HP - Be Careful What You Wish For

by LordJingles

Harry Potter dies in the Chamber of Secrets, and Dumbledore enacts a sketchy ritual to draw in a replacement 'Boy-Who-Lived'. However, what the old man got wasn't what he expected. This story acts as backstory for more to come

HP - Be careful what you wish for

Prologue

The universe is infinite. It's easy to forget just how big infinity is when you're mortal and otherwise limited. Albus Dumbledore, for all of his titles, education, experience, and intellect had forgotten or disregarded this concept. The old man was in a panic and on the edge of doing something reckless. He dimly remembered a conversation he had once held with Harry Potter regarding his mistakes and the level of their severity - but since the boy was dead, the ancient sorcerer felt like he didn't have any other options except to just lay down and let Tom Riddle have wizarding Britain. The prophecy felt like the Sword of Damocles hanging over his head and this time, Dumbledore wasn't going to wait for things to get as bad as they had the last time the Dark Lord had risen up.

He found himself down in the Chamber of Secrets, taken there in a flash of flame by his phoenix familiar. The old man couldn't believe it. There, lying on the floor, were two children - both of them not moving. Not breathing. His vision was blurring as he sank to his knees, choking with frustrated, impotent anger.

Harry Potter had done it - there was a basilisk fang stuck into the front of a small black leather book, but the hole in the boy's arm and the puddle of blood around him told a tale of sacrifice. The phoenix perched on the corpse of the basilisk warbled mournfully as Albus Dumbledore scooted forward on his knees, checking Harry Potter's still warm body for a pulse, hoping beyond hope for just one more miracle. It seemed that not even phoenix tears could overcome the terrible damage this battle had caused to the raven haired hero.

"I need …", started the old man, choking on his grief, "a Hogwarts elf"

A small, bulbous eyed creature popped into the chamber, "How may I help you, Headmaster sir?"

"In my desk, bottom right hand drawer - there is a small wooden box. Please bring it here."

Nodding and bowing low, the creature popped away. Returning after a brief interval, box in hand. The headmaster dismissed the small being with a negligent wave of his hand. As the elf popped away, the headmaster knew that time was working against him. Shifting to a sitting position, he placed the box on the floor in front of himself and then drew his wand. Pulling it across his thumb, the old man put two bloody thumbprints on the box. Healing the wound absentmindedly, he watched in fascination as the wooden box soaked up his blood, and he could just hear the mechanical catches inside of the box release.

He worked the box open, drawing out a book - covered in the skin of something that Albus tried hard to not think about. The phoenix made another sad sound as he opened the book, turning the pages quickly as he looked for the ritual he needed.

"I know this isn't ideal, Fawkes - but needs must!"

In the dim light of the chamber of secrets, Albus Dumbledore quickly set up a small ritual - looking between the book, and the small circle he was painting around Harry Potter's body, the ink being the boy's very blood itself. He'd cleaned a little of the chamber floor, just enough to ring the boy in a thin line of blood and then he began a chant. The language itself was long dead, and reached across the very boundaries of space and time, looking for another to take the place of this recently deceased person. Given the vastness of infinity, it was the work of mere seconds before a rushing breeze kicked up, wind beginning to pour through a rift that formed in the air just outside of the ritual circle.

Stepping through came a young looking boy - appearing to be no more than 15. Short black hair neatly brushed, wearing a pair of round spectacles. Obviously Hogwarts age, if the school uniform was any indication. The only thing that seemed at all out of place was an otherwise unremarkable backpack slung over one shoulder.

As the aged headmaster let the last echoes of the chant die out, he sat himself down on the ground again, the strange book tumbling from insensate fingers. The raven haired boy looked at the headmaster with something akin to both familiarity and concern. Blinking away his tears, hope swelling in his chest, Albus Dumbledore tried to speak.

".. Harry?" he was able to croak out.

The boy smiled, but there was something off putting and unknowable in that smile as the raven haired child said a single word.

"Confundus"

HP

Taking Harry's Place

Shaking his head, Albus lurched to his feet in a daze. He could faintly hear what sounded like voices in the recesses of the chamber and realized it must be the young Weasley boy and Lockhart. Looking around, he could see the dirty, raven haired boy just beginning to stir on the ground with Fawkes singing a fortifying song from his perch on the dead basilisk.

Feeling a little of his strength returning, Dumbledore leaned over Harry Potter, giving him a curious look.

"Are you ok? Can you stand?" asked the old man.

With a grunt of effort, the twelve year old slowly rolled over and lurched to his feet, swaying slightly as he did so. Albus reached out with a steadying hand.

"Easy there, Harry," said Albus. "You've had quite an adventure today."

Harry looked up into the old man's eyes, tear tracks on his cheeks. Then he glanced over at the corpse of Ginny Weasley.

"I couldn't save her sir. I tried. I …" at this, the boy broke down into quiet sobs.

Wrapping an arm around the boy in an attempt to pass along some comfort, "I'm sorry that you're having to face these things so young, my boy.", the aged wizard said at almost a whisper. "If it is any consolation, you have survived where most anyone else would have fallen and defeated evil magic more powerful than you know."

The sounds of running footfalls could be heard as Ron Weasley came sprinting into the chamber to see Dumbledore holding up a weary and disheveled Harry Potter as well as Ginny lying quietly unmoving on the ground nearby. Coming to a stop, the redhead was looking back and forth between Harry and Ginny, trying to make sense of what he saw.

"Is she…" started the redhead, taking a step towards his sister. "Is she ok?" The boy looked to Dumbledore, tears starting to spill down his cheeks.

The old man looked into Ron's eyes, then down, looking every single one of his over one hundred years.

Ron Weasley slowly walked, barely shuffling, over to where his sister was and sank down to his knees.

For a short while, only the sounds of dripping water could be heard echoing through the chamber. Then the headmaster started waving his wand. The redheaded girl gently began to float up off of the ground, drifting towards the entrance. Ron stood and followed his sister while the headmaster gently guided Harry as well.

The group went through the inner doorway, passing into the caves outside. If not for the solemnity of the situation, Albus Dumbledore would have been more interested in exploring the fabled Chamber of Secrets. As it stood, he had other things on his mind.

Coming upon the cave in, the faint sound of someone humming on the other side could just barely be heard. Ron Weasley looked up abruptly, an angry look crossing his features.

"Bloody worthless git", muttered the boy, staring through the pile of rocks.

Dumbledore waved his wand and within moments, the rockfall had formed itself into a new and very detailed arch complete with snake motif. Looking more closely at the support pillars, he waved his wand again, this time with a more artistic flourish. One of the pillars changed shape to show a small rendering of Ginny Weasley's sorting at the beginning of the year from the perspective of the headmaster. The girl was all smiles as she put on the sorting hat, and then having been sorted into Gryffindor, moved over to join all her brothers amidst celebration and hugs.

With the way forward cleared out, the quiet group moved under the archway. The redheaded boy stopped and stared at the memorial pillar for his sister. He stood there without blinking for a moment before shaking his head and turning away.

The group moved out into the bottom of the main chute, tiny animal bones crunching under their feet. Gilderoy Lockhart was sitting on the ground, leaning up against a wall, staring mindlessly off into space.

"Fawkes, would you be willing to take us all to the infirmary?" asked the headmaster as the brilliant phoenix glided into the room. Everyone grabbed hands as the headmaster and Ron Weasley each took one of Ginny's, and the whole group flashed away in a loud gout of flame.

HP

The Headmaster

Time in the infirmary was short, with Dumbledore waiting only long enough for the healer to perform a quick scan of Harry Potter before the two of them headed off to the headmaster's office. Leaving the Weasley boy and Lockhart behind, the walk was a quiet one. The gargoyle at the base of the stairs merely stepped out of the way with a short bow to Dumbledore before the two headed up.

Silence hung heavily in the room. The headmaster stepped around his desk to take a seat while the raven haired boy stepped over to a shelf of gadgets and gizmos, some spinning, some puffing smoke. He reached a hand out to one that had been sitting quietly, and it started moving around and doing things again as well. Shrugging, the boy took a nearby chair and sat quietly while the headmaster regarded him over steepled fingers.

"I guess the first thing to do is to thank you, Mister Potter. You must have shown me real loyalty, down in the chamber."

Harry's head hung low as he fidgeted in his seat, looking at his entangled fingers.

With a deep sigh, the headmaster stood again and lit the fireplace with a short wand wave. A pinch of green powder had the flames changing color as he called out "The Burrow" in an authoritative voice. Gone was the aged, kindly headmaster and in its place stood the man who had been forced on more than one occasion to make the hard wartime choices.

Kneeling down to stick his head into the fire, he stayed that way for but a moment before backing up to let the elder Weasleys come through. Standing tall, Albus Dumbledore turned and took his seat again as he waited. He picked up one of his lemon flavored sweets and popped it into his mouth, offering Harry the bowl. The boy silently shook his head and gave a small but otherwise strained smile.

A moment later, Molly and Arthur Weasley stepped out of the green flames directly into the headmaster's office. Molly wasted no time starting in on the headmaster while Arthur stood quietly behind her, waving his wand to vanish the soot that was the inevitable byproduct of all floo travel.

Before long, Molly had run out of steam and had degenerated into half sobs and hiccoughs. It was at this point the previously silent Arthur Weasley gently guided her towards the stairs so that they could head off into the infirmary. The Weasley patriarch gave Harry a quiet, watery smile before following his wife out of the room.

Silence covered the room like a hot woolen blanket before the door was opened once again to reveal the haughty visage of Lucius Malfoy. Striding into the space as if he belonged there, the blonde aristocrat looked down his nose at the headmaster.

"Well Dumbledore. I suppose you're satisfied, now that there's one less Weasley here at Hogwarts to contend with."

The look on Albus Dumbledore's face turned as hard as granite in an instant. The change happened so fast that Malfoy went even paler than normal and took an unconscious step back.

"Mister Malfoy, if I had any kind of tangible proof that you were responsible for the death of Ginevra Weasley, well…" the old man glanced at Harry for a moment before pinning the tall blonde man with his gaze again. The air in the room was suffocating as Albus Dumbledore's stared pinned Lucius Malfoy in place as the blond haired man stood and fidgeted as if he were an errant schoolboy.

Malfoy's right hand had drifted over to the head of his cane, and seemed as if he might draw his wand when a quiet voice from behind him said "I wouldn't draw your wand, sir. I'm feeling very emotional right now and I might not have the best control of my magic." The heavy feeling in the air somehow became even more oppressive, and Malfoy made a face like he was being slowly crushed to death between two massive stone walls. He turned to face the much younger boy, staring into hard emerald eyes that glittered in the gloom.

Harry Potter stared into Lucius Malfoy's pale, sneering face without an ounce of fear. Malfoy sniffed disdainfully, moving his hand away from the head of his cane.

"Imagine my surprise, Lucius - when I reached out to the board of governors and they suggested I take up my post here at Hogwarts again. Why it almost sounded as if you'd been threatening people. And lucky we are that Harry Potter was here to defeat Slytherin's fabled monster and protect the school."

"Then let's hope, for all our sakes, that Harry Potter is always around to defend Hogwarts."

Holding eye contact with Malfoy, Harry Potter gave a smile that looked almost feral and very out of place on the face of a thin, small, scruffy child. Staring over the tops of his spectacles, the boy ground out "Don't you worry about that, sir."

Whirling to stride out of the room, the blonde man quickly made his exit, slamming the door behind him quite hard.

"I am conflicted, Mister Potter. On the one hand, I cannot condone what sounded to me almost like you threatened Malfoy Senior." The old man let the statement just hang in the air.

"I apologize, sir. I meant no disrespect." said Harry, who could tell that the headmaster was only barely keeping a smirk off his face.

"Is there anything you'd like to tell me, young man?" queried the headmaster.

Harry looked over at the phoenix who had reclaimed his perch, then back at the headmaster. The boy told a story of just barely surviving an encounter with the terrifying beast and his thankfulness that Fawkes was willing to help him heal after being bitten by the basilisk. He expressed grief over not being able to save the youngest Weasley.

"It's not always an easy road to walk. However, better to do the right thing than the easy thing, wouldn't you say?"

"Absolutely, sir. The right thing, every time, for sure."

HP

Leaving Hogwarts

Since the end of year exams had been canceled, this left the students with a certain amount of free time. This meant that Harry was free to roam the castle more or less freely for a solid week. He made stops on the seventh floor, dipped back into the chamber of secrets - all with nobody being the wiser. Since the Weasleys had all gone home, the second year dorm was quiet at night. The remaining Gryffindors all slept as soundly as they ever had.

The boy packed his trunk in advance and had secured all of his belongings well. In fact, if anyone had thought to look inside his trunk, they might have thought there seemed to be less space than normal - and they would have been right to think so. Harry had also sent his owl on ahead to the Dursleys with a note indicating he didn't need them to pick him up at the station.

The morning of the leaving feast, Harry called out quietly, "Dobby - can you hear me?"

The house elf popped into the second year's dorm quietly, looking disheveled and exhausted. "What can Dobby be doing for Mister Harry Potter?"

"Would you like to be free of the Malfoys, Dobby?" asked Harry in a gentle voice. He could tell that the elf was continuing to suffer the abuses of evil masters and would help if the elf wanted it.

Dobby couldn't vocalize his desire to be free of his situation, but his silence was answer enough. Harry reached out one of his hands, placing it on Dobby's head - one short pulse of magic later, and Dobby's eyes went wide.

"You have freed Dobby? Such powerful magic!" breathed the elf with reverence.

"Would you like a proper family to serve, Dobby? One that will never treat you poorly?"

Nodding, Dobby was hopping from foot to foot as Harry leaned back and smiled. Snapping his fingers, Harry generated a second pulse of magic - picking up Dobby's bond. As magic flooded the house elf's body, he started glowing softly. His wounds began to fade away as Dobby smiled widely.

