THE WAR AID ACT
The W.A.A
A new controversial topic of discussion comes from a section of a new law on the verge of being passed called the W.A.A or War Aid Act. In its depths, it states anyone over the age twelve could be eligible to be enlisted on a draft of available soldiers if the war depletes the ministry of fifty-five percent of its auror and private contract forces.
That is the biggest and most controversial clause being debated against. The massive piece of legislation would also allow for a heavier auror presence at Hogwarts, Hogsmeade, and Diagon Alley, a tougher punishment of convicted death eaters or those convicted of conspiring against the ministry, an increased budget for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement & other enforcement-related departments. Portions of the act have already been implemented by having an auror take over Defense against the Dark Arts this term, and increasing auror patrols in Hogsmeade. Many are outraged by the proposed legislation, and there has been a sizable protesting to stop the W.A.A from being drafted, referring to it as a major overreach from the new Minister for Magic Scrimgeour. Others have called it a necessary to ensure that the ministry is capable of fighting You-know-Who. The law is set to be voted upon before the year is out. There has been no comment from the new Minister for Magic Scrimgeour. An undisclosed individual contacted us with their thoughts on the act.
"I think it's time that we had a minister of magic that is willing to do hard things for the safety of our society. Do I agree with murdering children, no, but if it's the only way to fight then so be it."
Another anonymous individual had this to say...
"It's downright absurd. What will any child of the specific age group be able to contribute to the war besides being killed? It's cowardice at best, and I can't believe the anyone in their right mind is even considering it...let alone our government. These are our children, not cannon fodder. If you want to send someone who deserves it, send the pureblood slayer, he is used to killing anyway."
Harry James Potter, nicknamed the Pureblood slayer, has been involved in many controversies before and since the war began due to his involvement in the death of Ginny Weasley, the death of convict Sirius Black, and mainly his involvement in the Massacre of the Fawley and Nott Family, in which he was granted amnesty for by the newly appointed Minister of Magic, a move that was met with mass protest by many due to lack of a trial.
More of W.A.A on page 2. More of Harry Potter on page 4. Reported Dead or missing on page 6. Quidditch on Page 7.
A young raven-haired boy leaned against the sturdy railing of the Hogwarts tower overlooking Hogsmeade, his fingers absently crumpling a newspaper in his hand. His face was expressionless, his demeanor as cold as the biting wind that whipped around him. His gaze was fixed on the horizon beyond the twinkling lights of Hogsmeade, his mind racing as the door below creaked open.
"I knew I'd find you up here," Draco said, his voice smooth and measured. "Sulking again? Honestly, Potter, you're starting to make me think you enjoy wallowing."
There was only one person it could be. Draco. His sharp-tongued, narcissistic best friend. Harry slowly rose from his perch to face Draco, who stood grinning smugly. Though they hadn't seen each other all summer, nothing had changed. Draco was still the same Malfoy Harry had befriended four years ago—the one he trusted, despite everything.
Harry raised an eyebrow, unfazed by Draco's jab. "If I wanted your opinion, I'd ask for it."
Draco smirked faintly, though there was no real malice behind it—just the familiar banter they'd grown accustomed to over the years. "Fair enough. But let's not pretend you're out here admiring the view. What's eating at you this time?"
Harry hesitated before answering, glancing at the crumpled newspaper still clutched in his fist. "It's nothing new. Just… the usual mess."
Draco's grin faltered slightly as his eyes landed on the newspaper. "My father's been all over that Act. He's bribed just about everyone he can to push it through," Draco remarked, stepping past Harry to stare at the same distant horizon.
"I take it he hasn't improved much this summer?" Harry asked dryly.
"Of course not," Draco replied, pausing as the wind howled fiercely. "He's gone mad trying to get into the Elite. Desperation doesn't suit him. It's pathetic."
Harry nodded knowingly. He understood all too well what Lucius was chasing—and how futile it was. Voldemort's specialized death-eater force, the Elite, wasn't something someone like Lucius could ever achieve. Anyone who encountered an Elite member rarely survived. If it weren't for Severus Snape—an Elite member—no one would even know of their existence.
Draco groaned, running a hand through his hair. "Damn it, now you've got me feeling moody too."
