A/N: Revised as of 10/30/24.
Harry was not accustomed to receiving mail in the mornings. No one outside the castle ever had reason to contact him in the last timeline, aside from the occasional coded message from Sirius. Which is why he was so perplexed at breakfast the next morning, when no fewer than three owls swooped down towards him and deposited letters and packages in his lap. Ignoring the light teasing from his housemates, Harry started with the largest package, which was from his parents:
Dearest Harry,
We were surprised but thrilled to learn that you had been Sorted into Ravenclaw. We always knew you were a bright student and know you will thrive in such an environment. We now expect straight-O's from your next report card! Just kidding (but only a little).
Inside this care package you will find enough sweets to last you until Christmas (or, if your father's appetite is any indication, the end of the week). It took a bit of charm work to change the frosting from red to blue, as we expected Gryffindor, but it should taste just as delicious.
We miss you terribly already. Dahlia has asked us to send along her love. Well, that and a few other choice words, but we will leave those for her to deliver in person on your next break.
Much love,
Mum and Dad xx
Harry tore open the package to find a row of perfectly-preserved cupcakes, each topped with delicious-looking silver and blue frosting. He immediately grabbed one and took a bite, relishing in the sweetness and surprising warmth. "Oi, you sharing, Potter?" demanded Michael Corner once he saw what Harry had received.
"In your dreams, Corner," Harry smirked, taking another luxurious bite of the pastry. Michael muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like mama's boy, but Harry didn't mind one bit. After a lifetime of being an orphan, he would take no shame in being spoiled by two loving parents.
Harry set aside the package to open the next letter, which was written in Sirius' trademark scrawl:
Harry,
Well done on making Ravenclaw. Your dad and I might call them a bunch of swots, but that's just because we were jealous that the teachers liked them more. Besides, it's better than Hufflepuff, eh?
Some of my favorite girlfriends were from Ravenclaw, you know. The smart girls are the ones you have to look out for. They may seem prim and proper on the surface, but I'm convinced them all have a Gryffindor inside them, roaring to get out. If you need any help wooing the ladies, you know who to write to.
And if you're worried about disappointing your parents for not being in Gryffindor: don't. I was the first of my family in generations not to be in Slytherin, and it was the best thing that ever could have happened to me. Your grandmother Dorea was also a Slytherin, so if James tries to pull any kind of family-heritage guilt card nonsense on you, make sure to set him straight, you hear?
Have a great term. Study hard, but party harder!
-Uncle Sirius
Harry smiled in spite of himself at his godfather's words. He hadn't had time to mourn the old Sirius, the one he'd just lost at the end of his old timeline, but was thrilled to see that his spirit lived on in this alternate version of himself. Harry hoped to do better by him this time around, and vowed to make sure he lived through the end of the coming war – if there indeed was one.
He finally tore open the final letter, which was written in neat cursive that he immediately recognized from his original third year DADA lessons:
Dear Harry,
Congratulations on beginning your Hogwarts journey. Ravenclaw is a fine House to belong to, and you should be proud to be counted among them. The Sorting Hat nearly placed me there before settling on Gryffindor, and I always had a strong admiration for their values and work ethic. You'll make a fine addition to their ranks.
I'm sure you will work hard in your studies, and your peers will no doubt help you along the way. Just don't forget to loosen up once in a while and enjoy yourself! The next seven years will be full of adventure and opportunity – don't squander it! You will look back on your time at Hogwarts fondly, so be sure to make memories and surround yourself with people you enjoy spending time with. Just don't get into TOO much trouble!
Don't hesitate to write if you need anything at all.
Sincerely,
Uncle Remus
P.S. - Do say hello to your Uncle Peter every once in a while. I know it isn't 'cool' to make friends with the school caretaker, but he really is a kind soul who can listen to your problems and help you with anything you might need.
Harry folded all three letters and tucked them away inside his robes. He was filled with a sense of warmth at all the well-wishes, redundant though they might be. Just knowing that he had so many people caring about him and rooting him on from afar was enough to give him the energy to press on. It was also nice to receive reassurance that Pettigrew was not a traitor in this timeline – perhaps he could get over his trepidations and befriend the man as well.
