This story will be rated M for a reason - it will contain adult language, drug and alcohol use, sex, gore, scenes of child abuse, rape, and more sex. Brace yourselves for the raw and unapologetic journey that lies ahead, I will not be labeling everything, besides maybe the sex scenes. So if you are someone that may need a trigger warning, this is your trigger warning.
Harry Potter
Ministry of Magic Atrium
September 1st, 2008
7:45 PM
The cold marble floors of the Ministry of Magic echoed with the sound of Harry's footsteps. His eyes, bright green and burdened with the weight of countless battles, scanned the empty Atrium with a sense of weariness. A feeling of unease prickled his senses as he stepped further into the dark, expansive room, causing him to come to a sudden halt. His eyes widened slightly as the dim light revealed the unexpected occupants of the Atrium. The Auror Department, the Minister, and even his old friends Ron and Hermione stood before him, their wands ominously pointed in his direction, their expressions gripped with fear, despite their attempts to conceal it.
"What's going on?" Harry's voice was calm, but there was a sharp edge to it, a quiet warning. Percy, his expression grim, stepped forward. "Harry Potter, by Order of the Minister, you are under arrest for the Murder of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore."
Harry arched an eyebrow, a quizzical expression clouding his face as he considered the absurdity of the situation. It was common knowledge that Snape was responsible for Dumbledore's death. This was a set-up, he could feel it in his bones, It had been 11 years since Albus had died for fuck sakes.
"Tell me what this is truly about," Harry demanded, his voice steady, yet laced with an undercurrent of suspicion. Before anyone could respond, Hermione's manic laugh rang out, cutting through the tense silence. "You've taken a dark path, Harry. You're dangerous."
Harry nodded slowly, acknowledging her words. "Yes, that's true, I suppose." He paused and fixed his gaze on the Minister. "But why is that?"
His words hung in the air, heavy and pregnant with accusation. "Because this coward," Harry jabbed a finger in the Minister's direction, "has used me as his attack dog for the last ten years. Sending me to hunt down the darkest of the dark, to prevent another Dark Lord from rising."
"But now, you are done with me," Harry continued, his voice carrying a sting of betrayal. "You've brought around thirty people to bring me in." A quiet, bitter laugh escaped Harry's lips as he took a step back, reaching for a cigarette in his robes and lighting it with a flick of his wand. The ember glowed in the darkness, showing the grin on Harry's face.
"The bad thing is, though," Harry murmured, his words drifting through the air like a specter. "You didn't bring enough people."
In one seamless motion, his wand materialized in his hand, a glint of determination sparking in his eyes as he unleashed a torrent of spells, the crackling and fizzling of magic filling the air as chaos erupted in the Atrium. Spells collided with a cacophony of explosive sounds, sending sparks flying and shards of marble crumbling.
The echoes of shouts, screams, and the desperate hum of magic reverberated through the Atrium as Harry fought back against the betrayal, his movements precise and calculated, a force to be reckoned with amidst the chaos.
Harry Potter
Ministry of Magic Atrium
September 1st, 2008
8:30 PM
Leaning against the cool stone of the Veil of Death, Harry couldn't stifle a cough as a spray of blood came gushing out from the deep wound on his ribs. He winced, but then an unexpected chuckle bubbled up from within him. It was almost comical, really. "Maybe they had brought enough people," he muttered to himself, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
Explosions rocked against the other side of the ornate door, sending tremors through the chamber. Harry used the opportunity to check his robes for any more cigarettes, finding just one that somehow hadn't been crushed. He deftly lit it and took a deep drag, the ember glowing in the dim light. The threads of smoke curled and danced as he exhaled.
Suddenly, Harry bellowed out, "I GAVE EVERYTHING FOR YOU!" His voice reverberated off the stone walls, carrying the weight of years of betrayal and sacrifice. It was true. Harry had been recruited as a tool for the greater good after the Battle of Hogwarts, only to be discarded and used. Ginny had left him, taking half his gold. Ron and Hermione had all but ignored him. And now, here he stood, with a smile on his face, feeling the weight of a life that had sucked the hope and joy out of him.
"You were all afraid of me," Harry murmured to the empty room, his voice tinged with bitter resignation. "Scared of what I would become. Well, I'll show you." His wand moved in intricate patterns as the room grew warmer and warmer. With a surge of magic, a massive basilisk made of fiendfyre coiled protectively around Harry like a shield, its fiery scales casting an eerie glow in the dimness.
The ornate doors blew open, and Harry's gaze sharpened as he saw familiar faces among the first to burst through. Ron and Hermione. Without hesitation, he sent the basilisk to attack, his eyes carrying a soft, twisted smile as he said, "Enjoy." The others' startled screams were engulfed by crackling flames as the basilisk engulfed them, a haunting echo of Harry's own feelings of betrayal.
With a final, bitter exhale, Harry fell backwards into the swirling Veil of Death. The turmoil of emotions crashing over him as he succumbed to the unknown. This is what he had truly wanted – to die. Life had not gone the way he had expected, and now, as he tumbled into the darkness, he clung to a desperate hope that maybe his next life would be worth living.
As Harry vanished into the ethereal realm, a hush fell over the room, the lingering sounds of spells and screams dissipating into a haunting silence. The crackling of fiendfyre faded, leaving only the aftermath of the basilisk attack, a lingering smell and charred bones.
Outside, the world spun on, oblivious to the upheaval within the Ministry of Magic. In the darkened Atrium, a few smoldering embers glowed amidst the ruins—a silent testament to the devastation that had unfolded. The empty corridors whispered of the turmoil that had torn through the heart of the wizarding world, the aftermath of which now echoed through the stillness.
Harry Potter
The Void
Harry blinked in the blindingly bright void, his eyes slowly adjusting to the unfamiliar surroundings. He straightened his posture, feeling the weight of the opulent white robe and trousers he now adorned. It was a stark contrast to his usual attire, but he couldn't help but chuckle at the surreal sight of himself as if dressed for a royal function.
"Haha, heaven, I suppose," he mumbled to himself, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. But as he turned and laid eyes on the all-too-familiar sight of his childhood home on Privet Drive, his laughter faded into a disquieted mutter. "Or maybe it's hell."
