I know you must be looking to find similarities between the original characters created by Rowling and the ones I am presenting in this story, and you may find some differences, however, this must be the case due to the context of my story. So, my characters were ooc and this story was an AU. The Harry Potter of this story may seem super powerful and invincible, but he isn't, it is just that his experience is greater due to the branch of magic he chose to follow.
Thank you for reading me and marking this story as your favorite or in your alerts to follow it, really thank you very much.
Note: While my first language is Spanish, every effort has been made to ensure clarity in English., sorry for that and if it is difficult to you don't read. I write the context or dialogues in Spanish and then translate to English, so, your interpretation and mine are different, but to me it makes sense.
I hope you enjoy the story!
EDITED CHAPTER
Chapter III: Firewhiskey and Dark Magic, what a mess.
Another bottle followed the first bottle of whiskey, and it was no wonder—the information compiled between the workers and documents from Dolores Umbridge's department was terrifying. All the information relevant to the magical world passed through her department, and the control was such that Dolores could easily determine what information was released and what was suppressed. Adding to this was the fact that the head of the International Magical Cooperation department was Conrad Yaxley, a declared Death Eater, and the representative of British wizards before the ICW was Lucius Malfoy. The formula was both lethal and extremely intelligent. Deaths, disappearances, and kidnappings were omitted at the ministry's convenience, avoiding alarm in other magical nations and even within the ICW. While some irregularities couldn't be hidden forever, turning a blind eye was the most practical response for other nations. With Hogwarts removed from the equation for obvious reasons, wizards were now forced to study in a ministry-controlled building with a compliant headmaster, ensuring that education was also tightly regulated. Magical Britain was undoubtedly in a dire state.
He couldn't understand how it was possible that no one had noticed all this, let alone tried to stop it using equally intelligent and lethal methods. Without realizing it, the wizarding world had become dependent on figures like Albus Dumbledore, the bastion of light after his defeat of Gellert Grindelwald in the so-called First Wizarding War. They expected him to solve everything. However, Dumbledore was not known for being a man of action until circumstances forced his hand—and the consequences were visible today. Voldemort maintained impressive control over the magical world in Great Britain without needing major campaigns of terror or domination. Like a cunning snake, he waited in the shadows for the ideal moment to seize power. Playing chess by moving pieces strategically was his favorite pastime, and without a player capable of challenging him, the status quo remained unchanged. At some point, total domination would strike like a killing curse: quick, effective, and unavoidable. Yet, something held Voldemort back. Something didn't add up, and that was his window of opportunity to act.
"Now you understand why we are desperate," a voice interrupted his breakfast. "My sister's intentions are noble and good, but the consequences are not. Saving you was a big mistake of hers. But allowing Neville to be marked for Voldemort as the other chosen one was my sister's other mistake."
"But after so many years, this is really a disaster, and I've just gotten myself into a hell of a mess," he said while drinking his black coffee. "Hasn't anyone been able to do anything in all these years? What about Neville?" Harry asked.
"All those who could act were silenced before they could speak, and those who tried in later years met the same fate," the voice said firmly. "It's not a compliment, but the magic in you and your abilities comes from long generations of wizards dedicated to balancing good and evil, whether walking in the shadows, skirting them, or immersed in them, but always achieving balance in the end. With a direct ancestry from the first wizards, the druids of old Britain, the Potters have been a family of great interest to us."
"And why not someone like Neville Longbottom?" Harry asked, surprised, and stopped his breakfast for a moment.
"The Longbottom family is as old as yours, but Neville, like every other Longbottom in history, has never been able to play the role of leader perfectly. They are good warriors, brave and extremely loyal—no doubt about that. But for reasons even we don't fully understand, they aren't suited to leading a crusade like the one we've entrusted to you," the voice replied.
"You flatter me," Harry said mockingly, taking a bite of a muffin.
"To summarize my answer, Neville Longbottom is a good warrior, but not the leader this war needs. Manipulated from an early age by his insufferable grandmother and that eccentric Dumbledore, he has not been able to form his own judgment or make brave and effective decisions independently. He's a leader who spends most of his time consulting others on what to do, and I don't blame him. He carries a burden that was never meant to be his," Death explained.
"A person can be as great as they want to be. I don't blame him either, but I don't justify it," Harry said harshly. "You can't see the water spilling and ask for permission to turn off the faucet. If the faucet can't be turned off, you can't ask permission to put a container under it to prevent the spill."
"But my sister…," the voice said.
