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Chapter Text

June the 15th 1995 was set up to be a perfectly normal day in Surrey. A day as normal as every house that lies within Little Whinging. Row after row of houses that compete with each other in being the most normal and boring one. Each house more normal looking than the last one.

In each of the normal houses lived a perfectly normal family. Mums, dads and their children, all trying to look as normal as they possibly can.

On the outside Privet Drive 4 looked as normal as all the others.

The Lady of the house, Petunia Dursley neé Evans, trimmed the Rose gardens to perfection every day, making sure not a strand was out of place in her perfectly normal little world.

The man of the house, Vernon Dursley, would start his car at the same time every morning before driving to his place of work, Grunnings.

The son of the house, Dudley Dursley, was the apex of avarage. Avarage looks, avarage manners, avarage grades and an avarage life.

Avarage everything, nothing weird going on over there.

But that was just ¾ of the family.

And the last one, the last one of the family, truly sticks out like a sore thumb.

Not normal at all…

To short for his age, unnatural

Too weird, unnatural

Messy untamable black hair, unnatural

Strange behaviors, unnatural

Too pale, too skinny, much too jumpy, doesn't speak much, does not play with the other children, too baggy clothes, too green eyes, unnatural, unnatural and unnatural.

The nephew of the normal and perfect dursley family is far too weird to fit in.

“His parents were drunkards that died in a car crash” the neighbors would whisper behind the family's back.

“His mother must have drank a lot during her pregnancy for her son to turn out like that” they would say after the nephew has walked past.

“They are far too kind for this world, if it had been me I would have never taken in a weird boy like him, blood relation or not” they would praise the Dursleys.

The weird and unnatural nephew in question was none other than the famous Harry James Potter, the boy who lived.

The title of the boy who lived could have been the boy who alway lives given by his over the years numerous near death scenarios.

First year in Hogwarts, almost got killed by a teacher.

Second year in Hogwarts, got bitten by a basilisk and nearly died because of its venom.

Third year in Hogwarts, dementors and a werewolf.

Fourth year in Hogwarts, Triwizard tournament.

That's to say that the title is a bit too accurate.

And today, the 15th of June 1995, that title would prove to be accurate once again.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Harry James Potter is everything Petunia and Vernon Dursley ever hated. The smallest mistake could result in a beating. But, they were careful. Never ever hit his face or his hands, since that would be visible. And visible wounds would trigger an investigation, an investigation means cops, and cops in Little whinging were out of the ordinary. So, no visible wounds were ever made.

The small mistakes could just be, accidentally burning the eggs or bacon when he was making breakfast, making sounds during a beating, speaking when he is not spoken to, breathing too loudly. The list goes on and on.

But, most importantly, the beating itself was not that bad.

If you ask Harry at least.

The beatings had never been that bad, the belt, a cane or whatever else Vernon could get his fat hands around.

In comparison to this, the beatings had never been bad.

The mistake this time? It was thinking that Vernon's anger would have faded after the Marge incident two years prior.

Harry truly had not meant to blow her up, it just kinda happened.

And Vernon, he had waited for the moment Harry walked through the door.

Last year Vernon had been too nervous with the knowledge that the infamous serial killer, Sirius Black, was the boy's godfather and would kill him if anything happened to Harry.

But this time he was not scared, after all, that Sirus fella had never shown up last year and would not show up this year either.

For Harry June 15th 1995 would be a terrifying memory for him for the rest of his life.

For Vernon June 15th 1995 would be a day he thought back with satisfaction for the rest of his life. If he had been a wizard that very day would have fueled his patronus for the rest of his life.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Harry Potter POV
The Hogwarts express June 15th 1995

On a lone rail in the middle of nowhere a red and black train swished through the lands.

On the left side, in big bold letters, it spelled out “Hogwarts Express”.

The train carried approximately 300 students, all divided by house and year.

In the compartment furthest from the front one, a lone gryffindor sat.

Harry looked around before opening the compartment in front of him. It had taken him a good ten minutes to find one with no people inside, and an additional twenty to shake everyone that wanted to congratulate him for his win off his tail.

He let out a deep sigh as he gracelessly plopped down on the bench. He turned his head to look out the window at the beautiful landscape that passes by.

´Finally some peace and quiet around here.´ He thought with a grim expression.

He had never truly experienced peace and silence in his entire 14 and 11 months of life but lately his life had been anything but quiet. The main reason this time, that godforsaken tournament.

´If i only had not helped Cedric during the final task he would still be alive´

That thought was what broke the floodgates. Harry brought his knees to his chest and buried his head in his arms. His hair getting more messy than it usually was. His body started to lightly shake as he silently let out all of his pent up sadness inside the cold compartment.

Coldness was something he was deeply familiar with.

The type of coldness he gets from his relatives and fellow students the times the student body decided to hate him. But this type of coldness was relatively new. The type of coldness that completely engulfed you until you could barely eat, sleep or smile.

That was the worst coldness, the one that was the hardest to fix.

The coldness makes you spiral and you start to think of what ifs, what if Harry had just taken the cup, what if he had just died during the first task or maybe the second task. Then Cedric would perhaps still be alive, breathing, smiling and making everyone that surrounds him smile with joy rather than sadness.

Cedric would always make sure that you were okay, he would help you with practically anything you asked of him, he would drag you to the kitchens if he had noticed that you were skipping meals and he would give the best gifts one couldn't help but cherish.

With the last though he reached for the small silver chain around his neck and pulled it up from under his dress shirt. It was a beautiful necklace Cedric had gifted him right before the yule ball. In the middle of the soft silver chain was a white moon with two chains attached to it from the back of the middle and separating to attach to a little silver ring. On the chains were small stars.

The necklace had come with another, one that looked the same but with golden chains and a sun design. The very one Cedric had worn around his neck as he got hit by the killing curse.

He once again sighted before he let the silver chain fall out of his hands and rest over his red tie.

´I really miss you Ced´

Was the last thought that ringed in his head before he eventually succumbed to sleep.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He was awoken by the train starting to slow down. Without looking out he guessed that they must be approaching the station. So it was time for him to change out of his school uniform and robes.

While still sitting he bent down and hauled out his trunk from where it had been laying under the bench. He opened his trunk and started to rummage through it in search for some of Dudleys hand-me-downs that would not pool around him too much.

He started to dress himself when he finally found something presentable to wear.

Sealing his trunk and putting it on the bench he had been sitting on before he turned around and looked at his reflection in the window.

What he saw looking back at him was a slightly under average short nearly fifteen year old boy with a black bird's nest on top of his head, vibrant green eyes, glasses that should have been replaced years ago, dark blue jeans and an oversized black hoodie. If he had to be honest with himself he looked dreadful.

He took a steady breath when the train screeched to a halt right on platform and ¾. Looking out the window he could see hundreds of smiling parantes waiting for their children. Harry however only looked for a second before turning around to open the door, knowing that Vernon Dursley would never set foot inside anything that has magic around.

He stood inside the lonely compartment for a handful more minutes before attempting, and failing, to flatten his bird's nest hair. He took a deep breath before exiting the compartment and walking past all the newly vacated compartments.

When he finally reached the exit he looked around to make sure that nobody was still looking before he silently made his way out of the platform. Even when he crossed onto the muggle side of the station he was still hoping to not be seen by anyone, even the muggles.

Walking through the whole station felt like walking to his death.

The very same feeling only intensified once he got out of the station and spotted his uncle's dark blue car. Harry wasn't sure what model it was but it must have been an impressive one given by how much the Durselys always bragged about it to anyone that would listen.

He took a deep steadying breath before setting his right foot on the last step of the long stairs leading away from kings cross station. As he set his feet on the street the last quiet hum of magic in the air died down alongside his sense of freedom.

Clutching his trunk and Hedwig's empty cage he rapidly walked to the car that was parked on the sidewalk. The car was running and making some very unnatural noises but at the moment that was nothing that Harry noticed. The only thing he noticed was his heartbeat increasing with every step closer to the car he got. When he finally reached the car it felt like his heart was going to jump out of his chest.

He looked back towards kings cross station one last time before he reached out and opened the car door. Harry clumsily and quickly climbed in, resulting in him hitting his head on the door frame rather harshly.

Harry winced before putting his truck down under his feet and closing the door. He looked up at his uncle before he muffled out a quick greeting, he did not receive one back but Harry was perfectly fine with that. The less he had to talk to Vernon the better.

What later followed was the most awkward drive he had ever experienced in his entire life. A car that was so full of tension that you could cut it with a scissor. They were both quiet but for whole different reasons.

Harry did not want to break the silence or even want to make a singular sound in hopes of Vernon forgetting that he was there. It was a hopeless thought he knew but one could only hope.

Vernon simply wanted to savour Harry's fear for a bit longer. Oh how much he loved how much that boy feared him. How much a wizard could fear someone normal like him. So for that he could wait until he arrived home to start. After all, bloodstains are easier to clean off from wood rather than car seats.

Chapter Text

Harry POV
Privet Drive 4, Little Whinging, Surrey.
1 pm 15th July 1995

He felt everything and nothing at the same time. He was laying on something, something cold that was digging into his skin and bones. His right eye felt heavy, like somebody had hit him with a very overpowered stinging jinx. He was struggling to open it up, after the fifth time with results no better than the last he decided to just give up.

His left eye was also closed, but not because he could not open it. The reason he did not even try after the first time was the fact that he seemed to lie in a dark room. If the total darkness that currently surrounds him was indeed not a hallucination powered by his horrible state.

His body was a whole other subject he had yet to learn about. He was feeling an intense feeling of burning alive at the same time as ice cold coldness.