Before he could ponder further, a haunting voice echoed through the void, calling out his name. "Harry Peverell."
Harry whirled around, his wand already in his hand as he confronted the enigmatic figure before him. Cloaked in a tattered black robe, the being held a menacing black scythe wrapped in red bandages. Harry's eyes narrowed, fixated on the mysterious presence, his heart racing with a mix of curiosity and fear.
"You've got the wrong Harry, love. It's Harry Potter," he declared, skepticism dripping from his voice.
The figure extended her pale hand, the fabric of her robe rustling softly as she gestured towards Harry. "No, Harry, you are the one I seek."
Harry's brows furrowed. "Seek me for what? And just who are you?"
With a haunting grace, the figure moved closer, the tattered robe billowing in an ethereal breeze. "I have many names, as many as there are stars in the sky. But you may call me Death."
Well that confirmed it for Harry. "So... I'm dead," he concluded.
Death inclined her head in a solemn nod, her features serene beneath the tattered hood. "Yes, Harry, you are."
A heavy sigh escaped Harry's lips, his shoulders slumping with resignation. "Right. And what's with my childhood home being here? What's going on?"
With a gentle gesture, Death waved her pale hand, and a hazy memory began to unspool before Harry's eyes.
As Harry watched the memory unfold before him, he couldn't help but feel a surge of anger and sadness. Seeing his infant self in Dumbledore's arms, crying in the dimly lit street outside the Dursleys' home, brought a pang of empathy mixed with frustration.
Dumbledore knocked on the Dursleys' door, the sound echoing through the memory like a solemn drumbeat. The door creaked open, revealing the stern faces of Vernon and Petunia Dursley. Their disdainful glares were like icy daggers, and Harry's heart clenched at the sight of his younger self in Dumbledore's arms.
Vernon's gruff voice cut through the night air. "What's this nonsense, old man? It's late, and we don't need any trouble."
Dumbledore's piercing blue eyes held a gravity that seemed to weigh down the very air around them. "I come bearing grave news, Mr. and Mrs. Dursley. Your sister, Lily, and her husband, James, have been murdered. Their son, Harry, is now an orphan."
Petunia's lip curled in contempt. "Good riddance," she spat, her voice dripping with malice.
Vernon's brow furrowed. "And what does that have to do with us?"
Dumbledore's voice remained steady, unwavering in the face of their hostility. "It has everything to do with you. Harry must live with you."
Petunia's eyes narrowed, her tone venomous. "That freak is not welcome in our home."
Vernon's scowl deepened. "We don't want any part of this, old man. Take the brat and leave."
Dumbledore's expression turned solemn, his voice taking on a firm edge. "I am not asking for your permission. I am telling you that Harry will be living with you. You do not need to love or even care for the child. The less attention you give him, the better. It is crucial that he grows up meek and timid when it comes time for him to discover his true nature as a wizard. Treat him how you please, but under no circumstances she he be permanently harmed."
Petunia's eyes widened with concern. "Will we be in danger?"
Dumbledore's gaze held a glint of determination. "I will place powerful protective blood wards around your home. They will shield you from any who seek revenge for the downfall of Voldemort."
Petunia scoffed. "And what about the freak? You expect us to take care of him like he's one of our own?"
Dumbledore's tone was unwavering. "Yes, you will be responsible, for the freak as you put it."
As the memory began to fade, Harry's eyes met Death's enigmatic gaze. "So that's how it all began," he murmured, his voice tinged with a mix of sorrow and bitter understanding.
Death nodded solemnly. "Yes, Harry. The path that led you to this moment started with the choices made on that fateful night."
Harry's fists clenched as he listened, his eyes blazing with a fierce, unyielding rage. "Dumbledore had told them to beat me as a baby," Harry seethed with raw bitterness.
"Yes," Death's voice echoed softly, a haunting melody of empathy and understanding. Harry's body trembled with the weight of the memories, his mind swirling with a tempest of emotions.
"Why show me this?" Harry's voice quivered with a mix of anguish and resentment. "To understand is to heal," Death whispered in response, brushing against Harry's soul like a gentle breeze. "There's no healing from this," Harry's voice held a rawness that cut through the air like a jagged edge.
A heavy silence hung in the air as Death's piercing gaze bore into Harry's soul. The ethereal figure inclined her head ever so slightly, a gesture of solemn understanding, as if she could feel the weight of Harry's shattered world pressing down on him. "There is more," Death murmured, her voice a haunting echo amidst the emptiness.
With a graceful wave of her pale hand, the familiar sight of the Dursleys' home dissolved into nothingness, replaced by the dimly lit, ornate Headmaster's office at Hogwarts. Harry's eyes widened in shock as he took in the scene unfolding before him.
He watched, unseen, as a young Ron and Hermione conversed with the elder version of Albus Dumbledore. The words that reached Harry's ears struck him like icy tendrils, sending a chill coursing through his veins.
"Imagine the fame and fortune that can come with befriending the Famous Harry Potter," Dumbledore's voice filled the air, rich with a sense of calculated manipulation. "You could be the reason the Weasley's are no longer a poor house, they can thrive again for decades."
Harry's hands curled into fists, his eyes burning with a tumultuous surge of betrayal and disbelief. He couldn't tear his gaze away as Dumbledore turned to a young Hermione, his words weaving a web of false promises and deceptions.
"Just think what possibilities you could have as a Muggle-born with Harry by your side," Dumbledore's voice carried an undercurrent of cunning persuasion. "It will open so many doors for you both."
The scene played out, each word a dagger through Harry's shattered heart. Dumbledore's proclamation of fear regarding Harry's potential to go dark and the need for Ron and Hermione to watch him closely tore at Harry's soul, leaving him feeling utterly defenseless and exposed.
As the scene dissolved and the weight of the truth pressed down upon him, Harry's anger ebbed away, leaving behind a numbing sense of defeat. "Was everything in my life a lie?" Harry's voice trembled as he directed the question at Death.
Death's solemn nod spoke volumes, her eyes reflecting the profound sorrow of a world lost to manipulation and deceit. "Your whole life has been orchestrated," Death's whisper hung in the air like a ghostly lament, a mournful requiem for the innocence stolen from Harry.