"Dobby, I will never ask you to punish yourself. Ever. If anyone tries to give you that kind of an order you tell me immediately, and I will sort them out." The look on Harry's face was kind as well as very serious. "Just serve me well. That's all I ask."

Bowing low, Dobby faded out of view leaving Harry chuckling to himself.

As Dobby vanished with a soft pop, Harry leaned back on his bed, considering his newest acquisition. House-elves had always been undervalued, even by the most powerful wizards, but Harry knew better. Dobby's magic was potent and, more importantly, unrestricted by the usual boundaries that governed wizards. The elf could slip in and out of Hogwarts undetected, bypass magical defenses without so much as a whisper, and retrieve information or items from nearly anywhere without leaving a trace. An asset like that would be invaluable—not just here, but in the long run. He'd never been able to take an elf with him between dimensions, but then, he'd never tried before. If he could manage it, Dobby might be the perfect companion: loyal, capable, and bound to him in a way that left no room for betrayal. It was a rare thing to find, loyalty without sentiment. Harry gave a small, satisfied smile. Dobby would be very useful indeed.

HP

The Beginning of Summer

The leaving feast was a somber affair. All of the house tapestries were black to honor the fallen student, and there wasn't a single Weasley in attendance. The mood was subdued, and the traditional buzz of chatter was at a much lower level than usual. Dumbledore stood and approached his speaking lectern.

"Here we are, another year gone and our minds fuller. But this year, our hearts hang heavy. When one leaves us far too young, it leaves marks upon us all that will take time and rest to heal. Please, everyone, raise a goblet for Miss Weasley."

The hall all raised their goblets in remembrance, even though there were some wearing sour faces while they did so. Harry looked around, committing those faces to memory. The one face that struck him as odd however was a blonde haired girl in Ravenclaw. She looked outraged, her goblet shaking slightly as they all toasted the memory of a young girl, taken away by malice and evil.

HP

The next morning, the students all proceeded out of the castle and onto the Hogwarts Express. Harry and Hermione hadn't talked much after Hermione had been released from the matron's care, but they found a compartment on the train together.

"Harry, " started the frizzy haired girl, "you need to tell me what happened. Tell me everything!"

Smiling, Harry glanced at Hermione, watching her eyes widen as he locked the compartment and dimmed the windows. It didn't take much to impress her—she was so eager to understand, so hungry for knowledge, but ultimately just another naive girl who thought the world made sense in neat little stories. Let her believe she was seeing the real him. He'd mastered this script long ago; the hardest part was pretending he still cared about the details.

"Don't distract me, Harry Potter" pouted Hermione. "You have to tell me what happened. Did you open the Chamber of Secrets? What did you see? Who was the Heir? Nobody will tell me anything!" Her voice had risen in volume as she spoke faster and faster. She looked like she was on the edge of stomping her little feet.

She crossed her arms and just glared at Harry. Then she started in surprise as both of their trunks floated off of the overhead racks, spun slowly and lazily around in the compartment, and returned themselves to their storage places. Harry held his hands up, palms facing one another. Small bolts of what looked like lightning started arcing between his open hands, illuminating his face in an ethereal, unearthly glow.

"You see? That was nothing. But that's how these things always start. Very, very small."

The awed look on Hermione's face suggested that he had impressed her with his casual display of elemental magic. Harry thought, "If only she knew what he'd seen, what he was capable of. This… was child's play."

HP

After Harry had explained his version of what had happened down in the chamber - which matched the version of the story he had told to Dumbledore, he cleared the windows and disengaged the locks on the compartment.

It wasn't long before the compartment door slid open to reveal Draco Malfoy, complete with superior and self satisfied smirk looking for all the world like a round faced younger version of his father.

Ah, Draco Malfoy. Different dimension, same sneer. It was almost comforting how predictable he was, strutting in with that air of superiority as though he owned the place. Harry wondered briefly if this version of Draco would pose any real challenge in the future, but quickly dismissed the thought. He'd dealt with his kind before: all bark, very little bite. Malfoy had no idea who he was up against.

"This is almost too easy," he thought, a flicker of amusement sparking within him. "A few words, a flick of the wand, and even Draco Malfoy falls in line."

"I can't help but notice you're missing a part of the 'golden trio'," started the pale blonde boy. "Now all that's left is to rid ourselves of all the mudbloods that remain and we'll just about have cleaned the place up."

Looking between Harry and Hermione, Draco continued "Though, it's not like anyone would actually notice losing a Weasley - what with how many of them there are, running around."

Harry watched Hermione bristle at Draco's words, her face flushing with anger. Predictable, just like all the others. She still hadn't learned to keep her emotions in check, and it was so easy to push her buttons. If Draco had any brains, he'd see it too, but he was too focused on his little jabs, too caught up in his own petty games. Harry felt no anger, no sense of insult—just a vague impatience. What a waste of time, all of it.

Harry could see Hermione getting worked into a froth from across the compartment. With a smirk, the black haired boy looked between both Draco and Hermoine, "I'm glad you're both here. There's something I need to tell the both of you."

"What's that, Harry?" queried Hermione.

Harry felt a flash of satisfaction as both Hermione and Draco's attention snapped to him, their expressions mixed with curiosity and wariness. He had them both in the palm of his hand, and it took almost nothing to keep them there. It was astonishing, really, how little people questioned things, how easily they accepted whatever he wanted them to see. A word, a look, a smile—he controlled their entire reality. And right now, that reality requires a little… adjustment.

"Confundus"

HP

The rest of the train ride went without issue. Draco had blinked his eyes, looked between the two children in the compartment, given his head one last little shake and then started to move away from the compartment.

Harry's gaze lingered on Draco's retreating figure, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. So easy to handle, these people. They'd never question him, never suspect a thing. A part of him almost wished for a challenge—but that was the problem with this world, wasn't it? Everyone here was so small, so… limited. It was almost a relief when the door slid shut and Draco disappeared from view.

He glanced at Hermione as she reached for her book, her curiosity apparently quelled. She was another one who saw herself as clever, observant—but she, too, was as easy to control as the rest. So eager to know, and yet so blind to what really mattered. He doubted she'd ever understand the true depths of what he was capable of. Best to keep her in the dark; there were things she was better off not knowing.

Hermione gave Harry a look of curiosity, shrugged, then pulled a book out of her bag and sat quietly for the rest of the trip and read. She didn't even stop her reading to eat - continuing as she munched on a small container of vegetables.

Hours passed without any further conversation. The hum of excitement outside the compartment barely registered as Harry gathered his things, feeling a deep, familiar detachment from the scene around him. The others were buzzing with anticipation, eager to see their families, to return to lives of predictable normalcy. They'd never understand the weight of his own journey, the endless loop of worlds he'd walked through. And why should they? This was just another place, another checkpoint. He had no attachments here, no reason to linger. Only his goal mattered, and he was one step closer.

Disembarking from the train, Harry moved through the crowd like a shadow, slipping past happy reunions and tearful farewells without a second thought. These people clung to each other as though they were afraid to let go, blind to the greater realities that lay beyond. It was almost… quaint. But Harry had long since left such sentimentality behind. He was on his own path, one that no one else could follow, one that didn't end with simple things like family and friendship. Let them keep their small comforts. He had something far greater waiting for him.

Harry separated from Hermione with no further words being said and headed into one of the restrooms in the station. The cold tiles of the restroom echoed with the sounds of rushing water and muffled voices outside the stall. For a moment, Harry stood still, savoring the anonymity of this in-between place. With a quiet flicker of thought, he vanished, leaving the last remnants of this world behind him without even the merest whisper of sound left behind. Every time he did this, it felt like shedding a layer, slipping out of one reality and into another. He was getting closer now—closer to controlling his own destiny, to moving beyond the confines of these limited worlds. Soon, he would no longer need anyone's permission, anyone's rituals. Soon, he would be free.

HP

Dealing with the Dursleys

Harry appeared at the curb in front of Number 4, smiling widely as he walked right up to the front door. The door was, of course, locked - not like a simple pulse of magic wasn't enough to sort that out. Stepping across the threshold, Harry called out, "Dursleys! I'm hooooome!"

All three Dursleys were sitting in the living room, in front of TV trays where it was obvious that dinner was still ongoing. The three turned to look at Harry with varying degrees of confusion on their faces.

"No, no, don't get up. I just have one really important thing to tell everyone," said Harry with a smirk.

"Confundus"

HP

Harry walked through the kitchen out into the back yard, and stopped next to the shed. After having confounded the Dursleys, the wards snapped into place with a powerful vengeance. Since they were powered by familial love and sacrifice, Petunia's and Dudley's sudden and overwhelming affection for Harry strengthened the wards in mere minutes far beyond any previous levels of protection. Harry knew he didn't particularly need this level of defense, but there was no point in turning it down when it was available for no actual cost.

Besides, strong blood wards at Privet drive served as another layer of effective smoke screen from Albus 'too many names' Dumbledore.

Harry smirked as he felt the wards lock into place, their strength bolstered by the Dursleys' sudden and artificial fondness for him. The irony was almost poetic. Blood wards powered by 'familial love'—such a quaint notion. He was long past such illusions, but as a free source of protection, it was useful enough.

The Dursleys barely registered as people to him anymore—just convenient placeholders in a system designed to keep him under watch. It was almost amusing, really, how easily he could subvert that system to suit his needs.

He set his pack down and rummaged around inside long enough to pull a small cube out and place it on the ground. Tapping the top of the cube with a finger, the cube started growing in size until it was about the size of the shed. Picking his bag back up, he touched a rune cluster on the wall next to the front door, opened it, and proceeded inside.

Inside, Harry was back in his element. This was no longer the world of Hogwarts and petty schoolboy squabbles. Here, he was surrounded by reminders of his journey—each item a testament to his power, his patience, his endless ambition. This shed was more a home to him than any place he'd ever known.

While the outside looked like an otherwise nondescript shed, the inside was a master class in comfort. The entryway was appointed in dark hardwoods and long rugs. There were display cases lining the right wall full of all kinds of interesting items, while the left wall was a solid set of bookcases from floor to ceiling completely full of every sort of book, scroll, or tome Harry had acquired by way of his jaunts throughout the multiverse.

The shelves held a strange assortment of artifacts from worlds that very few in this world could comprehend—a dagger forged from dragonbone, an orb that pulsed faintly with shifting colors, a book bound in scales, its title scrawled in a language that had no place in this reality. Each item was a reminder of his journey and the power he had accumulated, piece by piece, across dimensions.

A small kitchen could be found through a door off to one side, as well as what amounted to a domestic working room complete with laundry facilities and storage. It was into this kitchen that Harry went, dropping his backpack onto the counter. Taking his time, he ground some coffee beans and made a fresh cup of french press before sitting down with his backpack at the little breakfast nook that was the only table space in the kitchen.

Digging out a small journal and a pen, he sipped his coffee while flipping through the last few pages with any writing on it. Settling in, he started writing down some of his thoughts and plans. He called out "Dobby?"

With a near silent pop of displaced air, the house elf materialized in the kitchen and looked around, eyes wide. "Master Harry Potter, sir! What can Dobby be doing for you?"

Smiling, Harry replied, "First off, would you like some coffee beans? They're in that bag over there," He pointed over to a paper bag on the counter. "Please, help yourself." Harry had discovered in a previous dimension that while Dobby didn't like to drink coffee, he really enjoyed the taste of the beans themselves. The darker the roast, the better.

With a hop of delight, the house elf grabbed a small handful of the beans, popping one of them into his mouth. As Dobby chewed on the bean, a look of utter contentment was on his face, Harry watched the house elf's eyes light up, his expression blissful. It was so easy to keep Dobby content, just a few small concessions, and he'd be loyal to the end. Harry didn't feel warmth or attachment—just the satisfaction of having yet another piece secured in his game.

"Please move my trunk into my quarters, which will be the second door on the left. Feel free to explore both levels as you see fit. There is a house elf sized space just off of the domestic workroom - move in whatever you'd like." Harry continued to idly make notes in his journal as he gave the elf instructions, "If there's anything in particular you need from me, just ask. Also, please place this," fishing out what looked like a shrunken standing wardrobe from his backpack and handing it to Dobby, "inside of my Gringotts vault."

Dobby took the small object, bowed low, and disappeared.

Humming to himself, Harry jotted down one more note and then got up from the table, cup of coffee in hand. His backpack floated along behind him as he left the kitchen, heading for his workshop. He had a horcrux to deal with.

HP

Into the workshop

As he entered into his workshop with his cup of coffee in hand, he waved a hand, kicking on the Edison style light fixtures. The room was a wild assortment of gadgets, gizmos, and geegaws. Material was stacked neatly and organized by type - sheets and pipes of various metals, spools of wiring, panes of multi colored glass. This was a working space to make Adam Savage salivate with glee.

Harry's gaze swept over the organized shelves and humming apparatus, feeling a quiet satisfaction settle over him. Every piece in here, every tool and trinket, had a purpose. This wasn't some haphazard collection of relics; this was a functional workshop, a crucible for his experiments. Let Dumbledore and others like him have their musty old relics and dusty books—Harry's realm was one of precision and power, where every item was a means to an end.

On one of the benches sat an odd looking contraption - a runic cistern at the top, adorned by crystals, with coils of tubing and wire leading into some kind of black and red box. Runes on the sides of the box were pulsing with a weak but malevolent glow that was much harder to see with the lights turned on.

The box was, in turn, wired into what looked like a pair of golden clamps that had a tight grip on what could only be a wand. Made of a light wood and a small hook at the end, this particular wand was incredibly famous - but only to the few people who had ever faced it and lived to say so. The wand was pointed at a fairly large crystal, and seemed to be aligned with a companion wand on the far side of that crystal - a wand that would look, to the casual observer, to be a perfect and identical match to the wand that Harry himself now carried in the back pocket of his trousers.

The floating backpack came to rest on the main work table in the middle of the room and Harry reached inside to pull out a beautiful tiara.