Ravenclaw's first lesson of the day was Transfiguration, and they filed dutifully into McGonagall's classroom along with the Gryffindors. "My mum says McGonagall's a real hard-ass," said Terry Boot loudly from his seat beside Harry. "Best not to get on her bad side."
"Be quiet," Harry hushed the boy urgently.
"Why? The old bint isn't even here yet," Terry chuckled. Harry merely sighed and settled into his chair for the show, as the tabby cat perched on the desk leapt into the air and transformed into their professor, earning gasps of surprise and fear from his classmates.
"That will be three points from Ravenclaw for being crass, Mr. Boot," McGonagall reprimanded the horrified boy. "Now, who here can tell me what the subject of Transfiguration is about?"
Hermione's hand immediately shot into the air, and after a few seconds of waiting for anyone else to volunteer, McGonagall called on her. "Transfiguration is the field of magical study regarding the transformation of an object from one state to another," Hermione recited – no doubt memorized from one of their beginner-level textbooks.
"Take two points for Ravenclaw, Miss Granger," McGonagall nodded. "Now, can anyone rephrase that in their own words?"
The class sat silently for a moment. When no one else volunteered, Harry reluctantly raised his hand. "It's changing an object's properties to affect its behavior," he said. "Changing things from solid to liquid, living to non-living, existent to non-existent."
"Very well-put, Mr. Potter; take another two points," McGonagall nodded. "Your father was quite adept in the field of Transfiguration. Perhaps you'd like to join me for a demonstration?"
"Erm...okay," Harry said awkwardly, standing to join the professor at the head of the class.
"Transfiguration is all about intent," McGonagall explained. She waved her wand, causing a small toothpick to appear on the desk beside Harry. "You must visualize the object in the state you desire it to achieve. Mr. Potter, could I have you attempt to transfigure this toothpick into a metal pin?"
"Alright," Harry nodded, drawing his wand and leveling it at the toothpick. He knew this was the most basic level of transfiguration they would be studying; this ought to be a piece of cake. He imagined the small wooden object as one of metal instead, focusing all his willpower on the change. Then he waved his wand and channeled his magic into the object.
The toothpick did transform into metal, but it also spouted off several sharp spikes in all directions. Seamus Finnigan howled in pain as one lodged itself into his cheek; several other students dove for cover from the projectiles. Horrified, Harry lowered his wand.
McGonagall quickly Vanished the toothpick as well as all the projectiles, leaving Seamus wincing with a small pinprick of blood on his face. "I didn't expect you to get it right the first time, Potter," said McGonagall diplomatically. "Though you must be careful with your intent, or accidents like that can happen. Take your seat, please."
Harry did so shamefully, mouthing sorry to a fuming Seamus as he passed by his seat. His Kneazle wand continued to fluctuate wildly in power, at times providing only minimal effect or drastically overpowering his spells. Why was this happening? Why must he endure the snickers of his peers when he knew he ought to be light-years ahead of them in terms of skill?
Don't be arrogant, Harry told himself as he stewed in his seat for the rest of the lesson. You just have to learn how to control it. Your magic is still growing and has to catch up with what you already know.
Next on the schedule was Astronomy, held high up in the tallest tower of the castle. Harry quickly remembered why it was one of his least-favorite subjects (besides History of Magic), as Professor Sinistra went on and on about various planets and celestial bodies that Harry couldn't care less about. Worse yet, she assigned them all a foot and a half of homework for their very first day – no amount of prior knowledge would help Harry avoid the busy-work of his classes he so loathed.
After a quick lunch, Harry arrived early for their first Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson, waiting for the previous class to let out. He sat idly in the corridor chatting with Terry Boot, who was prattling on about how attractive Professor Sinistra was, pretending to listen and occasionally saying "uh huh" to placate him.
His ears perked up at the sound of a disturbance nearby: scuffling of shoes, muted sounds of conflict. Harry leapt to his feet and rushed around the corner, where he encountered an odd sight: three Slytherin upper-year boys, surrounding a cowering Peter Pettigrew in the corner.
"What's the matter, sir?" one of the boys asked the caretaker mockingly, brandishing a broom that they'd clearly just stolen from him. "Can't take a broom back from a teenager?"
"G-g-give that back, n-now," Peter stammered, reaching for the broom only for it to be pulled out of reach, as the other two boys pressed in closer.