A hollow ache settled in Harry's chest as he mustered the strength to voice his next agonizing inquiry. "And Ginny? Was she part of this web of deception too?"
Death's gaze held a profound sadness as she confirmed Harry's worst fears. "She was after your gold from the beginning, as well as the Weasley family. They only pretended to love you to get closer."
Harry's shoulders slumped with an overwhelming weight of resignation, the reality of betrayal crushing his spirit under its relentless weight. The echoes of a lifetime spent surrounded by false love and empty promises reverberated through his fractured soul, leaving him adrift in a sea of shattered hopes and shattered dreams.
Harry's fingers fumbled inside his robe, searching for a familiar pack of cigarettes. As his pockets turned up empty, an exasperated sigh escaped his lips. A soft laughter rippled through the air, and Harry's gaze snapped to the figure before him. "What's so funny?" he questioned, his brow furrowing with a mix of curiosity and annoyance.
Before he could receive an answer, a lit cigarette appeared between his fingers, wisps of smoke curling into the ethereal atmosphere. Harry blinked in confusion, his eyes locking with Death's enigmatic figure. "Thanks," he murmured, taking a deep drag from the cigarette, savoring the familiar burn as it calmed his restless thoughts.
"Why are you showing me all of this?" Harry's voice croaked with a thread of uncertainty, the bitter taste of the burning tobacco lingering on his tongue.
Death's eyes held a mysterious depth as she regarded Harry with a solemn gaze. "I've watched you from the moment your heart beat for the first time, until the time you stepped into my domain," she murmured, her voice a haunting melody weaving through the endless white void. Harry's brows furrowed with impatience. "That's not an answer," he pressed, a flicker of frustration lacing his voice.
A quiet chuckle escaped Death's pale lips as she inclined her head ever so slightly. "No, I suppose it is not," she conceded, her voice tinged with a spectral echo.
"Tell me, Harry, what do you know about the Peverell family?" Death's voice rang out, the weight of her question hanging in the air.
Harry's thoughts raced as he considered her question. "They were a very old family, and they received the Deathly Hallows as both a gift and a punishment from you," he recollected, his eyes narrowing with contemplation.
Death motioned for him to continue. "That's about all I know, besides the fact that the family died out ages ago," Harry elaborated, curious where she was going with this.
Death snapped her fingers, interrupting Harry's words. "That's where you're wrong," she stated with a touch of finality.
"What do you mean?" Harry's confusion was evident as he sought to understand her cryptic revelation.
"You, Harry, are the last descendant of Ignotus Peverell," Death revealed, her gaze piercing into the depths of Harry's soul, her words carrying an underlying sense of reverence.
Harry's eyes widened slightly, his thoughts racing at the revelation. "I'm the last descendant?" he echoed, the weight of those words settling upon him like a heavy shroud.
With a gentle motion, Death let her hand graze Harry's chin, a haunting tenderness in the ghostly touch. "I hold Ignotus Peverell in high respect for his intelligence. I feel like I owe it to him not to let his family die out," she confessed, her words echoing through the emptiness.
"What are you offering me?" Harry's voice trembled with a mix of apprehension and uncertainty as he met Death's enigmatic gaze.
Drawing away, Death's expression turned solemn as she regarded him. "I can send you back, not as Harry Potter, but as Harry Peverell. You will be sent to a time and place of my choosing, to live a life unbound by prophecy, free from manipulation, where you can make your own choices," she articulated, her words holding a profound weight.
Harry's mind whirled with the weight of her proposition, a surge of conflicting emotions coursing through him. "So, I get a second chance at life, is that it?" he questioned, his voice holding a tentative hope.
"Yes, a chance to live a life free from the burdens of destiny and the machinations of others," Death affirmed, her gaze holding a glimmer of empathy as she regarded Harry.
Harry's mind raced with the possibilities, the weight of her offer settling over him like an embrace. "But what if I make the wrong choices?" he pondered, his eyes searching Death's enigmatic gaze for answers.
"The choices as well as the consequences will be yours to make, Harry. Whatever they may be," Death's voice carried a quiet certainty.
As Harry mulled over Death's offer, he couldn't shake the weight of the memories she had shown him, the echoes of betrayal and manipulation reverberating through his fractured soul. "What's the catch?" he couldn't help but ask, a note of skepticism creeping into his voice.
Death regarded him with a knowing gaze. "There is no catch, Harry," she assured, her voice holding a sense of unwavering sincerity. "This is your chance to rewrite your story, to carve your own path."
A heavy silence settled over the realm as Harry grappled with the gravity of Death's offer, the weight of a life unburdened by the expectations of others and the consequences of fate.
"And what if I choose not to go back?" Harry's voice held a note of hesitance, uncertainty tugging at the edges of his words.
"Then you will remain here, in the space between life and death," Death stated with a sense of finality, her words making the choice pretty obvious.
The weight of Death's offer hung heavy in the air, swirling through Harry's mind like a tempest of conflicting emotions. He gazed at the figure before him, her pale countenance holding a glimmer of solemn reverence as she awaited his reply.
"So, what will it be, Harry?" Death's voice murmured.
Thoughts of betrayal and manipulation reverberated through Harry's fractured spirit, fueling the flames of resolve within him. "I'll do it," he declared, the quiet strength of his words cutting through the hushed atmosphere.
A faint smile tugged at the corners of Death's lips, a glimmer of approval shining in her ghostly gaze. "Good," she whispered, her voice weaving through the air like a spectral melody.
"Where will you be sending me?" Harry's voice held a hint of curiosity, this was definitely the experience of a life time. Get It? Haha
Death's eyes held a profound depth as she regarded Harry, her voice carrying an ethereal quality as she spoke. "I will send you to a universe similar to your own, but in the year 1941 with some surprises," she revealed.
Harry's laughter rippled through the ethereal space, a mixture of disbelief and incredulity tinging the edges of his voice. "1941? You've got to be joking," he scoffed, what a oddly specific time.
Death's gaze held a glimmer of something as she regarded Harry with unwavering conviction. "I am serious, Harry. I believe that this is the time where you can accomplish the most while still finding happiness," she articulated.