"Fate, Time, you—anyone can justify how we act, but there is no justification. I insist, we are free and have free will. We make the decisions, we carry them out, and we are the ones who forge our future," Harry said, standing up and walking to where his coat was hanging. "Maybe Neville wasn't destined to face Voldemort, but he was chosen. He's not prepared to lead this war, but he is now. What justification can he have for watching evil prevail and not giving everything for the success of the crusade?"
"You are a special case, and perhaps that's why I have so much patience with you, mortal," Death said, laughing. "But you are correct. Despite your interesting point of view, the reality is clear. It's what's in front of you, and it's too late for Mr. Longbottom to straighten the path. Don't let me down, Harry Potter."
"Sure," Harry said sarcastically as he left the room.
After using a cab again, although he could easily Apparate, he found Muggle transportation surprisingly efficient and comfortable. Now he was chatting animatedly with Hannah Abbott at the Leaky Cauldron. "So, you were one of the last generations to attend Hogwarts before Albus Dumbledore's death?"
"Fortunately, yes. Although I didn't finish my seventh year, I convinced my father to let me study at home and take my exams directly at the Ministry. With some effort, I passed the necessary ones to become a Healer. But honestly, the war is cruel, and my shifts at St. Mungo's became longer and more complicated every day. In the end, I decided to buy this place and run it. The atmosphere is tense but not difficult. The bonus? I get to do what I like." Hannah finished, smiling as she served Harry a firewhiskey.
"So, St. Mungo's still serves everyone?" Harry asked.
"Of course. St. Mungo's is one of the few places that remains free," Hannah said. "Why do you ask?"
"Oh, it's nothing. I thought that with everything you've told me about Death Eaters and Hogwarts, the hospital might also be under their control," Harry said, downing his firewhiskey in one gulp.
"Well, when I was a Healer about ten years ago, it wasn't," Hannah said, pouring him another shot. "But I have some friends there who say everything is calmer now."
"Very interesting," Harry said, accepting the refill.
"If you're from Bulgaria…" Hannah began to say.
"Yes, I was a student at Durmstrang School," Harry interrupted, "Class of '96."
"I heard from some goblins that you were attacked by Theo Nott, and you both caused a mess in the hallway leading to the offices. Is that true?" Hannah asked again, embarrassed to intrude on someone else's conversation.
"Don't worry about what you hear. This is a pub; nothing stays private here," Harry said, taking a drink. "But yes, that bastard was assaulting Miss Greengrass in the hallway, and they were blocking my exit."
"Theodore Nott is a dangerous man. You need to be careful from now on," Hannah said seriously. "Some wizards who've crossed his path... well, let's just say they didn't fare well."
"I've dealt with guys like him at school and on my travels. To me, he's all bark and no bite," Harry replied. Now that the situation had settled, it was time for him to ask the more pressing questions. "I recall Daphne mentioning he's part of the Death Eaters, and I made fun of it. But what is their role as a group?"
Hannah glanced around the pub cautiously. As it was early morning, there weren't many patrons present. Lowering her voice, she replied, "They're the Dark Lord's soldiers. Disguised as Aurors or Ministry officials, they control everything here. They're extremely dangerous and won't hesitate to cause trouble for anyone who gets in their way."
"But something that big can't go unnoticed by the authorities," Harry said.
"They are the authorities," Hannah said sadly. "If you go to the Ministry for help, it's like exposing yourself to them. If you don't end up in Azkaban, you'll end up in a graveyard."
"Yesterday, I visited Dolores Umbridge's department," Harry said, watching as Hannah frowned. "She's a nightmare. Is she part of the Death Eaters?"
"Neville says…" Hannah began but quickly put a hand over her mouth. Harry smiled inwardly. "Some wizards say yes, others say she's always been like this," she corrected herself hastily.
"Neville as in Neville Longbottom?" Harry asked, catching her slip.
"Oh no, I was so distracted," she said nervously, looking for an escape. "I meant Will."
"I think I heard you perfectly," Harry said. "But tell me, Hannah, is there no one who can do something about what you've told me about the Death Eaters?"
Hannah was visibly nervous, looking around frantically. "I must get back to work. If you want another drink, feel free to help yourself," she said, placing the bottle in front of Harry before rushing over to greet a wizarding couple entering the pub.
It was logical to think that someone like Hannah would be an asset for someone like Neville or his group. Harry had known it from the moment he first saw her. She was kind enough to help him in a place where things looked bleak. As the shopkeeper of the Leaky Cauldron, a pub where all wizards passed through on their way to Diagon Alley, it was easy for her to gather information. Today, after hearing her story and noticing her slip when mentioning Neville, Harry didn't need to assume, he merely had to confirm.