"You didn't say please," the Slytherin boy said nastily, as the other two chuckled.
"Oi! Leave him alone!" Harry bellowed from down the hall, wand clutched firmly in his hand. All three boys looked up at him, looking temporarily caught, but they snickered when they saw who had addressed them.
"Mind your own, firstie," one of the boys sneered. "If you know what's good for you." He fired a Stinging Hex at Harry, who wordlessly swiped it aside, eyes narrowed, veins pumping with anger.
"Ooh, the firstie wants to play!" another boy laughed. They turned their attention towards Harry, leaving Peter to cower in the corner behind them. "Want to dance, boy? Tarantallegra!"
"Protego!" Harry bellowed; a golden shield burst into existence before him, deflecting the spell and sending it careening into another boy, whose legs began to dance uncontrollably beneath him. The boy who fired the hex gawked at the perfect, shimmering shield, far more advanced than any first-year should have been capable of casting. But the other's face contorted into anger.
"You'll pay for that one, firstie," he snarled, brandishing his wand. "Lacera—"
"Petrificus Totalus!" Harry shouted; his Body-Bind Curse hit the boy squarely in the chest, interrupting his own spell and sending him toppling over like a frozen statue.
Harry wasted no time, making use of the element of surprise by firing a Disarming Charm at the third boy, whose wand clattered away out of reach. But he didn't look up to fighting anymore; he simply gawked at Harry, as though unable to process how this boy had so cleanly dispatched three much older boys.
"What is the meaning of this?" a familiar voice sneered; Harry's stomach dropped as Snape came rushing around the corner, looking furious. With a mighty swipe of his wand, he canceled all of the spells in effect, freeing the limbs of one of the boys and ceasing the leg movements of another, while Harry's shield dissipated into thin air.
"That boy attacked us!" one of the Slytherins protested, pointing a finger at Harry. Snape raised an eyebrow at him.
"They attacked me first," Harry said simply. "And they were harassing Peter."
Snape rounded on Peter, who continued to watch on in silent fright. "Well, Pettigrew?" he demanded. "What transpired here?"
"P-Potter was d-defending himself," Peter managed. "Th-the others were t-trying to hex him."
Snape stared at Peter with clear disdain. "Perhaps, if the proper parties had asserted their authority, there would be no need for such foolish fighting," he drawled malevolently. "Wouldn't you agree, Peter?"
"C-certainly, Severus," Peter nodded, looking ashamed. Snape looked again at Harry, clearly looking for a reason to give him detention for the rest of his life. Harry just stood there, awaiting his judgment. But Snape instead turned to the three Slytherins, who looked up at their Head of House sheepishly.
"Off to class, Flint," Snape sneered at the ringleader. "You too, Avery. Bode." The three boys threw one last malicious look at Harry before gathering their things and leaving the hall, Snape sweeping away behind them.
"You alright, Uncle Peter?" Harry asked, approaching the caretaker once they were alone.
"What? Oh, yes, I'm fine," Peter said, bewildered. "Harry, how did you learn to duel like that?"
"I just got lucky," Harry shrugged. "They didn't expect me to fight back, and I caught them off-guard, that's all."
"That was some advanced defensive magic you used," Peter remarked. "I doubt even Flint could have produced a Shield Charm that strong."
"I like to read ahead," Harry shrugged. "Guess that's why I'm in Ravenclaw, eh?"
Peter chuckled awkwardly at this sentiment. "Listen, I'd better go," he said, eyeing the rush of oncoming students; Quirrell's last class had just let out. "Come by my office Friday night, will you? We should talk."
"Erm...yes, alright," Harry agreed. It's not a trap, he reminded himself. This isn't the Peter Pettigrew you knew in your timeline. Peter gave him a nervous smile, then hustled off down the corridor.
Harry turned back towards the classroom, where the Slytherin and Hufflepuff first-years were filing out. He spied Ron and Neville amidst the group; the latter was rubbing his scar with a pained expression on his face. "Alright there, Neville?" Harry called out.
"Huh? Oh, hello, Harry," Neville said in pained greeting. "'M fine. Just a headache, is all."
"Can't blame you," Ron said sympathetically, patting Neville on the back. "That Quirrell bloke is a nutter. Got all kinds of weird herbs and fragrances in there...maybe you're allergic to something."