"What surprises await me in this 'similar universe'?" Harry's curiosity bubbled to the surface, his eyes searching Death's enigmatic gaze for answers.
A haunting laughter rippled through the void, the sound weaving through the air like a phantom's whisper. "I cannot reveal all the mysteries that lie ahead, Harry. That would ruin the surprise," Death chuckled, her voice carrying a ghostly echo.
Without warning, Death raised her Scythe high above her head and brought it down with a resounding thud, the ground beneath them shuddering with the force of her action.
A rift tore through the fabric of reality, yawning open before Harry like a gateway to the unknown. He approached it with a calm determination, his steps carrying him closer to the enigmatic void.
"Thank you," Harry murmured, his voice a quiet current in the sea of ethereal silence.
Death's face softened into a warm smile, a touch of empathy shining in her ghostly gaze. She nodded in acknowledgment, a silent understanding passing between them.
Harry took one final glance at Death before stepping into the waiting void, the ebbing light of the otherworldly realm engulfing him in a cloak of uncertainty.
The rift sealed shut behind him, leaving Death standing amidst the endless expanse of the void, her gaze lingering on the spot where Harry had disappeared.
Through the ebbing whispers of the otherworldly realm, Death's voice carried a quiet sense of reverence. "May you find the peace you seek, and destroy those in your way Harry Peverell," she murmured.
Harry Potter
August 22nd, 1941
The Leaky Caldron
5:00 AM
Harry slammed into the ground, his body jolting with the impact as his forehead missed the edge of the nice, comfy bed by a mere foot. "You missed the bed, asshole," he muttered, hoping Death could hear his exasperation. But as he pushed himself up, he paused, realizing how young his voice sounded. With a surge of confusion, he scrambled to his feet, an urgency gripping him as he rushed to the bathroom.
Sliding to a stop in front of the bathroom mirror, Harry's breath caught in his throat as he stared at the reflection before him. He hardly recognized the person staring back. Younger now, but taller than he had been in his old life. Gone was the faded lightning bolt scar, the messy hair, and apparently his glasses. Now his face was more angular, with the same bright green eyes, and black hair cascading down to his shoulders, straight and well-groomed.
Harry cupped his own face in bewilderment, his fingers tracing the contours of his new features. A slow, disbelieving grin spread across his lips as he murmured quietly, "Thank you, Death."
Glancing down at his naked chest, Harry's eyes widened with astonishment. He let out a low whistle, a rare expression of self-appreciation as he chuckled and marveled at the subtle definition of muscles he had never had before. "Well, I'll be damned," he mused aloud, a sense of wonder tingeing his voice.
Harry pulled at the waistband of his pajamas, his eyes widening as he gazed down at his newly transformed family jewels. "Thank you even more," he smirked, his amusement evident as he took in the changes. His grin widened as he marveled at the subtle alteration that had left him even more endowed than before.
Straightening up, Harry inhaled deeply, allowing the reality of his transformation to settle over him. Closing his eyes, he drew a series of calming breaths, things where off to a good start already for his new life.
Harry walks back into the room, and for the first time notices the room, and then it hits him—he had seen rooms like this in only one place, The Leaky Cauldron. Jesus had they really not had a remodel ever Harry thinks to himself.
Looking around, Harry can see nothing that sticks out to him besides a letter on the table. Walking over, he grabs the clean paper and opens it.
Dear Harry,
I hope you've enjoyed to the changes in your body. With your new life, I felt it was only right for you to leave behind the memories of your old one. There are a few important things to go over with you so that you can embrace your new life to the fullest. You are the last of the Peverell line, and there will be no second chances if something happens to you. It's crucial that you bring honor to your family name and thrive in your new identity.
You've maintained your Parseltongue ability, but I urge you to use it cautiously. As for your current whereabouts, it's 1941, but the exact date can be confirmed with a simple glance at a newspaper. However, I must emphasize the importance of remaining conscious of the ongoing war and taking measures to protect yourself. Your wand, just like many aspects of your past life, was never truly yours. It was part of Dumbledore's plan for you to obtain that wand, so I advise against placing your trust in Ollivander, your old wand has been destroyed in the travel.
Your family name carries a great deal of power, and there will be others who seek to exploit it. Be vigilant and cautious as you navigate the world with your new identity.
If anyone inquiries, here is your basic information:
Name: Harry Peverell
Date of Birth: October 31st, 1926
Family: Deceased
You are the Lord of The Noble and Most Ancient House of Peverell
P.S Remember things will not be 100% the same this go around, expect the unexpected.
Stay strong, Harry. Your new life awaits you.
Sincerely,
Death
Harry rereads the note, his eyes darting over the elegant penmanship once again. He took a deep breath, thankful for all of Death's help, and yet incredibly pissed that even his wand had not been safe from Dumbledore's manipulations. Scrutinizing the note, he wonders what the mention of "some things will not be the same" means. The ambiguity made him nervous, stirring a faint sense of unease in the pit of his stomach.
Shocked, Harry drops the note as it suddenly catches fire, the flames dancing and consuming the parchment until only ash remains. "Well, I guess Death doesn't want others seeing it," Harry mutters to himself, glancing around the room like a idiot, knowing he is already alone.
Turning away from the remnants of the note, Harry strides to the wardrobe and pulls open the doors, revealing a set of very fine black robes and trousers neatly laid out, accompanied by a pair of exquisitely crafted boots. He discards his pajama bottoms and swiftly dresses himself in the new outfit, the luxurious fabric smooth against his skin. Ignoring the growl of his stomach, he pauses to admire his reflection in the mirror, the immaculate attire emphasizing his newfound stature.
Glancing out of the window, Harry's bright green eyes take in the sight of the still-dark morning. It confirmed that it was indeed the early hours, and he strides to the door, ensuring there is nothing else in the room that belongs to him before making his way into the hall and down the creaking stairs.
The dimly lit room is sparsely populated, the few individuals who are up at this early hour seemingly lost in their own thoughts or quietly conversing in hushed tones. Harry walks up to the empty bar area and takes a seat, the worn wood creaking beneath him as he settles in.