It felt like that one time Dudley had forced him to eat a really red spicy chili and then given him a mouth mint. The capsaicin in the chili binds to the pain receptors in your mouth and sends a signal to your brain that registers as heat, the menthol in the chili binds to the cold receptors making your mouth feel cold. An apt description of what that feels like is hellfire. It does not cancel each other out but will only make the other feel worse.

His skin felt like it was boling while his bones felt like they had frozen to ice. Every breath felt like fire brushing his skin, as if the air itself was a blade.

Some parts of his body felt worse than the others.

His back in particular felt like it had been beaten raw, his right hand felt nearly crushed, as if a horde of elephants had run over it.

Every breath felt like sandpaper through his ribs. He tried to lift his hand but the pain surged with a white-hot flash.

The coldness he had become so familiar with felt like it had seeped into his very bones, intertwined with his very being.

A low sound left his throat, not quite a scream nor a groan before nothingness.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It took Harry three hours before he returned to the world of the conscious.

His entire body ached and he was sure that something was broken. On a side note he was able to open both of his eyes this time, something that brought him great joy. Judging by the low hum of magic in the air, all this rapid healing was his magic doing. Harry was sure that he had never felt more grateful for being a wizard in his entire life.

He tried to sit up and only after no more than five times did he actually manage. Looking around him he noticed that he was in his room, Dudleys old second bedroom, but currently the room looked like a crime scene out of a horror movie. Bloodstains everywhere, where he had been lying before laid a bigger pool of blood, and was that one of his teeth?. He quite promptly felt around his mouth with his tongue until he could confirm that yes, that was one of his teeth.

Harry looked over to where he had stored the broken mirror aunt Petunia had thrown away, that he had later taken out of the trash and hidden under a floorboard in his room.

Making a decision he started to crawl over to where the floorboard was the easiest to move and pulled on it. With the floorboard begun it opened up a space full of Harry's most precious items. The book with pictures of his parents he got from Hagrid, a picture of him and his friends, some expired hard candy from halloween five years prior and the broken mirror.

Harry, as gently as he could, used both of his hands to take up the mirror from the open space in the floor.

He turned it over so he could look at his own reflection and nearly dropped it.

He looked like he had just walked out of a crime scene, or more or less been the victim of a crime.

His black hair was even more messy than it usually was, standing in all directions with dried clumps of blood in it, the skin surrounding his right eye was completely black, save for the specks of blood. His previously straight nose was now crooked and looked out of place on his face. His lips were broken and blue, his skin dangerously pale, mimicking that of a corpse.

Under all of the blood on his throat Harry thought he could see what looked like finger marks, like he had been choked several times over. Which, knowing Vernon Dursley, he probably had.

Tearing his eyes away from his reflection he decided that it was best to start cleaning himself up and changing clothes. After all, he wasn't so sure that aunt Petunia wanted him to look like he had been the victim of a violent crime, even though he technically was.

He used the bed to support himself as he heaved himself off the floor and up on his feet. His legs were most definitely not in any way shape or form stable enough to walk a longer distance on but that was fine with Harry. He only needed his legs to carry him to and from the bathroom.

He made his way to the door before turning the doorknob, cheering internally when he was able to open it without any locks in the way.

It took Harry five minutes to get from his room to the bathroom, on the way he thanked every god up there that the bathroom was not on the first floor. Because if it had been he wasn't so sure that he would have been able to reach it.

On shaky legs he entered the bathroom before locking the door behind him, although he wasn't sure that it would be necessary. Judging by the lack of noise in the house it seemed like the three Dursleys were not present in the house at that moment, a thing that greatly delighted Harry.

Harry refrained from looking in the direction of the mirror while he peeled off his blood soaked clothes and threw them in a pile. Uncaring if the blood gets onto the floor, he would just clean it up later either way.

He spent half an hour in the shower, far longer than he had ever been allowed to spend when the Dursleys were home. After all, a “waste of space” like him doesn't deserve long or hot showers.

Only after thoroughly scrubbing nearly every square centimeter of his body did he turn off the water. He parted the tropical looking shower curtains before carefully placing his still wet feet onto the cold floor.

He dried himself with one of the black towels while trying to ignore the pounding headache that had snuck up on him ever since he woke up.

Harry wasn't a stranger to headaches. Drinking only a cup of water a day, especially during the warm summer months, has made him achingly familiar with headaches. But this one, it was different. The headache felt like it pulled on his very being, like his magic was trying to tell him something. Something he didn't understand, couldn't understand.

For now he choose to just try to ignore it and hope that it would pass, if it does not then, well he just has to hope it does not come to that but he could always knock himself out if it becomes unbearable.

After taking one look at his discarded pile of bloodsoaked clothes he quite quickly decided to just wrap the towel he had used to dry himself with around his waist instead of dirtying himself again.

This time it only took two minutes for Harry to reach his room, a small improvement but an improvement nonetheless. During the two minutes it took for him to walk, walking would be stretching it. It was more like wobbling, his headache had become even worse. It felt like somebody was actively stabbing a knife into the side of his head.

The world was starting to flash before his eyes and he was careful not to move his head too quickly lest he pass out again. Due to the intense agonizing pain he was experiencing it took him a long time to change into some wearable clothes. Dudleys old ones of course. The clothes practically swallowed him whole as they pooled around him, being meant for bigger boys such as Dudley, not skinny ones like Harry.

He was wearing an old faded t-shirt and dark pajama pants. With his wet hair, skinny scarred wrist and arms, the faded t-shirt and the pajama pants he looked far from the noble, golden savior the wizarding world had painted him as.

It had taken Harry until the summer before his third year to realize that people seriously thought he had grown up pampered like a beloved prince, that he had gone on adventures and apparently slayed dragons and other evil creatures before the grand age of eleven. It seemed like wizards and witches really were stupid sometimes, after all, which nine year old could possibly have slayed dragons all without a wand in the Romanian forests??.

Once Harry had realized that the entire world had thought him to be this brave, golden, prince-like savior, everyone's initial reaction to him made much more sense.

The way people did a double take when he introduced himself or rolled up his sleeves in potions, their frowns when he did not master a spell on the first try or when he struggled with classes, the disgusted and shocked faces children and professors alike looked at his casual clothes with, it all made sense. It hurt him but it made sense.

They had all assumed him a privileged prince and when what showed up at Hogwarts was a shy, too small and thin eleven year old they had gotten disappointed.

Now, standing in Dudleys old clothes, he felt his legs start to give out and his vision darken. He barely had any time to realize what had happened when he fell into a pile on the floor. The last he felt before his vision darkened entirely was his magic tugging at his insides. The magic kept doing something until he felt the most agonizing pain he ever felt, far worse than Voldemort's Cruciatus curse had been. Harry felt something snap, it sounded like chains finally snapping after pulling on something far overgoing the weight limit. Before he knew it he felt magic all around him, then nothing. Nothing at all.

.... .. ... -- .- --. .. -.-. .- .-.. -... .. -. -.. .. -. --. ... . -..- .--. .-.. --- -.. . -.. --..-- ..-. .-.. --- --- -.. .. -. --. - .... . .-. --- --- -- .-- .. - .... .... .. ... -- .- --. .. -.-. .- -. -.. .. -. - .... . .--. .-. .-. --- --. .-. . ... ... -.- .. .-.. .-.. .. -. --. .... .- .-. .-. -.-- .

Harry felt funny, kind of. His head felt fuzzy, like his brain had been replaced by clouds, or cotton candy. He couldn't move his body, or his brain said that he couldn't. But he could feel his body, and it felt weird.

Itt felt like he was flying, only without a broom, and there was no wind. At least he didn't feel any wind.

How did he get here, or where was he? He just wanted to find it out, or perhaps he didn't? his brain said that he did not want to. That he should just keep his eyes closed and relish in the feeling.

He thought that it sounded like a good idea. Just continue to float and relax, a part of his brain told him. It will all be fine if you do. Yes, that sounded like a splendid idea.

He continued to float around until a loud voice rang through his head.

“Open up your eyes”

Open his eyes? but he did not want to. He was feeling content to just continue to be here.

“Open your eyes Harry”

There the voice was again, telling him to open his eyes. Telling him, Harry, to ignore his head and listen to the voice.

Wait, Harry? who's Harry?. Certainly not him, his name is, wait what is his name.

A part of him wanted to chase that thought, to remember who he was.

But another part of him, his fuzzy brain, wanted him to just continue as he was before.

This was so confusing, what should he do?

Listen to the strange voice or his head?

“Dear i know its hard but just open your eyes, it will all be fine”

Harry? felt more and more compelled to listen to the voice, it feels so comforting.

So that is what he did, he opened his eyes and did not regret it at all.

His body was floating in mid air? while all around him was a fluffy and soft landscape. It reminded him of those fairytales, where the princesse get rescued and they get their happily ever after.

“You did so well dear, now let's return you back”

The comforting voice was back and it made Harry immensely happy for some reason he couldn't fathom.

Harry felt what seemed like a warm and comforting embrace before his eyes were closed again.

Then he no longer felt anything.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Harry woke up with a violent cough. He sat up before doubling over and nearly coughing up his insides.

His body still felt strange but it felt better, way better than before whatever that was.

He stopped coughing before he sat up, absently noting that he no longer had a headache. Harry actually wasn't in pain at all, it was as if all his earlier pains had just been a cruel illusion or nightmare.

He looked down at his right hand, the hand that had been broken and should be damaged beyond repair.

His breath caught in his throat.

His hand, his hand was fine.

Not injured, no longer broken, not even bruised anymore.

“What the absolute hell” he muttered out.

Harry started for a second longer before standing up, rushing out of his room, slamming the door open in his rush and slamming up the bathroom door.

When he looked himself in the mirror once again his breath caught in his throat and his eyes widened like a deer caught in headlights.

Just moments ago, or was it hours? he had been injured, bruised and battered.