He held the tiara in his hand, feeling a familiar dark miasma radiate from it. Once, he might have felt a flicker of fear, but now it was just an afterthought, another piece of junk waiting to be processed. All that supposed 'evil' was just potential energy, something to be converted and redirected. The tiara was like a rotting fruit—disgusting to anyone else, but to him, it was just fuel.

The boy paid the tiara and its embedded evil little mind as he placed the object into a vice grip that was attached to the central table.

Then he rummaged through a set of drawers and drew out what looked like a small rubber hammer and a couple different tuning forks.

As Harry tapped the tiara with the tuning fork, he listened to the tones with a careful, practiced ear. He could feel the resonance vibrating through the metal, the faint discord of Voldemort's tainted magic clinging to it. It was all so… predictable. After handling so many Horcruxes, he could practically feel the flowing patterns of dark energy sensing the best way to siphon it off. No mystique, no fear. Just another circuit to be grounded and dismantled.

Seemingly unsatisfied, he repeated the process a few more times with different forks and slight variations on the hammer taps.

Setting the tools on the table, he reached back into his bag and drew out a relatively non-descript hardback journal. Jotting down a few notes into it with a pen he had retrieved from a different pocket, he repeated the same tapping and examination steps on the light wood wand held in the clamps. Tapping the crystal a few times with the hammer, he listened carefully.

He took the wand out of his back pocket, tapped the dark cube on a couple of runes, then repeated his examination of the wand. Satisfied, he unclamped the tiara from the bench and unceremoniously tossed it into the runic cistern at the end of the contraption. As he watched, there was a humming from the system, just on the edge of sound. The holly wand at the end of the contraption was beginning to generate a ball of very dark purple light from its tip.

The boy took off his shirt, and moved to the end of the bench to take up a position standing in the path of the holly wand. There was an engraved metal wall behind him with a set of markings on it for reference. Harry raised his left arm to a particular spot amongst the markings. Then his arm seemed to just flow away in a small river of dark gray fluid, revealing hand and forearm bones that seemed to be made up of some dark eldritch metal. He rotated his arm slightly and then called out "Engage!"

A beam of energy leapt from the holly wand, and as Harry watched, tiny, pinhead sized runes took shape as they were etched into the material. The runes were white hot, cooling rapidly to a dark black - blending in with the metal itself. It was the work of minutes, and then the beam cut off abruptly. A tinny voice issued from the black box that said "Thank you, come again", causing Harry to smile widely.

The dull silvery fluid that had held itself away from the bones flowed back into place around them again, taking the form of flesh, sinew, and muscle. Walking back towards the cistern, Harry shrugged back into his shirt and reached in to retrieve the tiara. The object seemed to have been purged of all of the evil taint that it had carried originally. Without giving it a lot of thought, Harry reached down, opening a larger, deeper drawer in the central table and absently tossed the tiara in to live amongst what seemed to be a handful of other tiaras that looked just like it, a couple of lockets, three goblets with a badger motif, some petrified rats, a black diary, and one shrunken nundu skull.

The drawer clinked softly as the tiara landed among its fellow relics, each one a testament to a battle won, a world left behind. A drawer full of trophies. Or was it litter? Hard to say, really—what did it matter? He didn't need them to remember his victories, to measure his power. They were just remnants, hollow shells from a game he'd mastered long ago.

Once, people killed to keep artifacts like these safe, hidden in vaults and cursed tombs. Now they were relics, hollow reminders of all the worlds he'd left behind. Funny, really—other versions of him would have been horrified by this collection, but to him, it was nothing but clutter. Things to be processed, emptied, and discarded.

He closed the drawer, and headed over to a computer workstation and booted it up. Taking another sip of coffee as he waited while the boot sequence continued, he scooted a stool closer and perched himself upon it. After the system seemed to have settled down, the boy tapped a couple of keys then reached for a sensor pad attached to a black wire and attached it to his left wrist. A window that was open on the desktop started plotting points, and rendering a line to fit them. The line seemed to be higher up some scale than the line that was plotted and rendered below it.

He watched the line chart climb on the monitor, a tangible record of his gains. People in this world wouldn't understand; to them, magic was some sacred, untouchable thing, a gift to be wielded carefully. But he'd learned that power could be quantified, channeled, controlled. Reduced to data points. He traced the upward slope with his finger, feeling a calm satisfaction. Each Horcrux brought him closer—closer to freedom, closer to control. One step further on a path he'd walked alone for too long to turn back.

Nodding in satisfaction, Harry made another note in his journal before packing it away and shutting things back down. He left his workshop, cup of coffee in hand and the lights cut out as he left the room.

HP

The Ministry

The next morning, Harry took the Knight Bus to the ministry of magic, stepping off the bus at the stop closest to the British Telecom phone box that served as the public entrance. After typing in the number sequence for 'magic', a voice issued from the phone.

"Please state the nature of your visit to the Ministry of Magic."

"I am here to take advantage of a legal loophole surrounding getting a Mastery in Defense Against the Dark Arts," said Harry.

"Welcome back to the Ministry of Magic, Gilderoy Lockheart," and the phone dispensed a small badge that read 'Loophole Abuser'.

Harry's fingers traced over the raised letters on the badge, his smirk widening. "Loophole Abuser." He had to admit, the Ministry's sense of irony was almost impressive. Here he was, playing their system like a finely tuned instrument, and they had the cheek to label him for it. He might have been insulted if it weren't so amusing. But if they wanted to hand him the keys to their own bureaucracy, well, who was he to refuse?

Harry laughed all the way to the wand check-in desk.

HP

Down in the department responsible for issuing Masteries, Harry simply extracted a memory and placed it into the ministry provided tamper proof vial.

Mumbling the anti-tampering charm, the ministry drone looked over her glasses, "Well Mister Potter, it will take about a week for the parchmentwork to be processed and reviewed."

The Ministry drone looked up, her expression bored, eyes dull. She'd seen it all before, no doubt—the bribes, the whispered requests, the sidelong glances. Harry almost felt sorry for her. Almost. But he wasn't here to sympathize with the cogs in the machine; he was here to make the machine work for him. Harry chuckled and pulled out a small pouch that made suspicious sounding metallic noises.

He let the pouch clink softly on her desk, and looked pointedly away making sure she understood without a word. If there was one language the Ministry spoke fluently, it was money.

With a smirk the drone picked up the pouch, dumped it onto her desk. "Ah yes, Mister Potter, this appears to cover all of the appropriate fees for… "

"Expedited and anonymous processing?" suggested Harry helpfully.

"Precisely, sir!" waving her wand, a couple of rolls of parchment floated into her office

Very quickly, the forms were filled out and signed. The drone tapped all the forms with her wand. In an impressive flurry of duplication and rolling, waxing and sealing, the rolls all disappeared with a popping and snapping sound.

As the drone's wand moved, copying, stamping, sealing, Harry watched with a faint sense of satisfaction. The entire system was designed to be a fortress of red tape, a labyrinth of forms and requirements meant to keep order. But to him, it was nothing but a puzzle, and he had all the pieces. He was almost disappointed by how easy it was. A few galleons, a prepared memory, a little patience. The Ministry was so easily gamed if you knew which wheels to grease.

The requisite Mastery certificate appeared on the drone's desk, back dated to a week before. The drone floated it over into Harry's hands, and Harry gave a wink as he left the registration office.

Harry took the certificate, his fingers running over the official seal. A genuine Defense Against the Dark Arts Mastery, dated a week prior. It was almost laughable. Wizards who'd trained for years would kill for one of these, and here he was, walking out of the office with it in less than an hour. Power, in this world, was rarely about strength or knowledge alone. It was about knowing how to pull the right strings, and being unafraid to pull them hard.

The boy made his way out of the Ministry, an anonymously emancipated adult in the eyes of the magical government. This was another example of legislative trickery that was sometimes used as a way for heirs to take over as the head of their houses before they were of age. It required that the person in question be the only remaining living member of the house as well as having killed a creature deemed dangerous enough. The only real risk was dealing with killing a creature of the appropriate level of lethality, as well as being able to craft a memory that would stand up to scrutiny. Harry Potter was a perfect storm of just the right events in this case, since he hadn't even needed to falsify or tamper with the memory - he merely used his original memory of the event.

HP

Heading back home, Harry dropped his various items off in the kitchen before heading down the main hallway. He looked like he was pulling random books out of the shelves, and only the most observant person would have been able to hear the quiet mechanical sounds that accompanied him doing so.

Each book slid out with a soft "click," a well-worn ritual that had become second nature by now. Harry enjoyed the precision of it, the small but satisfying feeling of security. Every lock, every rune, each carefully positioned book was another layer between him and the outside world. He'd learned long ago that true safety wasn't about brute force; it was about control. And there was something deeply satisfying about hiding his treasures in plain sight, where no one would ever think to look.

After around fifteen books had all been slid out from the shelf by about an inch on his way to what appeared to be the end of the hallway. Facing an elaborate grandfather clock, he tapped out a pattern of the engraved runes with the tip of his finger.

"Sometimes, the classics are the best, " mused Harry out loud to exactly nobody, as the clock morphed into an archway over a set of stairs leading down.

HP

As Harry reached the landing at the bottom of the stairs, he came up alongside what looked like a large cabinet set into a recess in the wall. Opening the cabinet door, and stepping through the cabinet into the vault felt like slipping between worlds. Gringotts prided itself on being the most secure bank in the wizarding world, but to him, it was just another vault. Just another institution that could be circumvented with enough planning and the right leverage.

After a moment, he pushed the door open from the inside and stepped through the cabinet's mate that he'd had Dobby place in his Gringotts vault previously. He looked at the heaps of gold, the stacks of treasures, and felt no particular attachment to any of it. Wealth was a resource, a tool to be moved around like pieces on a chessboard. Leave too much lying around in one place, and you're only inviting someone else to come and take it.

Reaching into a pocket, he pulled out a handful of trunks and tossed them out around his feet. Then he drew his wand from its holster and gave it a wave. The trunks all returned to their original sizes and flipped open. Like he was conducting an orchestra only he could hear, Harry waved his wand with careful precision, directing the golden stream into each trunk. It was almost mesmerizing, the way the coins glittered as they flowed through the air like a sparkling river. To anyone else, this much gold might have been overwhelming, a fortune beyond imagining. To him, it was a convenience, a means to an end. Power didn't come from wealth; wealth was just another asset, one of many. True power lay in knowing when to use it and when to let it go.

He continued this process until the vault was completely empty except for a single bronze knut sitting in the center of the floor and a collection of trunks.

Harry paused for a moment, eyeing the lone knut lying in the center of the floor. A touch of irony, a nod to the goblins who believed in their own invulnerability. He almost felt a touch of satisfaction, leaving that small, insignificant coin behind—a message, though he doubted anyone would ever understand it. Let them puzzle over the empty vault if they ever discovered it. It was a reminder to himself, more than anyone, that he was done depending on other people's security.

Harry reshrank all of the trunks, placing them back into his pockets. He tapped a rune on the side of the cabinet before stepping back inside and pulling the door shut behind himself. It was just a moment more before Harry was back in his home - with nobody at Gringotts being the wiser.

Once Harry stepped out of the cabinet located in his home, he pulled the trunks out again and set them on a nearby table to deal with. This room was a very large warehouse where Harry stored his valuables, and as such, there was a large amount of money present. There were side rooms off of the main holding space that were essentially what looked like huge pits full of galleons, though Harry tended to not make a habit of hoarding sickles or knuts - the value wasn't enough to really bother.

The raven haired boy waved his wand again and all the new trunks popped open, streaming golden coins through the air to swirl about in a sparkling cloud. One of the side doors popped open, and Harry directed the stream through the opening to join the money already held there. He knew he had more money than he knew what to do with, however the idea of leaving easily obtainable resources where just anyone could take them rubbed him the wrong way.

All of the silver and bronze coins collected into a single chest which snapped shut with a satisfying snap, sealing away what most would consider a small fortune. To him, it was loose change, barely worth his attention. But someone else would find use in it—St. Mungo's, or maybe a Muggle charity. A little good done here and there, at no real cost to him. He wasn't a hero, not anymore. But he wasn't a monster either. Just someone who understood that, in the grand scheme of things, every bit of goodwill was another layer of protection and cost him very little.

HP

Leaving his treasury and securing it behind him, Harry pressed each book back into place as he walked, restoring the hallway's appearance to its pristine state. He liked the idea of hiding everything in plain sight, the illusion of normalcy concealing layers of complexity and control. If anyone ever managed to breach his defenses, they'd still have to solve the puzzle he'd left behind. He was far from paranoid—this was simply caution, honed by years of experience and necessity. His secrets were his own, and he intended to keep it that way.

In the kitchen, Harry slid back into the little booth, fishing out his journal. Leafing through the book, he found the right page, and made a tick mark.

Harry called out, "Dobby, I need you."

Dobby popped in with a smile on his face, "How may I serve you, Master Harry?"

"Remember the little cabinet I had you put into my vault in Gringotts? Now I need you to move it into the main Potter vault, please. Since there isn't a lot here for you to clean, I know you've got some free time. I'd like you to help out at any of the local non-magical hospitals that are relatively close. Non-magical people always need an extra hand keeping things clean."

Smiling and bowing, Dobby disappeared slowly and without a sound. Harry chuckled as Dobby faded away, impressed by the elf's control over his own magic. For all the wizarding world underestimated house-elves, they were creatures of formidable power, if only they realized it. Dobby's little show-off exit was a reminder of that, a silent statement of strength. "Good," Harry thought. He wanted Dobby powerful, independent, and loyal. In this world, there were so few he could trust, but at least he knew where he stood with Dobby.

HP

The Hallows and Padfoot

Even though this day had already been particularly productive, Harry decided that he would finish the next thing on his list. He stood from the table, rummaged around in his pack and drew out a small wooden case. It was stained a dark color, and as he opened it, lying inside, nestled into velvet lined indentations shaped specifically for the items that were held there were an elder wood wand and a ring holding a black stone.