An older lady, her demeanor slightly flustered, approaches Harry with a subtle tremble in her voice, whispering as if she's afraid of being overheard. "Is everything in the room to your liking?" she asks, her gaze darting nervously around the dimly lit room.
Arching a lone eyebrow in mild surprise at the woman's reaction, Harry nods and replies softly, "Yes, everything is fine, thank you." He then asks for a Daily Prophet and inquires about the breakfast special, the weariness of the past night still lingering in his movements.
With a flick of her wand, the lady sends a copy of the Daily Prophet flying over to Harry before quickly scurrying off to prepare his food, casting fleeting glances over her shoulder at him as if she's afraid of something.
Harry's eyes flicker back to the Daily Prophet, time to see how accurate Death was. His gaze fixates on the bolded date, August 22nd 1941, amidst the headlines that screamed of war and chaos. Taking a deep breath, he folds the paper neatly, tucking it under his arm as he senses the inn keeper's approach.
The inn keeper returns with a plate laden with a hearty breakfast, setting it down in front of Harry with a gentle clink of cutlery. "Here you go, Mr. Peverell," she says, her eyes filled with a mixture of caution and curiosity. "I hope it meets your liking."
Harry looks up from the plate, his green eyes meeting hers with a faint smile. "Thank you. How much do I owe you for this?" he asks, ever the cautious planner.
The inn keeper blinks in confusion, a furrow forming on her brow. "Mr. Peverell, you've already paid in advance for your room and board," she says, her voice tinged with a hint of concern. "It includes three meals a day until the first of September. You needn't worry about the cost."
Harry nods slightly, allowing gratitude to warm his features as he replies, "I appreciate it, thank you."
Picking up his fork, Harry takes a bite of the eggs, savoring the flavors as he scans through the contents of the Daily Prophet in his mind. He mentally organizes his priorities, listing the things he must do today. First and foremost, he needed a new wand. Dumbledore's manipulation left him without a trustworthy wand, a fact that unnerved him on multiple levels. He couldn't afford to be defenseless in this tumultuous time.
Taking another bite of the toast, Harry ponders his next course of action. The state of his vaults at Gringotts weighs heavily on his mind. Given the pureblood heritage of the Peverell family, he couldn't help but wonder if the vaults had flourished over the years, or if they had been drained by others seeking to exploit his lineage.
The clatter of cutlery against his plate snaps Harry out of his reverie, and he glances up to find the inn keeper observing him with quiet concern. "Is there anything else you require, Mr. Peverell?" she asks, her voice hushed.
Harry shakes his head with a small smile. "No, thank you. This is perfect," he replies before turning his attention back to the meal, his thoughts whirring with plans and uncertainties.
Harry finished his meal and pushed his plate aside, feeling the weight of his purpose settling on his shoulders. Stretching lightly, he rose from his seat and walked towards the door leading outside. As he stepped into the cool morning air, Diagon Alley unfurled before him, in the darkness its eerily calm, with a more homely feel than it had had in his time. Most of the shops were closed, their shutters creating a sense of coziness that contrasted with the bustling wizarding world he once knew.
Strolling along the cobblestone, Harry's bright green eyes landed on familiar sights—the Owl Emporium and Quality Quidditch Supplies. The nostalgia that washed over him was bittersweet as he gazed at the displays. The broomsticks would be much slower, the gear outdated compared to the sleek efficiency of his old Firebolt. It was a stark reminder of the gap between the past and the present.
Continuing his leisurely walk, Harry noticed something new—a tobacco shop, its enticing aroma lingering in the air. In this era, smoking seemed to be a more common habit than it was in his time. Harry made a mental note to explore the shop later, hell even being 14, soon to be 15, smoking would be his crutch just like it use to be.
Passing Ollivander's, Harry's gaze lingered on the unassuming exterior of the wand shop. The revelations with his previous wand had left him wary, and a flicker of determination sparked in his eyes. He made a silent vow to seek out alternative ways to acquire a wand, unwilling to place his trust in Ollivander's establishment.
Drawing closer to his destination, Harry's eyes were drawn to the towering doors of Gringotts, flanked by two goblins in formidable armor. The imposing sight stirred a sense of trepidation within him as he ascended the stone steps and stepped through the grand entrance.
Inside, the bank was as he remembered it, the grandeur of the marble halls remained the same. Despite the bustling presence of a few patrons, the atmosphere exuded a subdued energy that felt remarkably distinct from the frenetic pace of his previous encounters.
Approaching an unoccupied teller, Harry bowed respectfully to the goblin behind the counter, his demeanor composed yet tinged with a glint of wariness. "Good morning," Harry greeted the goblin in a low, soft-spoken voice. "I seek an audience with the manager regarding a matter of personal importance."
The goblin regarded Harry with sharp, calculating eyes, his expression inscrutable as he processed the request. After a moment of taciturn scrutiny, the goblin inclined his head with a slight nod. "Wait here, Lord Peverell," he grunted in a raspy voice, before disappearing into the corridors of the bank.
As Harry waited, he observed the other patrons conducting their business, noting the changes in their attire compared to the fashion of his own time.
A hushed murmur of voices and the authoritative click of footsteps drew Harry's attention, the approach of the bank manager. The goblin's sharp features softened imperceptibly as he regarded Harry, his voice echoing with a sense of deference as he addressed the young lord.
"Lord Peverell, how may Gringotts be of service to you today?" the bank manager inquired, his tone a harmonious blend of formality and respect.
Straightening his posture, Harry met the goblin's gaze with unyielding resolve. "I require access to my family's vaults and your assistance in acquiring a new wand," Harry stated with quiet determination, the weight of his purpose infusing his words with unwavering resolve.
As Harry followed Eargok, he couldn't help but wonder about the teller's immediate recognition of him as Harry Peverell. "How did you and the teller know I was Harry Peverell without checking any identification?" Harry asked, his voice tinged with curiosity.
Eargok chuckled softly, the sound rumbling deep in his throat. "Magic has a way of detecting who walks through the doors at any given time. It's a security measure we've had in place for centuries," Eargok explained as they turned down a corridor, the walls adorned with ornate golden engravings.