But now, just like his hand. He was completely fine.

His skin was a bit paler than usual but other than that he looked like he had during his year at Hogwarts.

There were no finger-shaped bruises marring his throat, no closed cuts covering his body. Even his back felt perfectly fine, even though it had been beaten raw before.

And Harry, after taking a long steading breath, decided to just accept it.

Magic worked in mysterious ways after all. Perhaps one of the deities up in the sky he had overheard Malfoy talking about last year had taken pity on him and decided to heal him. He just hoped that it was free of charge, but with deities he guessed that you could never truly know. He just hoped that whichever deity it was did not take it too badly if he did not offer anything, or sacrifice anything. Do magical deities want human sacrifices? Perhaps he should look into that.

For now Harry should probably sneak into the kitchen and take something small to eat before the house´s normal residents decide to return.

He walked out of the bathroom and towards the staircase leading down to the first floor of the Dursleys residence, by force of habit he stepped over the parts of the stair that creaked the worst.

He silently walked over to where the kitchen was, having memorized the most soundless way years ago when he used to make breakfast every day. Once he entered the kitchen he walked over to the fridge to try and spot something Petunia would not notice going missing.

At the end Harry had found a nearly expired blueberry yoghurt at the back of the fridge and a banana that had most definitely seen better days.

Taking a seat at the table he almost missed the note that was lying in the middle of the table.

He took it up and put it down before him on the table while opening the yoghurt.

The note looked slightly crumpled, like the writer had hesitated on whether they wanted to leave it or throw it in the trash.

The simple message on the note was written in aunt Petunia´s elegant handwriting.

-We are going to be gone for two weeks, take the almost expired food in the fridge and the bananas.
Petunia

Well, at least she had left him a note, and a date for their return. That was somewhat nice, nice for being Petunia Dursley at least.

Harry shrugged before eating his small meal, compared to the Hogwarts food it was barely anything but he appreciated it nonetheless. Or more accurately, his stomach appreciated it.

After throwing away the banana peel and the yoghurt container he walked back into his room, closed the door and sat down on his bed.

Somehow sitting down on his bed evolved into just lying on his bed then just closing his eyes for a little while.

Obviously the little while ended with him falling asleep, and, for the first time in a long while. He slept well.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

By the time Harry woke up from his nap the clock had already struck midnight.

Once again, Harry wasn't sure what to do.

He knew what was expected of him to do but he also knew what he wanted to do.

The adults, Dumbeldore especially, had told him several times to just stay with the Durslesy this summer and behave. So that was what was expected of him. For Harry to play nice and stay with a family that had never wanted him.

Or he could follow his heart.

Get out his school things and wand and leave this hell forsaken house. As much as he hated the idea of it, he could take the Knight bus. He still has some galleons on him and the conductor nor the driver ever really asks questions. They only want to know your destination.

Harry barely spent more than a minute making his decision. Now to figure out how he was supposed to get the lock on the cupboard open. If, a really strong if, he was lucky, ha who was he kidding luck did not favor Harry, Vernon might have forgotten to lock the cupboard.

With that thought in mind he made his way downstairs and to where he spent most of his childhood. Some part of him wonders if he would have still lived in the cupboard had he not been a wizard. Perhaps, perhaps not, but in the wise words of Harry Potter himself, it was no use dwelling over the past or what if´s. The very same words he had said to Ginny after they had been discharged from the hospital wing.

He just wished he would take his own advice sometimes.

As usual luck did not favor Harry, and his old room was locked. So instead, he started to walk around the house in hunt for one of his aunts' bobby pins. Bobby Pins made lockpicking easier.

When he finally found one he went back to the lock and started trying to open the lock.

When Harry had been a small seven year old one of the kinder sixth years had decided to take Harry under his wing and teach him everything he knew. Lockpicking had been one of those things, over the years Harry had become rather good at the skill. Sadly said sixth year moved away from England entirely before Harry could show him how good he had become.

Although he hasn't picked any locks during his time in Hogwarts, the Alohomora spell being the reason why, he was still skilled at it.

In less than two minutes he had gotten up the lock standing between Harry and his freedom.

Harry threw the lock into the cupboard, making sure to not throw it at his trunk or Hedwig's cage, before hauling out them both and carefully laying them on the floor.

He opened his black trunk and immediately spotted his wand laying discarded on top of his few clothes. The second he touched it he felt a sense akin to relief spread through him.

He took one long look at the books and equipment laying inside before realizing that he should probably bring the things under the loose floorboard with him. In case he does not get back before the Dursleys do.

So he quickly did just that, when he five minutes later closed his trunk he felt relieved knowing everything he wanted to bring with him was in there.

Putting on his old shoes and his thin cheap jacket he took all of his belongings before walking towards the door.

He mentally contemplated on whether he should lock the door or be petty and leave it unlocked. He settled on the latter, he smiled as he left the door unlocked and walked into the night.

Harry let his feet decide where to take him and zoned out for a while, which is why he was so shocked to notice that he had walked to a playground.

The very playground where he had first summounded the Knight bus and where he had first seen his Godfather.

With a bittersweet smile he raised his wand, this time determined to not fall over when the Knight bus suddenly appeared.

With a loud sound shattering the quiet of the night, the tall and strange looking infamous Knight bus appeared.

Regardless of how much Harry hated the bus he still smiled at the sight of it, or more or less the feel of magic surrounding it. He truly loves magic.

The doors to the bus opened and down jumped a tall and thin man, looking to be around the age of 19, with large ears and a face full of pimples. Stan Shunpike, the conductor of the knight bus.

The man looks at Harry before saying a clearly well practiced sentence.

“Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. Just stick out your wand hand, step on board and we can take you anywhere you want to go”. He said like he had repeated the very sentence far too many times in his life. Stan narrowed his eyes at Harry before a brief look of recognition flowed over his face.

“Hey, I've met you before, haven't i? What was your name again, Neroli Longbottom, no that doesn't sound right. No wait, I've got it. Your Neville Longbottom.” A grin overtook his features as he continued “You're the fellow that fell over last time, seems like you could keep your balance better this time.”

Harry had honestly forgotten that he had used Nevilles name as a cover last time and was relieved that Stan mentioned it before he could use another covername. He was also grateful that Stan appenetly did not read the daily prophet since otherwise the likelihood of him recognizing Harry's face was quite big.

At the last comment on him falling over Harry felt his face flush, did seriously nothing more memorable than that happened in the last two years or what?.

Ignoring Shunpike´s chuckles he reached into his pocket for the amount of required sickles.

“11 sickles for a basic one-way fare right?” Harry asked, although he was certain that was the right amount he asked just to make sure.

Shunpike nodded his head and held out his hand, once Harry had fished out the right amount he dropped the sickles into a smiling Shunpike´s waiting hand.

Shunpike mentally counted the sickles to make sure that it was the right amount before taking out his wand and helping Harry levitate his trunk and cage up into the bus.

After giving Shunpike a quick thanks, Harry took his luggage and went to the seat that had been pointed out to him.

He had just sat down when Shunpike turned to him again.

“Where are you headed?”

“The leaky cauldron.”

“Righto, well be there in some stops”

Harry responded with a nod before letting his gaze wander around the interior of the bus. There truly were some interesting design choices.

He only had a second to grab hold of something before they were off, if you asked Harry later how the trip had been he would have said that it wasn't that bad. If you currently asked him then he would answer with a string of curses.

Harry felt like the Knight bus and Voldemort would get along just fine, there really wasn't a big difference between the two.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was easier than Harry had originally expected to get through the leaky cauldron unnoticed.

Or it was just that this time Harry wnet alone and not in the company with a pretty big half giant loudly saying his name. Sorry Hagrid, but he just wasn't that good at being inconspicuous.

The only person that had taken any notice of him in the bar was Tom, the bartender. But either he did not recognize Harry or if he did left him be, both were fine with Harry.

Harry took out his wand from where it had been in his pocket and tapped the correct pattern into the fake wall on the back of the leaky cauldron. The wall disappeared and let him pass through to Diagon Alley.

The sight of the chaotic and colourful Diagon alley did not have the same effect on Harry that it had had the previous year.

The memories of the third task and the looming threat of the Dark lord hanging over his head was the cause for this.

As he walked through Diagon, his head down, he let his feet choose the path for him, choosing to get lost in thought instead.

When he finally stopped he realized with a flinch that his body had taken him right in front of the impressive and beautiful building of Gringotts. Harry himself had only been at Gringotts a few times and it never ceased to both amaze and unnerve him.

Taking a deep breath to steady himself he began ascending up the stairs to the bank.

Harry knew he had to go here sooner or later anyway, he barely had enough money to stay even a night at the Leaky, so it was probably for the best for him to go here today. If not only to get it over with quickly.

This time, Harry told himself, he would not get scared or unnerved by the goblins. He had faced a dragon, merfolk and a dark lord in the span of some months. He would not get unnerved by the goblins. Not this time.

He was repeating that in his head the entire time from the stairs to the line waiting for an available teller.

After some minutes it was his turn, so he braced himself and put on a brave mask and approached the goblin.

Harry began fidgeting with his jacket sleeve after an entire minute of awkward silence passed between him and the goblin. The goblin seemed amused by him, Harry wasn't sure how he knew but he just knew.

After two minutes the silence had become too much and after three Harry finally cracked.

“Um excuse me” the goblin looked up at him, if you asked Harry the goblin looked even more amused than before. "I'd like to withdraw some galleons from my vaults.”

The goblin just looked at him before holding out his hand and speaking in a snarling voice.

“Key”

Okay, this was awkward.

“Um my apologies but I have never had my key.” Harry said while shifting between looking down like his shoes was suddenly the most interesting thing in the world and looking nervously at the goblin.