"Yeah, maybe," Neville muttered. Harry bade them farewell as he entered the classroom for his own lesson with the Gryffindors. Hopefully putting some distance between himself and Quirrell would help ease Neville's suffering – in hindsight, that had helped Harry tremendously in his own first year.
Harry spent much of his DADA lesson staring at Quirrell's turban, imagining what an odd sensation it must be to have a disembodied spirit residing in the back of your head. He glared openly at the back of the turban whenever Quirrell turned his back to them, wondering if Voldemort could see him through the fabric. He almost invited it. I'm not afraid of you, Harry silently mocked the spirit. I'll find an excuse to expose you, and you'll be done for.
Now that Harry was free to listen to Quirrell's lectures without the constant scar pain, he was surprised to find that the man really knew his stuff. His knowledge of obscure defensive magic from around the globe was apparent – he had clearly made good use of his travels abroad to learn more than what the standard British curriculum could teach. Shame you had to fall into Voldemort's clutches, Harry lamented. I might have enjoyed learning upper-year Defense from you.
Harry spent the remainder of the day on-edge, expecting a reprisal from the Slytherin boys, but none ever came. Perhaps they'd decided he wasn't worth it. Maybe Snape had chewed some common sense into them (unlikely). Or, Harry realized, they might have learned who he was, and that his father was the famed Auror James Potter. It was odd getting used to the feeling of his father being more famous than he was, but he supposed it had its perks. He even started to understand why Draco so relished in holding the threat of his own father over people…
Later that week, Harry had his first Potions lesson with Snape, which he had been dreading. He may not be the Chosen One anymore, but Snape's hatred for his father certainly couldn't be much different in this timeline, if not worse given that he was still alive and present in society. Sure enough, he felt Snape's eyes narrow upon him as he stood before the frightened class, waiting for the lesson to begin.
"Potter!" snapped Snape after several seconds of awkward silence. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
"The Draught of Living Death," Harry said confidently. He had anticipated this ambush coming, and prepared by carefully studying his first-year potions book ahead of time to ensure he knew its contents.
"Hmph," said Snape. "And where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"
"In the stomach of a goat," said Harry. "It's a stone that can reverse the effects of most poisons."
"I did not ask you what it did," Snape snapped at him. "Now tell me, what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"
"There is none," Harry said simply. He knew that it also went more commonly by the name aconite, but did not wish to volunteer more information than asked for, lest he invoke Snape's wrath once more. Snape was peering at Harry with his deep black eyes, sneering; Harry stared right back, unblinking.
Eventually, Snape's lip curled up into a thin smile. "Very good, Potter," he said. "Perhaps you take after your mother after all."
Don't you bring up my mother, Harry thought furiously. I know what you called her in your fifth year. But he said nothing, merely looking back up at the professor impassively, praying for him to move on.
"Longbottom!" Snape suddenly said, rounding on a frightened Neville across the room. "Can you recite for me the primary ingredients of a Polyjuice Potion?"
That isn't covered until our O.W.L. year! Harry thought indignantly. He also saw Hermione's face scrunched up at this question; clearly she hadn't encountered it in the textbook yet either. Neville's eyes went wide at the unfair question.
"I-I don't know, sir," he muttered.
"Hmph," Snape said, glaring down at the poor boy. "Clearly fame isn't everything, Mr. Longbottom. You'll have to try harder than that to succeed in my class." And Snape continued on with his lesson, with Neville staring glumly down at his feet. The injustice caused Harry to remember just how much he'd hated the man before – clearly things wouldn't be much different in this new timeline.
The other notable event of the week came during Charms lesson, in which Professor Flitwick introduced them to the Levitation Charm. "The incantation is Wingardium Leviosa," he instructed them. "Swish and flick, as so. Now, please break up into pairs and take turns practicing on the feathers provided for you."
Harry pointed his wand at the feather, enunciating clearly and performing the wand movement exactly as described. It shot up to the ceiling like a cannonball, its point sticking into the rafters and remaining stuck there, causing his classmates to giggle at his expense. This is getting ridiculous, Harry thought in frustration as he could only shrug at Professor Flitwick's raised eyebrow.
Flitwick asked Harry to stay behind after this lesson. "I hear from my fellow professors that you have been having troubles with your casting," he said.
