need to enhance his hearing to hear them talk about the pandemonium that ensued after the Quidditch World Cup.
Square-shouldered, Harry moved toward the Great Hall, and immediately, a hush fell among the crowds nearest him as he moved further into the hallway. Harry could feel Nova receiving most of the attention, but he did note a few pointing to his scars. As he entered the Great Hall, his legs automatically moved toward the Gryffindor table. However, realizing a moment later that he hadn't been sorted yet, he stopped himself and stood against the back wall instead. Crossing his arms, he took it all in without focusing on any one spot.
The four house tables were mostly occupied, and a vast majority of the students were eying him or his phoenix, whispering or talking loudly about him. He ignored nearly every student and spotted Hardwin, Ron, the twins, and even Ginny exactly where he would be sitting if this were his timeline. They were looking toward him as well. After squashing his unstable emotions when meeting Hermione and Luna, Harry had an easier time seeing the Weasleys from a distance. Managing his reactive emotions from this range was perfectly doable.
It was not as surprising as Hermione being in Ravenclaw, but Neville was sitting and talking with the Hufflepuffs, all attempting not to stare and talk about Harry or Nova. Hermione and Luna were sitting by themselves, away from the others. Luna had an exact copy of the Quibbler she gave him, and Hermione was reading a large, age-ravaged tome. It was so like them, but there was an air of woe around them, as if they were accustomed to not speaking in a room full of other classmates. Again, Harry wondered why they were in this state. Even Neville looked like he had more friends than Hermione. It was an odd sort of eye-opener.
"That fucking ripple did a number on you guys," Harry muttered to himself before taking a quick look at the professors' table.
The usual professors he recalled from his timeline were still there; Hooch, Sinistra, Flitwick, Babbling, Vector, and Trelawney were sitting and talking amongst themselves—he didn't remember Babbling being so beautiful though. Professor McGonagall should be here soon with the fresh crop of first years. Severus Snape was also seated with the other instructors, and Harry almost choked when he saw him talking jovially with his very own mother.
The Potter matriarch looked exactly how he remembered her: eye-catching red hair, green-eyed, and beautiful. Even from a distance, the sight of a living, breathing, smiling Lily Potter had Harry taking deep, quick breaths, using all his focus to clamp down hard on his raging whirlpool of emotions: longing, anger, sadness, joy, fear, shame, envy, love, anticipation, all mixing and parting so intensely, Harry didn't even know how he felt. His Occlumency was working hard to keep as stable and sharp of mind as possible when he suddenly felt a gentle graze against his mental shields. Imperceptible to most, but not him.
Harry pushed off against the wall, lowering his hands in case he needed his wand. Nova flapped her wings, creating a gust and drawing in the attention of nearly everyone in the Great Hall. The mental graze was gone, but Harry locked eyes with Dumbledore. The twinkle in his stare was nearly gone before Harry realized the old man had tried to enter his mind.
He took a deep breath and waited five seconds to absorb the intrusion—the violation—from someone he trusted so much. How high of an opinion did this miserable bastard have about himself that he felt completely comfortable illegally entering the mind of a minor without consent? Horcrux-Voldemort had pointed at the twinkling of the headmaster's eyes as a dead giveaway for the use of legilimency. The parasite had a good laugh throughout Harry's many heavy denials, and he had denied it desperately. Harry stared at the genial Headmaster, and no one in the great hall was none the wiser, until the older man looked away to have a conversation with Flitwick.
Harry felt a presence walking toward him, but he paid little attention to the approaching figure because he knew it was Malfoy. Something about his loyalty oath just helped him detect the blonde better. He was still staring at the Headmaster when he heard Malfoy awkwardly say, "Flamel."
Harry let out a calming exhale and returned to leaning against the wall, his arms crossed and Nova relaxing. "You're going to have to work on that, Malfoy," he answered. "It sounded terrible."