The goblin in question merely raised a bushy eyebrow in what seemed to be amusement.

“Name?” The goblin asked while staring straight at the nervous boy in front of him.

The boy in question nervously looked around before lowering his voice to respond with two words. Two words that would make the Goblin snort in disbelief and amusement.

“Harry Potter”

The goblin teller merely shook his head before standing up, motining for Harry to follow him.

The goblin led Harry through a frankly impressive amount of corridors that twisted and changed direction every so often.

Harry lost track of how much time had passed since they had started walking but it felt like a very long time before they finally stopped in front of a black door with golden embellishments. In the middle of the door was a nameplate with the name “Griphook” engraved onto it.

The goblin opened the door and led Harry into a rather interesting looking office, the goblin motioned for Harry to sit at one of the three chairs at the other side of the large desk in the middle of the room.

When he had sat down the goblin looked at him before walking towards the door.

“Wait here, i will get account manager Griphook, then we will see if you're truly the one you say you are” He added with a grin before leaving and closing the door behind him. Now Harry was entirely alone in the office. The longer he sat in there the worse his nerves got. The last words of the goblin echoing in his head. How on earth would they confirm his identity?.

After what felt like an hour but probably closer to ten minutes the door slammed open, and Harry was ashamed to admit that he flinched pretty violently.

This time not only did the goblin from before walk in but a goblin he had met before during his first trip to Gringotts did too. If he assumed correctly then this was Griphook.

Harry wasn't certain what he should do so he went with the safe choice and bowed his head at the two goblins.

The reaction of the goblins were different but quite similar.

The goblin from before just looked amused while Griphook raised an eyebrow at Harry.

Griphook walked up to the Chair at the head of the table and sat down, looking down at Harry over his nose. Griphook, in comparison to the teller, did not let the silence set nor did he wait until Harry started talking.

“So, Steelclaw over here says that you claim that you are Harry Potter, is that right.”

“Yes, um sir” Harry wasn't entirely sure how he was expected to address the goblin, never having spoken to one before so he just went with sir.

Funnily enough his answer only seemed to amuse Griphook.

“Well, if you're so confident then you would not oppose doing a basic inheritance test, to prove your identity. Right?”

“Of course, i would be, um glad to?”

This really wasn't Harrys day was it, his face flushed red while stumbling over his words.

His misfortune only seemed to brighten GripHooks mood, judging by the Cheshire grin his face now bore. Griphook seemed to search for something in a drawer before pulling up what looked like a piece of empty parchment and a small knife.

“Then in that case” he said putting the knife and parchment in front of Harry, alongside a small bowl “you won't mind spilling some drops of blood into this bowl, right”

Harry just silently stared at the knife for a short while before reaching for it. Without a second thought Harry made a small cut onto his thumb on his left hand, wordlessy moving his hand to let a couple drops of blood land in whatever substance the bowl had. Once he was done with that he quickly cleaned off the blood that was on the knife with the hem of his shirt. The memory of what happened last time somebody had a bit of his blood flashing before his eyes.

Throughout the entire progress the two goblins watched silently, abelit a bit shocked. Most wizards at least hesitate or flinch when they have to cut their hands; this odd one did not even react. Most wizards also didn't even think to clean off their blood, either too arrogant or stupid to realize how much you could do with even a single drop of somebody's blood. This one truly was an odd one.

Steelclaw took the bowl and poured the insides onto the parchment before setting the bowl aside.

Neither goblin nor human broke the silence as letters started appearing on the parchment.

Once it was done Griphook signaled for Harry to take a look.

Harry did as Griphook wanted, but for some inexplicable reason he felt nervous as he looked down at the parchment.

Basic Inheritance test
Date and time:
16th June 1995 01:42 am

Name
Harry James Potter

Parents
James Fleamont Potter
Regulus Arcturus Black
Lillian Marie Potter neé Evans

Day of birth
31st July 1980

Day of death
15th June 1995

Blocks, potions, spells
Blood adoption, by Lilly Evans August 5th 1980
Methamorpeous Ability, by James Potter February 15th 1981, unblocked June 15th 1995.
Death magics and abilities, blocked upon birth by Lord Death, to be unblocked by Death.
Blood magic, blocked by Lord Death, unblocked upon death June 15th 1995.
Magic blocking blocks, by James potter and Regulus black, several instances, to be unlocked upon 4th, 7th, 9th and completely on 11th birthday.
Unknown???

Current magical state
Unbalanced and Uncontrollable
Room of time recommended, time 1 week x 104

An in depth Test required for further information and available heirships and/or lordships

To say Harry was gobsmacked would be an understatement.

First of all, who in the name of Merlin is Regulus Black and what does he have with his parents to do? And since when is his mothers name Lillian.

Date of death?? Yesterday?? What the living hell, there must be something wrong with this test, or his blood.

And what the hell is the meaning with the next to last section. Blocks, potions and spells? And why are things blocked by Lord Death?

Harry knows there is a deity of death with the title of Lord Death but he seriously doubts that the deity would block? abilities.

And what does it mean that his magic is unbalanced and uncontrollable? Harry wasn't sure if he was supposed to take that as an insult or not.

Harry only realized that he had been staring at the parchment for quite some time when Griphook cleared his throat and held out his hand in the universal, give me, gesture.

Hoping that the goblin could explain, he wordlessy gave up the parchment.

Now, Harry had barely interacted with goblins before so he had only seen a rather short series of different emotions on a goblins face.

Irritation, indifference, amusement and something couldn't quite name.

Now he had never seen a goblin look anywhere on the rather large scale of shock.

Harry could now at least say that he had seen a goblin look shocked, no wait screw that Griphooked looked, for a lack of a better word, absolutely and utterly gobsmacked.

The goblin started at the parchment before handing it over to Steelclaw who started to look rather confused by both of the other occupants in the room's reactions.

And quite soon Steelclaw also mirrored the others' expressions.

Looking back at this sometime in the future Harry would probably laugh, but right now he was just as shocked, if not more, as the two goblins.

Merlin help him.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Griphook POV

He was shocked, probably even gobsmacked, at the results that he had just read.

When Steelclaw had knocked on his door sometime ago he had just expected to deal with somebody claiming to be Harry Potter. It wasn't unusual for somebody to walk into Gringotts and say “Hey im Harry Potter”.

So, he expected this meeting to be short and easy.

When he walked into his office he had expected to come face to face with some confident pretender.

Probably wearing cheap glasses, the wrong shade of eye and hair colour and a drawn on lightning scar.

What he was not expecting was somebody that looked just like Harry Potter to sit in front of his desk.

Griphook had only personally met the boy once before, when he was eleven, and had since only seen the pictures in the daily prophet and that boy looked damn near identical.

Either this really was Harry Potter, somebody polyjuced as potter or a creepily identical look alike.

After the first minute of being in the same room as the boy, warning bells kept ringing in his head.

He was a bit shy and stumbled over his words, nothing unusual for a normal wizard that grew up alone but if this really was Harry Potter then this was highly unusual. Being the Potter family´s account manager he had, of course, heard all about the boy´s “adventures” and how he was such a brave, tough and noble hero that was raised like a prince. But looking at the boy in front of him one couldn't help but think something was wrong.

He spoke with uncertainty, he cut into his hand without a second though and cleaned the knife after.

Griphook could also see the moment the shock hit, the boy's face was rather expressive in a way that was almost endearing.

After letting the boy stare at his results for almost ten minutes Griphook decided that it was his turn to take a look. He held out his hand and thankfully the boy gave over the parchment without protest. Most wizards are rather displeased with the thought of hanging over their inheritance test back to the goblins but not this one.

After reading the test Griphook could, he never thought he would ever say this, completely relating with the wizard´s reaction.

Excuse his crude language but what the living hell.

First of all

How the hell was he not aware that the late mr. Regulus Black was one of Potter's parents!!

He was the account manager for crying out loud, if anyone should have known it's him!

Now, for the love of all deities above, what the hell does “date of death mean” in this scenario?

The boy in front of him is quite clearly alive. He neither looks nor is a ghost, so what is happening?.

Griphook decided that for now he will ignore most of the blocks except one.

The very one that made him want to kill somebody, possibly everybody that is at fault here.

A young wixen child gets blocks on their magic that is to be removed at certain ages, and thus that block will be removed from the test as well.

So, Why.are.the.blocks.still.active??

Did nobody ever take this boy to get the blocks removed and in that case how has he survived this many years with them? The blocks are, of course, a possible cause of death.

That would also help in explaining how unbalanced his magic probably is. Griphook agrees in the test recommendation for the time room. It would allow Harry Potter to get rid of the blocks and train his magic until it is no longer a danger to both him and his surroundings.

Yes, the time room it is.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Harry POV

A part of Harry's brain must still have been in shock, because he registered what the Griphook and Steelclaw were saying but he didn't really remember it.

He knows that he consented to it but he does not entirely recall their explanations.

A time room.

A room where you will age and go through life all alone for a set amount of time but only a week will go on in reality.

Apparently it is where clients that need a lot of time for recovering from an injury or somebody whose magic is dangerous to those around them. Harry falls into the latter category.

His magic has blocks? on it. Blocks that were supposed to get removed on several occasions when he was young but that never happened.

From what the goblin healers said, his blocks would be removed the second he entered the time room and they warned that it would hurt and be rather painful. Harry did not really mind pain, one would not mind it when they have grown up with the Dursleys.

The pain part was not the one his brain was caught on, it was the time. He would spend two years alone, training his magic until he could perfectly control it. And at the end of those years he would return. According to Wolfnail, one of the healers, once he returned he would be two years older. Mentally and physically, but only one week would have gone in reality.

Instead of celebrating his 15th birthday he would celebrate his 17th. He would be a seventh year NEWT student not a fifth year OWL student.