"Yes, sir," Harry said glumly. "I'm having difficulty with controlling the power level of my spells."
"May I ask what kind of wand it is?" asked Flitwick curiously.
"It's mahogany, with a Kneazle whisker core," said Harry.
"Ah, quite a finicky combination," Flitwick mused. "I taught a student decades ago with a similar core, and it took her years of practice to overpower the chaotic nature of the wand."
"Wonderful," Harry muttered. He didn't have years to spare; he had to be ready for Voldemort as soon as possible.
"I also heard an interesting rumor from Professor Snape," Flitwick said thoughtfully. "He claims that you produced a perfect Shield Charm during a scuffle in between classes. Is this true?"
"Erm...yes, sir," Harry said sheepishly.
"I imagine your father must have taught you that one?" Flitwick said. "Dead useful, that spell is. Also extremely difficult to cast; even my N.E.W.T. level students have difficulties with maintaining shields. Very impressive, Mr. Potter."
"Thank you, sir."
"You're quite welcome," Flitwick beamed. "Could you do me a favor and pick up that chair for me?"
Harry followed the professor's gaze to the corner of the room, where a student had carelessly left their seat upturned on the ground after a hasty exit from the classroom. He strode across the room and set it upright, turning back towards Flitwick; to his surprise, the miniature man had drawn his wand.
"Expelliarmus!" Flitwick bellowed.
"Protego!" Harry said instinctively. A golden shield erupted before him, blocking the jet of red light from Flitwick's wand and sending it back towards him, causing the man's wand to clatter to the ground.
"Oh, how splendid!" Flitwick said with glee, stepping forward to examine the shield. "It's exactly as I suspected."
"What did you suspect, Professor?" asked Harry.
"Your wand seems perfectly capable of regulating power levels," said Flitwick. "But it only does so in moments of danger, when your need is most great. Perhaps that is when your will is strongest, or perhaps the wand is issuing you a challenge."
"A challenge, sir?"
"I suspect the wand wants you to prove yourself," Flitwick said. "Kneazles are clever creatures and aren't easily tamed. As I instructed my last student, you must demonstrate that you're worthy of being listened to, of being obeyed. So my advice to you, Mr. Potter, is to keep pushing yourself and practicing with the wand. Prove your allegiance to it, and it may just give theirs in return."
Harry always hated the way people like Ollivander and Flitwick talked about wands like they were sentient beings. It still just felt like a stupid piece of wood in his palm. But he couldn't deny the point: the wand had clearly chosen him and had proven capable of powerful magic. He would just have to work harder than he had with his old holly and phoenix wand to master its potential.
"Thank you, sir," he said before exiting the classroom. He would just have to add this to the growing list of questions he was pondering in his new life. Even though his life was much the same as his first timeline had been, he felt twice as unprepared and ignorant as he had been before. He hadn't even had time to devote attention towards Voldemort – he'd intended to begin studying right away to prepare for his return. He even had a mental checklist of questions he wanted to answer for himself as soon as possible:
1. How did Voldemort split his soul?
2. How can you destroy soul fragments?
3. How do prophecies work?
4. What does the prophecy about Voldemort say and mean?
5. How do resurrection rituals work, and can they be disrupted?
Most of these questions, of course, would be difficult to answer without access to the Restricted Section. Harry doubted he would find much of interest about soul magic in his first-year texts. He also didn't want to draw attention to himself so early by checking out books on such salacious topics. He would have to bide his time and slowly build up his knowledge on Voldemort's secrets.
Meanwhile, Harry decided to focus on his relationships with his fellow students. It was odd interacting with kids five years younger than he felt, but he knew most of them well enough already, and was able to build up a natural rapport with most of them. He liked his fellow Ravenclaws well enough, though he doubted he would form a lasting bond with any of them like he had with Ron and Hermione in his past life. He wanted to extend his circle beyond his House and see what others had to offer him.
He also kept an eye on Neville from afar, and to his dismay, the boy did not seem to be faring so well in Slytherin. Malfoy was hanging around him rather often, but Harry could tell that Neville was not fond of the boy, and seemed miserable during meals as the likes of Crabbe and Goyle talked about whatever they found interesting (probably nothing pleasant). He and Ron seemed to be forming a bond at least, but Hermione was almost entirely absent from their social circles.