"Hello there, buddy," someone said behind Harry as he poured his third shot.
"The one and only, Mr. Nott," Harry replied, pouring himself another drink.
"I see you're still wearing that stupid smirk, idiot," Theodore Nott sneered, flanked by two thugs.
"My back is turned, but I'm sure you're enjoying the view. Unfortunately for you, Miss Daphne isn't here, so without her to impress, there's no fun in this," Harry said, downing his drink and turning around.
"Gentlemen, please…" Hannah pleaded, rushing over. But with a flick of Nott's wand, she was silenced.
"I see mistreating women is your thing," Harry said calmly. "But Miss Abbott is right. I assume you came here to teach me a lesson. Why don't we step outside and settle this like real men?"
Theodore Nott didn't respond. Instead, he fired a bolt of purple lightning at Harry, who quickly deflected it toward a bottle of firewhiskey on the bar behind him. "When I'm done with you, I'm going to shove my dick in your dead mouth," Nott sneered.
"Big words from mommy's boy," Harry replied, unfazed. "And daddy's failure," he added with a mocking grin.
The battle escalated. Enraged, Nott hurled a barrage of curses at Harry, who smiled and skillfully deflected each one. The damage to the surroundings was becoming irrelevant—Nott's spells were destructive. During the chaos, one of Nott's thugs took advantage of the distraction caused by an explosive spell and shot a green flash at Harry, narrowly missing him. Realizing it was three against one, Harry's instincts kicked in: neutralize the two thugs first.
With a swift flick of his wand, Harry conjured a flock of crows that attacked Theodore, forcing him to fight them off. While Nott struggled, Harry animated a nearby table. It transformed into a massive, thorn-covered stalk that ensnared the second thug from behind. The thug screamed as the grotesque thorns impaled him, and Harry's wave intensified the torment, the thorns growing and piercing deeper until the thug died in a bloody mess.
The third thug, who had previously cast a killing curse, was now frantically trying to help Nott fend off the crows. Witnessing his comrade's gruesome end, he hurled curses at Harry. Using bottles from the bar as shields, Harry blocked the incoming curses with a sinister smile. "That, my friend, is a proper death," Harry taunted, provoking the thug to attack even more violently.
A wooden chair materialized and snared the thug's feet, transforming into a bear trap that mangled both his legs. Screaming in pain, he dropped his wand. Nott, finally free of the crows, turned just in time to see his companion, Chuck, decapitated by an axe Harry conjured. "So, who's bigger now?" Harry taunted as he faced Nott.
Nott surveyed the carnage around him: the Leaky Cauldron was in ruins. One thug lay impaled by thorns, another decapitated in a pool of blood. This Harry Potter wasn't just any wizard. Unlike others they had faced, Potter didn't hesitate to use lethal, deadly magic. In mere minutes, he had dispatched Gregory Smith and Chuck Trevor, two seasoned Death Eaters. Nott realized he had gravely underestimated Potter. This wasn't an ordinary wizard—Potter was precise, ruthless, and far more skilled than he had imagined. In desperation, Nott decided to play dirty. He spotted Hannah's horrified face in the back door and aimed a killing curse at her while simultaneously casting a bone-splintering curse at Harry. Distracted by the green beam heading toward Hannah, Harry was struck by Nott's curse on his shoulder. Smiling triumphantly, Nott vanished.
Hannah closed her eyes as the killing curse approached, only to feel herself shoved to the floor. When she opened her eyes, she saw Harry sitting beside her, wincing in pain. The green beam had destroyed the back door, but she was unharmed.
"You…" she started.
"I'm sorry," Harry interrupted, a pained but reassuring smile on his face. "I didn't have much time, so I pushed you out of the way. Otherwise, the now-destroyed cauldron would be needing a new bartender."
"You saved my life," she said, still in shock.
"That coward," Harry spat. "Typical behavior for scum like him." He stood and started tending to his wounded shoulder with his wand.
"The magic you used… it was dark," Hannah said, glancing at the aftermath.
"Magic is magic," Harry replied seriously. "And considering what you said earlier, if the authorities show up, I'd have a lot of explaining to do. So, I'll be going now. My goblin manager will cover the damage. Don't thank me for saving your life—just guarantee me free drinks at the Leaky Cauldron forever, and we'll call it even." He winked and vanished just as a group of Aurors stormed in, wands drawn.
Hours later, in the headmaster's office at Hogwarts—now repurposed as the base of operations for the anti-Voldemort resistance—Neville Longbottom listened attentively as Hannah Abbott, his girlfriend and a spy at the Leaky Cauldron, recounted the events of the day. She spoke of Harry Potter, a wizard who had single-handedly defeated two Death Eaters who had been part of a squad conducting raids on Muggle-borns under Dolores Umbridge's orders.