"Can you give me more than a couple of hours with it?" Draco returned hotly.
Harry ignored Draco's haughtiness and told him, "I hope you worked on your shields like I told you to. I just felt a light tap from our holier-than-thou headmaster."
Twisting around enough to look behind him at the professors, Malfoy was more surprised that Harry would talk about the great and much-beloved Albus Dumbledore that way than he was about the headmaster using legilimency on a student.
He turned back to Harry and reassured him, "I have. You can test them if you want."
"Later," Harry answered, ignoring the look of disgust the Gryffindors were sending Draco. 'I see the bitter rivalry between houses is still alive,' he thought.
"I thought I'd mention before the sorting, someone was hiding-" Draco stopped talking with a deep scowl from Harry.
Harry cast a quick and wandless muffliato before stating, "You really need to learn to think before you speak. What if someone was listening? There are ears everywhere."
Draco had the decency to look reticent before clearing his throat and continuing. "Yeah. So, while you were dueling the Death Eaters, someone witnessed nearly the whole thing."
"Do they know it was me?" Harry pointedly asked.
"Doesn't seem like it," Draco answered. "Tracey Davis is saying he gave his memory to the Aurors, but he was too far away to get a good look. It was dark, and apparently your eyes were glowing green, so it made it hard to make out your face. They're calling you the Green Reaper, by the way. The wizard sold his memory to the Daily Prophet, pissing Black off—Davis' soon-to-be step-father—for obstructing an active investigation. It looks like multiple fronts are trying to track you down, and honestly, I'd be more worried about Rita Skeeter than the DMLE."
"If you're ever talking about sensitive information, keep your eyes peeled for a beetle on you or anyone else. Skeeter is an unregistered animagus. That's how she gets all those inside stories. If you can, trap her in an unbreakable jar," Harry stated when he noticed Hardwin and Ron getting up from their places at the Gryffindor table. For a moment, Harry wondered if they had somehow figured out a way to listen in. He was pretty certain Fred and George hadn't invented their extendable ears yet, and they didn't know enough at this point to break through his privacy charm.
"Also, I should warn you," Draco continued. "I can't say for certain it'll happen, but I wouldn't be surprised if father pushes Fudge to lean heavily on the DMLE to press charges on the Green Reaper for... well, you know, killing wizards-"
"Death Eaters," Harry corrected quickly and hotly. "If it wasn't such a colossal waste of time, I'd almost be tempted to tell them it was 'Ares Flamel,' just to see them shit themselves." Harry clocked Hardwin and Ron walking towards them. Ron leaned over, whispering to Hardwin, obviously stoked to see a phoenix. "Malfoy?"
"Yeah."
"Be nice," Harry commanded plainly as he easily removed the charm with a wave of his hand.
Malfoy turned around when Ron and Hardwin stepped up to them, first staring at Nova, then Malfoy, Harry's scars, and finally Harry. Hardwin's eyes lingered on Nova, and Ron couldn't make up his mind between staring at Harry's scars or his phoenix familiar. Harry waited comfortably against the wall, feeling confident his emotions wouldn't run amok around Ron, even with his guilt over his best mate's murder. Ron just had a natural way of calming him down or drawing a laugh when he really needed one. Though the more he thought about his Ron, the more he felt sadness start to creep in by the loss and quickly held it at bay.
"He's not even sorted, Malfoy, and already you're looking for another victim to initiate," Hardwin started on Draco, who only answered by way of a barely restrained sneer. Upon closer inspection, Harry noted that they could in fact be brothers, but definitely not identical twins. Hardwin was taller, rounder in the face and shoulders, clearly, playing Quidditch with intent. His hair was a similar mess of unruly locks but brown instead of jet black, and his most striking feature was the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead, which he displayed proudly with his hair parted to the sides. Pushing aside the surreal thought of suddenly having a twin brother, Harry focused on Ron.