And Harry quickly realized that he was to blame for that. Being in Ravenclaw with her, he had settled into a comfortable routing with her, leaning on his previous relationship to form a fast friendship with the girl. Hermione was all too eager to have a friend, being an outsider as she was, but Harry didn't feel right about secluding himself with her as he had in his previous timeline. He didn't want a close-knit group of loyals around him – that had gotten him into trouble before. He needed a more fluid social situation, one that let him interact with more people without any one of them influencing his decisions too heavily.
Harry didn't want to manipulate Neville's social life too much, but he was beginning to believe the Golden Trio needed to be reformed. Only this time, with Neville at its center instead of himself. Ron and Hermione had been an invaluable resource for him last time – a balanced friend group he could always rely on. Sure, they might not have been able to dissuade him from some of his more stupid ideas, but this time Harry would be able to watch from afar and hopefully prevent such mishaps himself.
Harry had an idea for how to reform the trio, but wasn't sure if it would work – or if it was even wise. Halloween was right around the corner, and if things progressed as they had before, a troll would be let into the castle. Harry could sit back and let things play out naturally. Would Hermione once again be threatened in the bathroom? Would Neville and Ron rush to her rescue, and would they succeed?
But what if something went wrong? What if he miscalculated and Hermione got badly injured, if not worse? Could he live with that on his conscience? That was the question he had to answer for himself within the next couple weeks.
He attempted to assuage his guilt on the matter during one of his meetings with Peter Pettigrew in his office. He'd taken to visiting the caretaker on Fridays after lessons, at first reluctantly, but soon looked forward to the sessions. Peter was quiet and skittish at first blush, but had a good sense of humor and a kind heart. Once Harry got over his irrational hatred of the man's betrayal that had never happened in this timeline, he came to trust Peter and seek his guidance on important matters.
"I've been worried about something," Harry admitted one Friday as he and Peter shared a pumpkin pie that Harry had lifted from the kitchens. "I wonder if you could help me through it."
"Certainly, Harry," said Peter, giving the boy his full attention. "What's on your mind?"
"Well…" Harry sighed, trying to find a way to express his dilemma without giving away his secret. "I'm worried about something that could happen to some friends of mine. They're getting into something dangerous, and I don't want to see them get hurt."
"Harry, I promise they won't get in trouble if you tell me now," Peter said warningly. "I can't be seen to allow such a thing to happen—"
"As if you never got into dangerous situations in school," Harry scoffed. "Right, 'Wormtail'?"
Peter reddened a bit at this; clearly he hadn't known that Harry knew his Animagus status. "That's...besides the point!" Peter spluttered. "If you truly fear for their well-being—"
"It's nothing against school rules, if that's what you're on about," said Harry.
"Fine," Peter grumbled. "What's your question, then?"
"Part of me wants to intervene and stop it from happening," said Harry. "But I think it could be beneficial in the long run, if it all goes smoothly. Do you see what I mean?"
"Not really," Peter frowned.
"Ugh," Harry sighed. "I guess what I'm getting at is: how much am I willing to risk to see my friends happy? If I interfered and ruined a friendship, does that make me a worse person than if I let them deal with it by themselves?"
Peter contemplated this vague statement for a bit. "You know, in my sixth year, I nearly ratted out your father and Sirius during one of their late-night excursions," he admitted. "Professor McGonagall needed proof of them sneaking out, and she offered me prefect status if I turned them in. I strongly considered it...boy, it would have made my father so proud…"
"Why didn't you?" Harry asked, surprised. He'd long been curious about the seemingly frayed relationship between Peter and the other Marauders.
"Because I wanted to be included," Peter sighed. "I never felt like your father considered me a close friend. He and Sirius were extremely tight, and they kept Remus close to help them with schoolwork, but I was always the odd one out. They invited me along to things, but I think it was mostly out of convenience than anything. I thought maybe they would see my loyalty and reward me for it."
Harry thought about this for a long while. "And do you regret it?" he asked. "Not saying anything?"
"Sometimes," Peter shrugged. "We had good times at Hogwarts, but we drifted apart after graduation. I suppose that happens when you get older, though – people don't always stay in touch. I wonder at times if it would be better that they hated me for betraying them, versus pretending that I no longer exist."