He would be two years older than his friends, the same age as the twins. An adult, an actual adult. The only positive would be that he would never have to return to the Dursleys again.

It was with that though that he allowed himself to be helped into the bed, the only way to get to the infamous Gringotts time room.

He was told to take a deep breath as more goblins came into the room and stood around him.

They started to chant in what he assumed was their own language.

Harry felt a pulling sensation until he was swallowed by darkness.

When he woke up he was laying on grass. Harry could feel magic all around him, it took him a while to realize that it was his own.

With that startling realization he sat up and opened his eyes. He was indeed laying on grass, what really caught his eyes was the impressive looking building in front of him. With its structure and looks it reminded him immensely of Gringotts. Deciding that he could lie on grass later he stood up before making his way up to the building's great door. It looked expensive, as did the rest of the building.

He raised his hand in an attempt to knock before realizing that he was alone, so he just opened the door and walked in.

After exploring the entire building he can confidently say that he loved it. It had a massive library, a bath, what looked like a training room, a kitchen full of ingredients and recipes, a very nice and comfortable looking bedroom and even more books.

Hermione would have loved it here, he thought with a sad smile.

In the bedroom he found a notebook that felt like it was calling to him, deciding that he might as well look in it he settled on the bed and opened it. And boy was he glad that he did.

The notebook seemed to serve as a diary of sorts, with days marked and several rows for him to write on. Even better somehow, he did not know, the notebook was seemingly keeping track on which day of the 700 something he was set to spend here. In the back of the book, at the top right corner, in little glowing gold letter it said:

Day 1

On the side right in front of the letter was a message seemingly written by one of the goblin healers.

Harry
This notebook serves as a way for you to write down everything you have done in a day, it is not only a way for you to keep track of time but serves as a way for you to write down your feelings and thoughts.
In the library, on the blue table there will be a schedule that we expect you to follow, please for your own sake study what it tells you too and do what it tells you.
Although it is only a week for us until we see you again for you it will be far longer. So please remember this, it is going to be hard, you're going to feel sad and you are going to feel regret but it will go over.
So from all of us.
Take care of yourself
The healers of the Raven hall

Harry started crying, out of sadness and out of joy. For everything he could never cry about and for the future.

He had no idea what the future held for him but one thing was for certain, Harry would get stronger. If not only to protect those he holds dear but to allow himself for once to protect himself.

Drying his tears with his sleeve he took the pen that lay and waited where the notebook had been found. With shaky hands he wrote on the the first side under the big golden letters of DAY 1

Arrived here, explored and decided to get stronger for my own sake.
Goodnight.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

? POV

At a place where no mortal had ever laid their eyes on, a lone figure sat perched up on a silver throne.

The being had short black hair in a high ponytail, soft red eyes with white pupils, skin as white as bone with a smile as beautiful as the prettiest flowers. The being had long flowy robes that looked as if they were made out of the shadows themself.

The being sat on his throne with a faraway look and a bittersweet smile.

After all, he had finally met him, his descendant. The one known as Harry Potter. The very last of his bloodline.

His precious child and angel.

Fate was a cruel god, but she had been especially cruel to his descendant. Placing him with those monsters, forcing him to undergo all of that trauma only for him to die in the end.

The only good thing that had come from this was that he was finally able to embrace his descendant.

Now he would only have to wait a short while until Harry was ready.

But that was fine, the being had waited for this many years he could handle waiting a few more.

After all, Death was a patient god.

Chapter Text

Albus Dumbledore POV
Headmaster's office, Hogwarts.
June 16th 1995 7.00 am

Albus Dumbledore prides himself on his perfectly crafted mask. People often see only what they want to see, and in doing so, they miss the truth hidden in plain sight.

All they see, the governors, the minister and the students, is an old white haired man with a long beard and twinkling blue eyes hidden between half moon spectacles. A once-mighty wizard, faded by the slow decay of time.

The last part sadly has some truth in it.

He is no longer as powerful as he was during his duel with Gellert Grindelwald, his former strength having faded by time.

Currently his strength is at par with that of a newly resurrected Voldemort. The very man that is now standing as a threat to the peace Dumbeldore had worked so hard to build.

The ministry of magic is full of fools. Fools that refuse to see what's right in front of them.

Cornelius Fudge is a moron that would rather discredit him than to investigate if Albus claims has any truth to them. Fudge discrediting him has started a rather unfortunate chain reaction where people suddenly feel brave enough to insult the very one that saved them all.

Not only is the daily prophet slandering him, but there has only been one month since the tournament ended and he has already gotten well over 100 howlers from angry parents.

The parents are either angry about his actions concerning the Hufflepuff champion's death and the way he handled it after or they are furious about him proclaiming that Voldemort has returned.

The foreign ministries are also starting to doubt his abilities as a headmaster and are second guessing their relations to the British ministry all together. The very opposite of what Albus was trying to do when he brought up the idea of the Triwizard tournament. The tournament was supposed to be the foundation to a relationship between the three countries, not shattering any they had before.

This was not supposed to happen. This entire year had been a fiasco at best.

Dubmeldore had to admit, Harry´s name coming out of the goblet of fire had shocked him. His original plan had been for Harry to lie low this year, overshadowed by the tournament, but no. Of course somebody just had to go and put Harry's name in, bringing all of the attention to him.

Albus Dumbeldore is a man of many plans but not a single one included Harry in the tournament. So that very same night he had to rethink his plan for the entire year.

He had anticipated Voldemort's return; what he had failed to realize was that Harry would get all sad and depressed after the third task. Leading people to believe that Dumbelodre was lying about the dark lord's return since Harry, the very person Albus claimed had seen the resurrection, had not spoken a word about it.

So now he has to deal with Rita Skeeter's attention all alone instead of sharing it with Harry.

If he guesses right there would be a new article written about him once he gets to breakfast. All the joys of being disliked by the public.

For now breakfast was in order, it wouldn't do for the headmaster to not show up.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

As always, Dumbeldore was right. There was an article written about him by that vile woman.
How she even got her information eluded even him.

Under the watchful eyes of Minerva Mcgonagall Albus served himself a generous serving of eggs and bacon alongside his favorite juice, lemon flavoured of course.

He took a swig of juice, internally sighed and accepted his fate — time to see what Rita has written about him this time.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Exclusive interview with two Triwizard champions

Hello dear readers, once again the world will be disappointed by the actions, or lack thereof, of one Albus Dumbeldore.

My lovely readers yesterday I got the chance of a lifetime. An exclusive interview with two of the champions in the infamous Triwizard tournament. We get some inside scoops about the inner workings of the tournament as well as blaring safety issues. So, let's begin.

The interview transcript
Me: Thank you both so much for agreeing to meet with me. Now for the readers sake could you introduce yourselves.
Fleur: Thank you for the opportunity Ms Skeeter. My name is Fleur Delacour, I was Beauxbatons champion.
Viktor: Viktor Krum, champion for Durmstrang.
Me: Wonderful, let's get right into it. The first task, did you get any information about what it was that you were going to face before that day?
Viktor: We only got to know the date and place, not that there were going to be dragons.
Fleur: None of us were told about the dragons before the task took place. We only got to know once we had pulled up our miniature dragons from the bag.
Me: I see, interesting. Don't you think it would have been safer for you competing to atleast have a clue about what it was that you were going to face?
Fleur: Most definitely, but the entire tournament lacked safety precautions so i'm not surprised.
Me: Do you mind explaining further?
Fleur: Well, they had dragon tamers nearby but even they would not have been quick enough if the dragons decided to fry us to dust. So much for taking increased safety precautions to make sure that we would not be hurt too badly. And well, I also can't be alone in thinking that it was entirely absurd for the youngest contestant to take on the most dangerous dragon.
Me: interesting, did either of you believe that Harry was the one to put his name into the goblet himself?
Viktor: No, not at all.
Me: Why?
Fleur: He seemed generally terrified once he came into the room, I also don't believe that he could have gone over the age-line himself. Nor did anyone ever see him anywhere close to the goblet.
Me: what do you mean with the last part?
Fleur: The goblet was practically surrounded during all hours of the day by several students. Not a single one ever saw him enter his name, unless he did it during the night but that would, frankly put, been impressive.
Me: Impressive how?
Fleur: Hogwarts always has patrolling teachers and prefects, for him to have slipped past all of them twice would have been both impressive and impossible.
Me: Thank you for that insight. Do you mind if I ask a question that may come off as insensitive?
Viktor: Go ahead.
Me: Were you two close with the third champion, Cedric Diggory?
Viktor: We spoke in passing, otherwise no.
Fleur: Not really, Potter seemed close to him in any case. If you have any questions about Diggory it would be best to ask him.
Me: Thank you both for this, have a nice rest of your day. I will attempt to contact Mr Potter for an interview or statement.

There we go dear readers. It seemed that the champions were not as safe as Dumbeldore said they would be.
From the champions statements we can be sure that had they been in actual danger during any of the tasks, there would have been a chance of death.
What would have happened if Potter's gillyweed´s effect would have run out before he got to the surface? would he have drowned without our knowledge?.
Dear readers we were told by Albus Dumbeldore himself that no champion would die but look at what happend. Potter and Diggroy won but only one lived to see it.
Was Diggory's death due to some gross mismanagement on Dumbledore's part or was it something deeper.
All this begs the question of why Dumbeldore chose Diggory's memorial to claim that Voldemort had returned.

As always I will see you all next time with the latest scoop.
Rita Skeeter, the daily prophet.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

The article is bad, quite terrible and it paints Albus in a terrible picture.

Rita describes him as a hypocritical, old fool who decided to make a student memorial about himself. She criticises how he handled the three tasks and even goes as far to suggest that Diggory's death could have been part of his plan.