"He transformed a table into a giant stalk covered in thorns and impaled Gregory Smith, both inside and out?" Neville asked, impressed. Albus Dumbledore's portrait mirrored his surprise.
"Yes," Hannah confirmed, "and then he used a transfiguration spell to trap Chuck Trevor in a bear trap before beheading him with a conjured axe."
"Incredible," said Minerva McGonagall, who had been listening intently. "To transform an inanimate object into a living, destructive entity with such precision... That kind of transfiguration hasn't been seen in years," she added, clearly impressed.
"And he was fast," Hannah continued. "Smith didn't even have time to defend himself. Even though Trevor launched extremely lethal curses at Harry, he deflected them effortlessly, using bottles in my bar as shields."
"So, a foreign wizard named Harry Potter arrives in England three days ago, ascends as Lord Potter at Gringotts on the night of his arrival, causes a commotion there while defending Miss Daphne Greengrass from Theodore Nott, visits the enchanted Miss Umbridge yesterday, and today destroys your pub, Miss Abbott, while killing two Death Eaters with questionable dark magic and unconventional methods?" Albus Dumbledore summarized. Hannah nodded in confirmation.
"He's also capable of conjuring birds," she added. "Nott was kept occupied by a swarm of crows while Harry eliminated his comrades. For every crow Nott destroyed, two more seemed to take its place, attacking even more viciously."
"While we spoke, he mentioned he was a graduate of Durmstrang and had traveled the world taking on 'jobs,'" Hannah explained.
"Durmstrang is often accused of being a haven for dark arts," Dumbledore mused. "But that reputation is unfounded. Their curriculum is aggressive and focused on gray magic, whereas Hogwarts leans towards light magic. If Harry Potter is indeed a Durmstrang graduate, his methods suggest he's surpassed their teachings."
"He killed two Death Eaters," Susan Bones interjected firmly from the corner. She had been quietly observing but now spoke with conviction. "It doesn't matter how he did it. What matters is those bastards got what they deserved."
Dumbledore appeared scandalized, while Hannah smiled nervously.
"Miss Bones," Dumbledore said gravely, "killing is inconceivable. We are not like Tom and his followers. If we deviate from our principles, we risk crossing the line that separates us from the enemy."
"The truth is," Neville said after a long silence, "Harry Potter is everything we're not. He may be the key to turning this war in our favor."
"Mr. Longbottom!" Dumbledore exclaimed, shocked.
"Mr. Longbottom is right, Albus," McGonagall said. "Let's face it, since your death, the war has tipped in favor of the Dark Lord. His power grows daily, while our numbers dwindle, and the death toll on our side rises."
"If I'm not mistaken," Susan added, "tomorrow is the mid-January Wizengamot session. If Harry Potter has ascended as Lord Potter, he's obligated to attend the session to officially claim his title and define his stance on legislative matters."
"Perhaps you could approach him and…" Neville began.
"I don't think that's wise," Dumbledore interrupted. "He's new to England, and we must be cautious. We should continue observing him through Miss Abbott at the bar and Miss Bones in the Wizengamot. Until we're sure he's a trustworthy ally, we can't risk inviting him to our cause."
"He killed two Death Eaters!" Susan repeated, frustrated.
"Indeed," Dumbledore conceded. "But what guarantees do we have that he's on our side? From what Miss Abbott described, his actions at Gringotts suggest he was settling a personal score. Theodore Nott was asserting dominance in the usual Death Eater fashion, a power play to show others who's in charge."
"Albus is right," McGonagall agreed. "Until we can prove that Lord Potter is trustworthy, we can't involve him in our resistance. However, it's clear we need to establish contact with him. Miss Bones, as the leader of the Light faction in the Wizengamot, can take the lead in doing so."
"I agree with that approach," Dumbledore said, smiling.
"Well," Neville concluded, "we'll follow McGonagall's plan. Until Lord Potter proves himself, we need to remain cautious and alert." Everyone nodded in agreement.
Far from Hogwarts, in the dimly lit chamber of Malfoy Manor, Lord Voldemort sat upon his grand serpentine throne, his crimson eyes glowing with malice. Before him knelt Theodore Nott, trembling and pale. The Dark Lord's voice, soft yet dripping with venom, filled the room.
"Explain to me," Voldemort hissed, "why I am hearing about this Harry Potter... for the first time."