"As if this school didn't have enough snakes," Ron added with a sneer geared towards Malfoy. Ron was just as Harry remembered him, in fourth year, except his robes were new instead of the bargain quality hand-me-downs his family was known for wearing. The tone in his comment wasn't very surprising for Harry to hear, but knowing that Draco wouldn't retaliate added a small measure of distaste to it.
"Just being welcoming," was all Malfoy said, evenly, without his usual pompous and condescending tone.
"And you without your branding iron," Hardwin remarked snidely, then turned to Harry. "Are you by chance, Ares?" When Harry nodded, Hardwin smirked. "Sweet. Actually, we were looking for you on the Hogwarts Express. Headmaster Dumbledore let us know we should take good care of you while you're here."
The mention of Dumbledore's good intended gesture felt like a noose around Harry's neck, though he couldn't tell if the rope was for hanging him or leading him around like cattle. It could have easily been both when it came to Dumbledore, though Harry tried not to let the agitation show on his face when he said, "I must've missed you."
"I reckon it's hard to miss you," Ron quipped, nodding at his phoenix with a smirk. Ron tilted his head at Malfoy, before pleasantly warning Harry. "You'll soon find out that some wizarding families are more genuine and considerate than others," Ron stated with a ring of familiarity. "You wouldn't want to go making friends with the wrong sort, would you? You've no doubt heard of this bloke," Ron said, shrugging in Hardwin's direction with amusement. "I'm Ron Weasley."
"Not everyone's heard of me, Ron," his brother ribbed Ron with a proud smile before turning to Harry. "I'm Hardwin, Hardwin Potter."
They both stuck their hands out in warm greeting, but Harry was more surprised at how nearly identical Ron's greeting was to how Draco first introduced himself, before their sorting. The switch of roles between Malfoy and Ron was so jarring, Harry didn't feel as emotionally overcharged as he did moments before. Harry momentarily noted that nearly every eye in the room was on them, waiting breathless. For what? Harry couldn't say, but he shook each hand.
"I'm Ares. Pleasure," he said tightly.
"How would you like to sit with us?" Hardwin asked, half-turning, expecting a yes.
"There's plenty of room at the Gryffindor table," Ron added. "Best table in the house, they say." Hardwin laughed a little, and for a moment, Harry felt envious of their companionship. To be able to laugh with Ron again seemed so impossible, and not, at the same time. Harry could feel the waves of impassioned longing to be best mates again starting to rise, but he quickly stamped it down, still.
Clearing his throat, Harry told them with an even tone, "I haven't been sorted yet. I'll just wait here, but thank you for the offer."
Both Ron and Hardwin seemed a little taken aback by being brushed away so easily, but before any more could be said, Professor McGonagall walked into the Great Hall, escorting all the first years to line up before the Sorting Hat. Hardwin and Ron took their seats. Malfoy and Ares shared a nod before Draco returned to his seat.
The sorting moved along exactly as Harry remembered. He was surprised, however, when his name wasn't called with the other 'Fs.' For a moment, he panicked, assuming the heir-apparent ring didn't work. It wasn't until they passed the 'Ps' that Harry realized Dumbledore wanted to make a bit of a show with his introduction. And true to his suspicion, Dumbledore stood and addressed the whole of the large room.
"Before I make a few start-of-term notices, I'd like to invite a new student to be sorted. He has been homeschooled until recently by very dear friends of mine, so let's all be helpful wherever possible." Dumbledore nodded to Professor McGonagall. As the old man retook his seat, she called out, "Flamel, Ares."
Harry ignored the eruption of hushed yammering, gasps, and pointing at either Nova or his scars as he pondered how this would go. Walking between tables, he ignored everyone and took a tentative seat on the stool. Harry patted his lap, Nova flapped her wings, and landed on his thigh, sinking her sharp talons in. Harry took in a deep nervous breath as McGonagall placed the sorting hat on his head.