The smell of cedar rose faintly from the case as Harry lifted the wand and ring. The Hallows—legendary relics, the stuff of myths in most universes. He remembered the awe he'd once felt at possessing them, back when he still thought there was a line between life and death that couldn't be crossed. Now, they were tools, plain and simple. Useful, yes, but no more special than the hundreds of other enchanted objects he'd collected over the years. He slipped on the ring and gripped the wand, feeling the faint shimmer of magic settle over him. Legendary or not, today, the Hallows had a job to do.

He set the case on the table and extracted the two items, slipping the ring onto a finger and holding the wand loosely in his other hand. His entire body seemed to shimmer as some powerful magic settled into place. Then his form disappeared entirely with no sound and no trace left behind.

HP

Azkaban island was one of the most well known locations in British Wizarding society, but the relative isolation kept foot traffic down to a bare minimum. That and the fact that dementors roamed freely with instructions to feed at will upon anyone they found outside of a cell that was not wearing a ministry control amulet.

The air was thick with the cold dread that only dementors could bring, but Harry barely noticed it. He'd left fear behind long ago, traded it for the kind of power that made creatures like dementors irrelevant. Once, he might have been afraid of losing his mind in a place like this. Now, he was just… bored. The dementors were little more than shadows, pests on the edges of his consciousness. If any dared approach, they'd get a taste of what it meant to face true death. And he was in no mood to play nice.

Harry Potter did not care one whit about dementors or their feeding. He was here to retrieve Sirius Black from his otherwise unjust incarceration. In other instances, he had gone through all kinds of legal hoops to work out how to get him released, capturing Pettigrew in a myriad of convoluted ways. There had even been one attempt where Pettigrew had, in a fit of guilt, turned himself in and pleaded with the ministry to release Black. Something about unrequited love or whatever.

This time, Harry just opted for the direct approach, which was why he dusted off the Deathly Hallows from his original universe. He didn't technically have that specific version of the cloak any more, but that had to do with the fact that the runic structures that were a part of the cloak's enchantments had been integrated into the liquid metal that made up his body in place of organic flesh and blood. He had gotten the idea from some science fiction movies in his original universe, and while it seemed like a good idea at the time, it had come with its own set of challenges.

However, combining the wand and the ring from that original universe fully unlocked the complete set of artifact level abilities. Any one of the items alone was useful, but the three together provided a level of stealth that nothing could penetrate without some form of artifact level scrying - and there were items capable of such, which is why Harry was careful and only used these items together when it was really needed.

Breaking into and out of a magical prison certainly counted for that. Appearing on the island itself, Harry looked around to see if anything had spotted him. In this instance, isolation proved to be helpful as he trotted on over to the wall that was right about where Sirius' cell should be. Waving the death stick, a small opening appeared in the black stone - about the size of a large dog.

Harry bent down, putting his face to the hole. "Here, Padfoot. Who's a good boy? Come on, Padfoot, let's go."

The dog sniffed at him, confused, curious, and Harry felt a brief flash of something—pity, maybe? He'd always admired Sirius, but this version of Padfoot was little more than a shadow of the man he remembered. Years in Azkaban had left their mark, but even this wasn't the worst he'd seen. With time, Sirius would be able to come back from the edge. For now, it was easier to coax him out like a stray dog, to give him something simple to latch onto in the haze.

Stepping back, Harry could hear the sounds of something snuffling at the hole before a dark, shaggy form carefully moved out of the cell and onto the grim stared up at Harry, with a look that could only somehow be described as 'canine curiosity'.

"Just one more thing to do, before we're out of here for good. Hold your little doggy horses."

Harry glanced around the dank, filthy cell before transfiguring a convincing body onto the cot. It was a trick he'd used before—a decoy to buy time. Three days, give or take, before the Ministry realized their prized prisoner had disappeared without a trace. It was almost too easy. They relied so heavily on walls, bars, and Dementors, never thinking that someone might bypass all that with a flick of a wand and a touch of ingenuity. It was laughable, really, how much faith people put in their systems.

"That will hold for about three days, " said Harry with a smirk. "Just enough time, I should think." He waved his wand at the wall again and watched the stone flow back into place, leaving the wall intact and undamaged.

Harry let the dog sniff his hand for a moment before placing that hand on Padfoot's head and activated the invisibility enchantments, Harry felt the familiar shimmer of dislocation as they shifted out of Azkaban's grim reality. It was an unceremonious exit, no grand gestures, no daring chase. Just silence. And that was how he preferred it—quiet, efficient, no loose ends. He glanced down at the grim form of his godfather, wondering how much of the old Sirius was left in there. It would take time to rebuild him, but that was a problem for another day. For now, he had his prize. He'd saved Padfoot from the prison of Azkaban… but only time would tell if Sirius could free himself from the prison in his own mind.

HP

Grimmauld Place

A boy and his dog appeared out of thin air on a dark London street. Turning to face the dog which seemed to be eyeing the boy warily, Harry spoke up.

"Ok, Sirius. Let's get into Grimmauld Place and not stand around here on the street. We don't want to waste our time."

The dog shimmered for a moment before resolving into a ragged, otherwise unkempt man. With his voice rasping from disuse, the man croaked out "How… ," before he couldn't form any more words.

Harry watched Sirius transform, a ragged man emerging from the body of a grim, his eyes hollowed by years in Azkaban. It was like watching a shadow come to life. He knew Sirius was fragile right now, hanging on by a thread, but he'd seen worse versions of his godfather in other worlds. This Sirius could still be saved. A few weeks of rest, a few solid meals… time would do its work. But trust was a different matter. That would take something more.

"Relax Sirius, I will explain everything once we get inside." Harry was smiling warmly at Sirius and made a hand gesture in the general direction he knew the townhouse to be in. The gaunt man, clad in filthy, tattered rags, shuffled a little ways down the street and turned to look at Harry again.

Barely above a whisper, Sirius said "Sirius Black's home is twelve Grimmauld Place."

The two of them watched as the magic of the Fidelius charm revealed the house by appearing to just shove the two adjacent townhouses out of the way. Once that was done, the two of them headed to the front door. Harry led the way, then turning to smile again at Sirius, grabbed the door handle and pulled it open so that Sirius could precede him in.

His eyes wide as he stared at the boy, Sirius couldn't believe what he was seeing. The wards around all Black properties were old, powerful, and most of all dangerous. Yet they welcomed Harry into them like he'd always belonged there. Sirius could feel it. The house was thrumming with energy, like an excited puppy when their owner gets home from being gone on a long trip.

Harry could feel the wards humming around him, welcoming him like an old friend. Black wards were ancient, temperamental, and viciously protective, and they were treating him as if he were family. Technically, he was family by blood through his mother, but magic recognized something deeper than that—a kinship with the house itself, perhaps. It amused him to see Sirius's surprise; after everything he'd been through, there was a small satisfaction in knowing that even the ancient magics of this world could be bent to his will.

They went into the first floor kitchen together, taking care where they stepped, as the entire place was a miserable wreck. Sitting down at the table, Harry looked up at Sirius.

"Sirius, you should take a minute - get cleaned up. I am not going anywhere, and will still be here when you are done. Then we can plan on how to get our hands on the rat."

With that, the look on Sirius' face turned darker and it was almost possible to hear him grinding his teeth.

Harry called out, "Kreacher? Your master needs you." An ugly lump that only barely registered as a house elf popped into the kitchen with a sound that was almost sullen itself. Looking around, the elf registered both Harry and Sirius.

"Kreacher does not remember black haired boy, but he feels like powerful old master. What does powerful boy want?"

"I have freed your head of house from his unjust imprisonment and brought him home. He needs cleaning up, as does his house. I am going to ask my own elf to assist you with cleaning, for it seems like it might be too much for you."

Standing up just a little straighter, the elf's features moved around until they settled on something that looked less manic and disheveled, looking instead somewhat insulted. "Kreacher needs no help from the young master's personal elf. Will get Black head into the bath and cleaned."

"Excellent. When you have him in the bath, come back - I need something from you."

Slumping slightly towards the floor in an approximation of a bow, the lump of an elf disappeared to some other portion of the house, presumably to get things prepared for Sirius.

"You can command the Black elf as well? I know that I officially made you my godson, but didn't realize how far that extended." Sirius seemed to be finding his voice a little easier to use.
"Sirius, there is a lot more going on than you know - but it'll keep until you've bathed. You stink."

WIth a chuckle that sounded more like a sound his dog form might have made, the taller man shuffled out of the kitchen and Harry could hear his footfalls fading as he progressed up the stairs.

HP

It was a few short minutes later when Kreacher appeared in front of Harry again. While he was waiting, Dobby had brought Harry both a cup of coffee and a small silk bag containing something which now sat on the table in front of him.

"Kreacher, I know about the last order Regulus gave you. Bring me the locket, please."

The look of hope on the disfigured elf's face would have been pure comedy if not for how out of place it looked. The elf reached into the folds of his layers of tatty cloth and drew out a locket bearing a snake motif, dripping with dark necrotic energy. Harry took the locket and placed it into the bag on the table, drawing out what looked like the same locket - but without the taint of necromantic magic.

"I know you will take good care of this in memory of your favorite master, Kreacher."

The elf took the locket reverently, sliding the chain around his neck. It seemed like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, eyes glittering in the light of the kitchen.

Harry watched as Kreacher's gnarled fingers reached for the locket, his entire body trembling with what looked like hope. House-elves were powerful in their own way, creatures of loyalty and pain, shaped by the whims of their masters. This one had clung to Regulus's last order with a fervor that bordered on obsession. It was a reminder that even the smallest acts of kindness could leave an impact, even on creatures as twisted as Kreacher. He would see that loyalty repaid—one way or another.

"Young black haired master is good to Kreacher. You will destroy the evil in that locket? Like Master Regulus ordered?"

"Better than that, elf. I am going to consume it," Harry said with a feral smile that the elf matched with a terrifying smile of his own.

HP

About 25 minutes later, Sirius wandered into the front hall leading into the kitchen looking magnitudes better than when he left. He'd cleaned up, shaved, and put on a dress shirt and slacks.

"Let me be the first to say it, Sirius. You look good, all cleaned up."

With a lopsided smirk, Sirius stood in the doorway, looking nonchalant. To someone with greatly heightened situational awareness, the older man's body positioning was anything but calm. Sirius gave Harry a very pointed look and said "Explain."

Harry proceeded to fill Sirius in on the ritual, the prophecy, the fact that this dimension's Harry had died. During the story, Sirius had come into the kitchen and carefully sat across from the raven haired traveler, keeping his wand in his hand. Along the way, a cup of tea and a plate of biscuits had been placed on the table between the two.

Shaking his head, Sirius looked like he was struggling to make sense of things. "You know Harry, I've heard about rituals like the one you described before. Something that older, more traditional families might do if they end up losing an heir for any reason."

Harry nodded in agreement, "Yes, that is something I have run into a couple of times as well. Families that lose heirs in accidents and are unwilling to either have another child or can't as well as being unwilling to let family magic die out. I know there is at least one book in the Black library that mentions an allied family having to pull in a replacement."

"So what does this mean for you? Are you actually Harry Potter?"

"Am I actually Harry Potter?" The question lingered in the air, and Harry couldn't help a dark chuckle. He was a Harry Potter, yes—one of many, a version that fate had tethered to this world like a spare part. To Sirius, that would be enough. To Dumbledore, it would be an answer and an insult all at once. He was the hero they needed, sure, but not the one they deserved. And that suited him just fine.

With a smile, Harry answered, "Well, I am not the Harry Potter but I am certainly a Harry Potter, and that is enough for me to become fate's spitoon the instant I stepped foot into this universe."

"What does that mean, precisely," asked Sirius.

"It means that as Harry lay dying here, the light in the prophecy orb that lives down in the Department of Ministry began to dim in intensity. Fate's weave was coming undone regarding the destiny tying Tom Riddle and Harry Potter together." Harry had always thought Riddle's made up name was stupid and refused to ever use it or any other term that was common to people too afraid to speak it. "But the moment I stepped through the rift Dumbledore created with Harry's dying blood, I met the criteria closely enough for the threads of fate to wind around me instead. That means now I can't leave this dimension until Tom Riddle is completely defeated."

"You knew that was going to happen, and you came through anyhow?"

"Why did I come?" Harry almost laughed at the simplicity of it. By this point, he didn't even question it. He'd been summoned so many times that the danger barely registered anymore. Tom Riddle was a small threat, a spark that he could snuff out more or less at will when the time came. It was a duty he didn't ask for, but one he'd grown accustomed to carrying. He'd seen worse monsters, and survived harsher worlds. If fate wanted him here, he'd play along—until he found his way out.

"Sirius, this is my fourteenth summons. By this point, Tom Riddle and his masked band of numpties are no more a threat to my safety than a hill of overly aggressive ants."

"And why are you telling me this?" Sirius did not look at all happy at what was being revealed.

"Because, in every universe so far, you get the stick. You are always in prison without a trial while Pettegrew gets to be fat and happy, living in comfort and relative luxury. Mind you, that life tends to take a pretty sharp turn whenever you get your hands on him, " Harry gave Sirius a dark look and a smile. "You are the only one I always try to save since I can't save Harry himself, because it isn't fair. You are the one person who has his heart in the right place, but got wrecked by circumstance. It's always a challenge to get anyone to leave you be, however. Politicians don't ever want to admit they made a mistake. They tend to prefer just burying the problem to dealing with it correctly."

"You mentioned earlier that we were going to make a plan to capture Peter? What then?"

"Well, Peter has information about something I want very badly - this dimension's version of Tom Riddle's wand. Beyond that, what you end up doing with him is between him and you. Turn him in, torture him for years, stuff his little rat form and leave it on the mantle," Harry just shrugged. "I leave the details of all that to you."