Nott swallowed hard. "My Lord, he... he was unknown to us. A wizard who arrived only days ago. I underestimated him, believing him inconsequential, but—"
"You underestimated him?" Voldemort interrupted, his voice rising dangerously. "You faced him. You challenged him. And you failed." He rose from his throne, his skeletal form looming over Nott. "Not only did you fail, but you allowed him to humiliate you and slaughter two of my followers like common vermin."
"My Lord," Nott stammered, his voice shaking. "I believed it was a mere misunderstanding... a simple altercation over—"
"Silence!" Voldemort's wand flicked sharply, sending a lash of green energy across Nott's chest, knocking him to the ground. "Tell me everything. Now."
Nott scrambled to his feet, trembling as he spoke. "He appeared at Gringotts on the night he arrived, my Lord. He presented himself as Lord Potter and disrupted certain plans of the Nott family involving the Greengrass family. Daphne Greengrass was present at the time, and Potter intervened on her behalf. In the following days, there was... an altercation. I tried to assert our dominance, but Potter proved far more capable than I anticipated. His magic, my Lord, it is dark, precise, and destructive. He combines transfiguration, curses, and enchantments with unnerving skill."
Voldemort's gaze darkened further. "Daphne Greengrass?" he mused, his tone turning contemplative. "You suspect she's involved?"
"Perhaps, my Lord," Nott replied quickly. "Her family has remained neutral, but she was present during both encounters with Potter. She could be aiding him," he lied.
For a moment, Voldemort appeared deep in thought, his pale fingers drumming against the armrest of his throne. With a dismissive wave of his hand, he spoke. "The Greengrass family is protected by ancient magic. Their neutrality is enforced by blood oaths older than this war. I cannot influence them. No, I will not waste time with them."
The Dark Lord's crimson eyes fixed on Nott, who flinched under his gaze. "You have failed me, Theodore. Twice now, you have exposed weaknesses and invited complications where none should exist."
"My Lord, I beg—"
"Enough!" Voldemort's voice thundered through the chamber. He turned to Lucius Malfoy, who had remained silent at the edge of the room. "Lucius, you will take over this matter. Approach Lord Potter. Uncover everything about him—who he is, where he came from, and why he wields magic that rivals my finest servants. Find out if he can be turned to our cause, or if he must be eliminated."
Lucius bowed low, his expression unreadable. "It shall be done, my Lord."
As Lucius departed to carry out his orders, Voldemort's lips curved into a cruel smile. The sudden appearance of this unknown wizard on the war's chessboard was both vexing and intriguing. Harry Potter, it seemed, was no mere upstart but a force to be reckoned with. And if his allegiance couldn't be secured, Voldemort would make sure Potter's rise was swiftly cut short.
Inside an abandoned building in Diagon Alley, Harry Potter stood before a cracked mirror, his shirt discarded as he examined the damage. His body appeared mostly unscathed, but closer inspection revealed the toll of the battle. Shallow cuts lined his forearms, faint scorch marks marred his chest, and his left shoulder was swollen, the skin bruised and angry where Nott's curse had struck. With a muttered incantation, Harry summoned a small vial of silver potion from his coat and began tending to his injuries.
The cuts and burns healed instantly, the potion's effects leaving no trace of the wounds. His shoulder, however, was more stubborn. Harry winced as he applied a stronger salve, feeling the deep tissue knit itself together. "Could've been worse," he muttered, flexing his arm cautiously. Satisfied the damage was manageable, he threw his shirt back on and cast a quick cleaning charm to erase any lingering blood or potion stains.
Once ready, Harry apparated directly to Gringotts, arriving in a private chamber where a goblin awaited him.
"Lord Potter," the goblin greeted with a sharp bow, his voice formal. "I trust you've come to address the damages at the Leaky Cauldron?"
Harry nodded. "Exactly. Make sure all repairs are covered. I don't want Hannah Abbott to bear the brunt of what happened. Replace anything that was damaged, including the stock. Get it done immediately."
The goblin smirked slightly. "Efficient as always, my Lord. The matter will be resolved by tomorrow morning."
"Good," Harry replied curtly, sliding a pouch of galleons onto the table as an advance. "If there are any additional expenses, bill my vault. I expect no delays."
With the arrangements made, Harry left Gringotts and stepped into the chilly night air. He exhaled deeply, watching his breath linger in the mist. A sudden thought struck him: he'd heard of another pub in Hogsmeade, the Hog's Head. After the chaos at the Leaky Cauldron, he craved somewhere quieter to unwind. Without a second thought, he apparated to Hogsmeade.