In no time at all, Harry heard a voice in his mind without the cruel violation sensation that was the standard legilimens mind-rape. It seemed to Harry that no amount of occlumency shields could stop whatever magic the Sorting Hat was imbued with, which was impressive considering the intellect he had inherited from the parasite.
'Hmmm, difficult, very... well, you're certainly a lot older than I'm accustomed to- ...What the bloody hell?!' the voice gasped.
'Uh, I can explain. Oh Merlin, please let me explain,' Harry mentally pleaded.
'No need for that, Mr. Potter! I can see it all here, clear as day,' the voice returned with a hint of haunting. 'I can't say I was expecting to see proof of prophecy today. Godric, to say you've seen your share of horrors is certainly the understatement of the century.'
'To put it lightly, yeah,' Harry mentally shrugged it off. It seemed there was nothing the hat couldn't see, and as such, he needed to know, more than anything, that it wouldn't tell Dumbledore or anyone else for that matter.
'There's no need to worry about that, Mr. Potter,' the hat responded after reading his unspoken thoughts. Harry wasn't sure if thinking or thinking in conversation with the sorting hat mattered.
'It doesn't,' the hat answered. 'And to answer your concerns, anything and everything I may learn from all who wear me is kept completely confidential. So much so, in fact, it wouldn't be too far of a stretch to say I forget everything the moment you take me off. The enchantments placed on me forbid me, in every way, from disclosing your thoughts and knowledge to another, even the headmaster. And on a personal note, I don't think I'd even want to know such monumental information.'
'No worries there. It's going to the grave with me,' Harry answered.
'If it didn't seem like you're expecting to see an early grave, I'd think nothing of that comment,' the hat noted in gloomy doom.
'I can't expect to kill, arguably, the greatest dark lord in history and survive,' Harry honestly stated. 'At best, I'm expecting some form of mutually assured destruction.'
'And this is a burden only you can carry, is it?' the sorting hat questioned.
'This is how it has to be,' Harry returned. 'Not because I want it to, but because there is no one else. Unless you have a better plan, there isn't another way.'
'The Greats never know by which way they tumble and fall because there is by way and large, more than one,' it said rather poetically. 'Wouldn't the best result come from utilizing more than one method to bring the dark lord to ruin?' the hat asked.
'Are we really going to talk about this now?' Harry mentally asked, unclear why a conversation with the Sorting Hat would help him achieve his goal of killing Voldemort. He was determined to kill him no matter what, even if Voldemort turned out to be a good person in this timeline. 'Can't you just put me in Gryffindor and wish me luck?' he asked the hat.
The Sorting Hat replied, 'If you would indulge an old hat, Mr. Potter. It's true there isn't much I can do to help you. I am only connected to a building, after all. But knowledge is always a factor in war. Isn't it worth a moment of your time to hone your logic against the perspective of another?'
'It's not going to change anything,' Harry weakly returned.
'I only wish to help in the limited way I can,' the Hat countered.
'...I suppose,' Harry conceded. 'But if you're going to tell me I should recruit my own squad and take them to battle—possibly die for me—when they could just as easily stay away, I won't ever agree to that. It'd be for the best if I just killed the dark maggot myself.'
'I'm not meant to tell you what to do. You make your own choices, but if I can help your powers of selection, then I'll feel fulfilled. And I don't mean to imply you actively seek an army of warriors. However, I will say a lot more people are involved in the outcome than just one man. Shouldn't they also have a chance to fight in this war?'
'This isn't a war,' Harry replied. 'I'm the only one who can destroy him. I failed last time, and everyone died because of it. I won't let that happen again!'
'Your vow to this enormous undertaking is admirable, and while I don't fault your logic, I do ask you to keep an open mind to the possibility of allies. As I've already stated, the risk to the future affects everyone. Mr. Malfoy has already pledged his allegiance to this cause. I ask you not to turn away a helping hand simply because you'll feel responsible for their well-being.'