A dark demeanor had come over Peter, and Harry couldn't help but feel a twinge of pity for the man. Peter struck him as a lonely individual, one who just wanted to be accepted and loved. Harry didn't know why the other Marauders kept him at arm's length, but it was clear they saw him as the least important of the four. It was suddenly no surprise to Harry why Peter had chosen to do what he did in the prior timeline…
"Oh, what am I saying?" Peter said, shaking his head and looking surprised at himself. "Harry, I hope you don't think less of your father for this; that wasn't my intention. My point was that I chose not to interfere, and I stand by that decision."
"So you think I should let the dangerous thing happen, then?" Harry asked.
"I didn't say that," Peter added hastily. "But you have to ask yourself if you're willing to face the consequences of your inaction. I can only imagine how I would have felt if someone had been injured, or worse, during one of our full-moon romps. That's something you must answer for yourself."
"I see," Harry said contemplatively. "Thanks, Uncle Peter." He stood to gather his things, then impulsively decided to wrap his arms around the man in a hug. Peter flinched instinctively at this, but awkwardly accepted the gesture, patting Harry gently on the back.
"Harry?" asked Peter tentatively as Harry turned to go. "This doesn't have anything to do with the third floor corridor, does it?"
"No, nothing like that," Harry said quickly. Though in a way, it did, since the troll was Quirrell's diversion to grant him access to the Stone. But he needn't reveal that information. "What d'you know about that corridor, anyway?" Harry added as an afterthought.
"Not nearly enough," Peter said glumly. "Dumbledore's being very tight-lipped about it. Says I'm to keep all students away from the area, but not why."
"How odd," Harry shrugged. And he took his leave of the office before he could say anything that gave away what he knew.
He didn't feel a whole lot better about the situation when October 31st rolled around. He kept a close eye on Hermione during lessons, but to his surprise, she seemed to be in a cheery mood as the Halloween Feast approached. She wasn't bullied quite as badly in this timeline – perhaps being a Ravenclaw made others accept her bookish nature more. Harry realized that she was unlikely to be isolated from the rest of the school when the troll attacked.
Was the whole plan a bust? Should Harry just find another way to get the three together another time? Still, he felt that he had a golden opportunity to manufacture something positive with his foreknowledge of events. So he concocted a new plan, one that he hoped would be far safer and more foolproof.
Harry feigned surprise along with the other students when Professor Quirrell burst into the hall during dessert, white as a sheet. "TROLL!" he bellowed. "T-troll in the dungeons!" And he promptly fainted, falling flat on his face, causing the room to descend into chaos.
"How frightening!" Hermione remarked, turning to Harry as the prefects began to shout instructions. "Shall we head back to the common room?"
"I'm gonna go find the troll," Harry said firmly. "I bet I can stop it myself."
"What?!" Hermione exclaimed. "B-but it could be dangerous!"
"I'll be fine," Harry shrugged, standing to leave. "See you later."
Hermione grabbed his arm as Harry moved to leave. "You can't!" she said firmly. "You'll get in trouble! What if a teacher saw you—?"
"Don't you dare tell any teachers," Harry snapped at her. "Or I'll never forgive you." And he wrenched his arm free, slipping away through the crowd and out of the Great Hall.
Harry felt that he knew Hermione well enough to predict what she'd do next. She wouldn't go to a teacher, with such a friendship-ending threat looming over her head. She would go to the person she was closest to next for help. And with her failing to make any other friends this term besides Harry, that would be the two boys she met on the train – Neville and Ron.
Meanwhile, Harry headed down to the dungeons to find the troll. It wasn't difficult – he found it lumbering down a corridor near the Potions classroom. He'd done a bit of research over the past week and found that trolls were exceedingly stupid and easy to control if you knew what you were doing. As long as you didn't get close enough to get hit by its club, they posed virtually no threat.
Still, Harry kept his distance, following the troll from a distance while concealed beneath a Disillusionment Charm. He'd been practicing the spell in his free time – it wasn't perfect, but he was hidden enough to avoid detection if nobody was looking too closely. He'd meant to ask his father about the Invisibility Cloak, unsure if it even existed in this timeline, but that was a question for another day.