The Hog's Head was a stark contrast to the bustling Leaky Cauldron. The dim, shabby interior was sparsely populated, and the scent of stale ale and wood smoke hung heavily in the air. Harry approached the bar, ordered a firewhiskey, and downed it quickly. The burn of the alcohol was a welcome sensation, and he gestured for another. Battle fatigue gnawed at him, and he allowed himself a moment to relax, leaning heavily against the counter as he drank.
At a corner table, Susan Bones observed him with careful interest. She recognized him immediately—his disheveled appearance and intense aura matched Hannah's vivid description. Remembering her task, she stood and casually approached him, her expression neutral.
"You look like you've had a rough day," Susan remarked lightly, taking the seat beside him.
Harry turned his head, his green eyes briefly narrowing before softening. "You could say that," he replied, his voice tinged with weariness. "Who's asking?"
"Susan," she introduced herself, extending a hand. "Susan Bones. Just a fellow drinker trying to make conversation."
Harry hesitated for a moment before shaking her hand. "Harry," he said simply. He gestured toward the bartender for another drink and added, "Bones, huh? Recognizable name."
Susan chuckled. "Not as recognizable as Potter. Lord Potter, if I'm not mistaken."
Harry frowned slightly, the alcohol dulling his wariness. "Word travels fast, doesn't it?"
"It does," Susan said smoothly. "But I'm more curious about the man behind the title. You're not exactly a common name around here."
It was the firewhiskey, or perhaps the fatigue, but Harry let out a low laugh. He saw through her game—Neville Longbottom had sent her. They were in Hogsmeade, after all, just a stone's throw from Hogwarts, which he suspected was the resistance's stronghold. But he decided to play along. "You've got me," he said, leaning back. "Ask away."
Susan didn't miss a beat. "Alright, Harry. What brings you to England?"
Harry sipped his drink, pretending to deliberate. "Family obligations," he began. "But that's the boring part. Before this? Bulgaria. I studied at Durmstrang. Tough place—hard teachers, harsher lessons. But it made me who I am. After I left, I traveled—Africa, Asia, Eastern Europe. Did a bit of everything. Odd jobs, mercenary work, magical research."
"Mercenary work?" Susan asked, raising an eyebrow.
Harry shrugged. "You'd be surprised how much people are willing to pay for a wizard with flexible morals and steady hands." He smirked. "And then there's the fun stuff, like my little brawl today. A Death Eater tosses a killing curse, I send him back to his maker. Nothing personal, just business."
Susan maintained her composure, though she found herself unnerved by how casually Harry spoke of the violence. "Sounds like you've seen a lot."
"You could say that," Harry replied. He motioned for another drink, his posture relaxing further as he recounted anecdotes of his travels—duels in Eastern Europe, cursed artifacts in Africa, and narrow escapes in Asia. Each story was told with a mix of bravado and honesty, the alcohol loosening his tongue just enough to reveal his world-weary perspective.
After several more rounds, Harry's speech began to slur, but his eyes remained sharp. He leaned closer to Susan, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "You know, you're surprisingly good at this. Friendly smiles, soft questions. But I'm not an idiot."
Susan stiffened slightly. "I don't know what you mean."
Harry chuckled, tapping the bar. "Sure, you don't. Let's just say, next time you report back to Longbottom, tell him I'm not the enemy. Neutral, yes? Neutral, but fair. Worthy causes will always have my support, especially in the Wizengamot."
Susan hesitated, unsure how to respond, but Harry didn't wait for an answer. He stood, wobbling slightly before regaining his balance. "You're all right, Susan Bones. We'll even be friends someday. For now, though, I've got places to be."
With a sly grin and a lazy wave, Harry left the Hog's Head, disappearing into the chilly night. Susan sat back, her mind racing. Harry had been disarmingly open, yet every word had felt deliberate, as if he'd been in control all along. Whatever his game was, one thing was clear—Harry Potter was unlike anyone she'd ever met.
Harry Potter stumbled slightly as he appeared at the edge of a sprawling, well-manicured lawn, his senses still dulled by the firewhiskey and exhaustion. The cool night air sharpened his thoughts just enough for him to realize that something had gone wrong. He wasn't in Diagon Alley—this was somewhere entirely different. In the distance, illuminated by the faint moonlight, stood a grand mansion, surrounded by wrought-iron gates and rows of neatly trimmed hedges.
"Brilliant," Harry muttered under his breath, rubbing his temples. "Of all the places to land…"
As he took a tentative step forward, a sharp voice rang out from the shadows. "Who dares trespass on Greengrass grounds?"
Before Harry could respond, a bolt of silver energy hurtled toward him. Reacting instinctively, he flicked his wand, transforming the energy into a harmless plume of mist. "I think there's been a misunderstanding," he called out, his voice steady despite the alcohol still coursing through him.