Diggory's death was of course not part of his plan, just an unfortunate side effect. But he would be lying if he said that the death didn't serve a purpose in his grander plan.

´Had Harry admitted that Voldemort had returned, the next phase of the plan could have already begun.´ Dumbledore thought. The bitterness clung to him like the taste of a lemon's pith—sharp, lingering, and impossible to ignore. It curled on his tongue and soured his thoughts, not with rage, but with a quiet, citric resentment he rarely allowed himself to feel. Especially not at Harry Potter.

He ate quickly, each bite tense beneath the silent scrutiny of his colleagues.

Only once there was not a single crumb left on his plate did he excuse himself.

Dumbeldore left the great hall in a hurry, his movement being trailed by his colleagues' eyes. Every single one having a different opinion on him, and letting their gazes reflect what they cannot say out loud.

With his robes billowing behind him he rushed back to his office. The portraits he passed rolled their eyes at the colourful headmaster currently making his way through the school.

Dumbeldore stopped before a gargoyle statue made out of stone, its grotesque face twisted in a permanent sneer, its fangs bared and the statue's wings tucked tightly to its back.

Most would find the stone statue slightly unnerving, Dubeldore actually found the statue rather endearing.

He cleared his throat before loudly stating this month's password “Lemon Tart.” The statue sprang to life and jumped to the side, revealing the hidden staircase leading up to his office.

With a slight nod in the statue´s direction Dumbeldore began the ascent up the stairs. One step after another brought him closer to the end of the narrow spiral staircase.

His breath and heartbeat had quickened more than he expected, a quiet reminder that his body no longer moved with the ease it once knew.

With a practiced flick of his wand the grand wooden door opened, beyond it the very room he spent most of his time in.

Ignoring the portraits of the snoozing past headmasters and headmistresses Dumbeldore went to his table, before collapsing in his chair with a barely audible tud.

Albus let his posture slacken, something past headmaster Phinneus Black complained loudly about every time. He dropped his head into his hands, effectively hiding from the disappointed gaze of one of the old portraits.

At the rate things were going Dumbeldore would lose nearly all of his supporters by the end of the year, perhaps earlier if Rita keeps fixating on him like this. He had not minded if she had not been responsible for nearly single handedly destroying his reputation. Did that woman seriously not have anything better to write about then him?

Her comment stating that she would attempt to contact Harry for an interview, was bound to spell out trouble. If that vile woman actually manages to get an interview with Harry before Dumbelodre has a word with him he can say bye bye to the last remnants of his already damaged reputation.

The only ways Dumbeldore could see his reputation improve again is either by Harry stating that he saw Voldemort's return or if Tom could just show himself in public. Ever since his return Tom had been radio silent, a thing that was the very opposite of Tom's personality.

Well there was no use thinking about it now. Rita will never be able to interview Harry and Dumbeldore will just have a few words with Harry once he gets picked up from the Dursleys in a few weeks. Yes, that will do it. A sad and probably angry Harry is easier to convince than a calm one. A calm Harry is a perceptive Harry.

With a crooked grin that didn’t quite match his usual grandfatherly mask, he walked over to the fireplace.

Albus reaches out his hand to the bowl perched on the side of the fireplace, he scoops out a handful of the glittering green floo powder before throwing it into the flames. Dumbeldore holds up the ends of his lemon yellow robes while walking into the flames, taking extra care to not get any ashes on his fashionable clothes. While still holding up the hem of the robes he clears his throat before loudly and clearly stating, “12 Grimmauld Place” before vanishing into the now green flames.

After feeling a pulling sensation Albus stepped out of the flames. The old and gloomy inside of the Black ancental house greeting him. The magic inside the house shifted slightly, as if it was judging his very being and soul. Likely his blood status too.

The black family house always has a way of unnerving even the most thick faced wizards and witches.

Making sure his eyes were twinkling perfectly he looked over his robes, happy to see that they managed to survive the trip ash-free. He would have hated it for his beloved lemon coloured robes to be ash stained.

He adjusted his robes with a practiced hand before exiting the room he'd arrived in, heading down the hall toward the dining room. On the way he passed by countless dark artifacts and small creatures. ´Molly and the children will need to clean all of that out´ he thought with a self satisfied smile. After all, it wouldn't do for the light side's headquarters to be full of dark artifacts.

After a handful of turns Dumbelode reached the door to the dining room and kitchen.
It was no shock to find Molly there, bustling about the dining room and already knee-deep in dinner preparations, though it was hardly nine o’clock.

Albus liked Molly Weasley for that specific reason, she was so predictable. Only a slight suggestion from Albus and Molly decided to get to platform 9 ¾ the muggle way, coincelly running into Harry. And Molly, bless her heart, decided that very moment that the small scrawny child was now one of hers. All according to Albus' plan.

He needed a stable and loving light family to take care of Harry, and the Weasleys were the only ones that fitted that description. A son the same age, able to be Harry's friend and steer him onto the right path, to convince him Griffindor was the only “right” house for Harry. The twins, to care for him with their pranks and humor. The third son to be a role model, and the second and first to be absent stories spoken with awe. The only daughter to be a romantic interest and in the end wife. Yes, Albus Dumbeldore had it all planned out from the very beginning. If he needed a compulsion or potion here and there then it was all for the greater good.

Everything he did was for the greater good. Why couldn't people see that?

Once Molly turned around and noticed him, Dumbeldore cleared his throat. “Good morning Molly.” He exclaimed with a warm grandfatherly smile. The very smile he had perfected years ago, the corners of his eyes slightly crinkled, the corners of his mouth upturned gently, as if he was speaking with an infant.

As expected, Molly's face bloomed into a smile so wide it seemed to chase the weariness from the room, her eyes twinkling, her cheeks round and pink with delight.

“Oh Albus, what a delight to see you.” She said, her voice light and warm in that way it always was, “Give me one moment and i'll prepare a fresh pot of tea for you.” She called out while putting down the pans she had been holding.

“Two pots will do, Molly. I will be calling a meeting soon.” Dumbeldore said as he took a seat at the long table, specifically the head seat. Sirius wouldn't mind after all.

As Molly fluttered around the kitchen in search of something, probably tea, Dumbeldore pulled out his wand from where it rested in his inner pocket. The wand was 15 inches, Elder wood as the wood and a core out of thestral tail hair. His fingers curled loosely around the knotted length.

This verry wand had been the reason for countless wizard's demise and had been known by many names throughout history. Deathstick, wand of destiny, the elder wand and many more names had been used. The wand could only be won from the previous owner, either by disarming the owner or killing them. Albus himself won the wand from its previous owner, Gellert Grindelwald, by disarming him in their final battle.

Moving his wand in a tight circular motion finished with a sharp flick, he said the spell's incantation. “Expecto Patronum.” The tip of his wand started to shine a great silver light before a silver phoenix burst forth from the wand. The corporeal patronus flew in a circle around him before descending downwards until it sat in front of him on the table. Like that it sat waiting, for an order from its summoner.

Albus smiled gently at the phoenix before reciting a message out loudly, clearly well thought out. “In 10 minutes I want all of the available order members here, in the headquarters, for a meeting.” Once he had finished the sentence he nodded at the phoenix, before sending it out to each and every order member one by one.

Once he was done he dismissed the silver phoenix with a flick of his wand. Now, it was his turn to wait until everybody arrived.

Sirius was the first to arrive, since he lived in the very same house the meeting was called in his early arrival made sense.

Albus greeted him as he walked through the door and took a place at the empty table. Sirius returned his greeting before continuing drinking whatever he had been carrying before. Firewhisky, if Albus had to guess. The man didn't seem that sober at the moment.

Albus chose to silently observe Sirius as he waited for others to arrive. The man was smelling of alcohol, his hair was long and looked like it hadn't been washed in 15 years. Knowing the man he probably had not, his hair seemed to hold all types of dirt and leaves. Is that a hippogriff feather?.

Sirius was wearing some robes that looked like they had been just thrown onto him, the deep v-line showing off his tattoos and unclean skin like it was a badge of honour. His skin is as pale as it was just after he had escaped from azkaban.

If you looked at the portrait of Walburga Black you could see clear similarities between her and her first son.

Severus was next. The man wore his usual black robes and was matching the state of his hair with Sirius. Severus didn't even bother to return Albus´s greeting. He only dramatically sat down and started to glare at Sirius, before he scoffed and turned his head. Only to turn back at Sirius and sneer with such disdain, it could have put a gargoyle’s grimace to shame.

One by one the rest of the order members arrive.
Albus let his gaze sweep across the room, silently noting the absences among the Order members. One by one, he made a mental list. Something to return to later, ensuring everyone was properly informed.
Giving everyone a bright smile he rose from his seat at the head of the table, clapping his hands together to get their attention.
“Thank you everyone for gathering here today on such short notice, now i believe we have most people here.” He began, only to be cut off by a loud and sudden bang resounding throughout the house.

The sound was immediately followed by a string of apologies, and seconds after, the screaming of Walburga Black.

Albus, alongside most of the members of the order, just sighted, some put their heads in their hands as Walburgas screams echoed through the house.

The screaming died down as a young woman came stumbling through the door, still muttering apologies. She looked over at Dumbledore before apologizing again, and finally making her way over to the last chair at the table. She quickly sat down between Severus and Remus, bowing her head in greeting to the latter before muttering one last apology.

Dumbeldore felt his left eye twitch at the interruption before he composed himself. ´It wouldn't do for the grandfatherly character to be irritated by a young woman's clumsiness.´ He shined his warmest smile at the pink haired girl before continuing speaking.

“So, as I was saying. Thank you everybody for coming to this meeting. You may wonder why I decided to summon you all on such short notice.” As he said that he looked around the room, most of the occupants were nodding and the rest were looking at Molly as she jumped around the kitchen.