Harry nodded, musing to himself about how the old Gringotts had not been as advanced in its magical detection. As they entered a spacious conference room, Eargok gestured for Harry to take a seat at the polished oak table.
"We'll go over your finances, estates, and everything that concerns your family's holdings," Eargok stated, pulling out several hefty files and placing them on the table. He began to scan over the documents, the movements of his clawed fingers precise and methodical.
"Even though the Peverell family was thought to be gone, we've continued to treat the vault like any other," Eargok commented, his gaze never leaving the documents as he spoke. "And it has thrived. Your vault, number 003, is one of the most secure in all the wizarding world."
Harry's eyes widened in astonishment as Eargok continued, "The total amount in your vault currently stands at 32 million galleons, 11 sickles, and 3 knuts. And that's not including the antiques, jewels, and various other items stored within."
Stunned by the immense wealth he now possessed, Harry could feel the weight of responsibility settling upon him. Eargok went on to inform him about a property in Dunnstown, Scotland, a mere two hours from Hogwarts. The records indicated that the property had been destroyed, prompting Harry to inquire about the possibility of estimating the cost to repair it.
Eargok grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he assured, "We can certainly provide an estimate for the repairs. Anything found within the property will remain, but we shall ensure that it is protected with the strongest wards."
Nodding in agreement, Harry watched as Eargok reached into a drawer and withdrew an ornate key and a ring, both visibly older than Harry himself. "This is the key to your vault. Do not lose it," Eargok cautioned as he handed Harry the antiquated key.
Then, with a gentle reverence, Eargok presented Harry with the ring, stating, "This is your Lordship ring, signifying that you are the head of the Peverell family."
Harry took the ring, examining it closely. It reminded him of the Resurrection Stone – a silver band with a black diamond in the center, bearing the emblem of the Deathly Hallows. However, upon closer inspection, he noticed that it was not the same.
"I thought I was just the heir, not the Lord," Harry remarked, studying the ring with a furrowed brow.
Eargok nodded in understanding. "That's true in most cases, but since you are the last of the Peverell line, you are the acting Lord. However, you have the power to appoint someone to carry out the duties in your stead," Eargok explained, his eyes locking with Harry's in a rare display of empathy.
"Thank you, Eargok," Harry said, inclining his head in gratitude. "This information has been invaluable to me."
Eargok nodded, his amber eyes reflecting a glint of satisfaction. "It is our duty to serve the Peverell family. Is there anything else Gringotts can do for you at this time?"
Harry pondered for a moment before making a decision. "Yes, I would like to purchase a coin pouch, with the enchantment to refill itself to maintain a balance of 2500 galleons."
A sly grin stretched across Eargok's face. "Ah, an excellent choice. The cost for such a coin pouch is 1400 galleons."
"Agreed," Harry said, reaching into his pocket to retrieve his key before pausing. "I'd also like to offer 100 galleons to you as a token of appreciation."
Eargok's eyes widened in surprise, and he inclined his head in gratitude. "Your kindness is deeply appreciated, young lord."
Momentarily disappearing, Eargok returned with the enchanted coin pouch. "Here you are, Lord Peverell. May it serve you well."
Harry accepted the pouch, feeling the weight of it, before tucking it securely inside his robes.
As Eargok gathered the files, he spoke with a note of caution. "Now about the matter of a wand, I suggest you visit Ursulette's shop in Knockturn Alley. She is a highly respected wandmaker, though her establishment is not widely advertised. It is located near Borgin and Burkes."
Harry's expression betrayed no surprise at the suggestion. "I am familiar with that area. Thank you for the recommendation, Eargok."
"It has been my pleasure to assist you, Lord Peverell. Should you require further aid, Gringotts is at your service," Eargok said, his voice resonating with a sense of finality.
Nodding in acknowledgment, Harry bowed respectfully. "Thank you once again, Eargok. Your guidance has been invaluable."
With Eargok leading the way, Harry followed him through the grand marble halls of Gringotts, the goblin's footsteps echoing off the walls with a resolute rhythm.
Upon reaching the main lobby, Harry surveyed the imposing structure of the bank, his eyes lingering on the intricate engravings adorning the walls as he filed the memory away in his mind.
"Until we meet again, Lord Peverell," Eargok bid farewell, his tone tinged with a subtle sense of respect as he bowed.
"Farewell, Eargok," Harry replied in a low, composed voice, a glimmer of determination gleaming in his eyes.
Harry Potter
August 22nd, 1941
Knockturn Alley
8:40 AM
Harry's eyes scanned the worn bricks of Knockturn Alley, where shadows danced between the forgotten shops. The air was thick with a musty odor, and the silence seemed to whisper secrets in the darkness. Among the shops, a building stood with closed blinds, distinct from its neighbors - Eerie Exquisites.
Harry's steps echoed as he entered the dimly lit store. The room was shrouded in an mysterious atmosphere, with amulets, cloaks, vials, and trinkets adorning the walls. The scent of lavender lingered in the air, intertwining with the atmosphere.
Approaching the counter, his eyes found a striking figure - a woman with a mesmerizing, pale skin. Her vivid, dark red eyes held an intelligent allure, and her curly hair was held in a precision bun. She was adorned in a black dress, and a choker adorned her slim neck. "That just screams Vampire," Harry thought to himself in bemusement.
"Are you Ursulette?" Harry inquired, his voice soft in the mysterious atmosphere. The woman acknowledged with a simple nod, her eyes fixing on him expectantly.
"What can I do for you?" Her voice was smooth, carrying a hint of intrigue. Raising a solitary eyebrow, she regarded him with a demeanor that hinted at curiosity.
"I am in need of a wand, and Eargok had recommended you," Harry stated calmly, his eyes meeting hers. There was a curious spark in her gaze, as if she assessed him open curiosity.
A ghost of a smile played on her lips. "You must be quite important if the branch manager personally dealt with you," she mused with a subtle arch of her brow.
Harry grinned in response, seeing how she would react. "Eargok failed to mention how much of a beauty you are," he remarked, and a low laugh escaped her, tinged with a hint of mystery.