Harry offered a fleeting smile as the newspaper in his hands burst into flames. "We should head down to the sorting ceremony… I believe I'm a prefect this year."
"I know I abused my position a lot last year, but I was a hell of a lot better prefect than Weasley," Draco sighed with a smug expression. Harry had come to know his friend well enough to anticipate what he would ask next. "Who is the girl prefect anyway? If I wasn't given the position, I know Pansy wasn't."
Harry gave a noncommittal shrug, already making his way toward the door. "You'll find out soon enough. Best not lose your appetite over it," he called back, letting the door swing shut behind him.
As Harry made his way to the Great Hall, he couldn't help but reflect on his unlikely friendship with Draco Malfoy. They had come a long way from being Slytherin rivals to becoming friends. Trusting Draco wasn't always easy, given his family's ties and loyalties, and last year had tested that trust more than ever. Still, Harry trusted both Draco and Blaise Zabini—two people who had become invaluable confidants during his five tumultuous years at Hogwarts.
Harry paused at the entrance of the ornate Great Hall as returning students filled the tables, catching up with friends they hadn't seen all summer. He stood for only a moment, noticing how eyes darted toward him and whispers rippled through the crowd. Everyone seemed to have an opinion about him, starting with his sorting into Slytherin, but the events of the summer had only deepened the animosity he'd grown accustomed to.
Finally, Harry took his seat at the head of the Slytherin table. His female prefect partner was already there—Daphne Greengrass. It irked him that Dumbledore had insisted he take on the role this year, especially when things were about to get far more dangerous now that the war was escalating. War. The word felt strange to finally acknowledge aloud, though he'd been preparing for it his entire life. He glanced up at the head table where Dumbledore sat smiling pleasantly, chatting with Professor McGonagall. Harry owed nearly everything he knew to the man—the most powerful wizard in the world—but tonight, his thoughts were elsewhere.
His gaze shifted to Daphne. He didn't know much about her, but Blaise occasionally mentioned her in passing, which carried weight since Blaise rarely praised anyone. And then there was Draco, who clearly had some kind of fixation on her.
As if on cue, Draco slid into the seat next to Harry. "Sorry, mate, looks like you're stuck working with this… mute." He smirked. "Though, truthfully, I can see why anyone might clam up around someone like you."
"Sod off, Malfoy," Daphne shot back without missing a beat.
Before Draco could dig himself deeper, the first years began filing in for the Sorting Ceremony. Harry tuned out the proceedings entirely, his mind preoccupied with the challenges ahead. How could he focus on schoolwork when the Death Eaters—and worse, Voldemort's Elite—were growing bolder by the day? He felt like a sitting duck, pretending to be a student while others died fighting a war only he could end. This tension between duty and expectation had been a recurring theme in his arguments with Dumbledore over the past two years, and so far, Harry had lost every time.
The feast eventually wound down, and Harry and Daphne led the first years to the Slytherin common room. She handled most of the introductions while Harry trailed behind, observing silently. He understood why Snape had chosen her; she commanded respect effortlessly, and the first years fell into line under her calm authority. Some of them looked excited, eager to start their new lives, while others lingered nervously at the back, overwhelmed by the sudden change.
He remembered his own first year vividly. Having grown up in the castle, spending summers wandering Dumbledore's office or playing with Fawkes, he'd thought he knew what to expect. But once he became a student, everything changed. Most people either wanted to befriend him or despised him outright. Except Blaise, who had remained indifferent—a quiet constant amid the chaos. Academically, Harry had excelled, but socially, he'd done it alone until his accidental battle with Quirrell forced him into the spotlight.
"Stop that," Daphne said sharply, pulling Harry from his thoughts. A pair of rowdy first years had started shoving each other near the entrance.
Once order was restored, Harry left the dungeons for his real sanctuary: the Chamber of Secrets. It was damp and drafty, but after extensive renovations, it had transformed into a secluded haven known only to Draco and Blaise.
Upon entering, the first thing anyone would notice was the basilisk skeleton suspended high above the ground, its length stretching the full aisle. Along the walls, snake-entwined pillars framed several rooms Harry had created: three bedrooms, a potions lab, a small training area, and a library at the far end. As he entered the library, rows of books surrounded him—not nearly as extensive as Hogwarts' collection or Dumbledore's personal stash, but impressive nonetheless.