“I wanted to clarify some things that were said in today's paper and some updates on Voldemort's movements.” When he spoke the forbidden name most of the people flinched, some more violently than others. Although he still kept his usual smile on his face, he felt a spark of irritation ringing in his head. ´It is just a name, just use it!´ he thought.

Right as he was about to speak again Molly stumbled into the dining room, holding trays of biscuits and pots of tea. With an easy flick of her wand a full cup of tea appeared in front of every order member. The tea had a light citrus aroma coupled with a lighter yellow colour. The colour was a great match to the robes Albus currently wore.

Albus took a sip out of his cup, letting out a low sound of appreciation as the lemon flavour hit his tongue full force. He took another greedy sip before putting down his cup and thanking Molly for this delicious tea. He saw the other members around the table take tentative sips before putting down their cups and thanking Molly as well.

Molly glowed at the praise, thanking everyone, before she summoned a chair and sat down, taking a handful of sips from her own cup.

Albus smiled as he sat down, wrapping his hands around his teacup, before speaking again.
“First things first, i must confess something” That got everybody listening, some straightening their backs as if the angle of their backs determined their ability to hear. “When it came to the safety of the triwizard tournament I did not play a big part, and in light of recent events such as the tragic death of mr. Diggory, I wish I had played a bigger part.” Many around the table bowed their heads at the mention of the deceased student.

“Rita Skeeter is just a reporter, she does not have all of the necessary facts to be able to blame the security issues on anyone. I, however, understand if after reading these articles, doubt has started forming in your minds. And I will say this as many times as I need, if you ever decide that you no longer want to be a member of the order for any reason, doubt or mistrust, I will not hold it against you. So be it.” Dumbeldore said.

He took up his cup and took several long sips to hide his smile as he subtly surveyed the room. The reactions of the people differed. Some looked ashamed, some sad and the rest determined.

Some people, Kingsley, Severus, Sirius, Remus and Alastor, emotions did not show on their faces, opting instead for a blank mask. ´Well that wouldn't do´ Dumbledore thought. He needed to be able to tell what they felt so he properly place them into categories in his head.

Albus decided that there was only one way to tell what those blank faces were hiding.

He opted to start with Sirius. Subtly making eye contact with the man he muttered a spell under his breath. “Legilimens”

Dumbeldore felt the tell-tale signs of invading somebody else's mind, the almost electric feeling sizzling on his skin. He could delve deeper into Sirius mind, Dumbeldore would have no problem bypassing whatever small metal wall Sirius mind had. But, he didn't. The whole purpose was to remain unnoticed, only skim the very top of the man's emotions and thoughts.

As expected, Sirius' mind was an entire jungle and a half. Thoughts that started, suddenly ended, only to jump over to another train of thoughts. If Albus was being honest, it seemed like the man had barely listened to what he had said.

Focusing more, Dumbeldore began looking around for specific keywords. It was a thing a master of Legilimency could do with enough patience and practice. After a handful of seconds Albus found what he had been looking for.

Right around his name Albus could feel an air of trust, only single handed trust. Not even a shred of mistrust.

As he retraced his way out of Sirius mind Albus felt a sense of satisfaction roll over him.

Dumbeldores focus once again got captured by the outside world, it seemed like only a few seconds had passed since he had stopped talking. Looking over at the faces of the members of his order he saw that they were all still busy in thought. Seemingly nobody had noticed Albus' little breach in their fellow order members' heads. Even so, that was all for the better.

One by one he breached the heads of the people whose emotions he couldn't read. And one by one he retraced satisfied, all of them trusted him wholeheartedly.

Now the only one whose mind he hadn't breached was Severus. Dumbledore's eyes sharpened for a fraction of a second before he decided against it.

Serverus Snape was a master Occlumens, the risk outweigh the reward.

Once he had finished drinking up his delicious lemon tea, he put down his tea cup and cleared his throat, the sound sharp in the heavy silence.

Every head snapped towards him, their gazes locked onto him like dying men to final breath.

“So, if anyone still wants to leave you may do so now” he said, putting on the warmest smile he could muster while looking around the room. When nobody made any move to leave he clapped together his hands. “Perfect, now. Kingley, if you don't mind, could you read the reports?” Dumbeldore said while looking over to the Auror.

Kingsley nodded before he rose, pulling out several sheets of parchment. Albus merely smiled at the man before he made himself comfortable in his chair. This was going to take a while.

Some hours later.

After talking through the last of the reports Albus grabbed everybody's attention once again. The pot of tea long emptied and the biscuits reduced to crumbs, he moved on to the next subject at hand. Questions.

"So!" He began. “Now that we have finished official matters it is time for any additional questions.”

Mundungus Fletcher raised his hand-always a bad sign-and thus began a long and winding detour into utter nonsense.

It was only once the man left in an awkward hurry that Remus Lupin raised his hand.

“Ah, Remus. What do you have on your heart?” Dumbeldore asked with a small smile while tilting his head to his side.
Lupin shifted awkwardly in his seat before finally opening his mouth to speak.
“I wanted to ask about Harry.” He said while looking down at the table as if it held all the answers in the world.

“What about Harry?” Dumbeldore said in a slightly lighter voice than he had meant to. He subtily looked over to where Sirius sat, he had expected the animagus to ask that question, not Lupin.

“Well” Lupin started while his gaze rose to meet Dumbeldores “We all saw how he got affected by Diggory's death. Should we be worried about him and talk to him once he comes here later in the summer?.” The werewolf said with a tentative voice.

´Ah, I see. He's worried´ Albus thought while barely narrowing his eyes.

Well that wouldn't do. Harry needed to learn how to live with whatever he was feeling alone, it was the only way he would learn. Looks like Lupin should be sent out on a mission to take his mind off Harry. Albus thought a simple, oh he will probably be fine once he reunites with his friends, would do.

As he was preparing to respond to Remus' inquiry Albus noticed the other order members starting to look around and mumble with the closest people. He could catch the words, Harry, worried and depressed several times from the ones around the table. Suddenly it seemed like a simple reinsurance wouldn't do.

If he just said that his response would be seen as lacking. So, he needed to take a different approach.

“I will talk with him myself and make sure he is fine, if he is not, I will ask Madame Pomfrey to have weekly talks with him until he feels better. But I'm sure he will be better in no time. Especially once he meets young Ronald, Hermione and Ginerva.” He said the last part with a wink towards Molly.

His words seemed to have reassured the rest of the members as they no longer had faces filled to the brim with worry.

Looking over at the old grandfather clock over the door Albus realized that time had slipped away and it was nearing noon.

he clasped together his hands in front of him before he rose from his chair at the head of the table.

“If we don't have anything else to talk about I think it's due time to call it a day.”

As he said that all the other occupants of the room rose from their chairs, the sounds of chairs scraping against the floor filled the room as its occupants left.

Strangely enough each and every one of them took out their wands before they left. Flicking their wands and muttering a quiet incantation. As they filed out Albus took one last look around the dining room before leaving and closing the door behind him.

He was so overjoyed that every tea cup was empty, seeing others enjoy his favorite tea always made him so happy.

As he flooed back to his office he completely missed the hissing sound and the sight of several sets of ears getting pulled up the long stairs.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Ronald Weasley POV

Ron silently cheered as the ears got pulled up the stairs, he thought they would have gotten caught but they didn't.

He pulled out the weird thing in his ear before passing it back to one of the twins while the other was putting them back in their pockets.

“I can't believe that actually bloody worked.” Ron blurted, barely able to contain his excitement.

When the twins had knocked on his door earlier holding ears attached to cords he almost slammed the door in their faces.

Good thing for Fred and George that they managed to yell out the words, eyesdrop and order meeting before they had to eat a door for the rest of the day.

So some hours later here he was, sitting on the floor while thinking about all of the new information he wasn't allowed to have.

He now knew about he-who-must-not-be-named´s movements. And then once he gets back to school he can do something about it. If the noseless bastard decides to attack the school then he can always help, maybe he can even duel he-who-must-not-be-named himself.

Ron had after all learned some new spells from Hermione and will for sure learn more cool spells he can use against the bastard.

Oh, how he wanted to return to his room and daydream about defeating he-who-must-not-be-named.

It would be an epic battle, spells flying, people holding their breaths and cheering. And, in the very middle of it all was him. A bit taller and muscular, in expensive robes and effortlessly deflecting spells with his wand.

No scrap that. He defects all of he-who-must-not-be-named spells both wandless and wordless. And then, he will cast one last spell before his opponent falls to his knees in defeat.

People cheering, screaming in joy, his name sounding over the entire arena. Giving him the title of the strongest wizard, the defeater of the dark lord. They will give him riches and love and best of all, leave Harry behind. What do they need the boy that lived for if they have the defeater of the dark lord. They would all be cheering his name. Ronald, Ronald, Ronald, Ronald….

“Ronald, Ronald!. The world to Ronald Weasley.” A sharp voice interrupted his daydream.

He flinched violently before he snapped his head around to look at the one that interrupted his victory. He tilted his head up once all he saw were the shoes and jeans of a person.

Looking up his eyes narrowed with badly concealed rage when he saw who stood in front of him. Hermione Granger. Her bushy hair stood out even though it looked like she had attempted to tame it, her skin was slightly tanned, her brown eyes furrowed in irritation as she looked at him.

In her arms she held the book she had read during the hours the order meeting had dragged on. At the beginning she had been pretty intensive in her refusals to eavesdrop but after two hours she finally caved and decided to listen in as well.

Once she noticed that she had gotten Ronalds attention she began roughly shaking her head to the right side. Ron followed her head and noticed that she was pointing to his bedroom.