"Playing with fire, I see," she jested, her lips curling in an enigmatic smile. "I can craft you a wand, but it requires coin and time," she continued, her eyes lingering on him with an inscrutable expression.
Harry simply nodded. Rising gracefully from her seated position, Ursulette motioned for Harry to follow her to the back of the shop, her movements graceful in the dim light.
With a wave of her wand, a soft click echoed, signaling the lock of the shop's entrance. Harry observed the act with an air of subtle curiosity, his instincts on high alert now.
"Do not worry, I do not bite," Ursulette reassured him as she led the way, her voice carrying a musical lilt. "But I prefer not to be disturbed. I have a feeling you would be a challenge to craft a wand for," she added with a glint of intrigue in her gaze.
Ursulette motioned for Harry to follow her to the back of her shop, and Harry couldn't stop himself from stealing glances at the sway of her hips as he followed her. She walked through a door, and Harry's eyes widened in amazement as he entered her workshop. Vials lined the walls, filled with what Harry couls not guess. A work table sat in the corner, and a row of boxes sat on a table in the middle of the room. Ursulette waved her wand, and the boxes opened to reveal different types of wood.
"Do you make these on the spot?" Harry asked in shock.
Ursulette laughed, "Of course. I'm not Ollivander," she scoffed.
"What do you mean by that?" Harry inquired.
Ursulette explained, "Ollivander's wands are crafted using only Ministry-approved items, and they all come with the trace that tracks underage magic. But mine are handcrafted, not Ministry-approved, and cannot be traced."
Gesturing toward the table, she continued, "You will hover your hand over the woods until you find one that feels right. Wands are an extension of you, and there should always be a connection."
Harry hovered his hands over each type of wood, not knowing the difference, but allowing his instincts to guide him. He felt a warm sensation and pointed, "This one."
Ursulette simply nodded, "Yew, reputed to endow its possessor with power over life and death."
She took the wood over to her workstation and instructed Harry to repeat the process with the vials on the wall.
Harry allowed his instincts to choose for him once again. He stopped over a feather that seemed to crackle with energy. Continuing, he opened his eyes after another feeling and saw a vial of liquid.
"Is it normal to have two cores feelnthe same?" Harry asked, feeling drawn to both the feather and the vial of liquid.
Ursulette walked over and took them both, muttering, "The feather of a Thunderbird mixed with Manticore venom. Both volatile when worked with alone. I have never mixed the two components."
Turning to Harry with a mad gleam in her eyes, she asked, "Can you come back this evening?"
Harry simply nodded, and he made his way to the front of the shop and out into Knockturn Alley, making sure to again close the door behind him. He needed to do some shopping anyway.
Harry Potter
August 22nd, 1941
The Leaky Caldron
6:20 PM
Harry flops on the bed with a groan. He had spent the entire day shopping after leaving Ursulette's eerie shop. All around his bed were bags filled with robes, dress shirts, trousers, boxers, socks, and everything else he had needed. An expanding trunk sat by the door, waiting to be packed. Rolling over with a groan, Harry reaches over to the nightstand and grabs a pack of cigarettes. He pulls one out and lights it with a zippo, marveling at the fact that wizards sold such Muggle items. The tobacco shop had been a godsend.
Taking a deep breath, he looks at the mail the innkeeper had handed him when he walked in. He had only one letter, the wax seal showing the Hogwarts Crest. Confused, he opens it. Inside, the parchment crackled with a sense of urgency as he read the neat handwritten words:
Dear Mr. Peverell,
Congratulations! We are thrilled to welcome you to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for Year 5. Your exceptional academic record at Durmstrang has impressed us, and we are eager to help you further excel in the magical arts. Enclosed, you will find a list of all the books and equipment you'll need, as well as details about the location of the Hogwarts Express.
We can't wait to see you bring your talents and passion to our school. Get ready for an incredible journey of learning and discovery at Hogwarts!
Warm regards,
Headmaster Armando Dippet
Harry stares at the letter, taken aback. "Hogwarts? But I didn't apply..." he mutters to himself, his voice trailing off. He rereads the letter in his hand, feeling confusion..
With a sigh, he flicks the ash from his cigarette into the nearby ashtray and gets up to pack his new belongings. As he carefully folds the clothes and neatly stows them in the expanding trunk, he can't shake off the feeling of being in the middle of an unexpected puzzle. First no memory of paying for a room at the Leaky Caldron, and now apparently he sent a letter to Hogwarts, something he had planned to do anyway, but it was confusing.
After finishing up packing, Harry changes into a fresh set of robes and heads out for a walk. The air outside is cool and crisp, a stark contrast to the dimly lit confines of his room. As he strolls through the narrow, winding streets of Diagon Alley, he takes in the murmurs of bustling shops and the enticing aroma of freshly cooked food from nearby cafes.
Lost in thought, he makes his way back to Knockturn Alley and finds himself standing in front of Ursulette's shop once again. Torn between uncertainty and a faint sense of intrigue, he pushes open the door and steps inside. The air inside was heavy with the scent of lavender, and his eyes quickly found Ursulette at the counter, conversing with a young woman with long, flowing blond hair. They were in deep discussion about holsters when Ursulette spotted Harry and gestured for the blond-haired girl to wait while she tended to him.
As the girl nodded in understanding and turned to browse the shop, Ursulette turned to Harry, her vivid red eyes fixed on him with an enigmatic allure. "What's your name?" she asked, a hint of curiosity coloring her tone.
Ursulette didn't even blink, simply nodding as if she had kind of expected it. "I had heard talk of you being in Diagon Alley," she mused, her eyes holding a shrewd glint. "I usually don't ask for names, but with a wand as beautiful as I crafted for you, I had been curious."
At the mention of Harry's name, the blond-haired girl's eyes widened slightly, but she quickly composed herself, offering a polite smile before excusing herself and leaving the store. Ursulette raised an eyebrow at her sudden departure, muttering, "That was weird."
As the door closed behind the blond-haired girl, Ursulette motioned for Harry to follow her into the back of the shop. Harry stole a glance back at the retreating figure of the girl, who paused to cast a curious gaze in his direction before disappearing from view. Shaking his head, Harry caught up to Ursulette, who stood by a worktable, holding a plain black box.