Harry could see the spark in Sirius's eyes, a flicker of life returning at the mention of Peter. Revenge wasn't his concern, not anymore. He'd fought that battle too many times to care. But he could give Sirius the chance to reclaim his own story, to write a different ending than the one fate had handed him. Whether that meant dragging Peter to the Ministry or tossing him into the fireplace as kindling… well, that was Sirius's choice. Harry would simply provide the means.

HP

Collecting the Rat

It was the work of three days of scouting out the Weasley home for the team of two humans and one house elf to figure out the best way to nab Peter Pettigrew from the family who was unwittingly providing shelter to a lying murderer.

On the third day, during a game of quidditch amongst the Weasley children, Sirius and Harry made a careful hole in the wards of the property. The hole was just big enough for Dobby to slide inside of them, pop to a room on the second floor to collect the rat who was snoozing flat on his back, and then get himself out again.

The three of them apparated away, back to 12 Grimmauld place. Entering the house, the three went into the kitchen where a tea service and fresh biscuits were waiting, courtesy of the Black elf.

The little lump of a rat was tossed onto the floor with a dull thud like the trash he was, stunned and twitching. Harry almost smirked at how pathetic it looked, this creature that had caused so much damage across so many dimensions. Once, he might have been consumed by anger at the sight, but now? Now, Peter was just a means to an end. The rat had information he needed, and once he'd squeezed it out, he'd be done. Let Sirius handle the rest—this one was hardly worth his time.

Sirius slumped into a chair and put his face in his hands, "I honestly expected this to be more of a thing."

Harry smiled as he replied, "I don't see why it needed to be. We knew right where he was, had everything we needed to do the snatch, and now we can finish up our business with Peter without interference."

Sirius's slumped shoulders and muttered complaints were almost funny. Harry supposed he could understand it; Sirius had probably imagined an epic showdown, a clash that would finally make up for years in Azkaban. But Harry had long since lost any interest in theatrics. Life was simpler, cleaner, when you cut out the unnecessary noise. The point was to get things done, not to bask in the satisfaction of a job well done. He gave Sirius a faint smile, privately amused. "More of a thing," indeed.

Sirius snatched a biscuit from the plate, jamming half of it into his mouth before turning to look down at the rat.

HP

The interrogation of Peter Pettigrew went without incident. Harry figured that Peter had not varied his hidey holes very much between universes, but felt it was always best to verify. Outside of the main wards on the Weasley property, a small hole at the base of a tree in the adjacent orchard was warded against weather and to protect from pests. Once he knew Peter had been true to form, he made sure the traitor gave up the secret to drawing both wands out of the hole without alerting anyone or damaging the items stored there.

As predicted, the transfiguration Harry had enacted to cover the removal of Sirius Black had lasted about three days. The ministry of magic did not report the situation for another week, and by this point, Sirius had already locked down all of the Black family accounts, taken enough for himself to survive comfortably, and left Britain entirely. He had opted to keep Peter in an enchanted cage, locked in his rat form and Harry could not have cared less.

The two had parted ways with a handshake, Sirius having absolutely nothing tying him to Wizarding Britain. As they shook hands, Harry felt a rare twinge of something—relief, perhaps. Sirius was free, finally breaking away from a life that had trapped him in misery and bitterness. In every dimension, he'd tried to help Sirius, tried to give him a second chance. This time, it looked like it might actually stick. Harry had never believed in happy endings, not really. But a clean slate? That, he could give to Sirius. It was the closest thing to justice this world had to offer.

Harry, for his part, had extracted Riddle's magical potential from the locket and improved his own by another incremental amount. The rest of the summer was spent working on an entirely unrelated project.

Harry had been looking for information on being able to create stable cross dimensional travel. The problem he had encountered in doing so was that the rituals capable of doing so themselves spanned multiple dimensions. So far, Harry had not yet recovered a complete set of instructions. Fourteen dimensions, and he was still trying to figure out what parts of the ritual he was missing - being patently unwilling to perform rituals haphazardly given how much could go wrong, often with terrifying and disastrous consequences.

Summer Research

Harry sat alone in the dim, musty silence of the Grimmauld Place library, surrounded by piles of leather-bound tomes and scattered parchment covered in hastily scrawled notes. The library smelled of dust and old magic, a faint coppery scent hanging in the air from the warded relics he'd brought here from other worlds. The only sounds were the soft scratching of his quill and the occasional crackle of the wards as the house adjusted to his presence. Dobby had brought him coffee—strong, dark, and bitter as his mood—but the cup sat untouched as he leaned over his notebook, brows furrowed in concentration.

He flipped through his notebook, fingers tracing over diagrams and notes he'd assembled over fourteen different dimensions. Each page held snippets of runic sequences, arcane symbols, and fragments of incantations that were supposed to enable stable cross-dimensional travel. And yet… he was still missing something. An essential part of the ritual, or maybe just the right sequence to link it all together. Without it, any attempt would be an exercise in catastrophe.

His gaze lingered on a sketch of a complicated rune cluster that he had encountered in Dimension Number 8—a world that had already seemed advanced in rituals involving spatial magic. But when he'd attempted to replicate the rune cluster here, it had fizzled out, leaving nothing but a faint scorch mark on the table. The magic had felt wrong somehow, like trying to force a square peg into a round hole. It was maddening.

"Fourteen worlds, and I'm still fumbling in the dark," he thought, barely able to suppress his frustration. *"Every world has given me a piece of the puzzle, but no one seems to have the whole thing. It's as if the ritual itself is mocking me."*

A New Lead Emerges

Harry set down his quill, rubbing his temples as he glanced around the room. The shelves of the Black family library loomed over him, filled with forbidden texts, ancient artifacts, and the accumulated secrets of generations of a family steeped in dark magic. He hadn't fully cataloged everything yet; there was simply too much, and only so much time.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a faint glint in a dark corner of the library, where Kreacher had recently stacked a few more objects dredged up from the depths of the house. One of them was a small, tarnished silver mirror, barely larger than his hand, marked with strange, angular runes around the edges.

Harry picked it up, running his thumb along the edge of the mirror as he recognized the runes—a binding spell of some kind, old and powerful. *"I've seen this before,"* he murmured to himself, his mind whirring as he tried to remember. He'd come across similar symbols in Dimension Number 10, on a ritual tablet that had almost driven him mad trying to decipher it. Could this be…?

"Kreacher,"* he called, and the house elf appeared with a low bow, his bat-like ears twitching.

"Yes, Master Harry?"

"Where did you find this mirror?"

"Kreacher found it in old Mistress Black's private vault, where she kept items too… troubling… even for the Black family. Kreacher was going to clean it, but thought Master Harry might want to examine it first."

Harry nodded, running his fingers over the runes. "Too troubling for the Blacks?" That was saying something. "Thank you, Kreacher. You've done well."

The elf bowed again and disappeared, leaving Harry alone with the mirror. He placed it on the table next to his notebook and began examining it in earnest. If the runes on the mirror matched those on the ritual tablet, then it was possible this mirror could help stabilize the dimensional travel process, anchoring him to one reality even as he moved between them. It was a theory, at least—and he was well past the point of ignoring theories.

HP

Piecing Together the Ritual

Hours later, with his fingers stained with ink and his head throbbing from the strain, Harry leaned back and took a deep breath. His notes sprawled across the table, connecting the mirror's runic symbols to similar markings in other artifacts he'd collected from different worlds. Piece by piece, he was beginning to see a potential link—a pattern that could theoretically bridge the gaps between dimensions, creating a stable pathway.

"This could be it," he thought, a spark of excitement flaring up despite his weariness. He could almost feel the pieces clicking into place in his mind, the ritual coalescing into something that felt… plausible. Dangerous, yes, but achievable.

He pulled out his wand and tapped it gently on the edge of the mirror. The runes glowed faintly, responding to his magic with a pulse of deep, ancient energy. A surge of confidence ran through him. This wasn't the full solution, but it was a part of it. One more step closer to freedom.

HP

The day wore on, and Harry continued to refine his notes, adjusting the runic sequences to account for the energy fluctuations he'd measured in previous failed attempts. The mirror would have to be incorporated as a focal point—a kind of anchor to keep him from "drifting" once he breached the boundary between dimensions. He jotted down more notes, double-checking the numbers, cross-referencing the incantations, feeling the ritual take shape with every line he wrote.

Finally, when he could feel his vision blurring and his focus waning, he set down his quill and leaned back, staring at the mirror. This summer had been productive, yes, but it had also reminded him how elusive true freedom was. The world he wanted was just a few dimensions away, if he could only find the right path.

"I'm close," he thought. *"Closer than I've ever been. Just a few more pieces, and this world will be nothing but a memory."*

The mirror lay on the table, its runes still faintly glowing, a beacon of promise and danger. As he gazed into its depths, Harry allowed himself a rare moment of hope.

HP

The library was silent, the dim light from the candle flickering as Harry examined the ancient mirror Kreacher had brought him. He had worked late into the night, refining his notes, testing runic sequences, and carefully charting energy flows. The ritual was taking shape—slowly, yes, but steadily. And as each piece fell into place, he felt his goal drawing nearer, tantalizingly close.

Yet there was something else, too—a faint sensation, lingering at the edges of his awareness. It was a feeling he'd had before, in other worlds, usually right before he'd been pulled into another dimension. A tingling along his skin, like static, subtle but persistent, as if the very air around him held a watchful, waiting quality.

He pushed the thought aside and leaned closer to the mirror, tracing the angular runes along its frame. *"Focus,"* he reminded himself, *"one breakthrough at a time."* The mirror seemed to pulse faintly under his fingers, as if responding to his touch, and for a moment, the whispering sensation faded, leaving only the comforting hum of ancient magic.

Unknown Location, Department of Mysteries, Future Timeline*

In a sterile, white-lit room filled with devices that flickered and buzzed with barely-contained magic, two figures in dark robes stood over a shimmering, rune-covered table. Small orbs floated above the surface, displaying fragments of temporal echoes and dimensional distortions, data gathered painstakingly over months of investigation.

"Field readings are consistent," one of the figures said, his voice flat but tense. "All evidence points to the mid-1990s, specifically during the summer. There's a strong spike in magical interference coming from somewhere in London. It's almost like… well, almost like someone's tearing holes in the boundaries between dimensions."

The other figure, a woman with sharp eyes and a scar down her cheek, nodded, her gaze fixed on one of the floating orbs, where faint images of an old, grimy building seemed to shimmer in and out of focus.

"Grimmauld Place," she murmured. "It keeps appearing in the readings. Someone in that location has been playing with very dangerous magic. And they've left a trail."

"We're authorized to proceed with a closer examination of the timeline?" her colleague asked, glancing up from his notes.

The woman's eyes were cold and resolute. "Yes. We'll initiate the first temporal probe immediately, but only in stealth mode. Whoever is doing this is operating on a level of magical sophistication we haven't encountered before. If they sense us… well, we can't risk contaminating the timeline."

As she activated a control on the table, the shimmering orbs spun faster, condensing into a pinpoint of light that hovered, pulsing, above the image of Grimmauld Place. For a moment, the faint outline of a young man with messy black hair and intense green eyes flickered across the orb's surface, but it vanished almost as quickly as it had appeared.

Back in the Present, Grimmauld Place*

A low hum of tension prickled along Harry's skin, making him glance up from his work with a frown. The room felt… strange. As if something unseen had brushed past him, something probing, inspecting, yet remaining just out of reach. He paused, listening, and the air around him seemed to settle back to normal, the sensation fading as quickly as it had come.

Probably just fatigue* he thought, forcing his focus back to the mirror and the notes spread out before him. But he couldn't entirely shake the feeling that he was being watched, like a whisper of magic at the edges of his perception, taunting him. He'd felt it before, in other dimensions where he'd stayed too long, as if some fundamental part of reality were pushing against his presence, like a body rejecting a foreign object. But this time felt different—more… directed, as if someone or something was actively observing him.

He shook his head, chalking it up to exhaustion. He'd pushed himself hard over the last few days, poring over the mirror and the Black family library for any sliver of information. He was almost there, almost ready to attempt a small-scale test of the ritual, but he needed just a bit more precision. He couldn't afford distractions now.

HP

The Ring Horcrux

Earlier that week, he had left Grimmauld Place under the cover of night, invisible and cloaked in the power of his Hallows imbued flesh. He had traveled to the dilapidated Gaunt shack, where Riddle had hidden the cursed ring that carried another fragment of his soul. The wards around the shack were crude and decayed, weakened over time, and he'd broken through them with ease, careful to avoid touching the cursed ring directly.

With a muttered incantation, he'd levitated the ring into a warded containment box, sealing it safely before returning to Grimmauld Place. Extracting Riddle's magical potential from the ring had taken hours - mostly due to the litany of curses on the ring and the ring itself being a potent, artifact level item. In the end, the effort was worth it—the boost to his magical core had been significant, each fragment of Riddle's soul pushing him closer to his ultimate goal.

Now, as he glanced at the containment box on the shelf, he felt a grim satisfaction. Another Horcrux neutralized, another piece of Riddle's power consumed. The next target was the Hufflepuff cup, hidden away in the Lestrange vault, and he was already laying the groundwork for that retrieval.

Planning the Vault Heist

Harry opened a fresh page in his notebook, sketching out ideas for breaching the Lestrange vault in Gringotts. The goblin-run bank was formidable, layered with traps and protections specifically designed to prevent theft, but he'd been in and out of enough vaults across other dimensions to know their weak points. It would take more than brute force, though—this would require subtlety, precision, and the right tools.

He considered asking Dobby to assist; house-elves had a unique relationship with magical boundaries, able to bypass certain wards that even powerful wizards couldn't penetrate. But Gringotts was different, and he wasn't sure yet if he wanted to risk Dobby for this. There were other methods he could explore first.

As he pondered his options, a slight chill settled over the room again, like the ghost of a draft. Harry frowned, looking up from his notebook, his senses straining. For a fleeting moment, he thought he caught a shimmer in the corner of the room, like a shadow that hadn't been there a second ago.