Harry would never admit how many hours they had spent researching interior design spells—but he was proud of the results. In the center of the space, a circle of reading chairs, tables, and a desk formed a cozy study area. Blaise Zabini was already there, lounging with a book open on his lap.
"The Pureblood Slayer," Blaise mused, flipping a page. "Sounds better than 'the Boy Who Lived,' doesn't it?"
Harry raised an eyebrow. "Do you agree with them?"
Blaise closed the book and set it aside. "You're always so defensive. No, I don't think you're some cold-blooded killer. Whatever happened, I know you did it for the right reasons. Besides, fewer Death Eaters means one less headache for you."
Harry crossed his arms. "And what about loyalty? Do you ever question mine?"
Blaise stood, towering over Harry as usual. "Not for a second. Your secrets are safe with me, no matter how confusing your choices sometimes seem. Rest assured, there's no conflict of interest."
Satisfied, Harry turned to leave, heading toward his room. It was small and cluttered, with robes and bags strewn across the floor. A large bed dominated the center, flanked by a chest and dresser. A desk sat tucked in the corner beside the door to his washroom.
Before he could settle in, Draco burst into the chamber with characteristic drama, stomping into the library. "I'm going to kill Dumbledore, Potter! How dare he give me Pansy last year instead of Greengrass!"
Blaise rolled his eyes. "Oh, please. Don't act like you didn't enjoy yourself. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if you've been busy chasing her again since the feast ended."
Draco flushed. "Shut it, Zabini. For your information, I was with your mother last night. She wants to make me her eighth husband."
"Good luck with that," Blaise replied dryly. "It'll be your funeral."
Harry watched the exchange between Draco and Blaise with mild amusement. The two were so different that their conversations often led to entertaining arguments. More often than not, it was Draco who ended up riled up.
"Oh, come on, Zabini," Draco snapped. "You're just jealous because I'm the only one here who actually knows how to treat a woman right."
Blaise raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Jealous? Hardly. I'd be more impressed if you weren't referring to someone who barely qualifies as a person. Even Muggle-borns have better hygiene than her."
"Enough, Blaise," Harry interjected firmly. He appreciated their banter, but there were lines they didn't need to cross. Despite trusting both of them, he knew their pureblood upbringing sometimes bled through in ways that grated on him. And he wasn't exactly innocent either—his own time spent around Aberforth had taught him plenty about biting remarks.
"Sorry," Blaise said, his tone softening. "I forgot myself for a moment."
"Besides," Harry added dryly, "the last thing I want to think about is who Draco's been shagging."
"I agree," Blaise replied with a smirk.
Draco crossed his arms, clearly annoyed. "If I recall correctly, this conversation was about Greengrass!"
"Who you're obsessed with," Blaise shot back, flipping open his book casually.
"Who I see as my future wife," Draco corrected, glaring at Blaise over the top of the book, "You're both clueless. Neither of you would know what to do with a girl even if she fell into your lap."
"I think she'd prefer someone who isn't constantly mooning over her," Blaise quipped, earning another glare from Draco.
Harry sighed, shaking his head. He'd had enough of this for one night. "I'm heading to bed," he announced. "Training tomorrow—and don't remind me; I'm not looking forward to it."
Draco gave him a skeptical look. "You're leaving already?"
"Yeah," Harry replied. "Goodnight." With that, he turned and left the room, heading for his private quarters.
After finishing his nightly routine—some push-ups and a quick shower—Harry finally crawled into bed. It had been a long day, even though he hadn't done any training. As he lay down, he reached for the potion bottle on his bedside table, taking a small sip before closing his eyes. Sleep came quickly, pulling him under its comforting veil.
Soon enough, his eyes opened again to the white room. In front of him, the events that had happened recently were being broadcasted on this wall. Snape had trained him to become a skilled occlumens over the course of his training to protect Harry. After a couple of years of practice, he had learned how to come to this place...the control room, are at least that's what he called it. Even though he came here every night, it still always felt like a distant memory when he tried to remember it in the morning. Time passed quickly in this place.