A figure stepped into view, wand raised—a tall, stern-looking man with sharp features and a commanding presence. Harry recognized him immediately: Cyrus Greengrass, head of the Greengrass family and a well-known pureblood patriarch. "You have five seconds to explain yourself before I turn you into a toad," Cyrus warned, his voice icy.
"Easy there," Harry said, raising his hands in mock surrender. "I didn't come here to fight. Apparition error. Long night, bad aim."
"Convenient excuse," Cyrus snapped, his wand glowing. "I don't tolerate intruders."
The spell came fast, faster than Harry expected, but his reflexes were sharper. With a swift motion, he conjured a shimmering barrier that absorbed the attack. "Alright, if that's how you want to play it," Harry muttered, his grin returning. The next moment, the grass around Cyrus transformed into thick, writhing vines that lunged toward him.
Cyrus countered effortlessly, turning the vines into harmless petals that scattered in the wind. "Impressive," he admitted, his eyes narrowing. "But you're outmatched."
"Care to assess that theory?" Harry quipped, casting a series of rapid spells—one transfigured a stone into a charging wolf, another created a burst of sparks meant to disorient. Cyrus deflected them all with practiced precision, retaliating with elegant but powerful curses that forced Harry to keep moving.
The battle was fierce yet calculated, neither combatant aiming to kill but both determined to assert dominance. Sparks lit the lawn as spells collided, and the ground was scorched where curses landed. Harry, sobering with each passing moment, began to regain his usual sharpness, his movements more precise and his spells more creative.
"Enough!" A clear, commanding voice cut through the chaos. Both wizards froze as Daphne Greengrass appeared on the mansion's front steps, her wand raised. She looked first at her father, then at Harry, her expression a mixture of frustration and exasperation. "Father, stop! He's not an enemy."
Cyrus turned to his daughter; his brow furrowed. "Explain yourself, Daphne."
Daphne descended the steps, placing herself between the two men. "This is Harry Potter. He helped me at Gringotts a few days ago when Theodore Nott tried to corner me. He's not here to harm us."
Cyrus lowered his wand slightly, though his posture remained tense. "Harry Potter?" He scrutinized Harry closely, his expression softening as recognition dawned. "I should've realized sooner. We've conducted business before, through Gringotts."
Harry straightened, brushing soot off his coat. "Glad we're on the same page now," he said dryly. "Though I'm starting to wonder if all your business partners get this kind of welcome."
Cyrus regarded him for a moment before nodding, his demeanor shifting to something more diplomatic. "My apologies. These are dangerous times, and I can't afford to take chances with my family's safety."
"Understandable," Harry replied, tucking his wand away. "Though a less dramatic greeting would've been appreciated."
Daphne sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Father, we owe him an apology. The least we can do is invite him in."
Cyrus hesitated, then inclined his head. "You're right. Mr. Potter, please join us for dinner. It's the least we can do to make amends."
Harry raised an eyebrow but nodded. "Dinner sounds great. Lead the way."
Inside the Greengrass mansion, Harry found himself surrounded by elegance. The dining room was immaculate, with a long table set with fine china and crystal goblets. Daphne's mother, a graceful woman with a calm demeanor, greeted him warmly, while Astoria, Daphne's younger sister, observed him with wide, curious eyes.
"Mr. Potter," Lady Greengrass said with a polite smile, "it's a pleasure to finally meet you. I've heard much about your recent exploits."
"All good things, I hope," Harry replied smoothly, his tone disarming. Despite the opulence of his surroundings, he carried himself with an ease that surprised Daphne. He moved with confidence, his manners impeccable, as if he had been raised in the very circles she inhabited.
Throughout dinner, Harry answered questions with a mix of charm and candor. He spoke of his time at Durmstrang, his travels, and his work, careful to omit anything too incriminating. When Cyrus mentioned their shared dealings through Gringotts, Harry deftly shifted the conversation to mutual acquaintances, demonstrating a keen understanding of the pureblood world.
Daphne watched him closely, her initial impressions of him shifting. When they had first met at Gringotts, Harry had seemed brash and unpolished, yet here he was, navigating pureblood etiquette with surprising finesse. Even her father, a notoriously difficult man to impress, seemed intrigued.
As the evening wore on, Harry shared a humorous anecdote about a magical artifact he had encountered in Africa, earning laughter from Astoria and a rare smile from Cyrus. "You've certainly led an interesting life, Mr. Potter," Cyrus remarked.
"I try to keep things lively," Harry replied, raising his goblet in a mock toast.