"Here it is," Ursulette said, her voice carrying a hint of anticipation as she handed him the box. "Open it."
As Harry lifted the lid, he couldn't help the gasp that escaped him. Inside the box lay a dark brown wand, exquisitely crafted and just slightly curved. Thin lines of black ran along it like delicate spider webs, adding an air of mystique to its appearance.
"It's it's beautiful," Harry murmured, his eyes fixed on the wand in awe.
Ursulette came up beside him, her presence ethereal in the dim light. "Truly a beauty," she agreed, her voice holding a hint of pride.
As Harry gingerly grasped the wand, a surge of power erupted from him, causing the backroom to tremble and the vials on the shelves to shake. Ursulette simply watched with a knowing glint in her eyes as the wand seemed to pulsate with an energy that felt like an extension of Harry's very being. His old wand had never felt like this.
"It feels it feels right," Harry mumbled, his voice tinged with disbelief as he marveled at the connection he felt with the wand.
Ursulette nodded, a knowing smile gracing her lips. "It should," she said, her voice carrying a touch of satisfaction. "That wand is yours, Harry Peverell. It was crafted specifically for you, and it holds the essence of who you are."
Harry set the pack of cigarettes aside and approached Ursulette, his eyes lock on her. "How much do I owe, also can I get a wand holster?" he asked, reaching for the coin pouch at his belt.
Ursulette's lips curved into a knowing smile as she leaned closer, her crimson eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief. "For the wand and the holster, it's gonna be 1300 galleons in total," she stated, her voice smooth and captivating in the dimly lit shop.
Harry nodded, counting out the galleons and handing them over, his eyes never leaving Ursulette's face. She took the galleons with a graceful nod before turning to fetch the concealed holster.
As Ursulette returned with the holster in hand, she seemed to hesitate, her gaze lingering on Harry's face with an air of uncertainty. "Before you go, may I have some of your blood?" she asked, her tone sincere.
Harry raised an eyebrow at her, a glint of suspicion in his eyes. "And why would you need my blood?" he inquired cautiously.
Ursulette watched him with a solemn expression before finally admitting, "I am a vampire."
Harry feigned shock, a wry smile playing on his lips. "no shit," he quipped, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. Her appearance had already given away her true nature.
"What do you plan to do with my blood?" Harry pressed, his curiosity piqued as he regarded Ursulette.
Her gaze bore into his, unashamed and direct. "You are a very powerful person for being so young," she observed.
Harry chuckled, a skeptical gleam in his eyes. "You haven't quite answered my question," he remarked, folding his arms across his chest.
"It's going to be sexual," Ursulette admitted with no shame, her eyes fixed on Harry with unwavering determination.
Harry let out a roaring laugh, the sound echoing through the shop. Ursulette, however, remained dead serious, her gaze locked onto his. "That's a weird thing to do with blood," Harry remarked, amusement glinting in his eyes.
She held his gaze, her voice low and steady. "We all have our vices, mine just is more odd and involves blood and magic." she confessed, her expression unyielding.
Harry laughed again, a disbelieving smirk on his lips. "As tempting as that sounds, I think I'll pass. Blood is a powerful thing to just give away," he stated, his tone laced with skepticism. "Unless you are going to let me watch?" Harry offered with a waggle of his eyebrows, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
Ursulette let out a genuine laugh, the sound light and melodic. "Forget it," she replied, shaking her head with a grin. They walked together to the front of the shop, and as Ursulette opened the door for him, she told Harry to return if he needed his wand serviced, winking playfully at him before he stepped out into the alley once again, this time armed.
Harry strolled through Knockturn Alley, tapping his cigarette and chuckling to himself. The absurdity of Ursulette's request for blood and the bizarre encounter with Death had left him in a state of disbelief. As he meandered back toward the Leaky Cauldron, he mused on the strange turn of events. It wasn't every day that Death lounged in your bed, after all.
Upon returning to his room, Harry was greeted by the sight of Death reclining casually on his bed, her dark robes draped elegantly around her. He raised an eyebrow at her unexpected presence, but decided to simply ignore her for the time being.
After a quick trip to the bathroom, Harry reemerged, drying his hands on a nearby towel, only to find Death regarding him with a calm, knowing expression. "I'm sure you have a couple of questions," she stated, her voice carrying an otherworldly timbre.
Harry snorted in response. "No kidding. Why don't I remember applying to Hogwarts or paying for this room?" he demanded, skepticism lacing his tone.
Death nodded as she regarded him, her eyes carrying a hint of amusement. "I did good with your body," she remarked casually.
Harry couldn't help but chuckle at her nonchalant statement. "Focus, girl," he quipped, snapping his fingers to get her attention.
Death sighed softly before explaining, "When I sent you back to this timeline, I decided to give you a little help. After all, having a room is much more preferable, wouldn't you agree?"
Harry raised an eyebrow at her logic. "Fair point," he conceded, though he couldn't shake off his lingering skepticism.
"But why were you so invested in getting me back to Hogwarts?" Harry inquired, his curiosity piqued. "I was planning on going there anyway."
Death gazed at him with a slightly bemused expression. "To meet your soulmate, duh," she replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
Harry's eyes widened in surprise. "You never told me that," he stated bluntly.
Death scrunched up her face in confusion before her eyes widened in shock. "I must have forgotten," she mumbled, looking genuinely startled.
Harry rolled his eyes and made a dismissive gesture. "Of course you did," he muttered, flopping down on the bed beside Death.
"So, who is it?" Harry prodded, unable to contain his curiosity.
But Death shook her head, her expression inscrutable. "I can't tell you," she said cryptically.
"And here I thought dealing with Voldemort had been complicated," Harry remarked wryly, a hint of exasperation in his tone.
Death's face took on an awkward look, and she coughed awkwardly, hiding something from Harry. She couldn't bring herself to reveal that, in fact, Riddle was his soulmate.
Authors Note
As a test, I am sharing this to gauge what you guys think. I have three additional chapters already written, and I am eager to hear your thoughts. I am considering continuing this as a Harry/Fem Riddle Dark Story. Your feedback is greatly appreciated.