But when he blinked, it was gone, leaving only silence and the familiar stillness of Grimmauld Place. His hand tightened around his quill. *Something is definitely off.*

Could it be residual magic from the ring?* he wondered. But no—this felt different, subtler, like a whisper of intent rather than raw power. He glanced down at the mirror on the table, tracing his fingers over the faintly glowing runes, wondering if it had somehow drawn attention to his work.

He shook his head and forced his attention back to his notes. Whatever it was, he'd deal with it if it became a problem. For now, he had a vault to infiltrate, and there was no room in his plans for distractions.

HP

Back in the Department of Mysteries, Future Timeline*

In the observation chamber, the orb flickered, capturing the faint energy of Harry's reaction to the temporal probe. The woman in dark robes watched as his silhouette shimmered briefly in the orb before vanishing, as if he'd sensed their presence.

"Did he… react to the probe?" her colleague asked, a hint of alarm in his voice.

The woman's gaze remained fixed on the orb, her eyes narrowed. "It's possible. Whoever this is, they're highly attuned to dimensional shifts. We need to tread carefully. If they detect us too early, we could lose our only lead on stabilizing cross-dimensional travel."

The man hesitated. "Should we pull back?"

"No," she replied firmly. "Increase the stealth parameters, but keep monitoring him. If he's meddling with dimensions, he's a potential threat to the timeline. We can't afford to look away."

The orb pulsed once more, and the faint outline of Grimmauld Place flickered into view again, glowing with the signature of magic far older and more potent than anything in the present day. The figure of the young man—unassuming but undeniably powerful—was still working, still oblivious to the eyes watching him from the future.

HP

Harry's attention returned to the mirror and his notes, his mind churning with plans and calculations. Somewhere, in some other time, someone was watching him, he could feel it like a breath on the back of his neck. But for now, it was only a faint whisper, a background hum, a tension he couldn't quite shake.

He forced it out of his mind, focusing instead on the details of the ritual, the Lestrange vault, and the road ahead. This summer had been productive, yes—but he wasn't finished. Not yet.

As the candle burned lower, he sketched out the last runic diagram, his determination as sharp and cold as steel.

Soon* he thought. *Very soon, I'll have everything I need. And no one—past, present, or future—is going to stop me.*

HP

The Final Horcrux

The days of summer were slipping away, and with them, the last of Harry's time before the school year would resume. Hedwig had brought several letters from his friends, but he'd stashed them in a drawer unread. The truth was, his focus lay elsewhere, on tasks they wouldn't understand and secrets he was in no hurry to explain. He was nearing the final steps, and he couldn't afford distractions—not even those that might have once mattered to him in another lifetime.

Today's mission was simple in concept but demanding in execution. He would retrieve the final Horcrux: Helga Hufflepuff's cup, hidden deep in the Lestrange vault at Gringotts. The cup held a significant fragment of Riddle's soul, and it was the last piece of power he needed to absorb before he could turn his full attention to the dimensional ritual. But Gringotts was no ordinary target; it required careful planning and an unwavering focus. This wasn't a task he could afford to rush.

Harry gathered his supplies, double-checking each item with the precision of someone who had carried out more heists than he could count across dimensions. His bag was charmed to carry far more than it appeared, with compartments holding enchanted tools, vials of concentrated potion ingredients, and an emergency Portkey designed to bring him back to Grimmauld Place should things go wrong. Dobby would be assisting him from afar, ready to intervene if necessary but under strict instructions not to enter Gringotts itself. He trusted Dobby's power, but he wasn't willing to risk him inside the heavily warded bank.

With one last check, he disillusioned himself, tightened the strap of his bag, and slipped out into the shadowy streets of Diagon Alley.

HP

Inside Gringotts*

The marble halls of Gringotts were quiet in the early morning, with only a few goblins bustling about, their pointed ears twitching as they attended to their duties. Harry moved carefully, weaving through the columns, staying within the shadows as he approached the stairs that led to the underground vaults. His Hallows drive invisibility was strong, but he kept his movements slow and precise, slipping through the wards and enchantments one by one with the practiced expertise of someone who had done this countless times before.

The Lestrange vault was deep underground, nestled in the high-security section of the bank, protected by layers of enchanted traps and the notorious Thief's Downfall. Harry had planned for this. The enchanted water of the Downfall would strip away most concealments, but he'd crafted a complex warding charm designed to reapply his invisibility the instant he cleared the Downfall's range. It was a risky maneuver—one miscalculation and he'd be fully exposed—but he knew he could handle it.

As he approached the Thief's Downfall, he whispered a few incantations under his breath, feeling the magic wrap around him like a second skin. The enchanted waterfall poured down over the tracks in a steady sheet, shimmering with magic, but Harry timed his movements precisely. The moment he passed through the Downfall, his protective ward flared, restoring his invisibility with only the faintest flicker. He continued, undetected, his eyes fixed on the heavy iron door of the Lestrange vault.

Almost there

With a deft flick of his wand, Harry bypassed the locking mechanism, focusing on the intricate layers of magic woven into the door. The vault creaked open, revealing a dimly lit chamber filled with treasures piled high. Gold glinted from every corner, and priceless artifacts lay stacked among mundane objects. But his attention was fixed on a single goblet tucked into the shadows, adorned with the Hufflepuff crest and pulsing faintly with dark magic.

He felt a surge of satisfaction as he reached for the cup, pulling a cloth from his bag to avoid touching it directly. The Horcrux resisted him, sending a faint pulse of malicious energy up his arm, but he merely smirked, whispering a containment spell that neutralized its defenses. The cup went still, the malevolent magic dormant for now, and he slipped it carefully into a warded compartment of his bag.

He closed the vault door and retraced his steps with practiced calm, feeling the weight of the cup pressing against his side. He'd done it. The last Horcrux. Soon, it would be nothing but another of Tom Riddle's mistakes, adding more magical potential to Harry's already prodigious abilities.

HP

That Nagging Sense of Being Watched

After returning to his enchanted space, Harry carefully extracted the cup from his bag, placing it on the bench in his workroom. The space was heavily warded, reinforced to contain even the most volatile dark magic. But as he prepared to siphon Riddle's power from the Horcrux, that nagging feeling crept up on him again—the faint sense of being watched, observed, as though unseen eyes were tracking his every move.

It wasn't new. He'd felt it before, brief flickers at the edge of his awareness, a tickling in the back of his mind. But this time, it felt more focused, more deliberate, as if whoever—or whatever—was watching him was drawing closer, getting bolder. He paused, his gaze narrowing as he scanned the room, magical senses on high alert.

It could just be paranoia* he told himself. After all, dealing with Horcruxes and forbidden rituals had a way of leaving residual magical signatures that might feel like echoes of attention. And yet, he couldn't shake the feeling that this was something else. Something… more intelligent, more controlled.

Moving around the workshop, Harry discreetly activated a few detection wards spaced around the space, small charms designed to catch any magical disturbances in his vicinity. Nothing. The room remained silent, the shadows unchanged. Whatever was watching him, it was either too skilled to be detected or operating from some place beyond his current perception.

Fine* he thought. *Let them watch. As long as they stay out of my way.*

He refocused on the magical potential tuning process, drawing a deep breath before beginning the process of draining the Horcrux. Dumping the corrupted cup into the runic cistern, Harry absently scratched the back of his neck. Whatever was going on was really starting to grate on his last nerve. The process of engraving the runes onto his skeleton went the same as every other time, but he hardly noticed in the wake of the strange feeling of being under scrutiny.

HP

The Department of Mysteries Team from the Future*

In a secure chamber deep within the Department of Mysteries, the investigation team was growing increasingly frustrated. The surveillance orbs floating around the table pulsed erratically, each one carrying readings from a different layer of magical analysis. They had managed to narrow down the time period, but the subject of their investigation—this elusive, dangerously talented young wizard—had proven more aware than they'd anticipated.

"I don't understand," one of the investigators muttered, examining a shimmering outline of a powerful ward covering an otherwise utterly uninteresting house in Surrey. "We're cloaked in every layer of stealth magic we have. He shouldn't be able to sense us."

Their leader, the woman with the scar and cold gaze, stared at the latest readings with a clenched jaw. "He's attuned to dimensional shifts," she said slowly. "More than that—he seems to operate on a level of magical sensitivity beyond anything we've seen. If he can detect us, it means he's actively manipulating dimensional energy in ways that weren't possible before."

Another investigator looked up from his notes, visibly concerned. "Are you suggesting he's already pieced together parts of the ritual for cross-dimensional travel?"

"Possibly," she replied, her eyes narrowing. "But we still have the element of surprise. He suspects something, but he doesn't know who or what we are. We'll continue monitoring him, but let's minimize any direct probes. Our job is to observe, not intervene."

The investigator nodded, but as they resumed their work, a low hum filled the air, a signal from the orb indicating an active fluctuation in the target's surroundings. The young man's silhouette appeared within the shimmer, his head tilted as if he could sense them, a faint smirk on his face before the image vanished.

"Did he just… smirk at us?" one of the team whispered, a hint of dread in their voice.

The woman's expression hardened. "He's aware. But until we know what he's planning, we'll keep our distance. If he manages to complete the ritual…" Her voice trailed off, leaving the implications unspoken.

HP

Harry's workshop *

Just as he finished the potential transfer, the nagging sensation returned—the feeling of eyes on him, a presence pressing at the edges of his perception.

This time, however, it was stronger, sharper, as if whoever—or whatever—was watching had gotten closer, emboldened by his moment of vulnerability. His wards flared in response, and for a brief moment, he could feel some kind of magical presence at the edge of the wards around his home on Privet Drive.

Harry's eyes narrowed. He whispered a detection charm under his breath, sending a pulse of magic outward, but by the time it reached the boundary of the wards, the presence had vanished, leaving only a faint trace of magical residue.

"So,"* he thought with grim satisfaction, "Someone is watching me." He'd suspected it for weeks, but now he had confirmation. The thought didn't worry him as much as it intrigued him. Whoever was tracking him had been cautious enough to stay hidden until now, but they'd made a mistake, and that mistake had given them away.

He muttered a few adjustments to his wards, layering additional counter-surveillance charms to reinforce his defenses. If his unseen watchers attempted to probe him again, they would have to push through barriers that were anything but friendly.

Let them try* he thought, his hand tightening around his wand. *If they think they can spy on me without consequence, they're about to be sorely disappointed.*

HP

The Department of Mysteries Team, Future Timeline*

Far away, in the shadowed halls of the Department of Mysteries in the future, the investigative team was growing frustrated. They'd been monitoring the dimensional anomaly around Grimmauld Place and several other locations, but every time they tried to probe deeper, the subject seemed to elude them, slipping through their temporal scans like smoke.

"He sensed us," the lead investigator muttered, watching a hazy image of Harry flicker on their surveillance orb. "For a split second, he reacted. There's no question—he's aware of our presence."

"How is that possible?" asked one of her colleagues, visibly unnerved. "We're using every temporal and dimensional stealth measure we have. No one should be able to detect us, especially not someone from this time period."

The leader's gaze hardened. "It's possible because he's not like anyone we've seen. This individual has somehow integrated fragments of extremely dark magic into his core—something ancient, likely forbidden in his time. He's hyper-attuned to disturbances, which means we'll have to proceed with even greater caution."

Another investigator leaned over, his face shadowed with doubt. "Are you sure we shouldn't pull back? If he's aware of us now, he might start actively trying to block us. Or worse."

The lead investigator shook her head. "No. This is exactly why we have to continue. Whoever he is, his actions could destabilize multiple timelines. If he completes his ritual, he could trigger dimensional shifts that impact more than just his reality. We can't afford to stop now."

They resumed their work, the surveillance orb stabilizing to show a faint outline of Harry once more. But the lead investigator's jaw clenched as she observed the image—because now, in the corner of the display, there was a glint of unmistakable defiance in the young man's eyes, as though he knew they were watching… and was daring them to come closer.

HP

Preparing for the Endgame

Harry paced slowly back and forth in the workroom of his fortified shed, his gaze flickering between the ancient mirror he'd used in his research and the flickering notes on his enchanted wallboard. Every piece of his plan had been methodically laid out. The Horcruxes were gone, their power absorbed, and he had nearly completed the ritual that would open a door through the dimensions. Only one thing kept him here now, like a chain around his neck—the prophecy. The fate that tied him irrevocably to Tom Riddle's end.

"Neither can live while the other survives," he thought, the words resonating bitterly. He had always hated the prophecy, the way it shackled him to someone else's war. But this time, it was different. This was the last prophecy he'd ever face, the final debt he would pay to fate before breaking free for good.

Once he killed this dimension's Riddle, the prophecy would be fulfilled. He'd sever his tie to this world and finally have enough power to destabilize the dimensional boundaries, creating the opening he needed to escape.

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as he let the thought sink in. *It's all coming together* he thought. *After this, I'll be free.*

HP

Research on Dimensional Destabilization

Over the next several days, Harry focused his efforts on researching dimensional destabilization. In the musty corners of the Black family library, buried beneath dark relics and ancient scrolls, he found fragments of rituals that hinted at a way to "wedge open" dimensional boundaries. It was an unstable process, requiring precise control and raw, chaotic energy—a type of power that could easily backfire if he didn't execute it perfectly.

In the margins of his notebook, Harry sketched diagrams of magical energy flows, refining the process over and over until he was certain he had every variable accounted for. But even with all his preparation, he knew he'd need one final surge of power to complete the ritual. The energy required was enormous, potentially beyond even his current capacity.

That's when the idea came to him: the final confrontation with Riddle would be the perfect catalyst. In the heat of battle, with raw magic flying and spells crashing through the air, he'd have the exact energy he needed to complete the ritual.

"Two birds with one stone," he muttered to himself, a grim smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. *Fulfill the prophecy and escape in the same moment.* The thought of finally ending this cycle was almost intoxicating.