'Even if it means their death?' Harry asked. 'Because that's what'll most likely happen.'
Somehow, Harry felt the hat lower its head glumly. 'Yes, even then, I'm saddened to say,' the hat solemnly stated. 'Everyone has the right to protect themselves and their loved ones. You may have been selected by destiny to accomplish this undertaking, but nowhere does it say you must do it alone. It would be a gross misuse of your vast strength to impede on another person's right to fight simply because it might be dangerous.'
'There's no 'might be' about it,' Harry retorted heatedly. He wasn't angry at the hat, but thinking about the future and his failures to prevent so much destruction always fanned his passions. 'It's the most danger anyone can put themselves in. Worse if they follow me. Malfoy, I couldn't do anything about, but I'm not going to simply let anyone go against that madman or his henchmen when they don't have to. That'd be just as irresponsible.'
'I only ask you to keep an open mind. Aside from Mr. Malfoy and the Flamels, I'd say more help will be required. I also feel like assistance will present itself in ways we cannot foresee,' the Sorting Hat said.
'Couldn't the Room of Requirement help?' Harry asked, trying to find a way to steer the conversation away from the current topic. He had briefly wondered if the room could create an instructor, but he knew it sounded too good to be true.
'The Room of Requirement can do many things, but nothing more than setting assimilation,' the hat answered, before returning to the main topic. 'It's a great place to train yourself and others, but it's not the help you'll need to battle the forces of evil.'
'This isn't a battle!' Harry protested, annoyed. 'It's not a war either. At most, it's a targeted strike. There's only one thing that needs killing, and if anyone is stupid enough to get in the way, they deserve to lie in the ground right next to him.'
'Against this evil, and the likely outcome, I'd agree. A hard hand will be necessary... but so will more than one,' the hat easily added. 'It's not as if we're asking you to befriend everyone involved. Keep your distance if you must, but don't turn away good help. That will only minimize the chances of success, and we must not let that future happen again—even if it makes you uncomfortable to work with others.'
Harry mentally exhaled with frustration. He wasn't expecting to be lectured by a hat today.
'I wasn't expecting to help avert the end of the world either, but life rarely asks permission,' the hat retorted.
After a moment, Harry remarked, 'I'll try my best not to turn away appropriate, useful, or durable help, but I won't make any promises.'
'That's fair,' the hat stated, with some levity. 'Now, where to put you...'
'What do you mean?' Harry asked, confused. 'I need to be in Gryffindor to be close to Hardwin, even if he seems a bit full of himself.'
'I don't believe that's the case,' the hat theorized. 'This is only my guess, but I do not believe he has a Horcrux in his scar.'
Harry very nearly physically whipped around on the stool upon hearing that. Unbeknownst to him, it was eerily silent in the Great Hall as his sorting neared the record of seven minutes and forty-seven seconds set by Dumbledore himself. When Harry sat up after the hat's assertion about Hardwin, everyone else shifted in their seats, expecting a house to be trumpeted throughout the room, but when none was called, they returned to murmuring about Harry instead.
'What?' he pondered heavily, his mind already speeding through this theory and how feasible it might be. 'Why do you say that? Did you not see the Horcrux when you first sorted him?'
'I am unable to speak about his sorting, as I would be unable to tell others about yours,' the hat reiterated. 'First, you must understand that I am not all-knowing. I can see what is in your mind, your thoughts, but not its makeup. So, if you have a foreign soul embedded in your own, I'd be able to see the culmination of attributes as a whole, but not the physical or spiritual makeup that affects those thoughts.'
'Like being blind to what's causing me pain. If I don't know where or why I'm hurting, you wouldn't know either. All you would know is that I'm hurting?' Harry asks for clarity.