Harry turned around from the wall to see a vault. It's in this vault in which through meditation, and training, he could take away the sting of emotional memories. Harry let the vault open as he walked inside. Inside was set up with cells where inside of each were memories that he needed to separate from emotionally. A skill Dumbledore had taught him to help avoid being overtaken by extreme emotions. As Harry, made it to the fifth floor, there stood one memory at the end of the isle. As he came closer. He could feel it... the lost. The anger. the pain. the hate.
The only memory he forced himself to watch once a week. to never truly forget what drove him. It was something he could never forget as long as he fought in this war...what losing felt like. Harry reluctantly reached out, opening the cell door as the memories attacked him and he could already feel the anger begin to resurface again…
A Basilisk lay dead, a sword lay engraved in its head, and black blood seeped from its head. Harry lay on the floor, covered in a mixture of his blood and the basilisk. Harry took a look at his arm and instantly felt sicker as focused on the two holes that were located on his forearm, surrounded by darkened veins. The poison was spreading.
"Damn it," Harry cried as tried to pick his head up, to no avail.
The more he moved, the more his vision began to blur, and his insides felt like they were melting. As he continued to try and move, a strange tiredness began to wash over him. Was this where he was going to die? All because he couldn't be patient. Harry watched as an older boy began moving closer, even with Harry's rapidly failing vision, the boy looked almost corporal, but there was still something still so ghastly about him.
"You have surprised me. You have so much potential and yet... you are so weak," Tom Riddle hissed as he flipped Harry over
Harry screamed as the movement made Harry feel everything in his body feel as if it was being cut into. Everything felt like it was on fire.
Tom Riddle stood above Harry, looking down on Harry with an amused smugness.
"If you survive, remember this. People will never love you, but you can make them...with power. That's the antidote to weakness, Harry. Power! Fear! Make every wizard bow before you when they hear your name! I can teach you how to make people love you and respect you."
Tom bent down to move Harry's head toward the idle body of Ginny Weasley.
"She told me they already feared you. She told me you were scary and wicked. Too powerful for your own good. So why not prove them right? You make them fear you, and they will respect you. Make them respect you, and they will love you."
Harry said nothing unable to lift himself up as he continued to hear Tom Riddle talk. His vision becoming ever more black around the edges.
"I can teach you all this, Potter. I am not the Voldemort who killed your parents. I can heal you right now and I can teach you real power."
"F-Fuck You," Harry managed to say as Tom Riddle got up, letting Harry's head hit the stone floor, his head facing Ginny Weasley.
"I figured as much, but don't say I never offered."
Harry looked at the dead Ginny Weasley in front of him. They would blame him for this, and he knew it. He had tried, but damn it, nobody would care. They never did. Tom picked the dead girl up and the diary that lay beside her.
"If you survive, remember this," Tom said slowly as he made his way toward Harry, "You can only be weak without fear and power, Harry. The less you care, the better off you'll be. The weak...only lose. Goodbye, Harry Potter."
The last thing Harry saw was a now completely real Tom Riddle slamming his foot against his face.
Post-Chapter Thoughts:
A Few Statements About This Overall Fic:
(02/25) - This story is almost 13 years old at this point. Currently as I work on finishing it, I'm combing through and making edits to make this story more cohesive and 'older'. There are times when reading this that you can tell what era of HP fanfiction we were in and you can tell that I was bit younger. Stay with it. It will get gud.
- it's an AU that starts in the sixth year rather years 1-5, and because of this, it will seem like you've jumped into a sequel(at times), but bare with me, as I will slowly reveal information and context as the story continues.
-Because of that, there are a lot moving and hidden pieces in this story. I like it that way. I don't want to make it homework though, so I'll try my best to make sure everything is explained. However, I want to reward re-reads and deeper dives for the reader and for myself so I'll try hard to keep that balance.
-This is an eventual Harry/ Daphne. I wouldn't call it a slow burn, but it's not going to be instantaneous either.
-The Dumbledore dynamic isn't going to be on the forefront, in the beginning, but it will become more evident and more central as the fic continues on.
-There is no bashing of any character in this fic at all. Some Characters you like may not see daylight in this fic at all or have little spotlight. Some characters are Original Characters, but I try my hardest to pull obscure blanket characters from canon rather than create my own.
-Please let me know if anything doesn't make sense, things that you don't like(or do like), and I'll try my best to explain or even make edits, if need be, for clarification! I want this to be a somewhat enjoyable experience for both of us!