HP

The Department of Mysteries Tightens the Net

But as the days passed, the sensation of being watched grew stronger. Harry had grown accustomed to the faint tickle of magical surveillance, but now it felt more focused, like an itch he couldn't quite reach. It was as though someone—or something—was pushing against his wards, trying to peer through the veils of magic that shielded him.

One night, as he adjusted the wards on his shed, he felt it again—a ripple, faint but unmistakable, brushing against the edge of his detection spells. He froze, his senses sharpening as he extended his magic outward, tracing the ripple back to its source. For a fleeting moment, he caught a glimpse—a small, glowing orb, radiating magic he didn't recognize, hovering just outside the boundary of his shed.

A magical probe.

So they're not just watching. They're actively trying to get in* he thought, a flicker of irritation flaring in his chest.

Whoever these watchers were, they were clearly skilled, and they'd managed to stay hidden until now. But this probe was a mistake—it had crossed into his territory, leaving a trace he could use. A dangerous idea took shape in his mind, one he could execute if they dared to push further.

He turned back to his wards, adding another layer of complexity, weaving in a series of false magical signatures and misleading traces designed to confuse anyone attempting to monitor him. If his watchers wanted to peer into his life, he would lead them in circles, wasting their time and resources. Let them chase phantoms while he moved forward with his plans.

HP

Final Preparations for Confronting Riddle

The endgame was in sight. Harry could feel the prophecy weighing on him, like a tether drawing him inevitably toward Riddle. He would have to finish this soon. Every moment he delayed was another opportunity for his watchers to close in, another chance for them to interfere with his plans. He would not allow that.

In the shed, he cleared off one of his workbenches and pulled out his enchanted wallboard, on which he had sketched the outline of his final moves. There were few variables left—he knew Riddle's weaknesses, knew the locations he frequented, and knew how to draw him out. With the Horcruxes destroyed, Riddle would be vulnerable, a mortal man with delusions of grandeur.

"Just one more obstacle," Harry murmured, tapping his wand against the outline of Riddle's name on the board. The next time they met, he would finish the prophecy, sever his ties to this world, and use the surge of energy to shatter the boundaries between dimensions.

He leaned back, staring at his notes, feeling the weight of years pressing down on him. *How many times have I played this role?* he wondered. *How many worlds have I left behind?*

But this time was different. This was the last time. The last prophecy. The last fate he'd ever have to answer to.

As the final pieces of his plan fell into place, he glanced around the shed, the wards pulsing faintly with protective magic. His watchers were still out there, probing the edges, waiting for him to slip up. But he was ready for them. The moment they crossed the line, he would make sure they regretted it.

In the dim glow of the enchanted lights, he allowed himself one last moment of satisfaction. The prophecy would soon be fulfilled, and the instant it was, he'd break free. And this world, with all its constraints and watchers, would be nothing more than a distant memory.

HP

Back in the Department of Mysteries, Future Timeline*

The orb in the observation chamber flickered, showing the silhouette of a young man standing amidst a cloud of swirling energy, his eyes burning with resolve. The team of investigators watched in tense silence as the figure in the orb began to fade, obscured by layers of false magical signatures.

"He's onto us," one of the investigators whispered. "He's deliberately scrambling his trail."

The lead investigator clenched her jaw, her eyes fixed on the fading image. "We don't have much time left. He's accelerating his plans, and if he destabilizes the dimensional boundaries…"

She turned to the team, her expression cold and determined. "We're initiating temporal intervention protocol. If he won't stop, we'll have to stop him ourselves."

The orb pulsed, an echo of the young man's defiance lingering in the air. But the lead investigator's gaze remained steady. They were running out of time, and one way or another, this boy would be brought to justice—before he shattered the boundaries of their reality for good.

HP

Returning to Hogwarts

The shed was silent as Harry moved through each room in turn one last time, carefully packing his belongings into his enchanted backpack. Every item, every tool had been meticulously chosen; each one had a specific place in his preparations, and he wasn't about to leave any of it behind. He couldn't afford to, not now, with the end so close.

He double-checked his supplies, making sure the mirror, his notebooks, and the Horcrux-drained artifacts were all securely stowed. His fingers lingered over the ancient mirror for a moment—its runes still glowed faintly with the dimensional energy he'd been channeling through it. It had been a key part of his research, helping him map out the structure of his ritual, and he wasn't done with it yet. He slipped it carefully into a padded compartment in his bag, making sure it was secure.

Dobby appeared silently in the corner of the workroom, watching as Harry finished his preparations. The house-elf's wide eyes shimmered with a mixture of pride and worry, as though he understood, on some level, that his master's work was dangerous beyond comprehension.

"Dobby," Harry said quietly, glancing over his shoulder, "you know what to do while I'm at Hogwarts. Maintain the wards here, keep an eye on Grimmauld Place, and be ready if I need you. And, most importantly—" his eyes darkened slightly, "—stay out of sight. I have… people watching me, and I'd rather not give them an easy target."

Dobby gave a solemn nod, his bat-like ears twitching. "Dobby understands, Master Harry. Dobby will do exactly as he is told."

Harry gave him a rare smile. "Good. And don't worry. If everything goes to plan, we won't be here much longer."

With a final sweep of his eyes around the workroom, Harry closed his bag, sealing it with a tap of his wand before slipping it over his shoulder. He cast a last spell over the room, sealing it with enough protective enchantments to ward off even the most determined intruders. *If anyone does manage to get in here, they'll wish they hadn't* he thought, satisfaction mixing with a flicker of grim amusement.

With Dobby's help, he apparated directly to King's Cross Station, landing in a shadowed alcove on the Muggle side. He could feel the wards on the station humming faintly, a reminder of the magic hidden just below the surface. As he approached the barrier between platforms nine and ten, he could almost feel the tension radiating from the hidden watchers in the Department of Mysteries. They'd been tracking him carefully, he knew, and they'd be watching him all the way to Hogwarts.

Let them* he thought. *They still have no idea what they're dealing with.*

HP

The Hogwarts Express

The familiar red steam engine of the Hogwarts Express loomed before him, students milling about as they loaded trunks and said their last goodbyes. Harry slipped through the crowd with practiced ease, keeping to the edges, making sure not to draw attention. He found an empty compartment near the back of the train, casting a quick ward over the door to ensure privacy.

The train lurched forward, beginning its journey northward, and Harry settled back in his seat, feeling the comforting hum of motion beneath him. Outside the window, the countryside sped by in a blur of green and gold, and he allowed himself a brief moment of relaxation, letting the rhythms of the train ease his mind. His thoughts turned to his preparations—the work he still needed to complete, the final moves he'd make before he could face Riddle.

But the brief calm was interrupted by a faint prickle at the back of his mind, a subtle shift in the air around him. He wasn't alone. Not exactly. There was something… watching. *Them again* he thought, suppressing a flicker of irritation.

The Department of Mysteries agents had followed him onto the train, monitoring him through whatever means they had. He'd felt their presence on and off all summer, an invisible hand hovering just out of reach. But Hogwarts had protections of its own, and he knew that once he was inside the castle's wards, they'd have a much harder time tracking him. For now, he was content to let them watch, knowing they'd have no idea what he was planning.

HP

The Department of Mysteries Observes

In a hidden chamber deep within the Department of Mysteries, the lead investigator leaned over a shimmering orb, her brow furrowing as she watched the scene unfolding on the train. A murky image flickered within the orb, showing a small, dark-haired figure in a Hogwarts uniform, sitting alone in a compartment near the back of the train. The figure looked calm, almost serene, as he gazed out the window. There was no trace of the power they had detected before, none of the intense magical signatures they'd observed when he was in his own space. Just a young boy, waiting for the journey to end.

"Are we certain this is the anomaly we've been tracking?" one of the junior investigators asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.

The lead investigator's gaze hardened. "Yes. The magical signature matches perfectly. That boy…" she trailed off, her jaw tightening. "That boy is somehow responsible for all the dimensional disturbances we've been monitoring. He's carrying more power than he should be able to handle. But how a thirteen-year-old could be capable of this…" She shook her head, unable to finish the thought.

The rest of the team exchanged uneasy glances. They had assumed they were tracking some rogue adult wizard, maybe a dark practitioner skilled in forbidden arts. But to find that the source of all this disruption was a child—a Hogwarts student, no less—was unsettling in a way none of them had anticipated.

"If he's a student, then he's heading to Hogwarts," another investigator said, his tone laced with apprehension. "The wards there won't prevent us from observing him, but direct intervention will be… difficult."

The lead investigator nodded grimly. "We'll keep our distance for now. But we have to proceed with caution. If he really is responsible for the dimensional anomalies, and he knows we're watching…" She let the implication hang in the air. They were dealing with a force they didn't fully understand, and every misstep could prove catastrophic.

As the train sped onward, the image in the orb shifted slightly, and for a moment, the boy's gaze seemed to turn directly toward them. His green eyes were cold, calculating, and it felt as if he could see them, even through the shimmering veil of their surveillance.

The investigators drew back instinctively, unnerved by the intensity of that gaze, by the sense that this was no ordinary child. But the lead investigator forced herself to remain steady, her eyes fixed on the orb.

"Let's see what he does next," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "If he's planning something, we need to be ready."

HP

Back on the train, Harry leaned back into his seat, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He'd sensed the spike of magic from the surveillance spell, and he knew his watchers were getting nervous. Good. Let them be nervous. As long as they kept their distance, he didn't mind them watching. But he could feel their fear now, a low hum in the magical energy around him.

It was a strange thought, that they'd be afraid of a thirteen-year-old. But Harry knew he was no ordinary thirteen-year-old, not after what he'd been through. The knowledge he'd gained, the power he'd accumulated—all of it had shaped him into something different, something sharper, something more dangerous. He was done being bound by fate, done letting others dictate his path.

Soon, he'd fulfill the prophecy. He'd face Riddle, sever the final tie holding him to this world, and complete the ritual that would shatter the boundaries between dimensions. And when that happened, he would be free.

The Hogwarts Express rumbled onward, the hills and forests flashing by as the train wound its way north. In a few hours, they'd reach the castle, and Harry would step back into his role as a student, blending into the routines and corridors of Hogwarts. But beneath that facade, he was ready. Every spell, every piece of knowledge, every ounce of power he'd gathered was prepared for what lay ahead.

He glanced out the window, his expression calm but his eyes gleaming with a hidden fire. *This is the last year I'll play by their rules* he thought. *After this, it's my game, and my terms.*

HP

Arriving at Hogwarts

As the train pulled into Hogsmeade Station, Harry felt the wards of the castle pressing gently against his senses, a familiar, comforting weight that wrapped around him as he stepped onto the platform. He scanned the crowd briefly, making sure there was no sign of his mysterious watchers. The agents of whatever group that had been watching him over the summer had no intention of revealing themselves, he knew, but he'd caught enough glimpses to recognize their magical signature if they got too close.

Students bustled around him, laughing and chattering as they made their way toward the carriages, and Harry slipped into the crowd, blending in with practiced ease. He could feel the wards of Hogwarts shifting as he crossed the threshold, adapting to his presence, but he knew they wouldn't block his watchers entirely. They'd find ways to monitor him, even within these walls, but he wasn't concerned. They were still in the dark, still underestimating him.

As he took his seat in the carriage, Harry allowed himself a final moment of satisfaction. Let them watch. Let them wonder. Soon enough, they would understand what they were dealing with.

But by then, it would be too late.

HP

Department of Mysteries - Future Timeline*

Back in the Department of Mysteries, the lead investigator watched as the orb dimmed, the image of Harry flickering out as the wards of Hogwarts closed around him. She leaned back, her fingers tapping against the table, her mind racing.

"A Hogwarts student," she murmured, more to herself than to her team. "A child… and yet he's disrupting dimensional boundaries with ease."

Her colleagues stared at her, tension thick in the air. None of them had expected this—least of all her. She'd faced dark wizards, rogue agents, even cursed artifacts, but this was something new. Something more dangerous than they'd anticipated.

"Keep monitoring him," she ordered, her voice steady but laced with resolve. "If he's planning something, we need to be one step ahead. The moment he attempts to break through the dimensional barriers, we intervene. Until then, we observe."

But as the team resumed their work, a sense of unease settled over the room, like the calm before a storm. They were dealing with a force they couldn't fully comprehend, and they all knew, in some unspoken way, that whatever this boy was planning would change everything.

HP

Adjustments and Suspicions

September at Hogwarts had settled into its familiar rhythm of classes, meals, and late-night whispers in the common rooms. For most students, the horror of last year's Chamber of Secrets incident had faded, leaving behind only the usual gossip and curiosity. But Harry was anything but usual, and he moved through his classes and interactions with a focus that didn't go unnoticed.

In Potions, his spells were suddenly precise and exact, his control over ingredients practiced and skillful in a way that bordered on uncanny. In Defense Against the Dark Arts, he excelled with spells that seemed far beyond a typical third-year student, mastering jinxes and counter-curses faster than anyone in the class. And in Charms and Transfiguration, his work was faultless, leaving even Hermione glancing sideways at him, clearly wondering when he'd studied all of this.

But Harry's newfound talents had raised more than just a few eyebrows among his classmates.

HP

Snape's Suspicion

One evening in the staff room, Professor Snape's voice cut through the usual murmur of faculty chatter. "Headmaster," he said, his tone sharp, "I believe we need to discuss Potter."

Dumbledore looked up over his half-moon spectacles, his face a mask of polite curiosity. "What about Harry?"

Snape's dark eyes narrowed, his lips pressing into a thin line. "His abilities have… changed. Dramatically. In Potions, he's suddenly mastering complex preparations that no third-year should be capable of. His Defense work has also improved at an alarming rate. There's something… unnatural about it."

Dumbledore gave a small smile, folding his hands calmly. "Severus, Harry went through a traumatic ordeal last year. Losing his friend Ginny Weasley to the Chamber of Secrets—well, it would be enough to motivate anyone. I daresay he's thrown himself into his studies as a way of coping."

Snape's expression darkened. "Thrown himself into his studies? This isn't just a case of hard work, Albus. There's something wrong. He's… changed."