By the time dessert was served, the tension from earlier had vanished entirely. When the meal concluded, Cyrus stood and extended a hand to Harry. "Thank you for joining us. I misjudged you earlier, and for that, I apologize."
Harry shook his hand firmly. "No harm done. It's been a pleasure."
As he prepared to leave, Daphne walked him to the door. "You're full of surprises, Potter," she said, her tone almost teasing.
Harry smirked. "I like to keep people guessing." He glanced back toward the dining room. "Your family's all right. We'll cross paths again, hopefully without the dueling."
"Hopefully," Daphne agreed, watching as Harry turned to leave. For reasons she couldn't quite explain, she found herself hoping their paths would indeed cross again.
Just as Harry reached for his wand to disappear, a sudden wave of dizziness hit him. The combination of the firewhiskey, his injuries from the battle, and the strain of the evening caught up with him. His vision blurred, and his knees buckled. Before he could react, everything went black.
When Harry awoke, the first thing he noticed was the faint morning light filtering through tall, arched windows. He was lying on a large, comfortable bed in a richly decorated room, the walls lined with bookshelves and the air carrying a faint scent of lavender. As he shifted, he realized his upper body was bare, and the bandages across his shoulder and side reminded him of the previous night's events. A quiet knock on the door interrupted his thoughts.
"Come in," Harry called, his voice still groggy.
The door opened, and Daphne Greengrass stepped inside, dressed elegantly but casually, her expression poised yet faintly amused. "Good to see you're awake," she said. "You had us worried for a moment."
Harry raised an eyebrow, sitting up slowly. "Us?"
"My father and I," Daphne clarified, stepping closer. "You collapsed last night after dinner. We thought it was just exhaustion, but when we checked you, it was obvious that the curses you took earlier were still affecting you. They weren't simple injuries."
Harry sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. "Dark magic," he muttered. "Of course. Should've known Nott wouldn't play fair."
"Exactly," Daphne said. "That's why we called in a trusted healer. He worked on you through the night. Apparently, combining dark curses, firewhiskey, and an accidental apparition to our estate was a bit too much for even someone like you."
Harry chuckled, though it quickly turned into a wince as he felt the lingering soreness in his shoulder. "I'll have to remember that mix is a bad idea," he said, offering her a half-smile. "Thanks for calling in the healer. And for not leaving me in a ditch somewhere."
Daphne smirked. "Consider it repayment. Besides, my father doesn't trust others easily, and yet he respects you. That's rare."
Harry swung his legs over the side of the bed, standing despite his body's protests. "Guess I should try not to ruin the good impression, then," he said, noticing his semi-dressed state. "Though I seem to have already lost half my dignity."
Daphne shrugged, a faint blush on her cheeks. "You were in worse shape last night. Trust me, this is an improvement."
Harry laughed, stretching carefully before pulling on the shirt left neatly folded at the foot of the bed. "Well, as much as I'd love to stay and chat, I have somewhere important to be today."
"The Wizengamot," Daphne said knowingly, leaning against the doorframe. "Your first session as Lord Potter."
Harry paused, giving her an appraising look. "You know, you're better informed than I gave you credit for."
"I grew up in a family that thrives on politics," she replied with a small smile. "You're walking into a den of wolves, Potter. Be careful which ones you feed."
Harry nodded, slipping on his coat. "Sound advice. Thanks for everything, Daphne. Let your family know I appreciate the hospitality." He stepped toward her, pausing in the doorway. "Oh, and for what it's worth, you're not half bad company yourself."
Harry reappeared in his hotel room in London, the familiar surroundings grounding him as he surveyed the neat space. He exhaled deeply, running a hand over his face before heading toward the bathroom. The hot water of the shower felt like a blessing, washing away the remnants of the night's chaos and the healer's salves. As the steam filled the room, Harry let his thoughts drift to the Wizengamot session ahead.
This wasn't about claiming his title as Lord Potter; it was a stage set for conflict. Voldemort's faction, the Ministry's sycophants, and the resistance—three forces vying for dominance. And now, Harry would be a player in the middle of it all.
After the shower, Harry dressed meticulously, donning robes that exuded both authority and neutrality—dark with subtle silver trim, an understated emblem of House Potter embroidered near his collar. He studied his reflection in the mirror, his expression sharp and determined. Whatever alliances he chose to form, or reject, would shape his future in England. For now, he would remain neutral but vigilant, a force neither side could ignore.
With one final glance, Harry straightened his robes and grabbed his wand. Today, the stage belonged to Lord Harry Potter, and he intended to make an impression none of them would forget.