'Crude example, but serviceable, yes,' the hat agreed. 'The reason I feel your brother may not have a Horcrux in his head comes from this memory of your previous sorting. I'm unable to see the Horcrux specifically, but I am able to see its traits as a part of you. It was the reason why I suggested Slytherin for your house, even if I couldn't see the soul shard responsible for the Slytherin attributes. Without it, you would be Gryffindor material easily. With it, you display the qualities of both Gryffindor and Slytherin. I will not divulge the details of Mr. Potter's sorting, however, I can attest he is most assuredly Gryffindor material.'
'...So, if he didn't have the qualities of Slytherin,' Harry began to reason. 'It's possible it's because he doesn't have the Horcrux that would've swayed your suggestion.'
'This is only my guess, but I'd say as much, yes.'
'But it could also be the way he was raised,' Harry muses. 'I'd imagine he came from a happier home. I mean we were raised differently.'
'It's possible, but I look for other habits aside from how happy a child is to suggest Slytherin. It's worth some investigating at the very least.'
'All the more reason to be around Hardwin,' Harry reasoned before his mind caught up to the hat. 'No, never mind. It would only be the right move if he in fact does have the Horcrux. Otherwise I'd be surrounded by well intentioned Dumbledore lovers who'd easily keep him informed of anything I do.'
'And should that be the case,' the hat reasons. 'Slytherin would be more advantageous to your overall goal. You need the locket and currently, befriending Miss Tracey Davis gives you a high likelihood of gaining entrance to House Black's estate without having to break in.'
'Not to mention being in the middle of the snake pit, from which all future Death Eaters reside will be a good way to keep tabs on their parents,' Harry stated with a feral murderous tone. 'And the icing on the cake... it'll frustrate the piss out of Dumbledore!'
While Harry heard the hat laugh in his mind, he had no idea that the hat was also laughing aloud to a speechless crowd on the outside. 'Yes! I'd say so, very much,' the hat chuckled. 'Sometimes I don't know whether to praise him or curse him. Oh, my!' The hat halted a moment, and Harry wondered if something was wrong seconds before the hat's voice returned. 'It seems a request has been made on behalf of Salazar Slytherin.'
Harry opened a space in his mind to take in new information he was not expecting. It was beginning to be a habit in this new timeline, and he could honestly say it was very frustrating to plan around. Still, he asked, 'What do you mean?'
'Well, it seems obvious you are bound to Slytherin House, and unknown to every witch or wizard on Hogwarts grounds, a shade of each founder exists in each,' the hat states. It was certainly news to Harry. His logic took a bit of a leap and wondered if this had something to do with the apparent weakness of the Hogwarts wards. Harry shelved that curiosity for later when the sorting hat continued. 'They are in me as they are within the very walls of this castle, and no founder is more upset by the state of their house than Salazar Slytherin himself. I'd like you to understand, it takes a lot to speak to me like this and for Slytherin to do so risks great unbalance.'
Harry mentally shook his head with the smallest hint of frustration and a great degree of patience, before declaring, 'Okay. What can I do for... Salazar Slytherin?' realizing that Salazar Slytherin was actually making a request of him.
'He feels his house is in shambles, led by weak-minded prejudicial thugs and fostered by incompetent faculty. He requests you be the example of what a Slytherin can be. He requests you to be a basilisk in a pit of snakes.'
'Oh, so nothing too serious,' Harry sarcastically said before returning to his serious tone. 'How the bloody hell am I supposed to do that? I'm not even a real Slytherin.'
'Can't say for sure,' the hat responded, bothered none about the request. 'Can't ask him either, as he's already gone. I'm sure you'll figure it out. Enjoy your time in…'
"SLYTHERIN!" the sorting hat yelled like a canon in the highly anticipated hall. The suspense before the exuberant call even startled a few older hearts among the elder staff to start beating hard.
The Great Hall was silent.
I love dialogue. It's my thing. But this one just wasn't clicking for me. I tried my best and I really hope the general ideas I was trying to convey a bit more eloquently than this is at least clear. Thanks for reading! The support has been amazing. Till next time.