Dumbledore waved his hand dismissively. "Teenagers change, Severus. It's part of growing up. Let's allow Harry the space he needs. I'm sure that with time, his focus will return to normal. For now, please, just… leave him be."

Snape didn't look convinced, but he said nothing more. He'd learned long ago that challenging Dumbledore's decisions was rarely productive. But as he stalked out of the staff room, he couldn't shake the feeling that something about Harry Potter was profoundly different—and dangerously so.

HP

A Conversation with Luna Lovegood

One crisp September afternoon, Harry found himself on the edge of the Black Lake, enjoying a rare moment of solitude. The leaves had begun to turn, casting shades of gold and red along the shoreline, and the water rippled in soft patterns as the light breeze brushed across its surface.

He was deep in thought, running over the steps of the dimensional destabilization ritual, when he heard a soft voice from behind him.

"Hello, Harry Potter."

He turned to see Luna Lovegood standing there, her wide, silvery eyes fixed on him with a kind of dreamy intensity. She looked even more out-of-place than usual, her blonde hair tousled by the breeze, her gaze unfocused but somehow piercing.

"Hello, Luna," he replied, giving her a nod. He hadn't interacted with her much in this dimension, but he knew her well enough from his previous travels. Luna was… unique. Her perceptions were strange but often eerily accurate. She was also, as far as he could tell, one of the few people who might understand the concept of vengeance without judgment.

Luna moved to stand beside him, staring out over the lake with a distant look in her eyes. "I still miss Ginny," she said softly. "She was… a good friend."

Harry remained silent, waiting. He knew Luna would say what she needed to in her own time.

"I wish there was something I could do," she continued, her voice barely above a whisper. "Something to make the people who did it feel the same pain that she did."

Harry glanced at her sideways, studying her expression. There was a quiet anger there, a simmering intensity that was rare for someone like Luna. It wasn't anger born of hatred, but of loss—a desire for balance, for justice.

"Sometimes," he said carefully, "we get the chance to make things right. But you have to be ready when that chance comes."

Luna looked at him, her eyes reflecting something deeper than her usual dreamy gaze. "Do you think I'll ever get that chance?"

He nodded slowly. "If you want it badly enough, it usually finds you."

She smiled, a small, sad smile, and returned her gaze to the lake. "Thank you, Harry. I hope you're right."

As she turned to leave, Harry felt a rare sense of connection. Luna's desire for justice was something he could understand, perhaps better than anyone else at Hogwarts. It was a reminder of why he was here, and of what he had to do.

HP

The Frustration of the Department of Mysteries

Meanwhile, in the far future, the Department of Mysteries investigation team was growing increasingly frustrated.

The lead investigator, a woman with graying hair and an air of quiet authority, paced around their observation chamber, watching the flickering orb that displayed snippets of Harry's day-to-day life at Hogwarts.

"Is this all we're going to get?" one of the junior investigators asked, frowning. "All we're seeing is a schoolboy going through his routine. He attends classes, he eats meals, he studies—nothing out of the ordinary."

The lead investigator glared at the orb, her fingers tapping against her folded arms. "The problem is the Hogwarts wards. They make it almost impossible to observe him directly. Our probes are only able to pick up fragments, and even those are hazy. But every time he's outside those wards—like when he went to Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade—we pick up that same dimensional disturbance signature. It *is* him. There's no mistake."

Another investigator spoke up, frustration evident in his tone. "Then what are we supposed to do? We've been watching for weeks, and all we've seen is a boy attending classes. If he's planning something, he's doing a remarkable job of hiding it."

The lead investigator frowned, glancing back at the orb, where Harry was visible, sitting in Potions, watching Professor Snape with what looked like idle interest. "There's something we're not seeing," she said quietly. "We know this boy has access to forbidden magics. He's destabilizing the dimensional boundaries somehow. But he's hiding his intentions—and he's doing it well."

One of the younger team members spoke up. "Maybe we're wrong. Maybe he really is just a schoolboy, and the dimensional disturbances are some sort of… I don't know, natural effect?"

The lead investigator shot him a withering glare. "If that's what you believe, you're free to go join another department. This is our top priority. We keep watching. He's not just a schoolboy, and the moment we let our guard down will be the moment he tries to break free."

She turned back to the orb, her eyes narrowing as Harry flashed across it, his face betraying nothing but casual indifference. *You can play the role of an ordinary student all you want, Harry Potter* she thought, *but we know the truth. And we're waiting for you to make your move.*

HP

Harry could feel the eyes on him, even here within Hogwarts. The surveillance spells from whomever it was were distant, hazy—clearly hampered by the wards surrounding the castle. But he could feel them nonetheless, like faint, lingering whispers at the edge of his awareness.

He continued his daily routine, careful not to betray anything out of the ordinary. Every lesson was a chance to demonstrate enough improvement to justify his new skills without raising too many suspicions. He performed well, but not perfectly, managing a careful balance between impressing his teachers and keeping his newfound power inconspicuous.

Except with Snape, of course. Snape was too perceptive, too paranoid. Harry could see the suspicion in the man's eyes whenever they crossed paths, could feel his gaze following him with a mix of wariness and disdain. But Harry found himself almost enjoying the cat-and-mouse game. Let Snape watch. Let him wonder. It would all be irrelevant soon enough.

Between classes, he made occasional visits to the library, studying obscure texts on magical theory and dimensional boundaries. Hermione had noticed him pouring over books on advanced magical subjects, and he'd quickly deflected her questions by claiming he was "just interested in the theory." If she was skeptical, she hadn't pressed the matter further.

But it was Luna who intrigued him most. Her quiet, haunting presence lingered in his mind. She'd been right on the edge of understanding his own motivations, with her talk of justice and getting back at the people responsible for Ginny's death. There was something in her eyes that he recognized—the same desire for closure, the same willingness to reach for something darker if it meant bringing balance.

HP

The Rising Tension

As Halloween approached, the tension around Harry only increased. He could feel the faint, probing presence of his 'watchers' at the edge of his awareness. He knew they were evaluating, waiting, but he also knew the limitations of their reach. Hogwarts' wards shielded him here, but once he stepped beyond them, they would be watching closely, hoping for a misstep.

The thought brought a flicker of satisfaction to his mind. *Let them watch* he thought, his lips curving into a small, dark smile. *I'll give them a show they'll never forget.*

Halloween was coming, and with it, the opportunity to fulfill the prophecy once and for all. He had everything he needed, every tool carefully packed, every ritual planned down to the finest detail.

Soon, he would face Riddle. And after that, the real work would begin.

HP

Halloween in Hogsmeade

Halloween dawned crisp and cold, the air buzzing with anticipation as students prepared for their first Hogsmeade visit of the year. For most, it was a day of excitement—sweets from Honeydukes, a Butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks, maybe even a thrill from a detour near the Shrieking Shack. But for Harry, the day meant something entirely different. Today, he would fulfill the prophecy that tied him to this world.

He moved through the Great Hall with practiced ease, his expression unassuming, blending into the crowd as students gathered to eat before setting off. He'd already arranged things perfectly. With a Confundus Charm on Professor McGonagall, he'd secured a permission slip earlier that morning, bypassing the need for formal approval. And now, with his backpack packed and his plans in motion, he was ready to finish what he'd started.

As he slipped out of the castle and joined the stream of students heading to the village, he felt a familiar magical tug in his mind—a call from Dobby. With a slight turn away from the crowd, Harry ducked into a secluded nook behind a tree, reaching out with his mind to let Dobby through the wards.

With a soft pop, the house-elf appeared, clutching what looked like the small cube that was Harry's magical shed, only a few inches high, in his small hands. Dobby's wide, expressive eyes glistened as he held it out to Harry.

"Dobby brings Master Harry's shed, just like he asked," the elf said, his voice a reverent whisper. "All packed up and ready for wherever Master is going."

Harry took the miniature shed with a small, satisfied nod, feeling the weight of years of preparation and research nestled in his palm. The shed had been his sanctuary, his lab, his armory, and he wasn't about to leave it behind. Carefully, he opened his enchanted backpack and placed the shed inside, where it vanished among the other pocketed artifacts and tools he'd collected.

"Thank you, Dobby," he said quietly, meeting the elf's wide eyes. "You've done well. Once this is over, I'll send for you."

Dobby nodded fervently, his face a mixture of pride and worry. "Dobby will wait for Master Harry. Dobby will always be ready to help."

With a final nod, Harry dismissed him, and Dobby disappeared with another soft pop, leaving Harry alone with the weight of his preparations.

This is it* he thought, securing his bag and stepping back onto the path to Hogsmeade. Today, he would end the prophecy—and then, if all went as planned, he would break free from this world entirely.

HP

The Encounter Begins

The village was bustling when Harry arrived. Students milled about, darting in and out of shops, laughter and excitement ringing through the air. Hogsmeade had dressed itself for Halloween—floating jack-o-lanterns hung in the windows, and enchanted skeletons marched along the rooftops in silent procession.

Harry's focus, however, was elsewhere. As he slipped through the crowd, he felt a familiar, dark presence lingering at the edge of his awareness. Riddle was close. It was subtle at first, a faint pull of dark magic, but it grew stronger with each step he took toward the Shrieking Shack, a place secluded enough to serve as their battleground.

Finally, in the shadowed alley near the old, abandoned building, Harry found him—a thin figure wrapped in ragged black robes, standing motionless, his pale face twisted in a look of pure hatred. Harry was impressed - this had to be the earliest Riddle had ever managed to figure out how to recover some kind of physical form in any of his dimensions.

"Harry Potter," Riddle hissed, his voice like poison in the air. "You've destroyed my Horcruxes. You've taken everything from me." His eyes burned with fury. "And now, you'll pay for it."

Harry regarded him calmly, his expression unreadable. "You're the one who tied yourself to this world with a prophecy, Riddle," he said, his voice low and even. "I'm just here to finish what you started."

Riddle's sneer faltered, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. There was something in Harry's gaze that unnerved him, something darker, colder, far removed from the boy he expected to face.

"Arrogant child," he spat, raising his wand. "I am Lord Voldemort! I am eternal!"

Harry didn't flinch. Instead, he allowed himself a faint, mocking smile. "Not anymore."

The air between them crackled with tension, and then, as if on a silent cue, they both raised their wands.

HP

The Duel

The first spell exploded from Riddle's wand in a flash of green light, but Harry sidestepped it with ease, retaliating with a silent, cutting curse that sliced through the air. Riddle deflected it, his movements precise but increasingly desperate. He had clearly not anticipated facing someone so… prepared.

The duel escalated quickly, bursts of magic illuminating the dim alley as they fought. Riddle's curses grew wilder, more erratic, his anger fueling his desperation. But Harry remained calm, his movements efficient, as though he were simply checking off steps on a list. He could feel the presence of the watchers that had been dogging his steps all summer, observing through their temporal surveillance orbs, but he paid them no mind. Let them watch. They were about to see the prophecy fulfilled.

As the battle raged on, Harry finally saw his opening. He slipped past Riddle's defenses, wand flashing as he cast a powerful disarming spell. Riddle's wand flew from his hand, and the dark wizard stumbled, his face contorted in fear and disbelief.

"You… You're just a boy," Riddle gasped, staring at Harry in horror. "How could you—"

"I told you," Harry interrupted coldly, stepping forward. "I'm not the Harry Potter you think I am."

Without another word, he raised his wand and, with a final, decisive spell, struck Riddle down. The dark figure collapsed to the ground, lifeless, his body crumbling into dust. The prophecy was fulfilled. The tether that bound Harry to this world snapped, and he felt the release of energy, raw and powerful, vibrating in the air around him.

HP

Dimensional Destabilization Ritual*

Harry wasted no time. Reaching into his backpack, he pulled out the ancient mirror and muttered the first incantation. The air around him began to warp, faint rifts appearing, shimmering with otherworldly light as he channeled the residual magic from the prophecy's fulfillment into his ritual. This was the final step. With Riddle gone, there was nothing tying him here.

As he worked, Harry was sure he could sense the panic from whoever it was that had been monitoring him. He could practically feel their shock, their horror, as they realized what he was doing.

Far away, in the future, they scrambled to intervene, sending out waves of temporal energy to disrupt his ritual. Harry felt the interference, like static crackling along his skin, but he pushed forward, his focus unbreakable.

Too late* he thought. *You're too late.*

The rift before him widened, shimmering with the fractured boundaries of dimensions, showing him a distorted view of the world beyond. He could feel the pull, the call to freedom that he had been waiting for.

Just as he prepared to step through, the magical probe from the future struck the edge of the rift, sending a ripple through the air. The rift shuddered, and for a moment, he felt a resistance, as if something—or someone—was trying to hold him back.

With a growl of determination, he focused all his power into the ritual, channeling the energy of Riddle's death, the dark power he had absorbed, and the tools he'd gathered from countless dimensions. He would not be held back—not now.

The rift stabilized, glowing brighter, and with one final look at the empty alley and the ashes of Tom Riddle, Harry stepped forward, feeling the boundary break around him as he crossed the threshold into the unknown.

HP

The Beginning of the End

The world around him fractured, the dimensions shifting and splintering as he moved between them. He felt a strange, exhilarating sense of weightlessness, of freedom, as he left the constraints of fate and prophecy behind. But somewhere, faint and distant, he sensed the agents from the future still reaching, still trying to pull him back.

For an instant, he wondered if they'd follow him, if they'd try to track him across dimensions. But he dismissed the thought, focusing instead on the world that awaited him, the countless possibilities that stretched before him. There was one more tiny thread of connection, and Harry could feel Dobby clinging to it. Harry smiled at the house elf's tenacity, knowing he'd made a great decision when freeing then subsequently binding Dobby to him.

The final pull of the rift surged around him, drawing him forward, and then, with a rush of blinding light, Harry Potter disappeared from this world—leaving fate, prophecy, and the wreckage of Tom Riddle far behind.