He was about to ask her what the bloody hell she was trying to say when the stairs started creaking alongside footsteps. Someone was walking upstairs.

He scrambled up on his feet before he grabbed Hermione's arm and with five quick steps he was inside his room, he pulled her in alongside him. He quietly shut the door behind them before he let out a sigh of relief, the person that was walking up the stairs walked past his room

“That was a close call, right Hermione.” He said before turning around and looking at her, waiting for her response.

He waited a handful of seconds before he asked, “What's wrong Hemione, why is your face red?.” He tilted his face, he silently wondered if she was sick or had a fever, judging by the redness of her face.

Hermione merely made a sound akin to a boiling kettle, before she shaked of the arm he hadn't noticed he still had on her arm.

She turned away, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like “Stupid red-headed moron.” before she stormed away and sat down on the only chair in the room not covered by clothes. She crossed her right leg over her left before motining with her head for him to sit down.

Ronald shrugged before he walked over to the chair beside Hermione, took all of the stuff on the chair in his arms, turned around, dumped it on the floor and sat down. He looked over at the girl beside him just as she sighted. “Seriously Ronald, you know you're going to have to pick up all of that later right.?” She raised an eyebrow at him, the redness in her face long gone.

Ron just shrugged, ´ I'll pick it up later you don't have to complain.´ He thought while he made himself comfortable on the chair. He decided he may as well continue to daydream about his eventual victory to no-nose voldy pants.

They sat in silence for a handful of minutes before Hermione decided to break it.

“Honestly Ronald, are you not going to talk?.” she said while furrowing her eyebrows at him.

Her sudden question caught him off guard, it took him several seconds to compose himself enough to respond.

“What is there to talk about?” He said in a confused tone. He seriously didn't understand why she had to interrupt him when he had just gotten to the good part!

She looked at him before she sighted, putting her head in her hands, before speaking again.

“About Harry, your best mate, Harry James Potter. Did you hit your head when you went through the fireplace or what?” She said, the sound came out a bit muffled given the fact that her head is still in her hands, but Ronald understood the gist of it.

“Ehh, Harry? What's wrong with him? Last i saw him he looked fine.” He said, even more confused than before. Harry was fine and alive. Can Ronald go back to daydreaming about all of the girls that will love him after he defeats you-know-who.

“Ronald Bilius Weasley. Your best mate looked like the textbook definition of depressed. He doesn't even talk to us anymore and here you are saying he looked fine.”

“But he looked fine? And even so, what would he even be “depressed” about? It's not like he died or anything.”

“Yes, but Cedric Diggory died! It's only natural that he would be sad at seeing somebody get killed right before his very eyes!” Hermione said passionately, with her head still in her hands.

“Okayyyy…But even Diggory's girlfriend, what's her name again?” he said while snapping his fingers “Cho Chang or something i think?. Anyway, she was the dude's girlfriend but even she didn't look “depressed”.” He said while turning to glare at Hermione.

“Wait a second” He said, a clear view of the situation at hand forming in his head. “I know what this is.”

“What are you talking about Ronald?” She said while turning her head to look at him.

“No, no, no I got it.” He said as he was slowly standing up, towering over the bushy haired girl.

“You're making all of this up, as a way to shame me!” He said, his voice growing louder with each syllable.

“You're pretending that my best mate is “depressed” as a way to scold me for being a bad friend.” He was nearly yelling now, not that Hermione doesnt deserve it. First she spends the year fraternizing with the enemy and now she is making things up about Ronalds best mate.

Ronald was glaring at her now, daring her to say that he was wrong.

Hermione merely glared back with red eyes before she turned around and stormed out. Before she closed the door she turned her head and yelled out one last thing before slamming the door. The sound of the door slamming vibrated throughout the room, as if the very spirit of the house agreed with the girl.

Ronald just started at the place she had been seated in before he began laughing. It wasn't a laughter of joy nor a particularly sane sounding one. He put his hand over his face as his harsh laughs echoed through the room.

“Crazy, she says. She's the one that totally nuts in the head.”

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Harry Potter POV
DAY:??????

What day was it today? Harry wasn't so sure himself, if he needed to know he would just look at the journal. He did write in it everyday. He supposed he was lucky that the journal was a magical one, otherwise he would have filled all of its pages long ago.

At the start, the first 30 days or so, he only wrote a few sentences each day. As the days started falling into the hundreds he found that he liked to write more and more.

By day 337 he had begun to write several thousands of words per day. It felt relaxing, writing about his day and thoughts and feelings.

Before that he had mainely written about his training and study schedules. Apparently he needed to redo the entire Hogwarts curriculum, not only the spell parts but also the reading and studying parts.

In his earlier days he had spent his days complaining to himself about it, why did he have to relearn how to do simple first year spells?. But after he nearly blinded himself with an overpowered Lumos he realized the necessity of it.

By day 100 he had finished the entire Hogwarts curriculum, year 1 through 7. Just when he finally saw the light at the end of the tunnel did he realize that it was just a flashlight and he was nowhere near the end.

Now of course he had to redo the entire Hogwarts spell curriculum, but this time wordless.

By sheer amounts of stubbornness did he manage to do every year 1 to year 7 spell wordless in only 100 days.

And when he finally thought that it was the end of the tunnel did he realize that it was just a light. Because now he didn't just have to do all of the spells wordless, no, he had to do them wandless as well.

Cue about 100 days of struggling with not cursing himself blue just to skip out on climbing the mountain that is wandless magic.

At around day 300 he had worked out a system. He would focus, gently guide his magic into forming spells then launch it. And, surprisingly, it worked! Harry could now do any spell wandless with enough practice.

The next 200 days he spent his time reading, studying, training and cooking himself food. If you asked Harry he had become a rather decent chef.

By the 500 days mark Harry had pretty much read every book in the library, mastered all mentioned spells and cooked himself enough food to feed a dragon.

So, for fun, he decided to teach himself how to throw knives.

He started out with the kitchen knives. They were durable enough to be thrown and hit a target accurately. Once he had eventually taught himself how to throw knives of any shape and weight and hit what he was aiming at he started to experiment with involving magic.

He realized pretty quickly that knives break if you push too much magic into them, so he needed to make some sort of knife that could handle magic.

Day 514 he managed to make a knife out of magic, it certainly wasn't perfect but it was a step in the right direction.

And that was how he spent day 515-530 making knife after knife trying to make the perfect one.

After 15 days of hard work he managed to create a perfect knife. He could push magic into it, throw it effortlessly and best of all could create more of them without spending too much magic or time. That day he made himself some desert after dinner for a job well done.

He spent the day after being bored, now that his knife project had officially come to an end he didn't know what he was supposed to do for 200 more days.

With day 532 came the realization that if he could make knives out of magic, then what's stopping him from making an actual bigger weapon.

That was how Project:Weapon came to a start.

By day 541 he had figured out the more complicated parts of the project.

It was day 542 when he decided on what weapon he should make.

It was only 18 days later he actually managed to perfect his new weapon. He could summon it out of thin air with just a bit of his magic, it looked cool and it was heavy enough that most would not be able to pick it up.

At day 560 he was finally able to finish his dear, heavy, tall and cool Scythe.

It took Harry 40 full days to be able to fight and use the Scythe properly. In the beginning his face and arms had more cuts then the training doll he fought against, but as time passed he got better and faster at using it.

The best part about his precious Scythe is that since it is made out of magic he can use it to block spells, and Protego shields only stopp magical attacks, not physical.

In the next 100 days Harry learned of the joy of spellmaking. So he spent most of the time he was not training to create spells.

By the end of the 100 days he had created two handfuls of spells, but only one of them could be adjusted to be used with a wand. So once he returns back to the world he will have to keep those a secret.

Because in the book “The great art of Spellmaking” it says that it takes several months to make one spell, so keeping all of his spells a secret was probably a necessity.

The next 20 days were spent making moree spells, training and eating rinse repeat.

He spent the last 10 days rereading some books about etiquette, the wizengamot, wizarding traditions and a guideline for robes until he could recite them fully.

´And today, oh today must be day 730 then.´ Harry thinks while looking up at the light blue sky. During his time here he has grown to love the sky, its unchanging blue hue, the sun that sits at the highest point in the sky and the soft fluffy clouds. Morning, noon, afternoon and night, the sky is all the same.

“I guess that's why I love it so much, huh.” Harry said with a content sigh.

The sky doesn't change, it is always the same. Something he wished applied to him too.

Two years is a long time and Harry has changed a lot. He is no longer the scrawny fourteen year old boy that is always scared.

While he is still thin he is not unhealthy, his body has built up some muscle after all of his training and he certainly looks two years older.

His hair is longer now, nearly reaching his waist. At first the hair growth wasn't intentional, he just forgot that he was supposed to cut it, until one morning when he woke up with the startling realization that he had completely forgotten to cut his hair.

In a haze of panic he had runned to the bathroom mirror to look at himself when he stopped dead in his tracks.

Because his hair, although shoulder length, now laid flat on his head. Gone was the birdsnest he had grown accustomed to. After that it was easy to convince himself to continue growing it out.

At first he told himself that he was just doing itt do be forever rid of his bird's nest but after a while he had to accept that he just liked his long hair.

And now his hair rested comfortably in a high ponytail, one of the few hairstyles he had started to regularly use once his hair became too long to have down during training or studying.

Once he got too annoyed at his front hair being too long he decided to cut it, all while making sure that the hair can still cover his famous scar.

As he sat on the grass for one last time he noticed the edges of the horizon starting to fray, as if it was slowly being unstitched by invisible hands, the world loosening thread by thread, ready to fall away.

“I guess this is it huh. I will finally go back.” He said while slowly standing up, for he had not rushed as the house started to fray away into oblivion.

He looked up into the sky for one last time before letting himself be pulled away.