Harry's hunch proved correct, as minutes later, Hermione, Ron and Neville skidded into view, freezing at the sight of the troll. Hermione gave an involuntary scream, which unfortunately drew the attention of the troll, who turned and began to lumber after them.
"Watch out!" Neville exclaimed, pulling Hermione behind him. He pointed his wand at the massive beast. "Flipendo!"
Neville's Knockback Jinx bounced harmlessly off the troll's thick skin. However, Harry silently cast a Leg-Locker Hex on the troll from behind, aiming precisely at the back of its knees where he knew the skin wasn't as thick. The troll groaned as it stumbled and fell flat on its stomach, its head bouncing comically off the stone floor. The troll began to snore, knocked out cold from the blow.
"Y-you got it!" Hermione gasped, throwing her arms around a dumbfounded Neville. "Thank you! And you, Ronald, for helping!"
"Er...my pleasure," said Ron, accepting Hermione's hug.
A clatter of footsteps heralded the arrival of several staff members, Professor McGonagall at the head. "My goodness!" she gasped when she saw the massive troll on the ground. "Explain yourself, you three!"
Neville and Ron looked at each other, but it was Hermione who answered. "It's my fault, Professor," she said, feigning contrition. "I went looking for the troll, and Neville and Ron tried to stop me. They saved me when the troll charged at us." The two boys once again shared an incredulous look, but remained silent.
"That was incredibly foolish, Miss Granger!" McGonagall said, looking flustered. "Ten points from Ravenclaw for putting yourself at such risk. As for you two, take five points each for your Houses for saving her, but don't ever try something so foolhardy again!"
"Yes, Professor," said Neville and Ron glumly.
"Let's get you back to your common rooms, then," McGonagall sighed. She herded the three students down the hall as the other staff members secured the troll. Harry watched from a secret alcove behind a tapestry, as Neville and Ron supporting a shaking Hermione on either side. The sight filled Harry with warmth as he realized his gambit had paid off.
The golden trio, together as they ought to be, thought Harry. He knew such a harrowing experience would bond them together for life, and was glad he hadn't inserted himself into the equation. Neville needed that strong core to rely on, to draw strength and inspiration from – Harry would just be one too many cooks in the kitchen. No, Harry would keep his distance, allow the trio to grow and learn to trust one another, without expecting someone else to swoop in and save the day for them.
Is this how Dumbledore feels all the time? Harry wondered as he crept out from behind the tapestry and stole back towards Ravenclaw Tower. Pulling the puppet strings from afar and watching his risks pay off? Something about it felt wrong, and yet immensely satisfying. If Harry could use his foreknowledge of certain events to his advantage more often, he might just be able to craft a better world not just for Neville, but for everyone around him as well.
"Potter!" a voice shouted, breaking him from his reverie. Harry froze and turned to see Professor Snape stalking towards him, looking furious. "What are you doing out alone? You were instructed to follow your prefects back to the common room!"
"Sorry, Professor, I...got lost," Harry said lamely.
"Ten points from Ravenclaw for your carelessness," Snape spat. "I expected better of you, Potter. I had hoped you would take after your mother, but you still have far too much of your father in you." And Snape turned to leave, striding off in the opposite direction. Harry couldn't help but notice he was favoring his left side, limping slightly – he must have been successful in his efforts to head off Quirrell from the trapdoor, just as before.
Harry returned to Ravenclaw Tower soon after, where he endured a dressing-down from Penelope Clearwater for arriving late, and retired to bed early. Snape's parting words bothered him, but not for the reason he expected. In his original timeline he had fiercely defended his father's honor, unwilling to hear slander against his character. But now, having seen Snape's memory of the bullying he endured, and hearing Uncle Peter's account of feeling left out of James' inner circle, he felt uneasy about the comparison to his father.
But I'm not a bully, am I? Harry wondered. I defended Peter from those Slytherins after all! Though maybe that too was rather more like his father, seeking out a fight rather than taking the diplomatic approach. What would his mother have done? Defended Peter but stayed out of the fight? Perhaps he ought to write her and ask her opinion. He often forgot that was an option in his new timeline.
I'm not alone in this, he reminded himself. I have people who care about me, and want to help. He slowly drifted off to sleep, comforted by the knowledge that he had a support system he could rely upon.